The Overnight Guest

The Summer of 1928 my swimming pal, Fred, and I decided on a two-week vacation. From newspaper ads I picked a "Camp-Do-Not-Worry" in the Berkshires. We arrived by bus in the evening, and then found out it was a Socialist camp. Fred was 19, I, 17. What counted was that the rates were cheap, the menu good, the tent nice, and there was a splendid lake for swimming.

The next morning we headed down the hillside to the lake. Up the path came a barefoot girl wearing shorts and a white-linen Russian blouse. She had long brown braids, a child's face and the body of Venus. We introduced ourselves. Her name was Wanda Sloan. She said her parents were Rumanian Jews and progressives. From then on we were with her constantly. Fred adored her openly; I, secretly. I was like a kid brother to Fred and Wanda. We would spend the nights in Wanda's tent; Fred and I clothed, lying on either side of her; Fred holding her hand, and I keeping space between her and myself.

The two weeks went by. I chose to stay another week. Wanda and I walked Fred to the bus. After the bus left, Wanda hooked her arm into mine. "Your tent is sloppy. It needs a woman's touch." When she got through fixing up my tent, she suddenly embraced me and kissed me. I pushed her away and slapped her. She was startled.

"Are you crazy? Why did you hit me?"

"Fred's in love with you," I said, "and he thinks you're his girl. You let him think so, then you turn around and kiss me minutes after he's gone—you whore!"

"I just felt like kissing you—there's nothing wrong in that—oh, you'll never understand a girl!" She began to cry, and ran out of the tent.

Later, as I was on my way to the concert, she was waiting for me on the path. Her tent was at the top of the hill, and we sat half the night on the grass outside it. Then we lay in each other's arms on her cot until morning. Every night we were on her cot, silently and innocently kissing.

My vacation over, I hastened to see Fred. He was painfully lovesick for Wanda. I didn't want him hurt by her, so I told him how Wanda and I kissed and petted on her cot every night for a week. But sure enough, the following weekend Fred had Wanda out to our canoeing and swimming club at City Island.

Wanda let me know that Fred had told her everything I had said to him. She laughed, "You're a kid with weird Old World ideas about girls."

During the winter weekends Fred, Wanda and I swam in the salt-water pool of the St. George Hotel. Then Wanda did not show up with Fred anymore. Wanda had been swept off her feet by an Englishman named Daniel Cummings and married him. I didn't meet Dan until the beginning of the Depression, a year later. Wanda's husband was tall, handsome and suave. I had to give up my dream of ever having Wanda for myself.

I moved my family of brothers and sisters from Brooklyn to a village far out on the north shore of Long Island. I lost contact with both Fred and Wanda. Years passed and the Depression deepened. During my long period of unemployment I read a great deal and contemplated writing. I was compelled to write the story of my father's death and call it Christ in Concrete. After I finished it, Wanda loomed in my mind very strongly. No matter how many girls I went to bed with, there was always the vision of beautiful Wanda. I wrote her a long love letter, and also told her about the story I had written. I was surprised by her prompt answer. Her letter looked as if it had been scrawled by a little girl.

Accompanying my second love letter was the carbon copy of Christ in Concrete. In her return letter she said the story had made her laugh, then it shocked her and made her weep bitterly. She wanted to see me. I was to meet her in Milano's restaurant on 42nd Street near 8th Avenue.

On the appointed day it was snowing. I took the train into the city. Wanda was waiting for me in Milano's. She was breath-taking; the dark-brown hair, the small fine forehead and ears, the deep warm brown eyes, the slightly upturned nose, the rich mouth and lovely teeth, the sparkling skin, the short slender neck, the short arms and high hips above the long graceful legs. She gave me a modest kiss. We had a light lunch with wine and coffee.

"I have only bourgeois news to report," she said wearily. She and Dan had no children. Dan was a sporting-goods salesman at Gimbel's. She still modeled dresses and furs on 7th Avenue. They had a Yonkers apartment. Her parents lived around the corner from her. "A few years after my marriage I became disillusioned. Dan is not an Englishman; his father is a poor Bronx rabbi. In the beginning his cane, spats, monocle and handkerchief in his coat sleeve snowed me. He talked a storm about fabulous deals, but the best he could do was to be a salesman with a carnation in (continued on page 185) Overnight Guest (continued from page 129) his lapel in department stores, and now he's a sporting-goods salesman at Gimbel's."

Without preliminaries she said calmly, "You are coming to bed with me tonight. Dan must think you dropped in unexpectedly. You will miss your last train and be our overnight guest. I've got it all worked out. Dan is going deer hunting at Greenwood Lake with pals. His pals are picking Dan up around two in the morning. After Dan leaves, you come to my bed. Tonight I am yours."

We left the restaurant late in the afternoon. It was a long ride by subway and bus to Yonkers. We shopped for dinner. She made me feel as though I were her husband by her side as we purchased the food and carried the bags to her apartment. Dan arrived soon after. I was uneasy from the moment he came in. He was surprised but glad to see me.

"Dan dear," said Wanda, "a little while ago I heard a knock. I opened the door and there was Pee-ate-trow di Donato!"

Wanda took Dan his smoking jacket and slippers. In his superior manner he said, "Your Christ in Concrete is not too bad a piece of scribbling." He was the same bull-fuzz artist who knew all, had been everywhere, and could do anything.

During dinner Wanda talked about the Camp-Do-Not-Worry days, and then asked me, "Pietro, do you still have your hell-and-heaven ideas about girls? Dan, to him a woman is either a Madonna or a prostitute. You're twenty-six, Pietro, and still virgin, I'll bet."

Dan said with a patronizing air, "You'd better do something about your virginity." He reached over, ruffled my hair and said, "We're only pulling your leg because we're fond of you."

Wanda bubbled about in high spirits. Dan puffed his pipe with smug pride. The hours passed. Finally, Dan's eyebrows went up and he said to me, "You've a long trip home. What train are you catching?"

"The last train. What's the right time?"

"It is exactly ten to eleven."

I fumbled for my schedule, then handed it to him. He read it and said, "Your last train from Penn to the Island leaves 12:01. You'd better move fast."

"Do you think I can make it?"

"I don't know. Give it a try."

I rose to leave. "Wait a minute, Pietro," said Wanda. "Dan, how long does it take you to get to Gimbel's from here?"

"Well, darling, about an hour and ten minutes."

"At this time of night the buses and subway trains are few and far between, and his last train leaves in one hour and six minutes. It's impossible for him to make that train."

Dan looked at the schedule again. "There's the first morning train for the Island that leaves Penn at four-thirty A.M. Benny and Hal are picking me up after two. We will drop Pietro at the Van Cortlandt Park subway station. He'll get to Penn three-thirty or so. He can have coffee there, read the newspaper and get the four-thirty out. How about that, Pietro?"

I nodded.

Wanda said decisively, "I can tell that Pietro is coming down with a cold. He's going to sleep on the divan in the living room!"

"Thank you, Wanda," I said, "but how about my sleeping over at your mother's?" I did not want Dan to suspect me in the least.

Dan said quickly, "I'll give her a buzz for you—I know she'd love to put you up!"

"You'll do no such thing," commanded Wanda. "It is late and mother is an invalid." Then she went on heatedly, "Dan, you're trying to get rid of Pietro because you have a dirty evil mind and do not trust his being alone in the same apartment with me after you leave with your pals! Isn't that the truth?"

He took her in his arms and protested that he had never mistrusted her nor ever would.

After Wanda had her bath and went to bed, Dan said, "You take your bath now. I'll fix you a glass of warm milk and cookies. I'm worried about that cold of yours coming on. I'll give you a half dozen sleeping pills. You'll sleep like a baby and sweat out the cold..."

In the bathroom I threw the sleeping pills down the toilet. I had my bath and went out into the kitchen wearing a pair of his pajamas. I drank the warm milk and ate the cookies, although I hated milk and sweets. "Gee," I said, "those goddamn pills work fast—I'll have to say good night—I wish I hadn't missed that last train..."

"Will you be here when I get back from hunting?"

"I guess so ..." He squeezed my hand, drilled his eyes into mine, and said, "Well then, kid, be good!"

I went to my divan bed in the living room. The glow of the corridor night light showed through the glazed pane of the door. Their bedroom adjoined my room. Dan took his bath and went to the bedroom. He wound the clock. Sleep was out of the question for me. I simply had to bide my time. Dan's clock ticked interminably and finally went off with a clatter. I heard Wanda tell him he was crazy to go off at that hour into the ice and snow. He kissed her and said, "I love you, Wanda. Remember that."

"I will," she answered sleepily. He dressed in the kitchen, then got his hunting gear out of the corridor closet.

A car with a broken muffler roared to a stop out in the street in front of the apartment house. I distinctly heard two pairs of heavy boots clomp through the hallway. Dan opened the door and let his pals in. They gathered in the kitchen with a boy-scout enthusiasm about hunting deer with bows and arrows. Dan checked the bows, twanging the strings, and also checked the side arms. One of his pals said, "The deer aren't going to wait for us. Let's go, boys!" The light was snapped off in the kitchen, the hall door opened and shut. I thought my ears were deceiving me, but again I distinctly heard two pairs, and not three pairs, of boots along the hallway. I did not hear the car motor start. Was it possible the car took off without my hearing it? I could hear Wanda snoring lightly, and the alarm clock. I had the feeling that Dan was hiding.

I prayed that Wanda would not awaken. I counted seconds into minutes, five, ten, twenty. If Dan were hiding in the kitchen that long, why wouldn't his pals get annoyed and come noisily back for him? Otherwise they were in on the scheme with him to catch me doing something with Wanda. A half hour had gone by. I figured I had let my imagination throw me. Dan was miles away on the road to Greenwood Lake.

I had always wanted Wanda. I was bursting with lust. I started to get up to go to her. Just then I heard an unmistakable creaking of the parquet floor in the corridor and saw a shadowy form through the glazed door pane. I didn't hear Wanda snoring. Was it Wanda on the other side of the door? The door opened slowly. I saw a figure with swelling hips. Wanda, of course.

In the instant I was about to exclaim "Wanda!" I realized it was Dan. The swelling hips were his hunting trousers billowing above the puttees. He tiptoed toward my bed with an unlighted flashlight and a revolver. I froze in pretended deep sleep. He felt me, reached over and felt around the bed. Then, to make sure, he flashed his light. I sat up and mumbled. There was a tormented dangerous expression in his eyes. I rubbed my eyes and growled, "Hey, Dan—what the hell's going on?" The crazy mask fell from his face.

"My pals and I are just about to take off—I came in for cartridges—thought I'd see if you had enough covers." He went to the closet, picked up some cartridges and tiptoed out, whispering, "Good night. Sleep tight." I heard his boots through the hallway. Seconds later the car out in the street churned and churned, started with a coughing bang, revved up and then roared away into the night. Then I wondered if he had sent his pals away and had removed his boots and sneaked back into the apartment. I couldn't get myself to leave my bed. I heard Wanda get up, go through the corridor, bolt and chain the hall door, go into the kitchen, snap on the light, go into the bathroom, flush the toilet, run water and then turn out the bathroom and kitchen lights. She opened the door, came in and turned on the floor lamp. She was in a black negligee. She blinked her eyes, yawned, smiled and asked me, "Did you fall asleep, too?"

"That bastard, Dan!" And I told her what had taken place.

She yawned and shrugged, "How should I know what Dan would have done if he had caught us in bed? I'm no mind reader. If I'm not afraid, why should you be? I looked through the apartment. He's gone. The hall door is bolted and chained and the windows are locked. He'd have to be a Houdini to sneak up on us."

I made love to Wanda until five o'clock the following afternoon. After we got up and dressed she put on horn-rimmed glasses, looked at me sweetly and said, "You must forget we were in bed. I mean like it never happened."

About six o'clock Dan came in with his pals. They were jubilant; each had gotten a deer; Dan's had the biggest antlers. Wanda fell all over Dan. "Dan, my Dan!" Dan looked at me. Wanda had taken everything out of me.

"Pietro," he said, "boy, are you pale!" I said, "Dan, you know that goddamn cold I had coming on? I got that god. damn cold!"