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  “Oh, leave me alone,” she said coldly, shrugging him off.

  “Listen, baby, I’m trying to help. If you don’t want help, like we’ll sort of forget the whole thing.”

  His angered threat of sudden desertion, aloneness, cooled her raging. She turned to him, forced a smile, and slowly relented, lying down again. Bill slid his arm over her waist again.

  “I live here with the girls and nobody tells me what to do,” she continued, slowly, sullenly. “Sure it’s tougher than living at home in a couple of ways, but then, man,” she smiled a little now, “if I were home I wouldn’t have this pad and you wouldn’t be here with me.” She slid her hand across his chest, wanting to forget the unpleasant past. It was the warm and pleasant present that was important, and she wanted it to be real, tangible.

  “That’s right too.” Bill smiled. “I’m glad you don’t live home.”

  He twisted on his side to face Rita, becoming conscious of his presence and surroundings once again. He moved closer and kissed her. They embraced. Their bodies touched, and slowly began to pulsate.

  It was warm and tender and nice here, she thought. She was a woman here. She was no longer a child here.

  Bill’s hand slid along her flank. He jerked her closer to himself, lifted himself, then enclosed her in his arms. They were engulfed in a writhing, blind passion. The room and the bed no longer existed. All that could be seen was the other’s face—twisting mouth, biting lips, gnashing teeth.

  Slowly, the room returned into focus. Bill lay on his back. Both breathed heavily, saying nothing, studying the ceiling.

  “What do you do, Bill?”

  “I’m a photographer.”

  “Really? Who do you work for?”

  “Myself. I’m my own boss.”

  “Gee, that’s great. Maybe you’ll take my pictures for my composite?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  They were silent again. A slick of perspiration covered their bodies. She thought of being in bed with Bill, and then she thought of her bed in Brooklyn. How foreign this scene was to that other bed. How appalled her parents would be if they saw her with Bill.

  Presently, a scratching sound was heard as a key slid into the lock in the front door. Rita bolted to a sitting position, thinking momentarily that it was her father entering her bedroom. After the initial shock, she realized she was in her own apartment, and that no one had more authority than she. Though she still waited cautiously to see who it was, fear relaxed its grip. Bill, too, had lurched to a sitting position instinctively. Rita put her hand on his chest to assure him with a confidence born of her feelings of adulthood, just now confirmed by her realization of independence and by Bill’s nervousness. She felt very adult about her entire position now.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered, “only one of the girls. Shh …”

  They both watched the slit in the drapes that separated the bedroom from the middle room.

  The apartment was three rooms. Rita and Bill were in the bedroom. The middle room, into which the door from the hall opened, was a kitchen-dining room. In it was an old refrigerator with the large exposed coil on top, a tub supported on claw feet and covered with a porcelain top, and a low, wooden-inlaid Chinese table which was used, while people sat around it on large colored pillows, as a dining table. The front room had two windows that faced Christopher Street four stories below. One wall of the front room was covered with frosted mirroring. The room contained a couch, heavy stuffed chairs, and paintings on the walls.

  Suddenly, the light from the outside hall flitted through the open door. It shed a ray of light into the middle room. Bill saw Jeannie walk into the apartment. She stood just outside the curtained doorway of the room in which he and Rita were, talking to someone in the hall. She told whoever was out there to wait until she lit a lamp.

  “She’ll be coming in here?” Bill whispered.

  Rita was still sitting up, also gazing through the split in the drapes. She held the sheets up to her neck.

  “No,” she whispered, “Jeannie sleeps outside in the living room. Laura and I sleep here. Don’t worry about Laura, she won’t be back for a while.”

  Jeannie turned the light on in the middle room. Its rays passed between the curtains that separated the rooms. The voice of the person to whom Jeannie spoke was familiar, but Bill couldn’t place it. Suddenly, the curtains parted and the shadowy outline of a head appeared in the slit. A stream of light from the outside room fell across the bed. Bill and Rita cringed self-consciously.

  “Anybody home?” Jeannie whispered with anticipation into the darkened room.

  “Yes, it’s me. Scram!” Rita commanded, trying to retain her composure and firm control of the situation. She looked furtively at Bill, then back to Jeannie, staring at her imperiously, wanting her to leave.

  “Oh … okay. Sorry.” Jeannie slipped her head out of the slit and returned to her guest.

  “Who’s there?” Josh asked loudly enough for Rita and Bill to hear.

  “Rita.”

  “Say Rita …” Josh called.

  “What?”

  “Are you going to make it to the studio tomorrow? We’re having that party, you know?”

  “Oh, sure, I’ll be there,” she acquiesed, not wishing to converse.

  The light was snapped on in the front room. They could hear Jeannie and Josh moving further away. The phonograph was started and music began to filter through the apartment. Rita and Bill lay back in the bed.

  “Josh goes to dancing class tomorrow. They have a party about every two weeks. Josh invited me to go with him! It’s something to do,” she explained whisperingly to Bill.

  Silently they listened to the music. The apartment began to vibrate as the two in the front room danced. Rita’s hand entwined Bill’s. They were still somewhat nervous, but they pressed each other’s hand to assure confidence. The ceiling was now turned steel-grey from the light stealing through the curtains. Two long, pencil-thin lines of brightness were etched across the ceiling. The music ended. Jeannie and Josh returned to the middle room. There was the clatter of pots being taken off the door of a closet. Rita and Bill breathed lightly to minimize their presence. They felt the slight moving of each other’s body as they twisted occasionally, heard the squeak of the faucet as it turned, the rush of water through the pipes, and the water falling into a coffee pot. All reality seemed to be magnified in the darkness, and they could hear all the sounds in the world, as if they were right in the midst of society—a society that was aware of their being in bed and was waiting for the right—the most embarrassing—moment to expose them.

  “Anybody want any coffee?” asked Jeannie, directing her question to the bedroom.

  “I’ll take a cup,” called Rita. “Do you want any?” she asked Bill softly.

  “Sure, I’ll take a cup … black,” he whispered.

  “Two cups of black, please.”

  “Okay, just as soon as it boils.”

  “Somebody in there?” Josh asked curiously.

  “Sure there is, … Rita.”

  “No, … besides her?”

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “The two cups of coffee. Is there anybody in there?”

  “For a bright boy you talk too much. Take some cups out of the closet and stop asking so many questions.”

  China clinked as it was taken from the closet.

  “Say Rita,” Jeannie called,” Josh thinks he should get married and settle down. I told him he was crazy. What do you say?”

  “Are you nuts?” Rita sat up in bed. The covers fell to her waist, revealing her breasts. Her hands lay outside the covers in the hollow between the two bulges of blanket that were her legs. “I think you just need a woman.”

  “That’s true too,” agreed Josh, “but I was thinking it might be nice to live with a chick that I really dig. I don’t mean get married and all that crap—you know, a ceremony and all that corny jazz—I mean, like living with some chick who is really great,
compatible. I think that’d be kind of groovy.”

  “Well, that’s not a bad idea. Heaven is supposed to be great too. But you’re on earth, man, and you won’t find any customers for that jazz around here. We like our freedom. When you live with a cat, besides a whole bunch of garbage and dull crap and fights and things, when you fall out, man, there’s a big hassle over the apartment, and who belongs to what, and this is mine. No sir, man, who needs it?”

  “Sure,” agreed Jeannie, picking up the conversation. “This way, man, you pick up your hat and coat and split any time. Oh, oh, the water’s boiling.” She rushed to the stove. The tinkle of china again drifted through the curtains. Rita turned to Bill and continued the conversation privately.

  “I figure this way I can meet all the people I want and do whatever I want and not have anyone tell me I should go out with only him or do this or say that. You know? I don’t think I want to settle down with one man right now. I’m not set for it. I have to live a bit first. I want to look around the world, have a little fun first. What could be more of a ball? We live here and no one bothers anyone. We all have our own friends and ideas and it works out fine.”

  “Here’s your coffee,” said Jeannie as she backed through the curtains. She held two steaming cups in her hands. As she entered, the curtains parted, and Bill saw Josh sitting cross-legged on a pillow in the middle room. Josh held his coffee cup in his hand as he tried to peer into the bedroom. The curtains fluttered closed and Jeannie handed Bill a cup.

  “Hi,” she said, looking at him with interest, a vague smile coloring her mouth. “Weren’t you the one who wanted a match at the Seventh Avenue before?”

  “Yep. Thanks,” he said curtly, a bit annoyed at his disadvantageous position. He took the cup from her hand. “Oww … God damn it, this is hot,” he exclaimed to distract from his discomfort.

  “Well, what did you expect, cold coffee, silly?” asked Rita. “I keep a good maid who knows how to make coffee for my friends.” She looked at Jeannie and laughed, partly to cover her own discomfort.

  “Maid?” Jeannie feigned annoyance. She pulled the pillow from behind Rita and dropped it across Rita’s head.

  “Watch out! Oh, for shit’s sake.” Rita jumped up. “Now you got coffee over the whole God damn bed.”

  Jeannie burst into hysterical laughter. She fell back and slumped against the dresser for support.

  “Jesus, what an ass you are sometimes, Jeannie.” Rita stood on the bed, her cup in her hand, oblivious, in her excitement, to her nakedness. She jumped off the bed and held the sheet off the wet spots. Bill remained in bed on the partially dry side. His laugh was deep-voiced. He and Jeannie filled the room with a counterpoint of mirth. Josh, hearing the howls of laughter, gladly stuck his head through the split in the curtains. He wore a big smile in preparation to laugh at something funny. He added his deep-throated laugh to the melee, his eyes eagerly studying Rita’s nakedness. Rita let the soaking sheet flop down on the mattress hopelessly, aware of and now turning her attention to disposing of the embarrassing intruders.

  “You should have seen yourself jump out of that bed,” gasped Jeannie laughingly. “It was the funniest thing …”

  “Oh, it was funny, was it?” Rita took the pillow and slammed Jeannie with it, knocking her toward the door. “You’ll see how funny it is if you don’t get the hell out of here, you bitch.”

  Everyone resumed the laughter that had started to ebb. Jeannie became so hysterical she stumbled to the door. Rita again batted her fiercely with the pillow. Josh stood at the door, smiling, still ogling Rita. Jeannie bumped against him, pushing him back through the doorway as she made her way away from the flying pillow.

  “Daughter-of-a-bitch,” shouted Rita half laughing, half serious and annoyed. She stood at the doorway staring at the drawn curtains. In the other room, Jeannie and Josh were still laughing. Jeannie had the ability to laugh, once started, for many minutes on end, and she was now laughing uncontrollably. Her laughter kept everyone else laughing.

  “Hey,” Bill called softly to Rita, amusement coloring his voice, “come over here.… It’s getting cold here without you.” He studied her body as she walked toward him.

  Rita smiled with resigned politeness. She reached for the covers. She was embarrassed and wanted to hide herself from Bill’s eyes. This scene left her disenchanted, feeling cold and slutty. She wanted to let Bill play out his part and be rid of him, be alone; she felt hot tears in her eyes.

  “I’ll have to sleep on your side of the bed …” she forced herself to say playfully. “This side is wet.”

  “That’s okay, we only need one side of the bed anyway.” He grinned.

  Rita’s face streaked with a smile as she slipped under the covers.

  “Hey, Rita,” Josh called from the other room, “… man, you’re looking great.… No kidding.”

  “Hey, you bald-headed bastard,” scolded Jeannie. “You stop flirting with the other girls in this apartment or I’ll give you a bust in the mouth.”

  “Wild, baby, wild,” Josh exclaimed enthusiastically. Jeannie laughed. There was the sound of movement in the other room.

  “Stop it, you crazy bastard … Stop it!” Jeannie protested playfully. “Ohhh,… ohhh, Josh.” There was a shrill scream, followed by wanton laughter. “Ohh, Josh, … you’re driving me crazy.” There was a bumping shuffle of movement, and a hurried rustling of clothes, mingled with gasps. Neither Bill nor Rita paid any attention to it.

  3

  The door leading into the apartment was eased open by the pressure of Laura’s hand. Light from the outside hall pierced the opening, slicing a slim V out of the dark interior. Portions of the rug and furniture were illumed. A white blanket covering the convertible sofa bulged with sleeping figures. Laura caught a glimpse of the double bulge and instantly jerked the opening door to a stop. Dumbstruck, her mouth fell open, her eyes widened. She angled her head to better see through the small opening between the door and its frame. The blanket, not completely covering Jeannie, revealed her naked arm stretched across Josh’s shoulders. Laura stared blankly at this apparition for many minutes, all her muscles still, tense. Then she shrugged forlornly. Pressing the door, she swung it further open slowly and quietly.

  The entire apartment was cast with the dim light from the hall. Laura’s vague figure was projected hugely on the far wall. Jeannie and Josh slept on undisturbed. Laura removed her shoes, tiptoed into the apartment, and eased the door shut. Groping, she felt her way through the dark toward the bedroom. Finding the door frame, she glanced back at Jeannie’s bed. The form of the sleepers was now silhouetted against the deep blue-black of the windows in the front room. Laura turned, and, in the naked quiet, she could hear the bones in her neck pivoting.

  Nothing stirred in the bedroom, Rita’s presence being discerable only by her breathing. The breathing, however, was peculiarly heavy, uneven. Laura froze, her eyes straining against the dark void, peering toward the bed, toward the source of the breathing. Gradually, two reclining, purplish bulges seemed to rise from the murky depths, so close together as to appear to be one gigantic, slumbering monster. The irregular breathing had caused Laura to suspect the presence of a second person, yet she stood gaping at the bed flabbergasted.

  Laura’s astonishment at the scene before her was intensified by the thought of having her bed—her own, one and only, bed—usurped, … and by Rita! Rita was sleeping, sharing the bed with someone else, without even asking Laura. This, her refuge, the only place wherein she was safe and warm, was now not safe, or warm, or even always hers. Oh well, she shrugged helplessly, resignedly, her lips pursing to stave off tears. Rita didn’t do it to be mean. She’s just trying to have some fun. She just forgot to tell me. Laura tried to smile, but her face twisted into an agonized grimace. With the hand not holding her shoes, she slid open the top drawer of her dresser. The drawer ground with a wood-on-wood friction sound, punctuated by the sharp metal clink of the drawer pull falling back into place. Laura listene
d, hoping she had not disturbed anyone. The breathing did not falter. She reached inside the drawer, her hand fumbling toward the left side. She felt beneath handkerchiefs for the crispness of folded bills. Finding them, she sifted them through her fingers, selected one, and put it in her pocket. Her hand replaced the remaining notes under the handkerchiefs and slid the drawer closed. The drawer jammed, the friction sound replaced by a loud squeal.

  “Who’s that?” inquired Rita’s sleep-muffled voice.

  “It’s me,” whispered Laura in a voice slighter than usual. There was a hint of whine in her tone.

  “I’m sorry, honey. We fell asleep. Here, I’ll give you my pillow.… Please don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Laura assured her vaguely, not wanting to disturb anyone, “I think I’ll go out for a while anyway.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Rita whispered imperatively. “There’s a couch inside. Don’t go out.”

  Laura didn’t want to disappoint Rita, but she just had to get out—out into the fresh air—and breathe. “No, I feel like going out. I’m going to meet someone. I’ll see you later.”

  “Come here, will you, for crying-out-Christ,” called Rita more loudly.

  Bill stirred, cleared his throat, then twisted toward the outside of the bed. Both girls silently watched him.

  “I’ll be okay,” Laura assured Rita in a whisper, backing toward the curtains. She parted them, quickly stepped across the room, opened the door, and exited into the hallway. Rita sat up, guiltily listening to Laura’s fading footfalls on the steps.

  The metal guard on the edge of each step clattered under Laura’s feet as she descended through the dismal, yellow-walled halls. The yellowness was intensified by the single, extremely dim, almost tan, bare bulb burning at the top of each flight of steps. Dark brown doors were set in pairs at each end of the landings. Two additional doors were cut into the side wall of the narrow landing passages. These were the common toilets the tenants shared—two end door apartments to a toilet. Laura became conscious of the loudness of her descent, and apprehensively tiptoed down the remaining steps.