Part 6 (1/2)
”Coming back to my place?” I asked.
”No, not tonight. I have to go home and change clothes for the morning,” Allison said.
”Can I stay with you tonight at your place?”
”I don't think that would be fair to you.”
”What do you mean?” I asked.
”Sloane, let's face it. You can't sleep in the same bed with me again without wanting to make love. Well, I don't want it.”
”Thanks, lady. It was kind of you to tell me before I started getting foolish ideas. What happened to that bit about the run-of-the-play contract?”
”That still stands,” Allison said. ”It's just for the present. I couldn't take s.e.x now. Not after what happened. Please try to understand. It won't last forever. I'll be all right in a little while.”
Yeah, I understood. That's my specialtya”understanding when I have no other choice. But I didn't like it.
I put Allison in a cab and explained to her that I felt like walking home. I waited until her cab was out of sight then I hailed a cab and headed for the Village. I was on my way to find me a woman.
I couldn't blame Allison. Her behavior was perfectly logical. But, G.o.dd.a.m.n it I just couldn't take it. How long did she think she could just keep me waiting? I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life sitting by the river and feeling sorry for myself.
The Harbor was the big deal gay bar that season. It would have its moment of glory for a while and then the crowd would start going somewhere else. For the time being anyway it was the best lesbian pickup joint in town.
I took a seat at the end of the bar near the cigarette machine. That way I could see the length of the bar and, by turning slightly, take in the booths too. I had had two whiskey sours with Allison. Now I ordered the whiskey neat and double.
There was an all right looking specimen at the other end of the bar. She was sitting alone and she looked like she didn't like it. I saw her looking at me but I let her wait.
After a while I went over. ”Mind if I join you?” I asked rhetorically, pulling up a stool as I spoke.
”Please do. My name's Betty Jean. I'm from Atlanta. Where are you from?”
”Vermont. I was brought up on a farm.” Yeah, me and Laurence Olivier. For some crazy reason I felt like lying about everything that night.
”Oh, I wish I lived on a farm. I just love nature, don't you?” she asked, lifting her gla.s.s with both hands. The nails were so long and red that they frightened me.
”No, I like the city. I hate nature,” I said.
”I like the city, too. I bet we like a lot of the same things,” Betty Jean said.
”That remains to be seen.” I tried to make that come out with a diabolical undertone but it fell flat.
”I like lots of things. You know, cultural things,” Betty Jean ranted on. ”But there are so few girls who really appreciate the finer things in life. You're different. I can tell. Do you like music?”
”Yes.”
”I mean cla.s.sical music.”
”Yes, I like cla.s.sical music. Some of it anyway.”
”But I mean real longhair music. Like The Student Prince,” Betty Jean said.
That did it. I told Betty Jean that I didn't go for eggheads and left.
Someone was sitting on the stool I had occupied. I stood next to her, digging her in the mirror. She wasn't bad. Not bad at all.
”Alone?” she asked me.
”I was.”
”That's bad. That's real bad. I think we should do something about that situation. My name's Dinah.”
I introduced myself, giving the name of Jean. Dinah asked if she could buy me a drink. I accepted. Things were looking up.
”What do you do?” she asked me.
”I work in a book store,” I said.
She gave me a long searching look. ”c.r.a.p,” she said succinctly. ”You don't look like the type.”
”What's the type?”
”What you don't look like. What do you really do?”
I told her the truth, omitting names.
”You don't belong there. You shouldn't work at all. I can see you sitting at home taking care of the house for some real nice butch,” she said.
I roared with laughter. She couldn't have been more off base.
”Don't laugh, baby,” Dinah said. ”I've met girls like you before. They just haven't met the right woman, that's why they're aggressive. What you need is a real butch to take care of you. Not one of those phonies you meet down the Village who are one thing today and another tomorrow. I don't go for that. I'm butch all the way and I always will be.”
I didn't know what to say. What did she expect, congratulations or condolences?
”Now take you, baby,” Dinah continued. ”If you were my woman I'd have you dressed in nice little dresses all the time. Not those slacks like you're wearing now. They just don't suit you, baby. That's my bit.”
”I like to wear slacks.”
”You'll get over that, baby. You just need a good butch,” she said.
I took out a cigarette and started to light it. Dinah s.n.a.t.c.hed the lighter out of my hand and lit my cigarette for me.
”What are you trying to do, baby? Castrate me?” she asked.
I had had it. I told Dinah I had to go see a man about an anxiety syndrome and left.
I wanted to go home alone like I wanted to chop off my left toe. But staying in that playground for the feeble-minded was worse.
Luckily, by the time I got home I was tired enough to go right to sleep.