Chapter 14

Lou sat slouched on the couch in his apartment and slowly fondled the glass of bourbon in his hands. Tina had dumped him and changed the quality of his amorous landscape. He had been prepared for anything except to be ignored and buffeted by Tina's exploding shells. His arrogance of personal conceit had been fractured and he was frustrated with indecision.

He took a gulp and put the glass down. He pulled tissue from the table and wiped the drop on his chin. He tried to get himself to think clearly but his thoughts were like boomerangs returning relentlessly to himself and Tina. He remembered Lora and how he had set his sights on her in the elevator. There hadn't been another since. But she was meaningless. She had been very wonderful that night and he had taken a pleasurable allowance with a pretty colored girl-in which was lacking neither passion nor the willingness to abandon herself to him.

He glanced down at his shoes and seemed quietly mesmerized by his size. He rubbed his hose around the ankles. Strong, firm cotton fibers. He raised his hand and wondered if it was steady. Should he write his last will and testament? There was no joy in leaving nothing to everybody.

He realized that he was hungry-that he had not eaten all day. He felt the ravages of a sweet tapeworm licking his innards. He made himself a sandwich and devoured it hastily. Then he sat back on the couch and lit a cigarette, feeling all jammed up. He had proven something to himself. The world was a rotten place and he had a right to feel sad.

He stared at the door vaguely when the buzzer rang. He carried the glass of bourbon he had just refilled with him. Linda stood there smiling lightly.

"You know why I'm here, Lou?" she asked, coming into the room and glancing around.

He closed the door and said hello.

"Because I was determined to see you," she concluded.

He stepped back and glanced at her through murky eyes. "You look pretty as hell, Linda," he said.

"So give me a drink and shove me into heaven," she said, with a pert smile.

He brought the drink to the couch and she smelled it first, "Just what I need, Lou, really."

Her skirt was tight and it crawled along her golden thighs and when she let it rest there he kept staring.

"What's on your mind, Linda?"

"I've got to return to New York sooner than I expected." She paused to take another sip. "But before I go I want to have a few things out with you."

She noticed the frown on his face and she leaned forward a little. "Oh, I have nothing to lose, Lou, so I'm going to spill it all," she said with authority.

He wondered what she was talking about. "I don't feel like talking, Linda, and less like listening," he said.

"Sit down here," Lou," she insisted.

He sat down reluctantly and stared at her. "Go on. Linda, go on," he said slowly, "I'll try to be a dear listener." He felt like a fool just sitting there with a new curiosity before him.

Linda framed a swift smile and puffed on her cigarette.

"Listen, Lou," she started in a husky voice, "I want you to know that I still love you and I'm saying what's coming only because I think it's best for you." She looked at him with studied concentration, measuring him coldly. "Lou-I know everything about you-everything there is to know, believe me."

He stared at her strict little dress and cocky hat to match and wondered what she knew about him. His face took on a guarded look. "I'm listening, Linda," he said.

"You're finished here, Lou, it's going to get around that you've been messing regularly with the very girls the paper is trying to expose."

His eyes went suddenly yellow like a tarnished trumpet. There was no doubt what she had in mind. His blood curdled and his palms went soft and moist. His voice was cotton.

"How do you know, Linda?"

"In the name of God, Lou, be realistic," she pleaded. "There's nothing left for you to salvage. Here in this town you're nothing but a big fish in a little pond. Come back to New York with me. I'll get you a job on one of the city papers or my very own magazine. I'll work it out, Lou, try to understand. You're a good writer, Lou, better than I'll ever be."

He shook his head. "I can't leave. I've got pride, you understand, Linda," he said firmly.

"In this situation there's nothing to be said for pride, Lou." She reached over and took his hand. "Don't wait until they back up a hearse for you.

He felt a quick wave of hate, fear and sickness. Everyone was stepping over him-even Linda. Only Lora refused to get into step. A deep sadness bit into him. He was no longer the fat success. There was an uneasy silence and he raised his head to stare at her. She was lovely in a wild way and now she was trying to help him forget the sad tunes bouncing in his head. Linda was trying to be his cushion. Why were woman always his cushion? He wasn't lazy. He knew how and when to sweat and strain. Did they think he was lazy and soft? He reached over and squeezed Linda's hand.

"You make sense and you mean well, Linda, I'm sure of that. But this is all so sudden," he said.

She took a long swallow of her drink and set the glass on the table beside her. "I'll give you three days-no longer. Figure the rest out for yourself. But if I were you, Lou, I wouldn't take somebody I know into my confidence," she said slyly.

He looked up. "Who are you talking about?"

Her eyes tensed. "Marilyn-beware of the ideas of Marilyn, Lou," she said dramatically.

He began to shiver openly. "Are you crazy, Linda?"

She laughed. "Do I look nuts, Lou?"

"What's Marilyn got to do with all this?"

"She knows all about you-the same as I do-and you may be sure in her rage of jealousy she will spare nothing to rip you to pieces and throw the bloody remains in the gutter."

He felt as though she was pouring ice down his back.

"You're sure, Linda?"

"You don't have to believe it if you don't want to," Linda said.

He was sure of one thing. She hadn't gone fishing and he was not the angler's paradise. She had dug in the Garden Street muck and come up with an odd blight. His reasoning was muffled. He stared at her-she like a lacquered rose-he caught between impulse to laugh or cry. He heard a small voice within him-without any range-urging him to protest. But he could barely hear his own thinking.

She patted him on the back before she left and he remained sitting on the couch staring at the ceiling. Even with himself-the couch was empty and so was the room. He walked to the window and raised it-took a deep breath of cool evening air and lowered it. He stood a little unsteadily as he went to the phone and dialed Lora.

"I want to come over, Lora, I want to come over right now," he said firmly into the phone.

He was suddenly bottled fire-capped too long.

"I'll wait, Lou, but hurry," he heard her say.

Pile enough women on top of each other and you have carpeted steps all the way to anywhere, he recalled as he bolted through the door.