Chapter 6

Bernie sat on the couch in Madge's apartment. He and Madge had just returned from dropping Jan off at the airport. She'd got a call that afternoon that her mother was in the hospital with a broken hip. She'd fallen while getting out of a taxi after a party. She was plastered, according to the neighbor across the hall who had called Jan, collect, and Jan had to take time off work to go home.

What next, Bernie thought. He closed his eyes, taking a sip of the drink Madge had fixed him and thinking about Jan's plane. In his mind he could see it coming in, reminding him of the plane that was due in just a few hours from Macon, Georgia. Bernie tried to push the thought from his mind. It had nothing to do with him. What the hell did it have to do with him?

He opened his eyes and caught Madge staring at him. She looked down. They had hardly spoken a word to each other the whole night. Not since that morning when she'd yelled at him through the bathroom door. The thing about Jan had sort of forced them upon one another.

Finally, as though reading Bernie's thoughts, Madge spoke.

"I've been meaning to say something about this morning. I guess I said some rotten things."

"That's all right," Bernie said.

"No, it isn't. I had no right to say what I did. I guess I was just upset."

"You only said what you think," Bernie said, realizing he was pushing the subject. But he wanted to because it was all such a damn lie. It was too ridiculous.

"So, maybe I did," Madge snapped. She bit her lip, aware they were on the brink of fighting again. She didn't want to. Not again-not ever again! Jan was gone now. Maybe now-maybe ... but she couldn't help herself. "And maybe I was right!"

"You can think what you want," Bernie said. "Everybody else does. It doesn't bother me."

"Like hell it doesn't!" Madge said. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Shut up," Bernie said, starting to lose control. "Just shut up, Madge!"

"I thought so!"

"Well, you thought wrong!"

"Did I? Prove it!"

"What?"

"I said prove it! Right now-with me!"

Bernie frowned at her and Madge winced, feeling her face turn crimson. My God, she thought. What the hell are you doing, girl? Trying to put the make on Bernie? Not Bernie-Not this way-Not like that! She was relieved when Bernie finally looked away.

"I don't have to prove anything to anyone," he said.

"You must think I'm a bitch," Madge said finally, sitting on the couch next to him.

With a grin she withdrew the challenge and Bernie shrugged. She stared into her drink, stirring the liquor in her glass with one finger. She was aware her face was still flushed and she knew Bernie was staring at her. She was also aware of the moisture building up in her eyes, ready to spill over.

"What's the matter," Bernie said.

"Nothing," Madge said, then she added. "It must be getting pretty late."

Bernie reached out his glass and placed it against her forehead. She flinched at first, uncertain what he was doing, but when she felt the cool moistness of the glass on her skin she closed her eyes. Her head fell back on the couch and she sighed, feeling good. And then it brushed her cheek and she laughed softly. She didn't dare open her eyes for fear it would stop, because it was warm and moist and it wasn't the glass.

"About what you just said before," Bernie whispered. "Do you-do you still want-"

"I didn't mean that," Madge said, feeling herself trembling. "Not the way it sounded."

She felt his hand on her arm and when she did open her eyes, she saw his eyelids shut tight, inches from her face, and she felt his hand searching up her arm and over her shoulder. She kept talking, whispering now, trying to say what she did mean even though he wasn't listening, while his fingers undid the buttons of her green waitress' uniform and pushed the material aside, then slid under the silk that was her slip. She stopped talking then, absorbing the feel of his hand as it searched and traced, moving deliberately, and it felt good. That was all she could think about.

Nothing else mattered because it felt good and she slid her arm around him, urging him forward until they found one another and she tasted his mouth and it was delicious.

She wanted to scream-because now he was trembling, too, and she told herself it didn't matter. It didn't matter. And her hands, seeming to move on their own, searched under his clothes and for the first time she found his body and he responded.

She fell back on the couch and he moved with her. His arms locked around her and his face probed deeply against the soft cup of her throat.

"Bernie!" Madge whispered harshly while her hands moved up and down over his back.

"You don't have to, Bernie! You don't have to prove anything to me."

"I'm not trying to," Bernie whispered. "It's just that I want. I really want."

"Then love me," Madge said and her arms stopped moving on his back. They fell to her sides, relaxed, inert, while he pushed aside the clothes that stood between them. Finally she felt his body press experimentally against hers.

Now he was laughing! She wanted to cry out because he was laughing and the laughter tickled her skin and burned into her pores. Her head moved from side to side as though with motion to drown out the sound. Her mind said, No, no, not this way, not this way, not like all the others, while she stiffened and felt the warmth of his mouth exploring her. Not this way!

"Bernie, Bernie," she whispered and it was a plea. She felt his body move on her until it covered her and when it found her, she strained to let him in and in the darkness she tried to tell herself it didn't matter. It was right! It was right! She felt his hand clamp on her shoulders. She felt his body stiffen-and she knew it did matter. It mattered more than anything else. It mattered more than the moment, more than life itself-and then she screamed.

She pushed him away and in response he rolled onto his side, suddenly inert, as though he had died, as though quick-frozen by the sound of her cry.

In the darkness she covered him with herself. Her arms held him desperately while she whispered. She kissed lips that didn't respond and his chest was suddenly cold and her lips brushed over his eyes to soak up the tears that were escaping. In the darkness he could weep.

"Not this way," she begged. "Please, God, just this once." He lay as though dead and she thought, Go to sleep, go to sleep, and tomorrow we won't remember. Tomorrow it'll never have happened and it won't be too late. Tomorrow you can tell me you love me and I'll believe you. And it'll be all right!

"Not this way!" she whispered aloud. She placed a hand on his face. "Please! Understand, Bernie."

In the darkness he nodded. She felt his face move against her hand. She felt his arm move up and slide over her back and he held her. She felt his breathing grow regular and the trembling stopped and she knew he understood.

While he stared at the ceiling, waiting for the morning, watching the night while it changed from solid black to tiny specks of grey that danced in front of his eyes, he smiled because he knew the difference between love and sinning and he understood.