Ronald Rabbit Is a Dirty Old Man - Lawrence Block [42]
Muggsworth, Caulder, Travis & Beale
437 Piper Blvd.
Richmond, Va.
Dear Lisa:
Forgive me for writing you in care of your attorneys. I somehow misplaced your address, but knew that it would be safe to write you in this fashion. Certainly a man like your father would not dream of opening your mail, not with his high ethical standards.
Of course if he did open it, he would be sure to seal it in such a way that you wouldn’t suspect a thing. Makes you stop and wonder, doesn’t it?
But my purpose in writing is not to provoke you, much as you may think so. Actually I’ve mellowed lately to a degree which might surprise you. If you’ll think back to your last letter, you were dead certain while writing it that I would pass it on to your father. As a matter of fact, I haven’t passed it on to anyone. Of course Rozanne has read it, along with various people who have turned up at the apartment, but there’s no reason for that to bother you.
As a matter of fact, it’s that very letter that prompts me to write this one. For a couple of weeks now I’ve been expecting you to write or call or turn up on my doorstep, and was rather looking forward to a reunion with you. I know Rozanne has expressed an interest in meeting you, and it is an interest I share all the way.
I really expected you to show up this past weekend. You might say I was counting on it, and so was Rozanne. But fortunately we did have company, as it happened. Ellen Jamison turned up Saturday afternoon and stayed with us until just after lunch Sunday, when she had to catch a bus back to Bryn Mawr. While her presence wouldn’t have made you any less welcome—Ellen has heard a lot about you and would like to meet you sometime—it might have been just the slightest bit awkward having two guests, as our space here on West 20th Street is somewhat limited. There’s only the one bed, and four would be an awfully tight squeeze.
Well, if nothing else, Lisa love, I can at least tell you what you missed out on. You already know a lot about Rozanne, because I remember I sent you a copy of a letter I wrote to Rozanne herself. Suffice it to say that the situation worked itself out surprisingly well, and that the cloistered Italian virgin was turned into a sexual dynamo by the simple expedient of—
No, come to think of it, I’m not going to tell you how I did it.
Some other time, perhaps.
You’ll want a description of Rozanne, and of Ellen.
I’ve already described Ellen for you, but how do I know if you keep all my letters as faithfully as I keep yours? Here we go, from a letter I wrote to Steve Adel:
“On my right, Ellen Jamison, red-haired and slim-hipped and flat-chested and freckled. If her father ever loses his several million dollars, she can always earn a living posing for Norman Rockwell. She even has braces on her teeth.”
And now a description of Rozanne, from another letter to Steve:
“But one look at Rozanne and a guy like you would begin to salivate. The easiest way to describe it for you, Steve, is like so—picture your ultimate unattainable ideal in tits, improve on it, and you’ve got Rozanne…. Aside from her breasts, Rozanne is just an average beautiful girl. Long black hair, dark complexion, fierce eyebrows, deep, liquid dark-brown eyes, and a strong nose and chin. A slim, supple body that is far too slim and supple for those breasts (but who’s complaining, right?) tapering to a tiny waist and widening to a perfectly round ass. Hips designed for easy childbearing and joyful childconceiving. Good legs. Not great legs, but damned good legs.”
So there the three of us were in our apartment.
It was awkward at first, I’ll admit it. See, Rozanne had never made it with a girl before, and she was nervous about it, and the nervousness was contagious, as nervousness so often is. We had talked about it, Rozanne and I, but talking about it is not the same thing as doing it.
Rozanne was all for it, actually. She liked to talk about what she would do in a situation like this, or have me talk about what the daughters of Lancaster had done with each other. Talking about it served