The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [351]
“Me neither, sister. I ain’t never done this before, either. But you know, I’m a charitable guy, and I couldn’t resist helping you out. When I first got into the joint and saw you, I said to myself, there’s a little sister I like and I don’t mean maybe.”
“The same goes for me.”
“Thank you,” she said sarcastically, freeing herself from their arms.
“But why all the temperament? A minute ago we were getting along swimming, and now you’re ready to fly off the handle. This little business is natural, isn’t it? If you didn’t have the stuff, we wouldn’t have bitten on this proposition, would we? I got a wife myself, and I like her. She’s swell, and I don’t want any other wife. But a pleasant little vacation, you know. You got your man, and know that all the time together it isn’t so good. A little change and you can compare, see differences. It’s like discovering new tricks and perfecting your own technique.”
“I hope George doesn’t try your tactics of vacationing,” she laughed.
“With a little lady like you, maybe he shouldn’t. I’ll bet you keep him toeing the mark,” Coombs said, stuttering as he butted into the conversation.
“I’ll try and show you boys whether or not I’m able to make it worth while for my old man to be a one-woman man,” she said, winking lasciviously.
“Well, I’m getting anxious. How much farther have we got to go?” said Cohen.
“Oh, tell me how long must I wait? Can I have it now or must I hesitate?” Studs sing-songed.
“I live on the second floor of the yellow brick apartment house right down here. Come up, one by one, and give me a few minutes start. I have a gabby old crowd for neighbors, and what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“Looks like it’s going to be a good little piece,” Burke said while they watched her cross the street and trip on to her flat.
“What you say, Lonigan?” Coombs asked, grinning.
“She’s built for a bed,” Studs said, pleased that they smiled at his crack.
“I li-like her,” Coombs said seriously.
“I’ve been watching her around the joint for a couple of weeks now. If you lads ask me, I’d say she doesn’t get enough from George. Looks to me like she’s built for endurance. So this is our chance, boys. There’s smouldering passion in every inch of that dame’s chassis, and why let it smoulder. Four good men and true, well, we ought to give her enough.”
“Say, Cohen, I think you’re right,” Coombs said.
“I’m ready,” said Studs.
“Them’s my sentiments, I’m ready to face the test,” said Burke.
“Well, somebody s-start off and go up,” Coombs said.
“We’re to go up and wait and when we all get there fix up our turns, huh?” asked Burke.
“Yeh,” Cohen said.
“All right, Lonigan, you go and we’ll fo-follow.”
Nervous and anxious, he walked toward the building, kind of wishing he hadn’t gotten into it, because it might be dangerous, and still glad, because he needed it, and she was as good a piece as a guy could expect to get on quick notice. And wouldn’t this be some experience to talk about! He read the name on the second floor mailbox. George Jackson. Well, George, here goes.
When she admitted him, he saw her in pink bloomers with pink brassiere, her milky skin patched with a few pink blushes, her hips wider than he had thought, her breasts saggy, her body strong and muscular.
“I was getting ready,” she said, abashed.
“Yes,” he said, ill-at-ease, wanting to look at her, not certain how she’d take it. “The others are coming.”
One of her breasts flopped out from her brassiere as she shut the door, and clumsy, forgetting everything, he clutched at it, kissed her, tried to force and press himself stiffly against her.
“I’m not sorry I came to see you,” he said, roughly pawing at her, his voice hoarse.
“Wait, please,” she said, struggling to untangle herself. The bell rang. She pointed to the parlor.
“Well, this is certainly a surprise,” Coombs said dully.
“Would you wait in the parlor, please?”
“I s-say, Lonigan, this is certainly a