Threesome - Lawrence Block [8]
I put a stack of records on. The Modern Jazz Quartet, J.J. and Kai, George Shearing. (Whatever happened to all those people?) We talked. I don’t remember what about. Rhoda was in a depression and trying to laugh and drink her way out of it. I was keeping her company, but not doing the world’s best job of it.
“Prissy?”
“Hmmm?”
“Everything’s so alone, isn’t it?”
“Everything’s a pain in the ass.”
“I think you’ve broken new philosophical ground. Everything’s a pain in the ass.”
“It really is.”
“I’ll tell you something, most people are a pain in the ass.”
“An unqualified pain in the ass.”
“How do you qualify one?”
“You have to pass an examination. On the state level, I think. What would I do if you didn’t exist?”
“It’s like God. You would have to invent me.”
“God would have to invent you?”
“No, I mean—”
“I know what you mean. I always know what you mean. We always know what we mean. Rho, I couldn’t study, I fell asleep over the book.”
“Do you think we’ll ever fall in love?”
“With our books?”
“With men. Boys. Whatever.”
“I don’t know. They’re all—”
“I know.”
“Sometimes I think I’m too selfish to fall in love. I mean too much involved with myself, actually.”
“I don’t think you’re a selfish person at all. Not even in that sense.”
“I don’t think I’m lovable.”
“Hell, pudding, I love you.”
“And I love you, but—”
“That’s the solution, then. We’ll become lesbians. This wine isn’t so bad once you get used to it.”
“When will that happen? I don’t seem to be getting used to it.”
“It takes time, that’s all. You know, we really could become lesbians.”
“I wish they had courses in it.”
“What would be more natural, Prissy, than for two people who love each other to become lovers?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re very beautiful.”
“Oh, come off it.”
“What would you do if I kissed you?”
“Close my eyes and think of Paul Newman.”
“Come here and try it.”
“Huh?”
Sitting upright, the bedsheet falling away from her full breasts: “Get over here and kiss me.”
Django, by the Modern Jazz Quartet. The smells of cigarette smoke and wine and unwashed clothes. Going to the bed, head buzzing with a feel of unreality, weird, weird. Her eyes draw me as light draws insects. Depths and intricacies. Kissing, her mouth under mine, warm, yielding, and then her arms flung convulsively around me, holding me. Her breasts under my breasts.
Voices in my brain. One, slightly hysterical, shouting that I was kissing my roommate, for Christ’s sake, that I was kissing a girl, for Christ’s sake, that I must be out of my mind or hopelessly perverted. A voice of soft reason saying Be careful, go slow, be careful, this is deep water. And another voice, light and free as myself, saying airily that nothing could feel this good and have anything bad about it.
“Did you think of Paul Newman?”
“I thought of you.”
“This is dynamite. Go lock the door.”
“Do you think—”
“Yes. And take off your clothes.”
“I feel embarrassed.”
“Oh, please.”
“I do. I feel completely strange.”
“So do I. Oh, you’re so beautiful, Priss. Come in here with me. Oh, Jesus. How we feel together. Oh, God, kiss me.”
“Rho—”
“Sweet Prissy.”
“Do you know what to do? Have you ever—”
“No.”
“Neither have I. Is one of us supposed to be the boy or something?”
“No, I think we can both be the girl.”
“But—”
“Love, there’s nobody watching. There is only us. And no masks. We can just do whatever we want. Oh, I love you, I want to kiss you and hold you and touch you. Do you like this? I love your breasts.”
“They’re so small.”
“Like fine porcelain teacups. I shall sip tea from them. How nice you taste.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Ha, look what I found. A pwetty wittow pussy cat! Such a nice little pussy and it’s all wet. It must like this.”
“Oh, God, it does.”
“I’m wet too, Priss. Touch me. Oh, yes, Christ, yes, touch me forever. Oh, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop. Oh!”
And, after a moment, “Who would have believed it? It happened so quickly. I’ve never had anything like that feeling, the most