American Sextet Read Online Free PDF

adolescent. It always disgusted him, reminding him of his
joyless existence and stimulating his self-pity.
    Watching the girl in his drunken state, he became convinced
she was throwing out a special scent, sending him a personal message. He
ordered two more rye doubles in quick succession.
    He watched in awe, inspired by the awakening desire in
himself. Still, his reporter's instinct nagged at him. How had this lovely
woman come to this place? Was he investing her with a mystique that didn't
exist, something dredged up from his own intense yearning? He persisted in
questioning his reaction to the woman--it was the curse of the journalist. He
had to hack it to the bone.
    His excitement grew and he wondered if the others felt as
he did. Even the old man had ceased his nodding, a thin smile lighting up his
unkempt whiskered face.
    Not only me, he told himself, his journalist's mind quickly
flipping the coin of logic. The men were ready for it, conditioned. How many
would rush home and finish it with their blubbery, protesting wives?
    The music's end was a signal to the bartender, who flicked
the light, darkening the stage and the woman disappeared. The spectators
settled up, emptied their glasses, and filed out into the night.
    "One for the road." He signaled the bartender,
who hurried over and poured.
    Jason caressed the glass as the bartender mopped the bar
clean. He felt his stomach tighten as he mustered the courage to say what had
to be said. Emptying his glass, he felt the spur of sudden inner heat and the
drunken illusion of courage.
    "She do private performances?"
    The man scowled, looked up for a moment, then went back
about his mopping.
    "That's her business," he said. He looked at
Jason's empty glass, an unmistakable gesture of termination.
    "I'll lay a hundred on you."
    "On me?"
    "You know what I mean," Jason said. For him, it
was totally off the track, as if he was suddenly not in charge of himself. What
the hell am I doing?
    "And a hundred for her." He seemed to be saying
it in another language, another voice. He took out his roll and put it on the
bar. Like in the movies, he thought. Choreographed machismo.
    "Hey Dot," the bartender called out in a booming
voice. There was silence, then a rustle behind the walls of bottles. She came
out from a doorway in tight jeans and T-shirt.
    "He wants to give you a C," the bartender said,
not mentioning his own stake in the enterprise. She came closer. Such close
proximity did not shatter the illusion. She inspected Jason and smiled, seeming
childlike, innocent. If there was a hardness in her, it didn't show.
    "I'm Jason Martin," he said awkwardly, clearing
his throat.
    "I told him it wasn't my business," the bartender
said quickly, suggesting to Jason that there was nothing more between them.
Jason was thankful for that.
    "My boyfriend's in the mines 'till five," she
said hesitantly, betraying her interest. A part of himself was disgusted. She
looked toward the bartender.
    "What's your business is your business," he said,
clearly anxious to close.
    "I'm just down the road at Smart's," Jason
pressed. "Leaving tomorrow. Just passing through."
    Surely it's not her first time, he told himself, but she
seemed so guileless. Was she that good an actress? Or was it natural? That was
too much to hope for.
    "I have to pick him up at five," she said,
apologetically. A battered clock on the wall read 3 A.M. Fifty bucks an hour,
he thought. More than I make. She seemed to be watching him closely.
    "Where you from?" It was the first slight crack
in the illusion, the first hint that her junior league facade wasn't real. He
shook off the thought. He needed her. Needed her now. But why? He was following
a lead, he told himself.
    "Washington, D.C.," he said.
    "Gosh."
    This had to be the real thing, he told himself. He couldn't
remember the last time he'd heard "gosh," especially from a woman.
    "You ever met the President?"
    He couldn't believe it, nodding finally.
    "Gosh," she said again.
    He