slapped the bar and gathered his bills in a fist.
Pausing in his mopping, the bartender winked at him.
"I'll be a minute," she said, hurrying off. He
watched her move away in her tight jeans.
"He's a jealous bastard, her boyfriend. Better be
careful."
Jason peeled off two fifties, putting them in the man's
hammy hand. His stubby fingers closed quickly and he slipped them into a side
pocket.
"I don't know from nothin'. I'm supposed to be
watching out for her."
"I won't hurt her," he muttered. Man's greed could
not be overestimated, he thought. And his ability to corrupt.
She came back looking neat and freshly scrubbed, a tiny
hint of lipstick, like a kid ready for her first date.
"I walked," Jason said.
"I'll take Jim's pickup."
"You crazy, Dot," the bartender said.
"Better not," she replied, after a hesitant
frown.
On the road, he walked beside her, listening to the sounds
their shoes made on the gravel. Her high heels gave her walk an uncommon
stiffness. They seemed like ordinary lovers on a warm summer night.
"You do this much?" he asked.
"Do what?"
She hadn't even broken stride. It was a novice's inevitable
question, as if he had to be genuinely attracted in order to make the
transaction palatable. He let it pass.
A canopy of stars was overhead, the road deserted, the air
heavy with the scent of wild honeysuckle. He was thankful that Art Smart's neon
was turned off. Silently she walked beside him, like a trained puppy. He
reached out and took her hand; her fingers returned the pressure. He felt
wanted. The tide of anger receded as he unlocked the door and let her into the
room.
"Don't," he said as she flicked on the overhead
light revealing the disarray. The bed was mussed and dirty underwear was strewn
on the floor. A chair in the corner was piled with sweat-stained shirts and
stray socks. He felt embarrassed by his untidiness until she turned off the
light.
"You a writer?" she asked, having noticed his
typewriter.
"Newspaperman."
The "gosh" again.
He lit a cigarette and sat cross-legged on the bed, kicking
off his shoes.
"I write for the Washington Post . Doing a story
on the mines."
"The mines? That's boring."
She started to undress, unzipping the fly of her jeans and
stepping out of them. The tumescence was instantly triggered again. She lifted
her T-shirt.
"You're a remarkably beautiful woman," he said,
feeling the pulse in his throat.
"You want to see me dance?" she asked.
"I saw that."
"It's fun," she said. "Feels good,
too."
"You like showing ... yourself?"
"Sure. Men like to look at me," she said proudly,
rolling down her panties and turning to exhibit herself.
"Come here." He could barely speak; his breath
was short in his excitement.
She moved forward, standing close to the bed, until he was
a hairsbreadth away from her breasts. Reaching with his tongue, he licked her
nipples, first one, then the other. They hardened instantly.
"I wish I could gobble you up." He had never said
that to anyone before. Against his cheek, as he caressed her, he felt her heart
beating rapidly. At least she wasn't indifferent, he thought.
"Undress me," he said. He was surprised at his
tone. It was a command. She obeyed, tugging at his pants. When he was free of
them, she bent over him, caressing his throbbing erection with her breasts.
"You feel good?" she asked.
He nodded his head appreciatively.
"What about you?" It would simply be too much to
ask for.
"Love it," she said. "The best..."
Is this what joy means? He was sure it was.
She was tucked in the crook of his arm, fitted there as if
her body were clay. Along with his explosive pleasure his anger had dissipated,
leaving him tranquil. It was an uncommon sensation for him and he felt
transformed--almost happy. He breathed in the sweetness of her flesh while his
fingers caressed her smooth haunches.
"6.7 on the Richter scale," he told her when they
lay quietly together. Her passion had surprised him as well. Jane hadn't given
him much