Usually after these bouts I awoke depressed. Looking at her with her clothes on and that grim, tight, caustic, everyday expression about her mouth, studying her at the breakfast table, indifferently, not having anything else to look at, I wondered sometimes why I didn’t take her for a walk some evening and just push her off the end of a pier. I began to look forward like a drowning man to that solution which Stanley had promised and of which as yet there was not the least feign. To cap it all I had written a letter to Mara saying that we had to find a way out soon or I would commit suicide. It must have been a maudlin letter because when she telephoned me she said it was imperative to see me immediately. This shortly after lunch on one of those hectic days when everything seemed to go wrong. The office was jammed with applicants and even if I had had five tongues and five pairs of arms and twenty-five telephones instead of three at my elbow, I could never have hired as many applicants as were needed to fill the sudden and inexplicable vacuum which had come about overnight. I tried to put Mara off until the evening but she would not be put off. I agreed to meet her for a few minutes at an address which she gave me, the apartment of a friend of hers, she said, where we would be undisturbed. It was in the Village.
I left a mob of applicants hanging at the rail, promising Hymie who was frantically telephoning for «waybills» that I’d be back in a few minutes. I jumped into a cab at the corner and got out in front of a doll’s house with a miniature garden in front. Mara came to the door in a light mauve dress under which she was nude. She flung her arms around me and kissed me passionately.
«A wonderful little nest, this,» I said, holding her off to take a better look at the place.
«Yes, isn’t it?» she said. «It belongs to Carruthers. He lives down the street with his wife; this is just a little den which he uses now and then. I sleep here sometimes when it’s too late to go home».
I said nothing. I turned to look at the books—the walls were solidly lined with them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mara snatch something from the wall—seemed like a sheet of wrapping paper.
«What’s that?» I said, not really curious but pretending to be.
«It’s nothing,» she answered. «Just a sketch of his which he asked me to destroy.»
«Let’s see it!»
«You don’t want to look at it—it’s worthless»—and she started to crumple it up.
«Let’s see it anyway,» I said, grasping her arm and snatching the paper from her hand. I opened it up and saw to my amazement that it was a caricature of myself with a dagger through the heart.
«I told you he was jealous,» she said. «It doesn’t mean anything—he was drunk when he did it. He’s, been drinking a great deal lately. I have to watch him like a hawk. He’s just a big child, you know. You mustn’t think he hates you—he acts that way with everybody who shows the least sign of interest in me.»
«He’s married, you said. What’s the matter—doesn’t he get along with his wife?»
«She’s an invalid,» said Mara, almost solemnly.
«In a wheel chair?»
«No-o-o, not exactly,» she replied, a faint irrepressible smile suffusing her lips. «Oh, why talk about that now? What differences does it make? You know I’m not in love with him. I told you once that he had been very kind to me; now it’s my turn to look after him—he needs some one to steady him.»
«So you sleep here now and then—while he stays with his invalid wife, is that it?»
«He sleeps here too sometimes: there are two cots, if you notice. Oh, please,» she begged, «don’t let’s talk about him. There’s nothing for you to worry about, can’t you see, can’t you believe me?» She came close to me, put her arms around me. Without ado I lifted her up and carried her over to the couch. I pulled her dress up and, opening wide her legs, I slipped my tongue into her crack. In a moment she had me over her. When she had gotten my cock out she took her two hands and opened her cunt for me to slip it in. Almost at once she had an orgasm, then another, and another. She got up and washed herself quickly. As soon as she had finished I followed suit. When I came out of the bathroom she was lying on the couch with a cigarette to her lips. I sat there a few minutes with my hand between her legs, talking quietly to her.
«I’ve got to get back to the office,» I said, «and we haven’t had a chance to talk.»
«Don’t go yet,» she begged, sitting upright and putting her hand affectionately over my prick. I put my arm around her and kissed her long and passionately. She had her fingers in my fly again and was reaching for my prick when suddenly we heard some one fumbling at the door knob.
«It’s him,» she said, jumping quickly to her feet and making for the door. «Stay where you are, it’s all right,» she threw out quickly as she glided forward to meet him. I hadn’t time to button my fly. I stood up and casually straightened it out as she flew into his arms with some silly joyous exclamation.
«I’ve got a visitor,» she said. «I asked him to come. He’s leaving in a few minutes.»
«Hello,» he said, coming forward to greet me with hand out and an amiable smile on his lips. He showed no unusual surprise. In fact, he seemed much more affable than he did the night I first met him at the dance hall.
«You don’t have to go this instant, do you?» said he, undoing a bundle which he had brought with him. «You might have a little drink first, won’t you? Which do you prefer—Scotch or Rye?»
Before I could say yes or no Mara had slipped out to get some ice. I stood with my back partially turned to him as he busied himself with the bottles and, pretending to be interested in a book on the shelf before me, I stealthily buttoned my fly.
«I hope you don’t mind the looks of the place,» he said. «This is just a little retreat, a hide-out, where I can meet Mara and her little friends. She looks cute in that dress, don’t you think?»
«Yes,» I said, «it is rather attractive.»
«Nothing much there,» he said, nodding towards the book shelves. «The good ones are all over at the house.»
«Seems like quite a fine collection,» I said, glad to be able to divert the conversation to this ground.
«You’re a writer, I understand—or so Mara tells me.
«Not really,» I replied. «I’d like to be. You’re probably one yourself, aren’t you?»
He laughed. «Oh,» he said deprecatingly, as he measured out the drinks, «we all begin that way, I guess. I’ve scribbled a few things in my time—poems mostly. I don’t seem to be able to do anything any more, except drink.»
Mara returned with the ice. «Come here,» he said, putting the ice on the table and throwing an arm around her waist, «you haven’t kissed me yet.» She held her head up and cooly received the slobbery kiss which he planted on her lips.
«I couldn’t stand it at the office any longer,» he said, squirting the fizz water into the glasses. «I don’t know why I go to the damned place—there’s nothing for me to do except look important and sign my name to silly papers.» He took a long swallow. Then, motioning to me to take a seat, he flung himself into the big Morris chair. «Ah, that’s better,» he grunted, like a tired business man, though obviously he hadn’t done a stroke of work. He beckoned to Mara. «Sit here a minute,» he said, patting the arm of the chair. «I want to talk to you. I’ve got good news for you.»
It was a highly interesting scene to witness after what had taken place just a few minutes ago. I wondered for a moment whether he were putting on an act for my benefit. He tried to pull her head down to give her another slobbery kiss but she resisted, saying—«Oh come, you’re acting silly. Put that drink down, please. You’ll be drunk in a moment and then there’ll be no talking to you.»
She put her arm over his shoulder and ran her fingers through his hair.
«You see what
