As I assisted her out of the toilet the patronne espied us and nodded her head sadly. I wondered if she realized what chivalry it took for me to perform this act. Anyway, we went back to the table, ordered some black coffee, and sat talking a little while longer. As she sobered up she became almost disgustingly grateful. She said if I would take her home I could have her—she wanted to make it up to me. «I’ll take a bath and change my things,» she said. «I feel filthy. It was filthy too, God help me.»
I told her I would see her home in a taxi, but that I wouldn’t be able to stay with her.
«Now you’re getting delicate,» she said. «What’s the matter, ain’t I good enough for you? It ain’t my fault, is it, if I had to go to the toilet? You go to the toilet too, don’t you? Wait till I take a bath—you’ll see what I look like. Listen, give me your hand!» I gave her my hand and she put it under her skirt, right on her bushy cunt. «Take a good feel of it,» she urged. «You like it? Well, it’s all yours. I’ll scrub it and perfume it for you. You can take all you like of it. I’m not a bad lay. And I’m not a tart either, see! I got cock-eyed, that’s all. A guy walked out on me, and I was crazy enough to take it to heart. He’ll come crawling back before long, don’t you worry. But Jesus, I did have my heart set on him. I told him I wouldn’t kiss the Pope’s ass—and that got him sore. I’m a good Catholic, same as he, but I can’t see the Pope as Christ Almighty, can you?»
She went on with her monologue, jumping from one thing to another like a goat. I gathered that she was a switch-board operator in a big hotel. She wasn’t such a bad sort, either, down under her Irish skin. I could see that she might be very attractive, once the fumes of the alcohol cleared away. She had very blue eyes and jet black hair, and a smile that was sly and puckish. Maybe I would run up and help her with her bath. I could always run out on her if anything went amiss. The thing that bothered me was that I was to meet Mona for dinner. I was to wait for her in the Rose Room of the Me Alpin Hotel.
We got in a taxi and drove uptown. In the cab she rested her head on my shoulder. «You’re awfully good to me,» she said in a sleepy voice. «I don’t know who you are, but you’re O.K. with me. Jesus, I wish I could take a nap first. Would you wait for me?»
«Sure,» I said. «Maybe I’ll take a nap too.»
The apartment was cosy and attractive, better than I had expected it to be. She had no sooner opened the door than she kicked off her shoes. I helped her undress.
As she stood before the mirror, nude except for her panties, I had to admit that she possessed a beautiful figure. Her breasts were white and full, round and taut, with bright strawberry-colored nipples.
«Why don’t you take those off too?» I said pointing to the panties. «No, not now,» she said, suddenly becoming coy, her cheeks coloring slightly.
«I took them off before,» I said. «What’s the difference now?» I put my hand on her waist as if to pull them down. «Don’t, please!» she begged. Wait till I have my bath.» She paused a moment, then added: «I’m just getting over my period.»
That settled it for me. I saw the ring-worms flowering again. I got panicky.
«All right,» I said, «take your bath! I’ll stretch out in here while you’re at it.»
«Won’t you scrub my back for me?» she said, her lips curling in that puckish smile of hers.
«Why sure I will… certainly,» I said. I led her to the bathroom, half-pushing her along in my haste to get rid of her.
As she slipped out of the panties I noticed a dark bloodstain. Not on your life, I thought to myself. No sir, not in my sound senses I don’t. Kiss the Pope’s ass-never!
But as she lay there soaping herself I felt myself weakening. I took the soap from her hand and scrubbed her bush for her. She squirmed with pleasure as my soapy fingers entwined themselves in her hair.
«I think it’s finished,» she said, arching her pelvis and spreading her cunt open with her two hands. «You look… do you see anything?»
I put the soapy middle finger of my right hand up her cunt and massaged it gently. She lay back with her hands clasped behind her head and slowly gyrated her pelvis.
«Jesus, that feels good,» she said. «Go on, do it some more. Maybe I won’t need a nap.»
As she got worked up she began to move more violently. Suddenly she unclasped her hands and with wet fingers she unbuttoned my fly, took my prick out and made a dive for it with her mouth. She went at it like a professional, teasing it, worrying it, fluting her lips, then choking on it. I came off in her mouth; she swallowed it as if it were nectar and ambrosia.
Then she sank back into the tub, sighed heavily and closed her eyes.
Now is the time to beat it, I said to myself, and pretending that I was going to look for a cigarette I grabbed my hat and bolted. As I ran down the stairs I put my finger to my nostrils and smelled it. It wasn’t a bad odor. It smelled of soap more than anything else.
A few nights later a private performance was being given at the theatre. Mona had begged me not to attend the performance, saying that it would make her nervous if she knew I were watching her. I had been somewhat put out about it, but finally agreed not to come. I was to meet her afterwards at the stage entrance. She specified the exact time.
I was there ahead of time, not at the stage door but at the entrance to the theatre. I looked at the announcements over and over, thrilled to see her name in bold, clear letters. As the crowd filed out I went to the opposite side of the street and watched. I didn’t know why I was watching-I was just rooted to the spot. It was rather dark in front of the theatre and the taxis were all tied up.
Suddenly I saw some one rushing impulsively to the curb where a frail little man stood waiting for a taxi. It was Mona. I saw her kiss the man and then, as the taxi drove away, I saw her wave goodbye. Then her hand fell limply to her side and she stood there a few minutes as if deep in thought.
Finally she rushed back into the theatre through the main entrance.
When I met her at the stage door a few minutes later she seemed over-wrought. I told her what I had just witnessed.
«Then you saw him?» she said, clutching my hand. «Yes, but who was it?»
«Why, it was my father. He got up out of bed to come. He won’t last much longer.»
As she spoke the tears came to her eyes. «He said he could die in peace now.» With this she halted abruptly and burying her head in her hands she began to sob. «I should have taken him home,» she said brokenly.
«But why didn’t you let me meet him?» I said. «We could have taken him home together.»
She refused to talk about it. She wanted to go home—go home alone and weep. What could I do? I could only assent—it seemed the most delicate thing to do.
I put her in a taxi and watched her ride away. I felt deeply moved. Then I struck out, determined to bury myself in the crowd. At the corner of Broadway I heard a woman calling my name. She came up to me on the run.
«You passed me,» she said, «without recognizing me. What the matter with you? You look depressed.» She held out her two hands for me to grasp.
It was Arthur Raymond’s ex-wife, Irma.
«It’s funny,» she said, «I just saw Mona a few seconds ago. She got out of a cab and ran down the street. She looked distracted. I was going to speak to her, hut she ran off too quickly. I don’t think she saw me either… Aren’t you living together any more? I thought you were all staying at Arthur’s place.»
«Just where did you see her?» I wondered if she could have been mistaken.
«Why, just around the corner.»
«Are you absolutely sure?»
She smiled strangely. «I couldn’t mistake her, could I?»
«I don’t know,» I mumbled, more to myself—«it hardly seems possible. How was she dressed?»
She described her accurately. When she said «a little velvet cape» I knew it couldn’t have been any one else.
«Did you have a quarrel?»
«No—o—o, not a quarrel…»
«Well you ought to know Mona by this time,» said Irma,
