ou’re talking about.” “You’re absolutely right and I’m sorry,” and asks her out for the weekend after next—“Anyone can repeat an aberration once, I’d think”—and she says “I’m afraid I won’t be able to,” but in a nice voice and when she says good-bye she says “So I suppose I’ll be hearing from you,” which gives him the confidence she’ll say yes the next time. Calls the next Tuesday, she says she’s sorry, she’s busy that weekend, he says “Busy busy bizwax — with what, voice lessons, studying again, cooking school?” and she says “You sure sound cynical today,” and he says “I’m not, or didn’t mean to be; go on, tell me what your plans are, though of course you don’t have to and I don’t know why I asked,” and she says “No, I’ll be honest; I don’t mind. I have appointments Friday and Saturday nights,” and he says “You mean with guys, or just one,” and she says “Yes, with two fellows I know,” and he says “Guys you’ve been going out with, right?” and she says yes and he says “Then I guess I’ll give up then, right?” hoping she’ll say don’t or he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to, and she says “If that’s how you feel; excuse me, but good-bye,” and hangs up. She was mad. That could mean a couple of things, one good, one bad. Somehow in her voice when she seemed mad it also seemed she was saying I’m mad because you made me mad but I’m not that mad where you don’t have to call again. And if she’s seeing two guys, it means she’s not serious with one. No, he’s crazy, what’s he talking about, goddamn stupid idiot, and picks up the receiver and slams it down on its cradle, bangs the night table it’s on with his fist, receiver jumps off and falls to the floor and he wants to grab it and smash it against the table, rip it out of the phone and wrap the wire around his neck and pull it tight till it hurts and cuts and leaves marks; puts the receiver down and grits his teeth and tears come and a sinking empty sickening feeling in his chest and he says “Oh shit, why the hell not, what the hell’s wrong, why’d I even start, who the hell you think you are, you skinny rotten bitch?” and covers his face with his hands and digs his nails into his skin, and then his mother knocks on the door and says through it “May I come in now, Howard? — after all,” since it’s his parents’ bedroom, and he says “Sure, sorry, I’m done here,” and passes her with his head down and she says “Anything the matter, dear?” and he says “Well, you know, but I’ll be all right,” and to get to sleep that night after everyone’s in bed he sneaks open the liquor cabinet in the living room and takes several swigs of Canadian rye and sits there till he starts to yawn. A friend tells him she’s going out with two guys, a junior at Yale and a grad student at NYU. “The Yalie’s very rich, not Jewish, an athlete and a scholar in English lit I think. The other guy’s a poor Brooklyn or Bronx Yid and supposed to be real handsome and smart, always on total scholarship, and on his way to making a million in advertising or TV.” “Him — both of them,” Howard says, “have to be too old for her — I mean, she’s barely sixteen,” and his friend says “She seems to have her parents’ permission, according to this girl who knows, so what can I tell you?” He sends her a letter saying “If you’re interested in going to a movie one of these days, let me know,” and gives his phone number and address. She doesn’t contact him. He thinks of her every day, calls her three months after they last spoke, she says “Hello, how are you, it’s been so long,” and he asks her out to a movie the next Saturday afternoon and she says she’d love to. She takes a tomato from the kitchen as they leave her apartment, offers him the first bite on the street, he says it’d be too sloppy and he doesn’t much like tomatoes, “I adore them,” she says and bites into it without making a mess and eats it as they walk to the theater, holding it in front of his mouth when she’s almost finished with it and says “Sure you don’t want some? It’s going fast,” and he wants to, just to put his mouth where her lips did and to show he’s not obstinate and takes chances, but says no. She smiles and chews the last of it and he thinks he loves everything she does; it’s awful. She leans her head on his shoulder about fifteen minutes into the movie, he thinks should I? and decides to and kisses her hair and then her cheek and then very quickly her lips. She didn’t stop him or look up at him and her eyes were closed when she kissed him so he waits what he thinks is about five minutes and then kisses her hair, cheek and lips and then a long kiss and tries to open her mouth with his tongue, thinking if she lets him do this then he really might be starting something with her, but she pulls away and says “Too fast, too far, let’s just be kids,” and kisses her finger and puts it on his lips and he says “Sure, whatever you like.” Outside the theater he asks how she liked the movie and she says she’s in a hurry to get home, can they get a cab? or just she’ll get one, and he says “But it’s only three blocks, and it’s not raining,” and she says “Don’t worry, I’ll pay.” “That’s not it; I’m working and I’m certainly not cheap,” and hails a cab, tells her in it he had wanted to go for a bite after the movie but OK, maybe the next time, and she says, getting out of the cab, “It’s a date.” He says “Hey, I’m not taking this to my house,” and pays, but she’s already walking into her building, waving at him. He calls her when he gets home for a date next weekend and the housekeeper who answers says “She was only here but gone out.” Calls her the next day and she says “What is it?” and he says “I wanted to take you up on what you said yesterday and make another date, maybe even an evening one, but I guess it’s hopeless — somehow, your voice.” “I think it is,” and he says “I don’t get it. You were so nice at the movie, we had fun, even walking to it—” and she says “Don’t.” “So it doesn’t make a difference what I say or we did?” and she says “Not in the slightest, and please understand I’m not being malicious saying that. I like kissing and you’re a nice fellow but I’m simply not interested in you the way you are in me.” “How are you interested in me then?” and she says “Whatever way it is, it’s not amorous, is that now clear?” and he says “OK, I got it finally,” and slams the receiver down and feels miserable for a week. Calls her a month later and she says “Oh, hello?” and he asks what she’s been up to lately and she talks a little about what she’s been doing and then there’s silence so he starts in about what he’s been doing recently and then she says “That’s nice, great, well, I’ll have to say good-bye now,” and he says “Any chance we can meet?” and she says “Howard, I’m still not interested. If you only wanted to be friends, that’d be a different thing.” “OK, as friends, would you like to go to an art museum today?” and she says “Not this week, I’m busy.” “Next week then?” and she says “I don’t want to make plans so far ahead,” and he says “Then you don’t want to be friends; you don’t want to be anything. All right. So screw you, friend,” and hangs up. Oh God, that’s it, that has to be it, for me, her, definitely for me and I’m sure she’ll never talk to me again, and bangs his parents’ bed with his fists and screams “Goddamn it, shit, shit,” and starts tearing at his hair. His parents think he’s going crazy and have his brother speak to him. It snows that night and the next day he walks in the park and kicks drifts in just a T-shirt and pants and shoes without socks so he can get a cold and pneumonia and die. Sees her on the street several months later and she waves to him and he waves to her as she goes down her block. She smiled when she waved. Maybe she’s changed her opinion about him somewhat, wouldn’t mind him calling her. Calls, says it was nice seeing her on the street and how is she? and she says “Listen, I’m busy this week, if that’s what you were eventually going to ask, but thanks for calling.” “Maybe next week?” and she says she’s going away for the weekend, and for the month after that to Southern France for the Easter break. He’s waiting tables in the neighborhood Schrafft’s a year later when she comes in with two other girls and sits at another station. He pretends not to see her. Sees her in a mirror looking at him. All three have ice cream sodas and one of them has a sandwich. In the kitchen he tells their waiter “I know one of the girls at your four-table. Used to go out with her — the beautiful slim dark-haired one.” “Her, beautiful? Eh, so-so. But put the word in for them to give me a big tip.” “No, it’s all over and I have no influence with her, but she’s got lots of family dough, so I’m sure you’ll do OK.” “Then get tight with her again. She’s a good-looker, they all got juicy nookies, true? and if she’s that rich and you can go into her dad’s business, forget college; you’ve got it made.” He’s passing her table with a tray of dirty dishes, still pretending not to know she’s there, and she says “Howard,” he looks at her, “Oh hi, Gwen, hello,” she introduces him to her friends and says “Since when do you work here?” and he says “It’s a good place, lots of actors and writers working as waiters, so an interesting group, and it’s in walking distance from home,” and she says “I know that, but I meant for how long?” and he says “Few weeks. Look-it, the manager’s a crab when I talk to personal friends who aren’t my customers, so nice to see you,” all in a voice and with an expression that he couldn’t care less that he saw her, and smiles and says “Nice to meet you” to her friends. Watches her through mirrors or the kitchen door window from then on and after she leaves he asks her waiter how he did and he says “You didn’t do your part well — almost a whiff,” and he says “I’m really surprised. The tip must have been left up to one of the other girls, for she was always pretty free with her cash.” Leaving the restaurant he thinks maybe she’ll call him. For the next few weeks he looks at the restaurant door every time someone comes in, hoping it’ll be she, alone or with her sister, parents or friends. If she does come in, he’ll turn away, do his chores, ignore her even through mirrors, and then pass her table with dirty dishes, or with food for customers this time, and be surprised to see her when she speaks to him, or speak to her first this time and later, if she’s alone or with her sister, maybe ask if she’d like to meet him when he gets off. About a half year later he sees her passing the standees’ line he’s on outside the Metropolitan Opera House. “Gwen!” “Howard,” she says, “hi, I’m way in back, only came up to see how long the line is.” “It’s long; I don’t know if you’ll ever get in. You an opera buff? I didn’t know that.” “No, I like it; never saw Faust though and always wanted to.” “Well come on, slip in here.” She starts to, guy behind him says “Wait a minute, that isn’t fair,” and he says “I was expecting her; she didn’t think I’d get here so early to get this far in front,” and pulls her in. She thinks what he did — by her face — bold, and maybe what he said quick and clever. “You’re alone I hope,” he whispers into her ear. “Otherwise, I’m sure Charlie won’t allow anyone else in.” “I’m alone. You know him?” and he says “No, just based on his face and what he said, I was giving him a name. No meaning; just my usual nonsense, I suppose,” and she says “I’m not sure you can gauge much from superficial contact with someone and only one expression on his face. And he’s justified in how he acted, since I did cut in and what if they close him out right after us?” and he thinks Oh shit, here I go blowing it again, acting the snob, which I’m not. Think what you’re going to say; make everything hit; for a few hours she’s all yours and this might be your last chance. He asks and she tells: bit of fashion modeling, been learning Hindi, ice-skating a lot, was in an experimental film that got some attention — a western made in New Jersey if he can believe it — and is preparing to go to college. The line moves. They talk some more in the lobby during intermission. People stare at her she’s so beautiful or maybe they’ve seen her in the movie and fashion ads. After the second act she says her feet are tired, she doesn’t much like the opera and there are two more acts, so she has to go. “I’ll go with you. I’ve seen it several times and I have to be at work early tomorrow. I’m starving besides, since I came straight here from night school. Like to have a bite somewhere nearby?” and she says it’s really getting quite late. He says “Want to go by cab?” and she says she likes subways; so full of characters and life, especially at night. During the ride she says “No need for you to go with me all the way,” and he says he wouldn’t think of letting her walk home alone from the subway stop. She says “I do it all the time. It’s reasonably safe and I can handle myself well. I carry a canister of mace and I’ve developed my diaphragm through voice and acting lessons where my screams would be heard for blocks.” In front of her building she says he can’t come up. Her folks are there and they object these days to midweek dates. “Wouldn’t think of it, my dear, wouldn’t think of it,” and shakes her hand. She leans forward, her lips out, he hopes to kiss his and waits to see, and she pecks his cheek. Maybe if he’d leaned down to her she would have done it, but probably not. “Good night, nice seeing you again,” and swivels around and walks away whistling and looking up at the sky and thinking what should be his strategy now? Don’t call her for weeks; considering his history with her, she’ll be mystified. He calls two days later and she says that was fun that opera night but what she neglected telling him is she’s seriously mixed up with a Dartmouth man and has promised him she wouldn’t see anyone else when they’re apart. “Oh shucks,” he says, “a little movie or something won’t hurt.” “I can’t. I’d have to lie to him — he’s very strict about this dictum, living like a celibate up there, all work and no women. And if I did tell him it’s all innocence and old friendship between us, he’d still get incredibly jealous and mad.” “Oh well,” he says, “maybe some other lifetime. See ya,” and gently hangs up. He cuts his hair short in front of the bathroom mirror, cuts his sideburns off, looking at the mirror over his shoulder, shaves the hair on his neck. He feels the hair on top and the sides, he can still grab some, and cuts it even more. Doesn’t know why, other than it had something to do with her, of course, but he suddenly felt prissy and like some fake artist with all those curls on his head and over his ears, and a little unclean. He asks some people in the film department at his college if they know of an experimental western made recently which which might have got some good reviews, but nobody can think of anything coming close to that other than