Janine. Meets her at a New Year’s Eve party. His brother invited him to it but said not to get there too early: “That way they won’t think I invited everybody I know.” Gone to a movie with friends, drink and a hamburger after with them, they left for home to get there before the real street reveling began and he walked uptown for half an hour, stopped at a bar for a beer and then took a cab to the party and was in it when twelve came. “Happy New Year,” the driver said when lots of horns and shouting went off around them. “You too. May it be a great one for you.” Seated on a couch, legs crossed showing short muscular calves, seams running down the stockings. Who wears seams? Doesn’t like them, make her legs look cheap. Holding a mug of something, coffee or tea, because it’s smoking. Blond hair put up in what she later says is a chignon, animated pretty face laughing at something a woman in the chair nearest her says, catches him looking at her, he smiles and bows his head, she smiles back and turns to the woman. He walked into this reading or sitting or television room, since in addition to walls of books and lots of sitting furniture there’s also a TV, looking for something to do or someone to talk to, foremost an attractive free woman, when he saw her, no men around, in a seated circle of several woman. He’ll look at her till she looks at him again. If she seems interested, by her look, he’ll smile and leave the room and make his move later. She doesn’t seem interested — no smile back, a look of “So what seems so interesting?”—he’ll still make his move later but less confidently. Other women are discussing a movie, she looks at him, raises her eyebrows as if saying “Something you want to say?” he smiles, she smiles back and then looks at her mug as if contemplating something inside it. Maybe the way the smoke twirls, milk in the coffee curls. He looks at his glass — what could she be thinking? that he make his move now? — it’s half full but he holds it up and nods as if it needs refilling and leaves the room without looking at her again. Finds his brother; he can’t even place the woman by Howard’s description. “Actually, beautiful, little pug nose, sort of dirty blond kind of wiry hair up in a twisted pile in back, tweed skirt, I forget what color blouse or there might be a sweater over the blouse, seamed stockings, very lively face and plenty of hand motions, with not noticeably large breasts and seems a tiny waist. She could be a dancer.” Looks around for her. While admiring the paintings in the living room of larger-than-life-sized nudes, the host says behind him “Something, huh? And they were done by my mother. It’s an amazing story. She’s only at the League for a year, took up painting for recreation after my dad died, never held a brush other than a scrub or tooth one, and look at what she can now produce: paintings that are both art and can give you a hard-on. The change in her, like her art, came almost overnight. Now she only wears dungarees and smocks, paints all day, dreams of painting and paintings all night, haunts the art museums weekends when she never went to any but Natural History and Historical Society before and only because they were around the block, and thinks of herself as a serious artist with a so-far unclear mission and her teacher’s even thinking of solo-exhibiting her.” Still can’t find her so he goes back to the sitting room, she’s on the couch, now in a corner of it because two other women have sat down, legs crossed same way, seams don’t seem as bad, big knees, hairy thighs, bulging calves, sees them squeezing him and his breath puffing out, shuts his eyes and shakes the thought off, she doesn’t look at him, at least when his eyes are open, and he leaves. If she had looked he would have gestured with his head to the door and then left. If she didn’t come out in a minute or so he would have made another move, though he doesn’t know what, some time later. Fifteen minutes later, after looking though the apartment for her, he heads for the sitting room to talk with her if she’s there and not occupied or gesture with his head if she’s busy, and sees her standing outside the sitting room talking to a man. Now or you’ll never, and he says hello to her, hi to him, gives his name, “How are you, Happy New Year,” and puts out his hand and shakes theirs. “I don’t mean to be forward but I suddenly felt like talking to someone, and it’s not out of mania or drink, so I thought I’d barge in on you two. Kind of awkward and awful, but do you mind?” She smiles as if what he’s doing is funny, man’s about to say something serious when he says “Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet, I’ll just listen, won’t contribute till my not contributing makes you nervous or I’m asked or obliged to speak.” “No no, the man says, “please talk. Our conversation isn’t really anything we can’t continue next time we meet, since we’re in the same class once a week.” He asks and their names are Willie and Janine. Asks and it’s an acting class. Asks and it’s run by a well-known director in a couple of rooms in a dingy Broadway office building, but strictly for professionals. Asks and several prominent actors are in it. The most famous one sits in back in the dark in sunglasses and a fifty-thousand-dollar schmink, but is as sweet as can be. Want to hear a funny story? Janine’s heard it from the source so don’t cut in with the punchline. “One of the actors gets a call from her last week. She says hi, gives her first name and wants to do a scene with him. He doesn’t know who she is, some older woman he recently met while bartending and who’s making a play for him? — no pun intended and the actor said it with a straight face, showing how dumb he is. She wouldn’t give her last name, didn’t want to unnerve him I guess, just kept saying ‘This is Marilyn, Marilyn,’ and finally ‘You know, from class,’ and that they were all asked to pick a partner and do a scene for the class, weren’t they? They’re rehearsing it now. She serves him hot cocoa, it’s all very nice and he says she’s got talents up her ass.” Asks and he’s been in stock, on daytime TV, off-Broadway and some movie bits, while Janine here was on Broadway in a major role up to a month ago. Two months, she says. Asks and she says and he says he never liked that playwright’s work, though he hasn’t seen this play. Too traditional, homespun, unadventurous, with half the scenes around the kitchen or dining room table and half of those when the characters are in bathrobes getting ready for or having just got out of bed. There was a bathrobe scene in her play, she says, and her best scene too, but midway upstairs. “Oh boy you just blew it,” Willie says, slaps his back, laughs, goes. Was there a signal between them? Looks to see and she seems annoyed, no doubt by his comments, apologizes, she says it’s OK and he’s probably a writer or wants to be one, and he says he’s been doing little fictions and short plays but how’d she know? Because they’re usually trying to negate a skillful older writer’s work or just shoveling it into the grave. Asks and her father writes plays and television scripts and he even gets hate mail from young playwrights starting out or about to, damning the little success he’s had, belittling what he’s still very hard doing, praising only the not-written new. Apologizes and she says let’s forget it but still looks angry. He did blow it. What could he do to make up for it? Mind, face, body, glamorous life, artistic father, probably her own apartment, says what she thinks, would love being close with her when that anger’s for someone else. Says half his literary judgments are dumb and uninformed and he’ll never shoot from the hip like that again. She says why’s he making such promises to her? She’s still angry. Afraid she’ll say it’s been nice talking to you but she’s got to go. Asks and the mug only held tea because she has a cold and sore throat and what she really needed was honey in it which the host has but couldn’t find. Wait and comes back with no tea because he couldn’t find the honey when he thought he could but does have two aspirins and water if she needs. So kind and he says misguided overconfidence and he liked the way she was protective of her pa, not many people are. Suggests and they go out for sandwiches and tea with honey for her, she puts her arm around his on the way back, she’s cold, didn’t dress warmly enough tonight, but it still means something. Asks, if she doesn’t mind, is surprised to find she’s nine months younger than he, thought she was twenty-five. Looks that old? and says it’s because of her maturity and range of experiences so he thought she was a very young looking twenty-five. Tries kissing her at the door, not that she wouldn’t like to but someone might come out of the elevator or party, leads her around to where he thinks the service entrance is where they kiss, sit on the service steps and hold hands, stare into each other’s eyes dreamily, hug, help each other off with their coats, stare, kiss, hug, kisses her hands, starts crying, says he loves her, isn’t that crazy-stupid? and something never to be said so soon, she touches his tears, guesses she feels the same about him too, bizarre the way it started out or right after that went down and then so quickly changed. When? and she says when he told her to wait for she didn’t know what and brought back aspirins and water. Wants to go home with her, she says someone brought her, anyway it wouldn’t be a good idea, just a good friend who knows the host and lives a block from her and who’ll be disappointed if he has to subway home alone. She giving him a line? Not something to ask. Could say it’s because he loves her he’s asking if she sleeps with this guy, she still might get offended and give up on him as fast as she got close. Here, take my sweater, when she’s going, but she says she’ll survive. Then his scarf, it’s warmer than hers and that way he’ll know she’ll have to see him again to give it back, says she can always mail it but of course she’ll see him, not tomorrow because she has scene run-throughs for class all day and things like that but the next night. Dinner at her apartment. Opens the door wearing an apron and lobster oven mitt she pretends to bite his nose with, framed impish photo of Churchill on her kitchen wall, Picasso boy with horse repro he doesn’t tell her he dislikes above the couch, lots of poetry books, cookbooks, Nancy Drews and how to raise dogs, carnation soap smell from the bathroom though has to ask what it is, family photos all around, parents and siblings very handsome and animated then and now, louvered doors to the kitchen — louver, new word he learns — brought wine and napoleans — napoleans, she’s always heard but never saw or had them — slips her hands into his back pockets when they kiss, holds his palm up when they’re standing and rests her thigh on it, his look what’re you doing? and says that’s what Harpo always does, hasn’t he seen their films? lets him sleep with her if he promises not to try to have sex, sleeps in what were then called baby dolls, he in pajamas too large her brother left when he slept over, later finds the same line in a recent play he reads from her bookshelf where the pajamas were the character’s ex-lover’s, sees her breasts through the baby dolls, says if he continues to peek she’ll sleep with a bra underneath, her behind and a little trickle of pubic hair when she turns her back to him next day to dress, lets him hold but not rub her breasts in bed the third night, week to the day they first went to bed she says she’s putting in her diaphragm, is it OK? he says he knows what that means, she doesn’t want to have his baby, she says what in the world does he mean? holds her through the night, she says almost every man she’s known has turned his back on her right after and slept by himself on his side of the bed and usually even after the first time they made love, remembers to fall asleep holding her every night even when he wants to curl up alone, she says they’ve had sex at least once a day for two weeks so tonight could he give her poor poopie a rest? After they say goodbye outside they keep looking back to wave and blow kisses, sometimes from more than a block apart, two abortions with a young playwright she wanted to marry or not marry but have kids with but he dropped her, that’s why she left the play and was taken aback by his remark that first time, came pretty close to killing herself with poison over a much older actor two years ago, which was when she first thought of giving up the stage for something less frenetic and more cerebral, slit her wrists very slightly over a play director three years back, such a dumb profession where they’re all only amateur therapists for the characters they play, wants to sculpt, pot, perhaps write poetry, learn Russian, German and French so she can read all their nineteenth-century literature, holds her tight when she spills all this, says he’ll never drop or hurt her for what could ever stop him from wanting to be with her and making her happy forever, says same with her but they’re probably a couple of naifs and they cry, kiss, hug and make so much love that night that next day they both ache. Two months after they meet he can’t reach her. Said good-bye to her at her door, tried calling her that night, phone doesn’t answer for days. Calls her folks and they haven’t heard from her in a week but say don’t worry as they’re sure she’s OK. Her friends have no idea. Tries letting himself into her place with the key she gave him but the cylinder’s been changed. Something’s up but doesn’t know what. A guy probably but who could it be and when that she could have hidden it from him, so it’s not possible. Waits in front of her acting class day she has it and she doesn’t show. Calls the school next week saying he’s from a flower store with a delivery for her and what day will she be in since she wasn’t there last week to receive it and the receptionist says last week she was away but she notified them she’ll be there today. Sees her leaving the building laughing and then putting her arm around the waist of the actor she said she used to date between the two men she nearly killed herself over but found him too rigid and Christian-religious so it could never have gotten serious and broke it off. Everything in him goes cold and drops. Wants to run away without them seeing him, get drunk in a bar and write her the bitterest lette