He did not call Helen again.
He told himself he was being a coward. He told himself the unpleasantness was all over with now, now it would be the way it had been before, now it would be Bud and Helen, in love, enjoying themselves, happy, but he could remember the icy-cold fingers of responsibility, and so he called himself a coward, and he let it go at that, feeling ashamed of himself, but gradually putting the shame to rout in the days that followed. He had seen her through it. He had been with her until it was all over. He had not deserted until he’d known she was all right.
And now he was free.
He didn’t see her again until two days before Christmas. He was wrapping presents when the knock sounded on his door, and he shouted, “Just a minute.”
He went to the door and threw it wide, surprised when he saw Helen standing there smiling.
“Helen,” he said.
“Yes, Helen,” she answered thickly, and he realized she was drunk. “You going to ask me in?”
“Yes, of course. Come in, come in. Gee, this is a surprise.” He watched her carefully, and the surprise was not in her coming but within himself because he found he wanted to clasp her into his arms, hold her close.
“Sure, big surprise,” she said. She staggered into the room and flopped down into the butterfly chair, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Just love surprises, don’t you?”
“How are you, Helen?” he said. “I’ve—”
“I’m fine. I told you that, didn’t I? When you called me? When was that, Bud? Long time ago, wasn’t it? When you called, and I said I was all right, and you ran for the hills?”
“Helen—”
“Oh, it took me a while to figure it out, Buddy. A close call, wasn’t it? You almost became a man, didn’t you? But you got out of it, all right. Honorably, to be sure. Honorable to the end, the very end. Saw Helen to her doorstep, and walked on the outside all the way, and once you found out her skirts hadn’t been muddied, you headed for the hills. And Helen sat by the telephone. And at first Helen was too damn sick to think about anything, even you, even her lover who almost became a man. And then, when Helen was feeling a little better, she almost picked up the phone to call, and then she realized it was, a little strange, your not calling in all that time, and then she put two and two together.”
“I should have called, Helen.”
“Yes, yes, you should have. What are you doing, wrapping Christmas presents?”
“Yes. I was.”
“You going to offer me a drink?”
“What would you like?”
“Anything you’ve got. Any damn thing you’ve got.”
“Sherry?”
“Ah, sherry. Ah, yes, sherry. It started with sherry, didn’t it? Well, it started with sherry, so let it end with sherry.”
“It doesn’t have to—”
“I came to give you your present, Buddy. Thought you’d like to know all the details. You paid for it, didn’t you, Buddy, so you deserve the details. Where’s the sherry?”
“I’ll get it,” he said. He went into the kitchen and poured a glassful, his hand trembling. He did not know why his hand was trembling. He left the bottle on the table and brought the glass back to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “Here’s a toast to the Perennial Youth, Bud Donato.” She chuckled... “I used to think there was only one of you, only Andy, but now I know better. The lame leading the halt. Here’s to Buddy-boy, may he live a child always, and may he drop dead a child. May he never assume the responsibilities of manhood. Cheers, Buddy-boy.”
“Drink hearty,” he said.
“Choke, you mean,” she answered. She drained the glass. “Good sherry.” She put down the glass and eyed him soberly, steadily. “You want to hear all about it?”
“The only thing that counts is that you’re all right, Helen,” he said honestly.
“Ah, nobly spoken. You are the noblest Roman of them all, Bud. And I’m fine, just fine. Still hemorrhaging a little, but Helen’s going to be all right, all right. Helen was all wrong about a lot of things, but she’s going to be all right now. You glad to hear that, Bud?”
“I’m always glad—”
“We used my aunt’s apartment, Bud, just the way we planned. She handled everything. Got the man, gave him your money — three hundred dollars, can you believe it? Costs so much to do away with just a little embryo. Nice lady, my aunt. Got this man to do it, and he was supposed to come over at six o’clock that Friday night. I told you that, remember? You have any more sherry?”
“Helen, I don’t think you should have any more.”
“Now, now, don’t talk like a man with responsibilities, Buddy darling. Don’t talk like anything but Peter Pan.” Her eyes sparked. “Get me some more sherry! It’s the least you can give me!”
“All right,” he said. He went into the kitchen and came back with the bottle. He poured for her, and she held the drink without tasting it.
“Supposed to come at six, but six rolled around and he wasn’t there, and then it was seven, and seven-thirty, and he still hadn’t come, and I began to get a little nervous. My aunt told me to calm down, said he was a reliable man, said there was nothing to worry about, so we waited. He came at eight. He was a small man, a tense little man, not the kind of man you’d choose to deliver your baby, but he wasn’t there to deliver a baby, was he? He was there to kill one.
“I was cold with sweat when he came in. Wet all over, shaking, scared stiff. My aunt kept telling me everything would be all right, but I couldn’t stop shaking or sweating. He unpacked his instruments, and then I lay down on the kitchen table, Bud, the kitchen table — and he went to work. He didn’t use any anesthetic. He couldn’t, you see, because if anything went wrong he didn’t want any evidence of an operation. It—” she swallowed the wine hastily — “it hurt like hell. I don’t think anything can hurt more than he hurt me, but I couldn’t scream because we were committing murder in that apartment, so I just bit down on the back of my hand until it started to bleed, and he sawed away at my insides. I... caught a glimpse of what he took out of me, not a good look but enough of a look to know that it was something human, and then he took it away and disposed of it because what we did was illegal and he had to get rid of the evidence. I wanted to scream again when it was all over. I wanted to scream, but with relief this time, even though I could still feel the pain. I felt so relieved, so, so relieved — and at the same time I felt like a murderess. Do you know what it feels like to think you’ve killed someone, Bud? Do you have any compassion for what he took out of me? Your baby? Your baby?”