They climbed the front steps to her house. The porch was in deep, dark shadow.
“Good night, Andy,” she said, turning and taking his hand.
“I’ll see you Sunday?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Carol—”
“Now kiss me good night,” she said. “I have to get to sleep.”
He kissed her eagerly, and his hands went to her breasts again. He could not resist trying. He wanted to hold her breasts so desperately, wanted to touch them. She did not stop him for a few minutes. He began trembling violently, and only then did she take his hands tenderly and move them away.
“Good night, Andy,” she whispered.
“Good night, Carol. Carol, do you have to rush in? Can’t we—”
He heard the rasp of a window opening. He glanced upward guiltily.
“Carol, is that you?” a voice called.
“Yes, Louise,” she answered.
“Who’s with you?”
“Andy.”
“Don’t you think it’s time you came inside?” Louise asked.
“In a minute,” Carol said. She turned to Andy again. She kissed the palm of her hand and pressed the kiss to his cheek. “Good night,” she whispered.
He waited on the porch until she was inside. He was still trembling. He climbed down the steps and began walking toward Eastern Parkway, wondering if he should go home, not wanting to go home because the excitement was still high inside him. Maybe the boys would go for a ride later. Maybe the ride would calm him. God, how he loved her, how warm her breasts had felt, how soft and how warm. On Eastern Parkway he caught a bus, getting off at Schenectady Avenue and walking toward the club.
They stood in the driveway outside Club Beguine, in the shadow of the tall hedges marking the property line. Even in the semidarkness he could see the wild anger in her eyes. There was almost no trace of green in her eyes now. They seemed like two glistening black balls of fury, heatedly glowing beneath black winged brows.
“Who is she?” Helen asked. She was trying to control her voice, but she could not hide the fury.
“Somebody I knew a long time ago,” Bud answered.
“How long ago?”
“When I was a kid.”
“You’re still a kid! How long ago?”
“Twelve, thirteen, how the hell should I know? Frank and I used to date them. Her and her twin sister. Shirley and Bernice.”
“I thought her name was Bunny!” Helen almost spit the word.
“Well, they call themselves that. Sunny and Bunny. Look, Helen—”
“Don’t look me, Mr. Donato. Get away from me.”
“Well, for Pete’s sake, what did I do?”
“Nothing! Oh, nothing at all! You’re perfectly innocent!”
“You’re raising your voice.”
“It’s my voice, and I’ll do whatever I want with it.”
She paused, banking the fires of her fury. “Why don’t you go back inside to her?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“It seemed like you wanted to a few minutes ago. It seemed like you wanted to plenty.”
“What the hell did I do, anyway?”
“You kissed her!” Helen hurled.
“Who?”
“You! Now, look, Bud, don’t try to get out of this with that baby-blue-eyed stare. I saw you, and I’m sure the whole damn club saw you, too!”
“You’re crazy,” he said mildly.
“Oh, Buddy, please,” she said disgustedly. She paused for a long while. The driveway was very silent. “Why don’t you go back in?” she asked softly.
“I don’t want to. Helen, I—”
“Don’t touch me!”
“Helen—”
“I said don’t touch me! I’ll kill you if you touch me!”
“For Pete’s sake, a lousy kiss—”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just—”
“Why? Because she’s got ‘tail’ stamped all over her, is that why?”
“She hasn’t got anything stamped all—”
“Buddy, Buddy, you know what she is, and I know what she is, so let’s not kid ourselves.”
“You sound catty as hell.”
“I am catty as hell! Don’t deny to me why you kissed her, Bud. For God’s sake, if I can’t even go to powder my nose without—”
“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “You’re imagining all this.” He was deeply troubled by her outburst, more troubled because everything she’d said was true. He did not know why he suddenly decided to renew a forgotten acquaintance with Bunny, or why he’d impetuously kissed her. God, right on the edge of the dance floor, right where everyone could see them. The kiss had been nothing more than that, pallid in comparison to what he’d known with Helen, and he’d felt immediately ashamed of himself even while performing the act. And then Helen had come into the room, and he’d felt her presence and looked up, and he’d seen the pain stab her eyes, the irises crumbling, and then the lids gently closing to hold back the pain. He’d have given his life not to have witnessed that look on Helen’s face, or to have seen that pain in her eyes. He’d turned to her, and she’d walked past him and outside, and he’d quickly abandoned Bunny. When he found Helen in the driveway, her pain had given way to a cold, unreasoning anger. His only salvation seemed to be in denial, and now that he was on that path he could see no way of turning back. He had a vague notion that the argument was terribly important, but he didn’t for a moment believe he was about to lose her.
“You’re a hell of a guy, all right,” she said. Her anger seemed to be dissipating. “The moment I turn my back, and then you lie about it! That’s what gets me! The lying!” The anger was returning. “How can you lie like that to me? What did you see in her? For God’s sake, are you blind? Can’t you see she’s just a painted tramp? Is that what you want?” She paused, her voice breaking, and he saw from her eyes that she was ready to cry, and he reached out his hand to her, but she turned her back on him. He stepped around her, saw her face crumble, and then she was sobbing soundlessly, trying to keep the silent tears back.
“Helen, I’m sorry. I—”
“Sorry isn’t enough!” she snapped.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“Shut up! Just shut up and leave me alone.”
“All right, I lost my head, all right? I’m sorry.”
“Lost your head? Over what? For God’s sake, Bud, is that all we mean to each other? That a chippie can step in and—”
“She’s not a chippie, Helen. We happened to—”