“Oh, he wouldn’t come to New York without getting in touch with my husband.” Dixie chuckled. “He wouldn’t dare.” She said it fondly , but there was an undercurrent to the words that puzzled Archie.
“How did you and Andre meet?” Archie asked with planned casualness.
“At a party a few years back."
“Are you good friends?”
“You’re too young for me to say how good.” Dixie showed her dimples. “And you certainly do ask a lot of questions. What’s your game, young man? Why aren’t you home in bed where you belong? Or at least out stealing hubcaps with the rest of the kids? Just why did you come here, anyway? ”
“I wanted to see if you were really as good-looking a chick as André said you were.” Archie evaded the questions.
“Well! Will you listen to Young Lochinvar come out of the West! I don’t believe you for a minute. But am I?”
“Are you what?” Archie teased.
“Am I as attractive as André said?”
“The reality beats his description by a mile,” Archie assured her. “Your husband is a lucky man.”
“He isn’t the only one.” Dixie shot him a long, significant glance.
“Oh? Did you have an affair with André, then?”
“One he’ll never forget.” Dixie chuckled again.
“What about your husband? Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out you’ve been playing around? Weren’t you afraid he'd find out about Andre?”
“In the first place, he works nights, which is convenient. And in the second place—”
“Yes? In the second place?”
“In the second place, we understand each other. For quite a few years now we’ve understood each other. Let me tell you an incident that took place early in our marriage, and then you’ll see what I mean.”
“Shoot!” Archie told her.
“All right. We’d been married less than a year when Howard—-that’s my husband--was drafted. He was sent to Germany for a year and I stayed home and waited for him. Well, I knew Howard. I knew he wasn’t about to live up to any vows of chastity for a whole year. It figured that he’d hop in the sack with the first willing fraülein he could find. I’m a realist, and I accepted this. I also accepted the fact that I had desires of my own. And I didn’t see any reason why they should be frustrated, if you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” Archie told her. “Go on.”
“Right. Well, finally the year was over and Howard came home. I really was glad to see him, and he was happy to see me, too. We were really burning for each other. As soon as we got inside the apartment, we began ripping each other’s clothes off. We didn’t even wait to get into the bedroom. He flung me down on the rug right here in the living room, and I pulled him down on top of me. I was so anxious he’s still got a scar where I raked his back with my nails. He was so eager my derriere was black and blue for a month from the way he pounded away at me.”
“Sounds like a real wrestling match,” Archie observed. He felt himself becoming excited by her frank description.
“It was. We hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights. We were just rolling around the floor there, knocking over the furniture, so damned carried away that we weren’t aware of anything except the fusing of our bodies. Then we turned a triple somersault—-at least that’s what it seemed like—-and all the colored lights exploded like in those scenes by Tennessee Williams that you never see but the characters are always huffing about. Anyway, just as we come down off the cloud, we hear this noise outside the apartment door. You know, the walls are paper-thin in these places, and we hear the elevator stop and this sound of heavy footsteps like a man is coming.” Dixie paused for breath.
“Who was it?” Archie prompted her.
“We never did find out. It’s not important, either. The point is the way we reacted, my husband Howard and myself. He jumped up, and you know what he said?”
“What?”
“He said: ‘My God, it’s your husband!’ . . . And you know what I said?”
“What?”
“I said: ‘It can’t be! He’s overseas!’ ”
“A moment of truth, hey?” Archie grinned.
“You can say that again. Right then, at that moment, we both knew exactly where we stood. There was no point in trying to kid each other. And we’ve never tried since. I know Howard’s no saint. He knows I’m no angel. And we accept the situation. Believe me, it’s the only civilized way to be married.”
“I believe you,” Archie said. “Was that before or after you met Andre Beaumarchais?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation back to his reason for being there.
“Oh, before. Long before. But why do you keep wanting to talk about André? Did he send you here for some reason?”
“No. Why should he? What reason would he have?”
“I don’t know. I just thought he might have.”
“Well, he didn’t.” Archie stood up. “I’m really only trying to locate those two girls I mentioned,” he told Dixie Kupp. “I guess if you don’t know them, I should be going now. You probably want to get to bed.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Dixie’s eyes glittered as she said it and her odd tone lent the words a decidedly erotic connotation. “But don’t run off. I’ve been feeling very lonely tonight and it’s good to have someone to talk to. Tell me, are you old enough for me to offer you a drink?”
“Don’t put me on,” Archie told her, annoyed. “I’m old enough for you to offer and I’m old enough for me to accept and we both know it.”
“Well, would you mix your own and one for me, too? The bar’s over there.” Dixie pointed to the postage-stamp kitchen. “I just want to look in at the kids.” She disappeared through the bedroom doorway.
Archie mixed the drinks. He was just putting the ice-cube tray back in the refrigerator when she returned. She was still wearing the same shapeless bathrobe, but a cloud of perfume—obviously recently applied—preceded her into the kitchen. She took her drink, sipped at it, and led the way back into the living room.
“You said over the phone before that your name was Archimedes Jones, didn’t you?” Dixie remarked as she sat down on the couch beside Archie.
“That’s right.”
“Well,” Dixie mused, “Jones is a common name. But the Archimedes part—haven’t I seen that in the columns? Aren't you some relation to J.P. Jones, that millionaire they call ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’?”
“I’m his stepson,” Archie admitted.
“No kidding! Well, so you’re a regular celebrity. It isn't often I have a regular celebrity in my very own living room in the middle of the night. How am I supposed to treat a celebrity, anyway?”
“With lots of tender loving care,” Archie told her.
“Oh, I would, believe me. But aren’t I maybe a little bit old for you?”
“Not so I've noticed,” Archie reassured her.
“Then you do notice things, do you?" Dixie crossed her legs, and the wool bathrobe parted to reveal smooth, slightly plump thighs. When Archie stared, she followed his glance an smiled. “Yes, you certainly do,” she added. “I'll bet those little teenage girls go wild for you,” she cooed.
“Absolutely ape.” Archie snorted. “But I really dig more mature types.”
“Is that so?” Dixie put down her glass carefully and turned toward him. The movement made the bathrobe gape at the top, and the upper roundnesses of her breasts were exposed with only the nipples still barely covered. They were very large breasts, heavy with womanliness. They were rising and falling very quickly with her rapid breathing. “With your looks and your personality and your stepfather’s money behind you,” she murmured, “I guess you wouldn’t want to be bothered with somebody like me.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I’m really too old for you. I don’t kid myself. I can’t compete with all those sweet young things.”