I Loved You Wednesday (15 page)

“What does that mean?”

“It means his wife returns tonight but also that Bradley has been saying some pretty heavy things to me lately about
us
, if you know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Don’t be thick, Steve.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

“You know. Things about how much he likes me and what fun we’ve had and wouldn’t it be nice if we could spend all our time together. Things like that.”

“I see.”

“I think I’m going to adore Minnesota.”

“I wouldn’t buy my plane ticket yet.”

“Oh, Steve, you’re such a cynic!”

“It’s just you shouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch!” “Oh, yeah?” retorts Chris, sticking out her tongue. “Well, it just so happens that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!”

“Well, for your information, you’re putting the cart before the horse!”

“Then I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it!”

“But don’t burn your bridges behind you!”

“Or put off for tomorrow what I can do today!”

“Today is yesterday tomorrow!”

“Steve, that’s ridiculous!”

“All right. How ‘bout: ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’?”

“Not bad. How ‘bout: ‘Out of sight, out of mind’?”

“How ‘bout feeding me?”

“How ‘bout feeding yourself?”

“I’m starving!”

“You know, I’ve worked up another appetite myself.”

“Good. Let’s eat.”

Which is what we do.

Chris brews a large pot of coffee. We eat and drink and devour the caviar and laugh and carry on, having a wonderful time until Bradley, wakened by our racket, comes out from the bedroom draped in, are you ready for this, a Bloomingdale’s bedsheet.

“What’s all the noise?” he asks with conviction.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” I tell him. “The
Julius Caesar
dress rehearsal is just about to begin in the kitchen.”

Bradley looks at me, slightly confused, twirling a lock of his sickeningly thick blond hair between his fingers.

“Don’t mind Steve, Bradley . . . he’s all show biz.”

“Et tu, Brute?” I ask of Chris rather theatrically.

“See what I mean?” Chris tells Bradley.

Bradley joins the party, which isn’t nearly as much fun as before, but maybe laughs and good times aren’t everything.

Bradley and Chris are cooing and mooning over each other so intensely I’m soon bored. They amuse themselves while I stare at my knee.

In fact, I’m soon bored enough to make my apologies, stating I must be on my way.

Which strikes neither of them as a terribly bad idea. So I leash up the beasts, exchange insincere farewells with Bradley, and leave.

The phone is ringing when I walk into my apartment.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Heh-heh-heh-heheh-heh-heh.”

“Oh, it’s you. Hi, Wendy.”

“Funniest thing. You know my white and gold compact case with the picture of Josephine and Napoleon on it?”

“No.”

“Well, I left it on your bathroom sink.”

“That’s too bad. What should I do with it?”

“Well, no sense keeping it. It’s not even your shade. Heheheh-heh-heh. I think I should pick it up.”

“Fine. Why don’t you do that?”

“All right. Will you be home this afternoon around four?”

“I think so.”

“Great. I’ll drop by then. Toodles!”

“Bye.”

She left her compact here? Am I expected to believe that old ruse? Sure, why not? Happens all the time. Especially to people who need an excuse to return to the scene of the crime. Good. If she’s heading back, that must mean she enjoyed what we did and is coming home for more. A reprise. Encore. Bravo! Ah, Old Don Juan Butler, how do you do it?

The Midas touch strikes once more!

But the big question, of course, is: Do I want to see her again? Well, I think about that a bit weighing good sex on her plus side, an annoying laugh on her negative, and find that good sex wins out. Wendy, I’ll be waiting.

At four o’clock on the button, Wendy rings the bell. “Ding-dong. Avon calling!” she announces upon entering the apartment.

“That’s very cute,” I tell her.

She continues with the bit. “Hello, sir. We hope you received the experimental compact we sent you by mail?” Her voice is quavering a bit, telling me she’s somewhat nervous. Love it.

“I beg your pardon?” I say, unamused, like I don’t get the joke, knowing she’ll have to work harder.

“The ultimate in revolutionary makeup,” she says, forcing a smile.

I decide to catch on. “Oh, yes.
That
compact. Right. It’s sitting on the bathroom sink, ready to be claimed.”

“So good of you to have held on to it for us.”

“Anything for Avon.”

“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh.”

Wendy goes to the bathroom and returns, tossing her compact up and down in the air like a large coin.

“You found it,” I say, moving over to her. “You know the girl who left it here was quite attractive.”

“Oh?” asks Wendy, pleased.

“That’s right. Spent last night with me, in fact.”

“No?” says Wendy, mock horror.

“True. And dynamite in bed, too.”

“Really?” asks Wendy, innocent eyelashes batting.

“God’s truth. Kind of sex you can never get enough of.”

“Ooooooh!” giggles Wendy with a shiver. I can tell by the glazed look across her eyes that the courtship is over. She’s mine.

Taking her hand, I lead her into the bedroom. “This is the room where it all took place.”

“How fascinating,” says Wendy, trying to pull her hand away from mine, ever so slightly, letting me know I can have her but she’d appreciate it if I’d work on the seduction part just a bit longer before tossing her on the mattress. Which is fair, I guess. . . . We all have our levels of pride.

“Yes. Right here in this very room,” I continue. “Of course, it was much darker last evening. Let me show you.” Going over to the window, I lower the shade. Then I trot to the stereo and drop on Mahler’s Fifth. Always a good bet.

As I light a candle on the table next to the bed, Wendy shrugs and says, “Hey, come on. You don’t have todemonstrate any further. Really. I get the idea. I only came by for my compact.”

“Don’t say another word,” I tell her firmly, placing a finger across the middle of her lips. Then, drawing her close, I place my arms around her and bring my lips down to meet hers. Moving in for the kill is how I think they refer to it at stag parties.

Several hours later Wendy and I are standing at the door, saying good-bye.

“I’m glad you forgot your compact. Thanks for coming back,” I say on cue.

“It was fun.”

“Let’s get together soon,” I say, hopefully halfheartedly enough so she’ll know I don’t mean it.

“Love to,” she says with enthusiasm, calling my bluff.

“I’ll call.”

“Do you have my number, Steve?”

“Why don’t you write it down?” I’m beginning to think she’s better at this game than me.

Wendy writes down her number and handing it to me, pulls the
coup de grâce
. “I’m so rarely home, you’ll probably never be able to reach me. So if I don’t hear from you in the next few days, I’ll call.”

“Perfect!” I tell her, wondering just how she managed to sneak in that extra point.

A long farewell, and she is gone.

Later that afternoon I learn of two commercial calls I’ve got for tomorrow.

My first audition is at nine thirty in the morning, so planning to be fresh and on top of things, I decide to get a good night’s rest. I’m quite beat from yesterday’s winging from Fla. to Gotham and the commotion of Chris’ opening night festivities, coupled with last night’s and this afternoon’s sexual intramural activities.

It’s now pouring outside, a fine evening to sleep. So I take a Seconal and am gone by ten thirty.

At eleven the phone rings.

“What did I do to deserve this?” is my weary greeting. “Did I wake you?” asks Chris with uncanny innocence. “No. I’m just imitating a sleeping person.” “It’s a very good impersonation.” “Thanks.”

“You weren’t really asleep, were you? It’s only eleven.” “I checked out at ten thirty.” “You’re not feeling well?”

“I feel fine. Got an early audition in the morning and wanted to be good and rested.”

“Ridiculous! You’ll be overprepared. Get up, get dressed and come meet me.” “Out of the question.”

“ Why
?” asks Chris, very insistent.

“Because!”
is my defensive reply.

“ Why
‘because’?” is Chris’ counterdefensive.

“This is getting us nowhere. How was the show tonight?”

“The usual second night letdown. Audience liked it, though.” “Good.”

“I’ve had two vodka martinis, Steve, am getting very sloshed and am very upset. I’ve got to see you.” “My heart says yes; my legs refuse.” “That’s no reason.” “Well, it’ll just have to do.”

“Please, Steve. It’s very important. I’ve got to speak with you.”

“Okay. Speak.” “Not on the phone.” “Why not on the phone?” “Come on, Steve. I’m upset.” “What else is new?” “STEVE!”

“All right. Tell you what. Come over here, and I promise I’ll be so attentive you won’t even notice my snoring.” “Steve, I’m serious!” “So am I.”

“I don’t want to go to your place. I want to be in a bar.”

“Where
are
you anyway?”

“Casey’s.”

“In the Village?”

“Yes.”

“You expect me to travel all the way to the Village??” “It’s only a hop, skip and a jump by subway.” “Chris, I’m not capable of skipping into my living room.” “Tell you what. . . I’ll compromise and come uptown.” “You’re too good.”

“It’s the least I can do since you’re leaving a warm bed to meet me.”

“I am not leaving a warm bed to meet you.” “But you must. Didn’t we just compromise?” “We didn’t. You did.”

“Let’s not argue. The important thing is we’re getting together, right?”

“Wrong! We are not getting together.” “Since I’m sacrificing and coming uptown to you, I may as well pick the place.”

“Don’t pick anything, Chris. I am not meeting you. I am going back to sleep.”

“I’ve got it! O’Neal’s! That’s right around the corner from you.” “I don’t care.” “What could be easier?” “Ending this conversation.” “STEVE!”

“Chris, don’t do this to me!” “Half an hour, no?” “NO!”

“Tell you something else: You’re such a good boy, I’m buying the drinks.” “Don’t bother.” “No bother. It’s on me.”

“Keep your money, sport. I am not leaving this house. I am going back to sleep!”

“I feel a hundred percent better already.” “I promise you, Chris; not this time!” “I’m heading uptown right now.”

“I’M NOT GOING!”

“If you’re a little late, I’ll start without you.”

“Chris . . . listen to me—”

“I’ll get us a booth. Nice and comfy.”

“Chris—”

“Nothing’s too good for my angel.” “CHRIS!”

“Half an hour, Stevie-poo. Love. Love. Love!” “Chris, it’s not going to work. I’m not—” Click.

Thirty minutes later I find Chris hunched over an almost empty vodka martini in the middle of a booth in the back room of O’Neal’s. “All right,” I ask impatiently. “Now just what exactly is the big news that brings me out at this very late, very wet hour?” Chris looks up at me. Not a happy face.

“Thanks for coming,” she says quietly. “Sit down.” I sit down.

An unemployed actor/working waiter comes over to take our order.

“I’ll have a scotch and water,” I tell him. “Chris?” Chris looks up. “I’ll have a vodka and death.” As the waiter stares at her dumbfoundedly, I ask, “Would you settle for another vodka martini?” “Only if it’s a lethal dose!”

“Bring her another, please,” I tell the waiter. He leaves and I turn my attentions to Chris. “Okay, kiddo. Shoot!” “This is not going to be pleasant, Steve.” “All right.”

“Where should I begin?”

“How should I know? I don’t even know what’s upset you.”

“You
must
know.” “Bradley?”

“Of course. Who else could make me this unhappy?” “Tell me what happened.”

“Well, once you left, we had a really nice time.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You know what I mean. Bradley relaxed and became affectionate and oh, forget it, I don’t feel like talking about it anymore.”

“ARE YOU CRAZY?”
I roar. “J
JUST DRAGGED MYSELF OVER HERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS DISGUSTING NIGHT INSTEAD OF STAYING HOME GETTING SOME BEAUTY REST, LIKE A SENSIBLE PERSON, SO BELIEVE ME YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME WHATEVER IT IS YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME AND I MEAN RIGHT NOW OR I’LL GIVE YOU SUCH A FAT LIP, YOU’LL REALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO BE DEPRESSED ABOUT?’