The Hollywood Trilogy (33 page)

SEVEN

THE DRIVE through slashing rain took a little under an hour, and for the first thirty minutes or so Quentin kept Lindy laughing with stories about his crazy students at Reed College, but as they got closer to her place conversation lagged and the silences got longer, until at last, “Turn here,” and “This is it,” were the only things anyone had said in five minutes. Quentin pulled over into the white zone in front of the apartment building and Lindy said, “Thank you,” and started to open the door, but Quentin said, “No, wait a sec,” and reached across her and pulled the door shut again.

Lindy was not cynical—it could have been that he wanted to say something about her mother—and so she waited and looked at him in the darkness, his left hand holding onto the steering wheel and his head tilted to one side. “I really have to get in,” she said finally, after another long pause.

“Listen,” he said, “I'd like to see you again.”

“Oh really? Shit.” Lindy started to open the door again, but again he reached across her and pulled it shut, and at the same time brought his head right up next to hers. She had to pull away to keep his lips from touching her cheek. His hand kept the door shut.

“I'm sorry, Lindy, I really am. But goddamn it, I think I'm falling in love with you. The same thing I saw in Eleanor I see in you, only you're the real thing. Eleanor's—well, she's the forerunner. You're it. Listen, please, I hate talking to you like this. I know damned well what you're thinking and you're right. I'm betraying your mother, I'm playing a dirty trick on her and it would kill me if she found out about it. I'm a bastard, I admit it, but honest to God I've never felt about anybody the way I feel about you. I'm not sure it's love, maybe I'm just crazy about your youngness—”

“You must be a tiger with the little coeds,” Lindy said cuttingly.

“I've never touched one of my students,” Quentin said. He sounded tired and defeated, but he kept his hand on the door, and when she breathed her breasts rose up and touched his coatsleeve. She wondered if he could feel them. If he could it was probably driving him wild.

“Am I supposed to believe that?” she said.

“No. You don't have to believe anything I say. But for the love of Christ don't go until I finish what I have to say.”

“You can't keep me here.”

“I know it. Listen, you're so beautiful I can't stand to look at you. You're going to haunt me. I can tell. My peace is at an end. Jesus, I'm starting to sound like an old movie.”

“A lousy old movie,” she said. It was time to get out of the car. She took hold of his wrist so that her four fingers were on top and her thumb underneath and then squeezed so that her thumbnail cut into his flesh.

“Ouch! For Christ's sake!” he yelled, in genuine pain and anger. He pulled his arm away from her quickly and she opened the door and got out. Over the roar of the rain she said, “Keep away from me, you bastard!” and slammed the car door and ran into the apartment building.

The next morning she awakened early and could not fall back to sleep. Empty mornings were the worst for her, because there wasn't anybody around to talk to, there was no place to go, nothing to do. Everybody was either at work or asleep. She had not slept well, and thoughts of Quentin Corby kept coming into her mind. She did not believe anything the man had said. She believed that he wanted to fuck her, plain and simple. That he could meet her in her mother's house and then make a pass at her, when her mother had trusted him to take her home was more than disgusting, it was an outrage, and Lindy really did not know what to do about it. She did not want to ruin her mother's romance, but on the other hand, Eleanor had a right to know what kind of bastard she was running around with.

Lindy got dressed and wanted a cup of coffee, but everything was dirty. She did not want to go to Jolly Joan's for her breakfast, and so with a disgusted sigh and a gesture of defeat, she attacked the kitchen, and spent the whole morning cleaning up. By the time the kitchen was ready for breakfast she was ready for lunch, but there wasn't anything in the refrigerator but some old cheese and a few eggs. She looked out the window. It was grey overhead but no rain was falling, which meant that it was probably getting colder again. She put on a heavy coat and went out.

He was waiting for her across the street, sitting huddled on a park bench, his face grey with cold. When he saw her he got up and moved toward her as if his hinges were rusty. When she recognized him she stopped and turned
toward him and waited. When he got up to her, his face was tense and anxious-looking.

“What do you want?” she asked. Maybe he actually wanted something.

“I have to apologize,” he said. “Look, can we go inside somewhere? Coffee or something? I'm freezing.”

“I have to do some things,” she said. “You apologized. Okay. See you around.” She started to walk away, but he hurried alongside her, his hands still in his topcoat pockets.

“No, please. Just a cup of coffee.”

“What did you do, cut school or something?”

“Yes. I had to talk to you.”

“‘I had to talk to you.
Darling
.'”

“Please.”

Oh shit, she thought. Why not? She had an idea of what he might want to say, anyway, and she wanted to hear him say it. They went into a little hotel coffeeshop on the corner and seated themselves in the window, where Lindy could look out at the people and the light traffic. Quentin took ten minutes to let himself warm up, sipping at his coffee and gingerly rubbing his cheeks with his fingertips before he spoke to her.

“I know you think I'm a bastard, and I guess I am,” he began, in a voice that did not sound like its owner considered himself a bastard. “But years ago I stopped kidding myself and started trying to be honest with my feelings. I didn't sleep at all last night. I was torn between feeling terribly guilty about making a pass at you and feeling just absolutely goddamn delighted at making a pass at you. Because you're what I want. I really think I'm falling in love with you, and I'd rather be in love than not in love, frankly.” He grinned quickly, and then went through the business of lighting a cigarette. Lindy just sat looking out the window. She was not going to speak unless she had good reason.

“Okay,” he said. “Your mother.”

Here it comes, Lindy thought. She turned to look at him.

“I've decided not to see her anymore. It isn't fair to her. I really like her, and we had—well. Anyway, I want to see you, and I promise that I won't see Eleanor again.”

“That's sweet for Momma,” Lindy said to him. “She thinks you're her boyfriend.”

Quentin looked genuinely pained, and bit his lip. “I know. But how would it be if I went back to her and really all the time loved you? Wouldn't that be even more unfair?”

“Mister Corby,” Lindy said slowly and deliberately, “I already have a boyfriend. I live with him. You know that. If I told him what you said to me he'd find you and break your fingers.” She stood up. She wanted to add something absolutely killing, but couldn't think of anything good enough, so she just walked away from the table. He followed her, and when she turned at the door, she could see that their waitress was following him with a check. It was getting comical.

“Please!” he said again. “Please don't—tell your mother!”

“Don't worry,” Lindy said. Then:
“I knew you'd say that!”
And she left.

EIGHT

THE NEXT night as usual Quentin bought groceries and went through Eleanor's checkstand. They had a date for that night, but Quentin's routine now was to buy his things and take them home, then pick Eleanor up later after she had showered and changed her clothes.

Eleanor asked him, “Did you get home late?”

“Not too,” he said. “The rain was awful, though. I'm glad I drove Lindy home. She's a very nice girl. You told me she was beautiful but I thought, you know, just a proud mother talking.”

“No, she's a real beauty,” Eleanor said. “Oh, this onion's got a soft spot on it. Just a sec.” And she trotted over to the produce section and picked him out a good big round yellow onion. When she got back to the checkstand she said, “Jody's not going to be home tonight. She's staying with her friend Patsy.” Eleanor was too shy to look at him as she said this, because she knew he would understand her to mean that for the first time she was inviting him to make love to her at home.

“I didn't want to see the damned movie anyway,” he said, and when she did look up at him he was grinning shyly. They had been going to go see
She Wore A Yellow Ribbon
, starring John Wayne.

As usual she was not hungry after work, but tonight there was a special sense of daring and excitement inside her. They were going to make love on
her own bed, with her familiar sheets and her old patchwork quilt. She did not this night think about all the times she and Burt had made such hurried, embarrassed and furtive love in the same bed. She only thought about Quentin and the pleasures to come. Before she took her shower she changed the sheets and pillowcases, and then when she came out of the shower, her skin rosy with cold, she had an impulse to lie down on the fresh bed and wait for him that way, naked and sensual. But common sense told her not to be a fool, and she dressed as if they were going to the movie. After all, he might change his mind.

But he didn't. She heard the familiar car door slam and then his footsteps and she had the door open before he could knock. He kissed her right there, standing in the doorway and letting the cold air into the house, his tongue swelling into her mouth and one hand intimately grasping her as he pressed her against the doorjamb. My God, she thought with a thrill, we might not make it into the bedroom! But after that first passionate kiss Quentin laughed and said, “Let's shut the door before we freeze to death,” and they went inside, and after only a few minutes of not looking at one another, moved on, holding hands, into the bedroom, where Quentin slowly undressed her and then himself as she lay on the bed with her arms delicately folded across her breasts.

He stood naked looking at her. “My God I love you,” he said. He lay down next to her and took her into his arms and began kissing her breasts. She felt such an overwhelming love for him that she began to cry without making a sound and he only found out about it when he moved up and began kissing her mouth.

“What's the matter?” he whispered.

“Nothing. I love you,” she said, and to prove it she moved down to kiss his belly, loving the way his hair felt against her lips and tongue, and then took his cock into her mouth. She knew he loved this best of all because he had saved it up to teach her last, saving it because he did not want to scare her off, and he had been right. If he had tried to get her to do this on their first evening she would have turned cold with disgust and fear. But now she loved the taste of his cock and the taste and smell of his sperm. Now she could feel him pressing his tongue up inside her, and she gave a deep satisfied internal grunt.

They made love for a couple of hours, holding one another and talking quietly between episodes. The subject of Lindy did not come up. Finally Eleanor was hungry, and she got up and made them both toasted cheese sandwiches, which they ate in the living room, listening to music on the
radio. After he left she went back to bed and composed herself for sleep by daydreaming about what marriage to Quentin would be like. She knew she would not have any trouble getting a divorce from Burt. He would see reason. She could stay home and keep house, taking care of Quentin's son and Jody until they were out of school and away. Then she and Quentin could travel together. She had always wanted to travel, but as a matter of fact aside from a trip to Crater Lake before she had married Burt, Eleanor had never been outside the Willamette Valley. She had never even been to the ocean, although as a girl she had had many chances to go.

But of course none of this would actually happen. She would not ask him to marry her, and she did not think he would ask her. He had his life. He was a college professor and he moved in different circles. She would feel awful going to the kind of parties he told her about, with people sitting on the floor drinking wine and talking about communism. She even had a suspicion that Quentin was a communist, although to her he made fun of the campus radicals. No. Not marriage. But that was all right. Her life was full now.

NINE

EDDIE DORKIN came back from his road trip tired and irritable. He had been knocking back a little too much benzedrine, and for the past three days he had not been able to sleep without heavy doses of seconal, and after a brief staccato argument with Lindy he burst into tears and sat on the edge of the bed. “Oh God,” he said to her, “I wish I was dead.”

She had been about to tell him about Quentin to see if it would make him jealous, but when she saw his disconsolate face and pitiful little hands kneading each other in his lap she relented and sat beside him, putting her fingers on his neck and rubbing gently. “It's okay,” she said, without even knowing what the problem was. He told her about all the pills, and about the terrors he had been experiencing in the middle of the night. “My life is a sham,” he said, and started crying again. Lindy felt sorry for him. She helped him undress and climbed into bed with him but it was no use. “I'll probably have a limp cock for a week,” he admitted. “Those goddamn drugs.”