Motel
Evan Hunter aka Ed McBain

I

The January wind was blowing fiercely as he put the key into the unfamiliar door lock and then twisted it to the right with no results. He turned it to the left, and the door opened, and he pushed it wide into the motel room, and then stepped aside for her to enter before him. She was wearing a short beige car coat, the collar of which she held closed about her throat with one gloved hand. Her skirt, showing below the hem of the coat, was a deeper tan. She was wearing dark brown leather boots, almost the colour of her shoulder-length hair. Her eyes were browner than the boots, and she lowered them as she stepped past him into the room. There was an air of shy nervousness about her.
Fumbling to extricate the key from the lock, Frank almost lost his homburg to a fresh gust of wind. He clasped it to his head with his free hand, struggled with the damn key again, and finally pulled it free of the lock. Putting the key into the pocket of his overcoat, he went into the room, closed the door behind him, and said immediately, “I hope you won’t misinterpret this.”
“Why should I?” she asked.
“Well, a motel has connotations. But I couldn’t think of any other way.”
“We’re both adults, Frank,” she said. “I don’t see why it shouldn’t be possible for two adults to take a room and...”
“That was precisely my reasoning,” he said.
“So please don’t apologise.”
They stood just inside the entrance doorway, as though each were reluctant to take the steps that would propel them deeper into the room. There were two easy chairs on their right, in front of the windows facing the courtyard outside. A table with a lamp on it rested between the two chairs. On the wall immediately to their left, there was a dresser with a mirror over it, another lamp on one end of it. An air-conditioning unit was recessed into a window on the wall opposite the door. The bed was covered with a floral-patterned spread that matched the drapes. Its headboard was against the wall opposite the dresser. A framed print of a landscape hung over it.
“Millie,” he said, “I honestly do want you to see this film.”
“Oh, I honestly want to see it,” she said.
“We talked about it so often on the train that it just seemed ridiculous not to show it to you.”
“Of course,” she said.
“Which is why I mentioned it at lunch today, and suggested that maybe we could take a room someplace, for just a few minutes, a half-hour maybe, so I could show you the film. Still, I don’t want you to think the only reason I asked you to lunch was to show you the film.” He grinned suddenly. “Though I am very proud of it.”
“I’m dying to see it,” she said.
“I’ll just be a minute, okay?” he said, and went to the door, and opened it, and stepped outside into the windblown courtyard, leaving the door open. She debated closing the door behind him, and decided against it. She also debated taking off her gloves, and decided against that as well. Outside, she heard the sound of the automobile trunk being slammed shut. A moment later, he came into the room carrying a motion picture projector.
“I was wondering how you were going to show it,” Millie said.
“I had this in the trunk,” he said, and put it down on the floor.
“Do you always carry a movie projector in the trunk?”
Smiling, he said, “Well, I can’t pretend I didn’t plan on showing you the film.” He took a small reel of film from his coat pocket, held it up for her to see, and then put it on the dresser top. Taking off his coat, he went to the rack in one corner of the room, and hung it on a wire hanger. He took off the homburg and placed that on the shelf over the rack. He was wearing a dark, almost black, shadow-striped business suit.
“Did your wife say anything?” she asked.
“About the projector? Why would she say anything?”
“I guess she wouldn’t,” Millie said. “I guess lots of men take movie projectors to work in the morning.”
“Actually, she didn’t see it,” Frank said. “I put it in the car last night.” He looked around the room. “I was hoping the walls would be white,” he said. “Well, maybe the towels are white.”
“Did you plan to take a bath first?” she asked.
“No, no,” he said, walking towards the bathroom door. “I just want to make a screen.” From the bathroom, he said, “Ah, good,” and was back an instant later carrying a large white towel. “Let’s see now,” he said, “I guess I can hang this over the mirror, uh? Move the table there, and set my projector on it. Uh-huh.” As she watched, he went to the dresser, reached up over it, and tucked the towel over the top edge of the mirror, covering it. She had not moved from where she was standing just inside the door. Turning to her, he said, “Wouldn’t you like to take off your coat?”
“Well... is it a very long film?” she asked.
“Sixty seconds, to be exact.”
“Oh, well, all right then.”
She took off her gloves and her coat. She was wearing a smart, simple suit and a pale green blouse. As she carried the coat to the rack, Frank took the lamp off the table, moved the table, set the projector down and plugged it into a wall socket.
“Isn’t sixty seconds very short?” she asked.
“No, that’s the usual length. Some are even shorter. Thirty seconds, some of them.” He looked up from where he was threading the film. “You don’t have to hurry back or anything, do you?”
“No, no,” she said. “As long as I’m back before dinner.”
“What time is that, usually?”
“Seven-thirty, usually. But I have to be back before then. My husband gets home at seven, you see. And he likes to have a drink first. So I should be home around six-thirty, seven. Not that I have to account for my time or anything, you understand.”
“Well, even if you did,” Frank said, “there’s nothing wrong with two adults having lunch together.”
“If I thought there was anything wrong with it, I wouldn’t have accepted.”
“In fact, it seems entirely prejudicial that a man and a woman can’t enjoy each other’s company simply because they happen to be married to other people-you didn’t tell your husband, did you?” he asked.
“No. Did you tell your wife?”
“No,” he said. “I never even told her I’d met you on the train.”
“It’s really silly, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is,” he said. “But you know, the truth of it is that most people just wouldn’t understand. If I told my wife... or anyone, for that matter... that I’d taken you to lunch...”
“And to a motel later...”
“To show you a film...”
“Who’d believe it?”
“There,” he said. “Let me just close these drapes.” He pulled them across the rod, darkening the room, and then snapped on the projector. As the leader came on, he adjusted the throw and the focus, and framed the film on the centre of the towel. “Here goes,” he said, just as a heraldic blast of trumpets sounded from the projector’s speaker. The film appeared on the towel. There were two ten-year-old children in the film. The children were singing.
“Hot buttered popcorn” they sang,
“We like it, you like it.
“Hot buttered popcorn
“From Pike, it’s
“Great!”
The children were digging into a box of popcorn now. One of the children asked, “Do you like popcorn?”
“I love popcorn,” the other child said.
“Me, too.”
The children fell silent. On the screen, there were close shots of their hands digging into the box of popcorn, other close shots of the popcorn being transferred to their mouths. The camera pulled back to show their beaming faces.
“Good, huh?” the first child asked.
“Delicious,” the second child said.
“What is it?”
“Popcorn. What do you think it is?”
“Yeah, but what kind of popcorn?”
“Hot buttered popcorn.”
“I mean, the name.”
“Oh. I dunno.”
“Is this it here on the box?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
The camera panned down to the front of the popcorn box, and the words PIKE’S POPCORN printed on it.
“Pike’s!” one of the children shouted. “That’s the name!”
Together, they began singing again.
“Hot buttered popcorn,
“We like it, you like it.
“Hot buttered popcorn
“From Pike, it’s
“Great!”
The screen went blank. Frank snapped off the projector, and then turned on the room light. Millie was silent for what seemed an inordinately long time. Then she said, “I didn’t realise it would be in colour.”
“Yes, we shoot everything in colour nowadays,” he said. “What’d you think of it?”
“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “Did you write the song, too?”
“No, just the dialogue. Between the kids.”
“Oh,” Millie said.
“It was very easy and natural for me,” he said. “I have three kids of my own, you know.”
“Yes, you told me that. On the train. Two boys and a girl.”
“No, two girls and a boy,” he said.
“Yes. How old are they?”
“The boy’s nineteen. The girls are fifteen and thirteen.”
“That’s older than my girls,” Millie said. “Mine are eight and six.”
They looked at each other silently. The silence lengthened. And then, into the silence, the telephone suddenly shrilled, startling them both. He moved towards the phone, and then stopped dead in his tracks. The phone kept ringing. Finally he went to it, and warily lifted the receiver.
“Hello?” he said. “Who? No, there’s no Mr... oh, yes! Yes, this is Mr Mclntyre. The what? Yes, the Mercury is mine. In what? In the parking space for seventeen? Oh, yes, certainly, I’ll move it. Thank you.” He hung up, and looked at Millie. “I parked the car in the wrong space,” he said.
“Is that the name you used? Mclntyre?”
“Yes, well, I figured...”
“Oh, certainly, what’s the sense of...?”
“That’s what I figured. I’d better move the car. It’s supposed to be in sixteen.”
As he started for the door, she said, “Maybe we just ought to leave.”
“What?” he said.
“Well... you’ve shown me the film already. And since you have to move the car, anyway...”
“Yes, but we haven’t discussed it yet,” he said. “The film. In depth, I mean.”
“That’s true. But we could discuss it in depth in the car on the way back to the city.”
“Yes, I guess we could do that,” he said. “Is that what you’d like to do?”
“What would you like to do?”
“Well, I thought I’d move the car to number sixteen, and then maybe we could discuss the film afterwards. In depth. If that’s what you’d like to do.”
“Well, whatever you want to do.”
“Well, fine then.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll move the car,” he said quickly, and went out, and closed the door behind him. She debated sitting on the bed, and decided against it. She debated sitting in one of the chairs near the windows, and decided against that as well. She settled for leaning on the dresser. She was leaning on it when he came back into the room, blowing on his hands.
“Whoo, it’s cold out there,” he said. “I can’t remember a January this cold, can you?”
“You should have put on your coat.”
“Well, I figured just to move the car...”
“Did you move it?”
“Yep,” he said, “all taken care of. Room sixteen in space sixteen.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“Mine? Oh, you mean room seventeen. A big black Caddy. With a fat old man behind the wheel.”
“Alone?”
“No, he had a girl with him. A frumpy blonde.”
“Probably has a film he wants to show her,” Millie said, and smiled.
“Probably,” he said, and returned the smile. “So... what’d you think of it?” Without waiting for her answer, he said, “I got quite a bit of praise for it. In fact, the Head of Creation called me personally to...”
“God?”
“No, Hope. Hope Cromwell. She’s the agency’s creative head. That’s her official title.”
“What’s your official title?”
“Me? I’m just a copywriter, that’s all.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say just a copywriter.”
“Well, Hope’s a vice president, you see. I’m just...” He shrugged. “Just a copywriter.”
“Michael’s a vice president, too,” she said. “My husband. He’s a stockbroker, did I tell you that?” She paused, and then said, “Is Hope attractive?”
“No, no. Well, yes, I suppose so. I suppose you could call her attractive. I suppose you could call her a beautiful redhead.”
“Oh,” Millie said. “Is she a nice person, though?”
“Actually, she’s a pain sometimes.”
“So’s Michael,” Millie said. “Especially when he starts discussing futures. Are you, for example, interested in soy beans?”
“No, but men like to discuss their work, you know. I guess he...”
“Oh, I understand that. But I’ve never even seen a soy bean, have you?”
“I’ve seen soy bean sauce,” Frank said.
“But have you ever seen a soy bean itself?”
“Never.”
“So why should I be interested in something I’ve never seen in my entire life?”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Or its future,” Millie said. “Of course, Michael’s interesting in other ways. He has a mathematical turn of mind, you see. I’m a scatterbrain, but Michael...”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I am, believe me. If it weren’t for Michael, I wouldn’t know how to set the alarm clock. Well, I’m exaggerating, but you know what I mean. He has this very logical firm grasp on everything, whereas I just flit in and out and hardly know what I’m doing half the time. I’m very impulsive. I do things impulsively.”
“Like coming to lunch today,” Frank said.
“Yes. And like coming here to the motel.”
“That was impulsive for me, too,” he said.
“Well, it wasn’t as impulsive for you as it was for me. Because, after all, you did put the projector in your car last night.”
“That’s right,” Frank said. “Yes, in that respect, it wasn’t as impulsive, you’re right.”
“What would you have said if your wife saw you putting the projector in the car?”
“I guess I’d have said I was bringing it in for repair or something.”
“Would she have believed that? Does she trust you?”
“Oh, sure. I’ve never given her reason not to trust me. Why shouldn’t she trust me?”
“Well, if you go around sneaking movie projectors into your car...”
“I didn’t sneak it in. I just carried it out. She wasn’t even home, in fact.”
“Where was she?”
“At the shop. Mae owns a little antiques shop in Mamaroneck.”
“Oh? What’s it called?”
“Something Old”
“Really?” Millie said. “That’s a darling shop! Does your wife really own it? I’ve been in there several times. Which one is your wife?”
“Well, there are only two of them in the shop, and one of them’s sixty years old. My wife’s the other one.”
“The little brunette? She’s very attractive. I bought an ironstone pitcher from her last month. What’d you say her name was?”
“Mae.”
“That’s a pretty name. Very springlike.”
“Yes. Well, it’s M-A-E, you understand.”
“Oh, not M-A-Y?”
“No, M-A-E,” he said, and they both fell silent.
“Well,” she said.
“Well,” he said.
“Did you register as Mr and Mrs Mclntyre?” she asked.
“Yes. Well, I couldn’t very well register as Mr and Mrs Di Santangelo, could I?”
“Why not?”
“I’d still be up there signing the card,” he said, and laughed. “Di Santangelo’s an unusually long name, you see.”
“My maiden name was longer. Are you ashamed of being Italian?” she asked abruptly.
“Ashamed? No, no, why should I be ashamed?”
“It just seems strange to me that you’d choose a Wasp name like Mclntyre...”
“It’s not a Wasp name.”
“Did you choose it last night? When you were putting the projector in the car?”
“No, I chose it when I was registering.”
“My mother would die on the spot if she knew I was in a motel room with a Wasp named Mclntyre.”
“It’s not Wasp, it’s Roman Catholic.”
“Worse yet,” Millie said. “Is your wife Italian, too?”
“She’s Scotch.”
“Do you think we can get something to drink?” Millie asked.
“As a matter of fact, I have a bottle in the car,” Frank said.
“My, you’re very well appointed, aren’t you?” she said, and smiled. “A projector in the trunk...”
“Well, I figured...”
“But maybe we just ought to leave,” she said. “Find a bar on the way back.”
“Oh, sure, we can do that, if you want to.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“Well, this is a nice comfortable room, we might just as well... would you like a drink, Millie?”
“I would love a drink,” she said, and he rose instantly and started for the door. “But not if it’s any trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” he said, and went outside again.
She debated taking off her boots, and decided against it.
She sat on the edge of the bed instead. There was a Magic Fingers box on the side of the bed. She read the instructions silently, took off the boots after all, inserted a quarter into the box, and lay back on the bed. The bed was still vibrating when Frank came back into the room. He was carrying a brown paper bag.
“Are you having a massage?” he asked.
“It said ‘soothing and relaxing.’”
“Is it?”
“It’s soothing,” she said. “I don’t know how relaxing it is.” The machine suddenly stopped, the bed stopped vibrating. “Ooo,” she said. “Now I miss it.”
“Shall I put another quarter in?”
“No, I think a drink might be more relaxing,” she said, and sat up. “I don’t ordinarily drink, you know. Michael’s the big drinker. Do you have a drink when you get home at night?”
“Oh, yes.”
“How many drinks do you have?”
“One or two. Usually two.”
“Michael also has one or two, but usually three. For a fellow who’s on such a strict diet, he sure knows how to put away his whiskey. Jewish men aren’t supposed to be big drinkers, you know. There are statistics on that sort of thing.” She smiled and said, “I probably married the only Jew in Larchmont who has three glasses of whiskey before dinner. Big glasses, too.”
“Are you from Larchmont originally?” Frank asked.
“No, the Bronx. Michael was born in Larchmont, though. We met at a dance. He used to play alto saxophone in a band. Would you like to hear something strange? The first time he took me out, he told me he was going to marry me. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“No, that’s what I told Mae the first time I dated her.”
“Really?”
“Mm-huh. Let me get some glasses and ice,” he said, and went into the bathroom.
“Is there a little instruction booklet or something?” Millie asked.
“No, just the ice machine,” he said. “Under the sink here.”
“I mean, that you fellows consult before dating a girl for the first time. I think it’s extraordinary that you and Michael would have used the same line on two separate girls. Don’t you think that’s extraordinary?”
“No,” he said, coming out of the bathroom. “In fact, it wasn’t a line with me. I really meant it.” He walked to the dresser, and poured Scotch into both glasses. “I knew immediately that I wanted to marry her. Did you want water in this?”
“No, thanks,” she said.
Frank handed her one of the glasses. “Well... cheers,” he said, and clinked his glass against hers.
“Cheers,” Millie said, and drank. “Wow!” she said.
“Too strong? I can ...”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, gasping. “Before you got married...?”
“Yes?”
“Did you go to bed with your wife? I don’t mean to be personal.”
“No, no, that’s a perfectly legitimate question. We’re both adults, after all, and if we’re going to be honest with each other, we should be entirely honest.”
“Precisely,” Millie said. “Did you go to bed with her?”
“Yes.”
“A lot?”
“Every now and then,” Frank said. “We were at school together, you see. The University of Pennsylvania. It was very convenient.”
“It was very convenient for Michael and me, too.”
“It’s even more convenient for the kids nowadays. My son, for example...”
“How old did you say he was?”
“Nineteen. He’s a sophomore at Yale.”
“Does he have a beard?”
“A moustache.”
“Michael has a moustache, too.”
“I was saying that the kids don’t give a second thought to it nowadays. It’s all very natural and casual with them.”
“Natural maybe,” Millie said, “but I don’t think casual.”
“Well, it should be a very natural thing, you know. Sex, I mean.”
“Yes, but not casual. I don’t think it should be casual, do you? Sex, I mean.”
“No. But I do think it should be natural. Would you like to take off your jacket or something?”
“It is warm in here, isn’t it?” She took off the suit jacket, and tossed it to the foot of the bed. “You were saying about your wife...”
“My wife?”
“About sleeping with her all the time.”
“Well, not all the time. But we were on the same campus for four years.”
“That’s a long time to be sleeping with somebody.”
“Especially if her father is a Methodist minister,” Frank said.
“My father runs a Buick agency in the Bronx,” Millie said. “Did you deliberately set out to marry a Wasp? I mean, because you’re ashamed of being Italian and all?”
“Hey, come on,” Frank said, laughing, “I’m not ashamed of being Italian. And besides, I don’t think of Mae as a Wasp.”
“What do you think of her as?”
“A woman,” he said, and shrugged. “My wife. Whom I happen to love very much.”
“I happen to love Michael very much, too,” she said, “though he is a pain sometimes. This is very good, this Scotch. No wonder Michael belts it down every night. Could I have just a teeny little bit more?”
He took the bottle of Scotch from the dresser and went to her, and poured more of it into her glass, and then sat on the edge of the bed beside her.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“That must have been very nice,” she said, “going to an out-of-town college, I mean. I went to N.Y.U. I used to commute from the Bronx every day.”
“When did you graduate?”
“Ten years ago. In fact, Michael and I went to a reunion just before Christmas. It was ghastly. Everyone looked so old.”
“How old are you, Millie?”
“Thirty-two,” she said.
“Do you realise that when I started at the University of Pennsylvania you were still being pushed around in a baby carriage?”
“You’re how old? Forty-six?”
“Four.”
“That’s only twelve years older than I am,” she said, and shrugged.
“Exactly my point. When I was twenty-two...”
“Why’d you start college so late?”
“I was in the Army. My point is that when I was starting college... did you want some more of this?”
“Just a drop, please,” she said, and held out her glass again. He poured liberally into it, and she raised her eyebrows and said, “That’s like one of Michael’s drops.”
“Anyway, when I was starting college, you were only ten years old.”
“Yes, but that’s not in a baby carriage.”
“No, but it’s very young.”
Sipping at her drink, she said, “Is that why you want to make love to me?”
“What?” he said.
“Make love,” she said. “To me,” she said. “Because I’m twelve years younger than you are?”
“Well, who... well, who said anything about...?”
“Well, you do want to make love to me, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but...”
“Well, is that the reason?”
“Well, that’s part of it, yes.”
“What’s the other part? That I’m Jewish?”
“No. What’s that got to do with...?”
“If that’s part of it, I really don’t mind,” she said. “A lot of Gentiles find Jewish girls terribly attractive. And vice versa. Jewish girls, I mean. Finding Italian men attractive.”
She looked at him steadily over the rim of her glass. She rose then, and walked to the dresser, and put her glass down, and began unbuttoning her blouse.

II

The motel courtyard was washed with sunshine, the trees were in full leaf. It was April, and Millie was wearing a bright cotton dress that echoed the blues, greens, and yellows of the season. Frank was wearing a business suit, but the tie he wore seemed geared to spring as well-a riot of daisies rampant on a pale green field. He unlocked the door knowledgeably, and removed the key with familiar dexterity. Millie entered the room first. She went swiftly to the dresser and put down her bag. As Frank locked the door from the inside, she went quickly to the drapes and pulled them closed across the windows. Frank threw the slip bolt and was turning away from the door, when Millie rushed into his arms. She kissed him passionately, and then moved out of his arms and disappeared into the bathroom.
Frank went to one of the easy chairs. He turned on the lamp between the chairs, and then began taking off his shoes and socks. Millie came out of the bathroom, carrying a facial tissue. She went to the mirror and began wiping off her lipstick. Frank took off his jacket. Millie slipped out of her pumps. Frank carried his jacket to the clothes rack, and hung it neatly on a wire hanger. Millie padded over to him barefooted, turned her back to him, lifted her hair from the nape of her neck and waited for him to lower the zipper on her dress.
“What’s the use?” he said.
“Huh?” she said, and turned to look at him, puzzled.
“What’s the use, what’s the use?” he said despairingly, and went to one of the chairs, and sat in it, and began wringing his hands. “How am I supposed to put my heart in this when my mind’s a hundred miles away? She’s driving me crazy, Millie. If she doesn’t stop, I’ll just have to leave, that’s all.”
“Leave?” Millie asked, surprised.
“Leave, leave, right,” he said, and rose and began pacing in front of the dresser. “I’ve warned her. I’ve told her a hundred times. She can’t treat me this way, damn it. I’m not some adolescent kid fresh out of college.”
“You’ve told her?” Millie said, and her eyes opened wide.
“A hundred times. More often than that. Repeatedly. Over and over again. A thousand times. Then today...”
Alarmed, Millie said, “What happened today?”
“What’s today?”
“Tuesday. You know it’s Tuesday. We meet every Tuesday.”
“I mean the date. What’s the date?”
“April sixth.”
“Right. So that means she was five days late to begin with. So what’s she jumping all over me for?”
“Five days late?”
“Right. And she yells at me about it. When she’s really the one to blame.”
“Frank, I thought we agreed a long time ago that we wouldn’t discuss anything like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like Mae or Michael.”
“Who’s discussing Mae or Michael? I’m talking about Hope. Hope Cromwell. She came in first thing this morning and said, ‘Where is it?’ So I reminded her that she’d only told me about the damn thing Friday, five days after it was due, and she said it seemed to her it shouldn’t take that long to do a thirty-second spot when I knew the client was waiting for a presentation, and maybe I’d get the material in on time if I didn’t take such long lunch hours every Tuesday. So I told her to take a look at her own lunch hour, which starts at eleven in the morning and ends at three, so don’t talk to me about long lunch hours, baby.”
“Did you really say that?”
“I certainly did.”
“You called her ‘baby’?”
“No, no, I wouldn’t call her ‘baby’. The point is I don’t like being bawled out for something that’s not my fault. And anyway, if I want to take a long lunch hour every Tuesday, so what? I’ve got half a mind to tell her what she can do with the job.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Huh?”
“Why don’t you call her and tell her what she can do with the job?”
“Tell Hope, you mean?”
“Sure.”
“Well, she’s probably out to lunch right now.”
“Let’s try her,” Millie said, and went to the phone.
“Well, perhaps it’s best not to act too impulsively,” he said. “There are millions of copy writers in New York, all of them just as good as I am.”
“I doubt that very much,” Millie said. She lifted the receiver and handed it to him. “Call her.”
“Just a second, Mil,” he said. “Let me think about this a minute, okay?”
“What’s there to think about? Just tell her, that’s all.”
“I’ll tell her when I get back to the office.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
Millie put the receiver back onto the cradle, and turned her back to him again. Lifting the hair from the nape of her neck, she lowered her head and waited for him to unzip her dress. “You don’t have to take that kind of abuse, Frank,” she said. “You’re a very good copywriter.”
“Yeah,” he said, and lowered the zipper.
“So tell her.”
“I will,” he said, “don’t worry.” He unknotted his tie and threw it onto the seat of the closest chair. Unbuttoning his shirt, he said, “I’ll tell her I don’t have to take that kind of abuse.”
“Right.”
“I’ll tell her I don’t like to be blamed for something that’s not my fault. She should have told me about the presentation earlier.”
“That’s right, she should have.”
“Damn right, she should have,” Frank said. “I’ll tell her there are millions of copywriters in this city, but not many of them are as good as I am. And if she continues to hand out the kind of abuse she did this morning, I’ll just head over to one of the other agencies where they won’t treat me like an adolescent.”
“Good,” Millie said, “tell her.” In bra, half-slip and panties, she padded to the clothes rack and hung up her dress.
“As for the lunch hour,” he said, gathering steam, “I’ll tell her to stop behaving as if it’s a banquet! It isn’t a banquet, it’s just an ordinary long lunch hour, and that’s that.” He nodded, took off his shirt, and draped it over the back of one of the chairs. Millie was silent for what seemed like a long time.
“Frank, have you ever done anything like this before?” she asked suddenly.
“With another woman, do you mean?”
“Yes, with another woman.”
“Besides Mae, do you mean?”
“Yes, besides Mae.”
“Never,” he said. “Why? Have you?”
Millie walked to the air conditioner. “Do you think this thing works?” she asked, and stabbed at a button on its face. “There,” she said, and went to the bed, and neatly folded back the spread, and then carried it to one of the chairs.
“Millie?” he said. “You haven’t answered my question. Have you ever?”
“Have I ever what?”
“Done this?”
“With another man, do you mean?”
“Yes, with another man.”
“Besides Michael, do you mean?”
“Yes, besides Michael.”
“Do you want an honest answer?”
“Of course I want an honest answer.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Jesus!” he said.
“You wanted to know.”
“Who was it?”
“Another man.”
“I know that! Who?”
“You don’t know him. His name is Paul.”
“Where’d you meet him?”
“In the Chock Full O’Nuts on Sheridan Square.”
“Having a nice long lunch, was he?”
“No, he was eating a cream cheese sandwich on toasted raisin bread.”
“I don’t want to know anything else about him,” Frank said. “In fact, I think we’d better get dressed.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to leave.” He went to the chair and picked up his shirt. He started to put it on, but one of the sleeves was pulled inside out. Angrily, he shoved at the sleeve, and finally managed to get his arm through it.
“He’s a sculptor,” Millie said.
“I don’t care what he is.”
“I posed for him once. Just my belly button.”
“Your what?” Frank said.
“He does belly buttons. Not always, you understand. That was his project at the time. When I met him. He was doing these enormous sculptures of belly buttons. It was really quite fascinating. I mean, things take on a completely different perspective when you see them larger than...”
“I don’t want to hear about your goddamn sculptor and his belly buttons!” Frank shouted. Calming himself, he said, “Get dressed, please,” and began buttoning his shirt.
“He filled a very important need in my life,” Millie said softly.
“I’m sure he did.”
“And I could hardly have known at the time that I was going to meet you on the eight forty-six from Larchmont. Besides, I stopped seeing him right after I met you. In February.”
“That’s not right after you met me,” Frank said. “That’s a full month after you met me.”
“Well, it takes time to end things,” she said.
“More time than it takes to begin them, I’m sure.”
“Now you sound like Michael.”
“Oh, did you tell him about your sculptor, too?”
“Of course not.”
“How come I’m so privileged?”
“I thought you’d understand.”
“I don’t. Put on your clothes, and let’s get out of here.”
“I wasn’t looking for anything, Frank, I hope you realise that. It just happened.”
“How? What’d you do, show him your navel in the middle of Chock Full O’Nuts?”
“I didn’t do anything of the sort.”
“Then how’d he know he wanted to sculpt your navel? There are six million women in the city of New York, how’d he happen to pick your navel?”
“He picked a lot of navels,” Millie said. “Not only mine.”
“How many?”
“At least fifty of them.”
“Now that’s sordid, that’s positively sordid,” Frank said.
“It wasn’t sordid at all.”
“Where’d you pose for him?”
“He has a big loft in Greenwich Village. There. But not the same day.”
“Oh, that makes an enormous difference. When did he sculpt you, if you’ll pardon the expression?”
“A month later. On October sixth.”
“You remember the exact date, huh?” Frank said. “That really is sordid, Millie, remembering the exact date.”
“Only because it was his birthday,” she said.
“What’d you do? Drop in on the loft, strip down and yell ‘Happy Birthday, Paul!’”
“Not Paul’s birthday. Michael’s.”
“Oh, Jesus!” Frank said.
“And I didn’t just go there. Paul called and asked me to come.”
“Oh, you gave him your number, did you?”
“He looked it up, the same as you.”
“He seems to have done a lot of things the same as me,” Frank said. “Will you for God’s sake get dressed?”
“It was just like open heart surgery,” Millie said.
“What was?” Frank asked.
“Doing my navel. I didn’t have to expose any other part of me. He had me all covered up with a sheet, except for my navel. It was very professional.”
“When did it start getting unprofessional?” Frank said, and whipped his tie from the seat of the chair, and walked angrily to the mirror.
“After he cast it in bronze.”
“Did he put it on the living room table?” Frank asked, and lifted his collar and slid the tie under it, and then began knotting the tie, and had to start all over again because somehow he’d forgotten how to knot a tie. “I think that would’ve been touching,” he said. “A bronze belly button instead of a pair of baby shoes.”
“It would’ve been too big to put on a table, anyway,” Millie said. “I told you, the whole idea of the project was...”
“The whole idea of the project,” Frank said, “was to get fifty stupid housewives into bed with him!”
“We weren’t all housewives,” Millie said.
Calming himself again, carefully knotting his tie, Frank said, “In any case, Millie, I think we should leave. I don’t know how to sculpt, you see. I wouldn’t know how to sculpt a goddamn navel. Or how to pick up a goddamn lady in the Chock Full O’Nuts on Sheridan Square.”
“You did fine on the eight forty-six from Larchmont,” she said.
“Oh, I did. I see. I’m the one who seduced the innocent little housewife, led her down the garden...”
“Well, I certainly didn’t have the movie projector in my trunk!”
The telephone rang, shocking them into silence. They both turned to look at it, but neither made a move for it. The phone kept ringing.
“Why don’t you get it?” Frank said. “Maybe it’s Paul. Maybe he’s doing buttocks this week.”
Millie did not answer him. With great dignity, she padded to the phone, and lifted the receiver. “Hello?” she said. “Who? Yes, just a moment, please.” She held out the receiver to Frank. “It’s the manager. He wants to talk to Mr Mclntyre.”
Frank took the receiver from her. “Hello?” he said. “Yes? The what’s too loud?” He looked across the room at the television set. “It isn’t even on,” he said, “so how can it be on too loud? Well, you just tell the man in seventeen that perhaps the television on the other side of him is on. In eighteen, that’s right. Tell him it is not on in sixteen. Goodbye,” he said, and banged down the receiver. “Stupid ass,” he said. “Good thing we won’t be coming back here anymore.”
In a very tiny voice, Millie said, “Won’t we?”
They looked at each other silently.
“I didn’t know you’d get so angry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Then why’d you tell me, Millie?”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because of what you said.”
“When?”
“Just a little while ago.”
“What did I say?”
“You said this wasn’t a banquet.”
“Huh?”
“You said it was just an ordinary long lunch hour. Well, to me it’s a banquet. And if it’s just an ordinary long lunch hour to you, then you can go to hell. If you’re in the habit of taking lots of women to a motel in New Jersey...”
“I have never...”
“Putting a projector in your trunk...”
“I have never...”
“And showing them your lousy sixty-second commercial...”
“I thought you liked my commercial,” he said.
“Not if it’s been seen by every stupid housewife in the city of New York!”
“It’s been seen by stupid housewives all over America,” Frank said. “It’s been aired approximately two hundred and twenty times. Listen, Millie, how did you suddenly become the injured party? I’m the injured party here. I’m the one who’s been betrayed.”
“Betrayed?” she said. “Oh my God, you sound just like Michael.”
“Leave Michael out of this, if you don’t mind. Let’s get back to Paul.”
“Why? Paul was nothing but an ordinary long lunch hour.”
“A little while ago, you said he filled a very important need in your life.”
“That’s right, he did.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Millie. Either he was meaningful or he was a cream cheese sandwich on wholewheat.”
“Toasted raisin.”
“Whatever.”
“He was both.”
“Perhaps you’d like to explain that.”
“Perhaps I wouldn’t.”
“Fine. Let’s get dressed.”
“Fine,” she said.
She walked angrily to the rack, took her dress off its wire hanger, and slipped it over her head. “I thought you’d understand, but apparently you’ve never been neglected in your own home.” He did not answer. “Apparently Mae adores you completely,” she said, walking to him. She turned her back to him, and he zipped up her dress. “Thank you,” she said. “Apparently Mae never treated you in a way that might force you to consider addressing a stranger in Chock Full O’Nuts. But when someone is concerned solely with Puts and Takes and selling short, then perhaps a woman may feel the need for conversation...”
“Conversation!” Frank said. “Jesus!”
“Yes, with someone whose interests extend beyond commodities. With someone who doesn’t think of a woman as just another commodity. Paul thought of me...”
“As just another navel,” Frank said.
She stared at him icily, and then said, “Paul thought of me as a very exciting individual. That’s how he filled a need in my life. And that’s why I’ll always be grateful to him.”
“Fine,” Frank said, and put on his jacket. “Are you ready?”
“Not quite,” Millie said. “Which isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy the other aspect as well.”
“Millie,” he said, “you have said it all, you have really said it all. Now let’s just get out of here, okay?”
“I’m not dressed yet,” she said, and sat and put on her pumps, and then walked to the dresser and rummaged in her bag for her lipstick. “Haven’t you ever felt like going to bed with somebody?”
“I have,” he said.
“Not Mae, I mean.”
“Not Mae.”
“Who?”
“Hope.”
“Hope? The Head of Creation?”
“Yes.”
“Hope!”
“That’s right.”
“That’s disgusting,” Millie said. “She’s your boss!”
“She’s also a beautiful redhead.”
“And a Wasp besides,” Millie said.
“She happens to be an atheist.”
“Has Mae ever met her?”
“She has.”
“Does she like her?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good,” Millie said, and capped the lipstick and dropped it into her bag. “I’m ready,” she said.
“Let’s go then.”
“Let’s go,” she said, and started for the door, and then suddenly stopped, and turned back to look into the room.
“Got everything?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“What’d you leave?”
“Nothing, I guess,” she said, and shook her head. At the door, she hesitated again, and then said, “Frank, there’s just one thing I’d like to know. Why do you find Paul so threatening?”
“I do not find him in the least threatening,” he said.
“Then why are you so angry?”
“I am not in the slightest bit angry,” he said.
“I was stupid to tell you,” she said, and shook her head again. “Michael’s right. Stupid is stupid, that’s all.” She sighed, and then said, “Let’s go.”
“What do you mean, Michael’s right?”
“He’s right, that’s all. He thinks I’m stupid, and I am.”
“You are definitely not stupid,” Frank said.
“Michael thinks so. Maybe that’s because he’s so smart.”
“Has he ever actually said he thinks you’re stupid?”
“Not in so many words. But what he does is, I’ll make a suggestion about something, you know, and he’ll say, Thank you, Millicent,’ with just the proper inflection and tone, you know, to make me feel like an absolute moron. As far as he’s concerned, if I keep my mouth shut and dress the girls properly and help him watch his damn calories, that’s enough. Do you want to know something, Frank? I’ve known you for only four months, and I feel closer to you than I do to my own husband. What do you think of that?”
He did not answer.
“Well, it’s true,” she said. “Which is why I can’t understand why you feel threatened about something that happened...”
“I don’t feel threatened.”
“You all feel threatened,” she said. “If I’d ever told Michael about even posing for Paul, he’d probably have hit me or something.”
“What do you mean? Are you trying to tell me he beats you?”
“Don’t be silly, he’s Jewish.”
“So was Louis Lepke,” Frank said.
“Yes, but he got mixed up with a lot of Italians. Now don’t get offended.”
“I’m not offended.”
“You do find it threatening, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t find it threatening,” he said. “In fact, I find it lovely. In fact I find it delightful that you picked up a belly-button sculptor, and posed for him, and went to bed with him, and can still remember the exact date, October eighth...”
“Sixth,” she corrected.
“Yes, I find that all perfectly damn wonderful,” he said, his voice rising. “I thought we were, for Christ’s sake, supposed to be in love with each other! I thought we were supposed to be able to trust each other and...”
There was a sudden hammering on the wall opposite the bed. Frank stopped mid-sentence, and turned to look at the wall.
“The black Cadillac,” Millie whispered.
There was more hammering now, louder this time.
“Stop that banging!” Frank shouted, and it stopped immediately. “Fat bastard,” he said, and Millie giggled. “Thinks he owns the place. Move the car, lower the television, bang, bang, bang with his goddamn fist!” He glared at the wall. Millie was still giggling. “Go ahead!” he shouted. “I dare you to hit that wall one more goddamn time!”
There was no further hammering. Frank turned from the wall. Millie had stopped giggling. She was watching him steadily.
“Are we supposed to be in love with each other?” she asked.
“That was my understanding,” he said quietly.
“That was my understanding, too,” she said. She walked to him, and turned her back to him, and lifted the hair from the nape of her neck. He reached for the zipper at the back of her dress, and gently lowered it.

III

It was October outside, but the drapes were drawn, and in the room it might have been any season. The bedclothes were rumpled, and a pillow was on the carpeted floor. Millie, in lavender tights and brassiere was applying lipstick at the mirror. In the bathroom, Frank was singing loudly. He sang badly off-key, and she could not recognise the tune.
“Frank?” she said.
“Mm?”
“Don’t you think you should call her?”
Frank came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his hair wet. He had been growing a moustache for the past month, and he wore it with supreme confidence.
“What, honey?” he said.
“Don’t you think you should call Hope?”
“What for?”
“It’s pretty late. She...”
“Hell with her,” he said, and picked up his shorts and trousers, and went back into the bathroom again.
Millie put the cap on her lipstick, dropped it into the bag, and then picked up her hairbrush. Brushing out her hair, she said, “You still haven’t told me why Mae closed the shop so suddenly?”
“I guess she just got tired of it,” he said.
“Maybe she took a lover,” Millie said.
“What?” Frank said, and came out of the bathroom in his shorts.
“I said maybe she...”
“I doubt that sincerely,” Frank said.
“It’s a possibility,” Millie said, and shrugged.
“I doubt it.”
“You forgot to say sincerely.”
“I think she just got bored with selling antiques, that’s all,” he said, and stepped into his trousers and zipped up the fly.
“Probably the pitcher that did it,” Millie said. “My returning the ironstone pitcher. Michael says that stores operating on a small volume...”
“Mae’s shop wasn’t Bloomingdale’s,” Frank said, “but I’m sure a refund on a pitcher that cost fifteen dollars...”
“Seventeen dollars.”
“...wouldn’t drive her out of business. Anyway, why’d you return it?”
“I didn’t like having a pitcher belonging to another woman.”
“It didn’t belong to her. The moment you bought it, it became yours.”
“It still seemed like hers.” Brushing her hair, evenly stroking it, she said, “Would you like to know why she sold the shop? I can tell you, if you’d like to know.”
“Why’d she sell it?”
“Because of your trip last month.”
“My trip?”
“Mmm. Your second honeymoon,” Millie said.
“You mean the trip to Antigua?”
“Well, where else did you go last month?”
“That was not a second honeymoon,” he said. “Have you seen my shirt? Where’d my shirt disappear to?”
“I meant to tell you, by the way, that September is the hurricane season down there. Why anyone would go to Antigua in September is beyond me.”
Frank lifted the bedspread from one of the chairs; his shirt was not under it. “We had beautiful weather,” he said.
“Then why didn’t you come back with a tan? All you came back with was a moustache.”
“I also came back with a tan. Now where the hell is that shirt?”
“Not a very good tan, Frank. Would you like to know why? Because it was a second honeymoon, that’s why. It’s a little difficult to get a tan when you’re up in the room all day long.”
“We were not up in the room all day long,” he said, and got down on his knees and looked under the bed. “Now how did it get there?” he said, and reached under the bed.
“Then where were you?” Millie asked.
“In the water, most of the time.”
“Suppose a shark had bitten off your leg?”
“There were no sharks,” he said, and stood up, and shook out the shirt.
“A barracuda then. How could you have driven here to New Jersey with only one leg?”
“I’m back,” he said, putting on the shirt, “and I still have both my legs, so obviously...”
“Yes, but you never once gave it a minute’s thought, did you? When you were scuba-diving down there.”
“I was snorkelling.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Snorkelling is recreational. That’s the only reason I do it. For recreation.”
“Why’d you have to go all the way to Antigua to do it?”
“Mae wanted to go to Antigua.”
“So naturally, you went. Never mind me.”
“Millie, I was only gone for a lousy three weeks!”
“Twenty-four days, if we choose to be precise. And you never called me once,” she said, and threw the hairbrush into her bag, and crossed the room to the clothes rack, and took her blouse from a wire hanger.
“I couldn’t phone,” he said. “We were on the beach most of the day.”
“Didn’t you ever come off the beach?” Millie asked, and put on the blouse.
“We came off the beach, yes,” Frank said. “But there wasn’t a phone in the room. The only phone was in the lobby.”
“Then why didn’t you go up to the lobby and call from there?” she said, buttoning the blouse.
“Because it took hours to get through to the States.”
“Oh, then you did call the States,” she said, and turned to face him.
“Yes, I called the office once to see how the new campaign was shaping up.”
“But you couldn’t call me,” she said.
“Millie, this was a very isolated little hotel, with these small cottages on the beach, and...”
“Honeymoon cottages,” she said.
“Suppose Mae had seen me making a phone call?”
“You could have told her you were calling the office to check on your brilliant campaign.”
“I’d already called the office, and they’d told me my brilliant campaign was shaping up fine.”
“I still think you could have called me, Frank. If you hadn’t been so busy growing a moustache...”
“A man isn’t busy growing a moustache. It grows all by itself.”
“Yes, and there’s a very definite connection, too. Between a moustache and sexuality.”
“Take Michael, for example.”
“Don’t change the subject. If you hadn’t been so involved with Mae, if you hadn’t been enjoying your second honeymoon so much...”
“Millie, it was not...”
“Which, of course, is why she sold the damn shop ten minutes after you got back. She simply didn’t need it any more. She found her husband again.”
“Millie, it was not a second honeymoon. And I don’t think the Antigua trip was the reason Mae sold the shop. And I would have called you if it was at all possible; but it wasn’t. Would you hand me my tie, please?”
“I still think you could have called,” Millie said, and handed him the tie, and then said, “I went to bed with Paul while you were gone.”
“What!” he said, dropping the tie. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“Oh, for recreation,” she said airily.
He stared at her silently, and then picked up the tie, and turned to the mirror.
“I figured...”
“I’m not interested,” he said.
“That’s exactly what I figured. A man goes away for three weeks...”
“Twenty-four days.”
“Yes, and doesn’t even call the woman he professes to love so madly...”
“Yes, so the woman runs back to a two-bit sculptor she used to screw every Tuesday!” Frank shouted.
“Right!” she shouted back, and suddenly there was a hammering on the wall.
“Oh, hell!” Frank said. The hammering stopped. “You know what he does in there?” he asked Millie. “He’s not at all interested in that frumpy little blonde he brings here every week. All he does is sit in there and wait for us to raise our voices so he can jump up on the bed and bang on the wall. You hear that, you fat bastard?” he shouted. The man next door immediately hammered on the wall again. Frank went to the wall and began banging on it himself. The hammering on the other side stopped at once. Satisfied, he went back to the mirror and began knotting his tie.
“It was awful with Paul,” Millie said.
“Good.”
“Do you know what he’s into these days? Sculpting, I mean.”
“Nipples, I would imagine,” Frank said.
“Ears. His whole studio is full of these giant-sized ears.”
“Let me know when he gets to the good part, will you?”
“These huge ears all over the place.” She shook her head in wonder. “All the while we were making love, I had the feeling somebody was listening to us.” She went to the clothes rack, took down her skirt, and stepped into it. “I don’t know why I went there,” she said. “Maybe I sensed what was about to happen.”
The telephone rang. Frank went to it instantly, and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” he said. “Yes, this is Mr Mclntyre. Really?” he said. “Banging on the wall?
No, I don’t think so. Just a minute, please.” He turned to Millie, and said, “Darling, were you banging on the wall?” Then, into the phone again, he said, “No, nobody here was banging on the wall. Maybe it’s the plumbing. Have you had the plumbing checked lately? Well, that’s what I would suggest. Goodbye.” He hung up, went to the dresser again, scooped his change, keys, and wallet off the top of it, and put them into his pockets.
“Frank?” she said. “Do you think we’re finished?”
“No,” he said immediately.
“I think we are,” she said.
“Millie,” he said, “let’s get a couple of things straight, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Number one, the trip to Antigua was not a second honeymoon. The situation between Mae and me has not changed an iota.”
“What’s the situation?”
“Mae and I love each other, but we are not in love with each other.”
“You’re comfortable with each other, right?”
“Right.”
“Just a pair of comfortable old bedroom slippers tucked under the bed, right?”
“Right.”
“Then why didn’t you come back with a tan?” Millie said.
“Millie, let’s get a couple of things straight, okay?” he said.
“We already got the first thing straight,” she said, “so what’s the second thing?”
“The second thing is that I still feel the same way about you. I’ll always feel the same way about you, in fact.”
“That’s very nice,” she said. “How do you feel about me?”
“I’m in love with you.”
“But you don’t love me.”
“It’s the same thing, Millie. Being in love with someone and loving someone...”
“How come with me it’s the same thing, but with Mae it’s a totally different thing? A minute ago you were a pair of old bedroom slippers...”
“I’ve known Mae for twenty-two years,” he said. “I’ve only known you for ten months.”
“And twelve days.”
“Who’s counting?” Frank said.
“I am, damn it!” Millie said.
“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to...”
“I understand fine,” Millie said, and walked to where she’d left her pumps near one of the easy chairs. Sitting, she said, “Mae’s your wife, and I’m your Tuesday afternoon roll-in-the-hay.”
“Millie, that isn’t...”
“Look, Frank, you’re Italian and you’ve got all these romantic notions about being in love, but actually I think what you really enjoy most about coming here is the idea that I’m some kind of whore or something.”
“I have never thought of you as...”
“Have you ever thought of me as a mother, Frank?”
“A mother!”
“I have two children, you know. I have two adorable little girls that I made. Me. Personally.”
“With a little help from Michael, I assume.”
“What would you do if, with a little help from Michael, I got pregnant again? I can just imagine how that would sit with you. Big fat belly marching in here every week, what would that do to the image of the bimbo on the Via Margherita?”
“The what?”
“The Via Margherita. That’s where Italian men keep their little pastries.”
“I’m not an Italian man, I’m an American man.”
“Right, you’re Mr Mclntyre, right?”
“I’m Mr Di Santangelo, but I don’t have a bimbo on the Via Margherita, wherever the hell that may be. As a matter of fact, I don’t have a bimbo anywhere.”
“As a matter of fact, you have one right here in New Jersey,” Millie said. She reached down for one of her pumps, and without looking up at him, slipped her foot into it and said, “Michael wants to have another baby.” She put on the other shoe and only then looked up at him.
“What should I do?” she asked.
“That’s up to you and Michael, isn’t it?”
“It’s also up to you,” she said.
“Why don’t we arrange a meeting then? Three of us can discuss it, decide what we...”
“Do you want me to have a baby, Frank?”
“No,” he said flatly.
“Why not?”
“I hate babies,” he said.
“It wouldn’t be your baby.”
“I hate anybody’s babies.”
“How can a man who hates babies write a popcorn commercial with two little kids...?”
“That has nothing to do with it. I hate popcorn, too.”
“You’d never even see this baby,” Millie said. “All I’m trying to find out is whether you like the idea of me having one, that’s all.”
“No, I don’t like the idea.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like the idea of your having another man’s baby.”
“Another man? He’s my husband!”
“Anyway, what is this, a conspiracy or something? Is everybody in the whole world having a baby all of a sudden?”
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said, and went immediately to the clothes rack, and took his jacket from its hanger.
“Who’s having a baby all of a sudden?” she asked.
“Millions of women,” Frank said. “Chinese women are having them right in the fields. As they plant the rice seedlings, they...”
“Never mind Chinese women, how many American women are having babies that you know of?”
“Right this minute, do you mean?”
“No, I mean nine months from last month when you and Mae were in Antigua working so hard on your suntans.”
“Mae, do you mean?”
“Is Mae pregnant?”
“Who? Mae?”
“Mae. Is she?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Which is why she ran out instantly to sell her little shop, right?”
“I don’t know why...”
“Probably at Bloomingdale’s this very minute, picking out a bassinette.”
“Millie...”
“Knitting little booties in her spare time,” she said, her voice rising, “papering the guest room with pictures of funny little animals! How could you do this to me, Frank?”
“To you?”
“Yes, to me!” she shouted. “Who the hell do you think?...”
“Please lower your voice,” he said. “If he bangs on the wall one more time, he’ll put a hole through it.”
Whispering, Millie said, “Didn’t you once consider the possibility that...”
“What? Now I can’t hear you at all.”
In her normal speaking voice, but enunciating each and every word clearly and distinctly, Millie said, “Didn’t you once consider the possibility that the thought of Mae having a baby might prove distressing to your lady friend on the Via Margherita?”
“Oh, cut it out with that Via Margherita stuff.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Do you know what you sound like, Millie?”
“What do I sound like?”
“A jealous wife.”
“I suppose I do,” she said. “But I’m not your wife, am I? I’m no more your wife than she is.” She gestured towards the wall and the room next door. “To him, I mean. The man who bangs on the wall.”
“Millie, I don’t think you need equate us with a frumpy blonde and a fat old man.”
“To him, she isn’t a frumpy blonde,” Millie said. “To him, she’s all perfume and lace, the girl on the Via Margherita. All right to open these drapes now?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said.
She pulled the drapes back on their rod. Sunlight splashed into the room. The day outside was clear and bright, the courtyard lined with the brilliant reds and oranges of autumn. She turned from the window, the sunlight behind her.
Frank looked at his watch. “We’d better get going,” he said. “Hope’s got a meeting scheduled for...”
“Just a few minutes more, Frank,” she said. “I gave you plenty of time on the train, when we were just beginning. I think you can give me a few minutes now... when we’re about to end.”
“End?”
“Yes, what do you think we’re talking about here?”
“Not ending, Millie.”
“No? Then what?”
“I don’t know. But two people can’t simply end something after ten months together.” He looked at his watch again. “Millie, really, we’ve got to go now, really. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? I’ll call you in the morning...”
The telephone rang.
He looked at the phone, and then he looked at his watch again. The phone kept ringing, but he made no move to answer it. Millie went to it, and lifted the receiver, and said, “Hello?” and then listened, and then said, “No, I’m sorry, Mr Mclntyre isn’t here.” Gently, she replaced the receiver on the cradle. “The manager,” she said.
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know. The television’s off, and neither of us is yelling, and no one’s banging on the wall.” She shrugged. “Maybe he just felt lonely, Frank, and wanted to say hello.” She went to him. “The way we did, Frank.”
They looked at each other. It seemed for a moment as though they would move again into each other’s arms. But Millie turned away, and went to the dresser and picked up her bag.
“I think I’ll tell Michael okay,” she said.
“I think you already have,” he said.
“Maybe so,” she said.
She went to the door and threw back the slip bolt and opened the door wide. He came to her, and they paused before stepping out into the sunshine, and turned, and stared back into the room. Then, gently, he took her hand, and together they left the room, closing the door behind them.