Chapter 16E

Friday.

Martha woke with a start at a quarter to seven. "Damn! The alarm didn't go off!" She ran into the bathroom.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. It occurred to me that I had not changed Martha's alarm back to its regular wake-up time after setting the alarm for Fiore's appointment the day before. Crap! As if I hadn't already disrupted Martha's existence!

I ran into the kitchen and got the coffee started and made toast. In the bathroom, Martha was on the rampage, dropping bottles and jars, swearing like a sailor. She rushed into the kitchen, shedding parts of her pajamas along the way, and jumped into the shower. As soon as the water started she gave a loud yelp, and jumped out of the stall, wet and shivering. "Uhh! There's no hot water! Dammit!"

I rushed to her with a towel. Her eyes were burning with rage. She grabbed the towel from me. "I *hate* this place! A dozen times a year, there's no hot water!" She stomped toward the bedroom, muttering angrily, "Oh, I don't have time anyway..." While I gathered her pajamas off the floor I heard her saying from the bedroom, "I can't believe I'm going to work like this! In the *shop*!"

I stepped into the shower and turned on the hot tap. After a few seconds it became a little warmer, though not hot.

I called into the bedroom. "Martha? The water warmed up."

"It was freezing."

I walked to the bedroom door and said patiently, "Listen, if you'll just try it. It's warmed up a little."

She looked at me, glaring, putting her bra on. "Oh, it's too late."

"Come on, you can't meet Howard like this tonight. Hurry before the warm water's used up."

"Oh, all right." She stomped into the kitchen and stuck her hand inside the shower. "Well... at least it's not like ice."

She had her shower and dressed quickly in the bedroom, then she came into the dining room and drank her coffee and chewed toast while she took care of the rest of her buttons. Hurriedly she told me where to meet Becky and what she looked like. She said she'd give Becky a call and let her know that I'd be there to meet her alone. Finally she shoved her feet into her heels and grabbed her briefcase by the door, then she rushed over to me.

"Thank you for helping, hon. I've been such a bitch." She gave me a quick kiss and headed for the door. "I won't be too late tonight. And you'll be a hit with Becky. Okay?"

"Okay."

She blew me another kiss and was gone.

I stood in a bath towel in the middle of the living room, thinking: Ahhh, what further pleasantries awaited me the rest of the week? I lazed around the place for a while, waiting to see if Ronnie would show up again. I reset Martha's alarm clock, muttering to myself, "Okay, Einstein, let's see what else you can screw up today."

There would be no class with Fiore until Saturday, so I had a long, leisurely run in Central Park. It left me exhausted and indolent. I returned to Martha's and tried to sleep again, but couldn't. I kept thinking about Howard, and how Martha behaved with him. Had she slept with Howard? Perhaps I was too tired and had too many concerns to agonize about it. Anyway, nothing would happen between Martha and Howard while Martha was in the shop. Meantime, I spent most of the day frittering, accomplishing nothing more than giving the big kitchen window fan the thorough cleaning it desperately needed.

I was due to meet Becky near East 28th Street at six o'clock. I wondered what terrors awaited me there. I cleaned up and dressed in a nice coat and walked down Madison Avenue, window shopping all the way to 28th Street, about sixty blocks south. The walk burned up the entire afternoon. I found an astrological book store and browsed around, but realized that I didn't have the money to spare to buy any books. I continued strolling, all the way downtown, taking my coat off to relieve the August heat. The Manhattan rush hour roared all around me, but I seemed to wander, hearing none of it.

I couldn't believe it: I was in New York City, and I was bored!

Friday, 5:50 P.M.

I made my way to the small park on the corner of 27th Street and Broadway, where there was a sign on the street for the uptown Sixth Avenue bus. Becky was only two minutes late.

The problem with Becky was this: she was sixteen, lively and short and playful and blonde, cute as a bug, sweet as candy, funny as hell, and a first-class little sex pot. Where in the world did Martha find these young women? With some reservations about Jessica, there was no question about Martha's judgement and taste in girls. Within fifteen minutes she had me so horny I was beside myself.

Becky lived and attended school in the Chelsea area and she led me all over the neighborhood. She was full of truly funny one-line jokes that she had heard by being a fan of Henny Youngman. Her interest was journalism. At first I felt this would leave us with little to talk about, but I managed to get her talking about her field.

The other problem with Becky was that she was a lightning-fast, nonstop conversationalist. I had problems keeping with up her; and that was not so bad, as it gave me time to sit staring enchanted into her bright blue eyes, a blue that glowed like a blue traffic signal.

I finally got up the nerve to ask her out for next Saturday night.

She said, "Oh, I'd *love* to! That would be great. I never met anybody from the South before, and I just love that slow Southern accent. It's so cute."

I said, "Please don't say that."

"Oh, but it's so soothing. My brain goes so fast all the time, and I listen to you and it just seems to relax. You oughtta go into radio."

When we said goodbye, I watched her walking jauntily away, her blonde pony tail bouncing with each step and her hips swinging on her short, muscular legs. When she was a block away she turned to cross the street, looking back at me with a big smile and a wave of her arm.

Sweet kid. Entertaining. Fun. She sent a visceral horniness flowing to my balls. But the comfy personal warmth I knew with Martha and Ronnie, and even Anita, was missing entirely.

By eight-thirty I returned to Martha's. She wasn't home. I brought a cup of tea and a pack of cigarettes with me to the front steps of the building. I lit up and sat and waited. I said aloud, as if Fiore were there watching me, "Yes, I know: exactly what I'm not supposed to be doing." I finished the tea and brought the cup upstairs and went down to the steps again. The damn cigarette smoke was sticking in my throat, so I threw them away. I did a little pacing as time wore on. At a quarter after nine I saw Martha turn the corner at Second Avenue and start walking toward me.

When she was halfway down the block she waved at me. I walked to her, and when I joined her on the sidewalk she put her arm through mine and gave me a kiss.

"What are you doing out here? Are you out here waiting for me?"

"Yes."

"Well, hon, if I'd known you were so worried..."

I lied, "Naw, I was just bored."

"Bored? Becky didn't go well?"

"I made a date with her for next Saturday."

She grinned at me and gave me another kiss. "See there? Steven strikes again. Good work! And you did it all by your little self. So what do you think of her?"

"I'll have to stay on my toes."

"Why?"

"Well... she talks so fast. I mean, she's so mentally quick. And she had me kinda horny."

She stopped dead in her tracks in front of her building and gaped at me, pleasantly shocked. "What did you just say?"

I shrugged, blushing. "Well, she did, she made me... you know."

"I can't believe it, you actually said you were horny!"

"Not really, I just --"

"No. I heard you, mister. You admitted it." She raised her eyes to the sky and shook her head. "Lord, all the work I've done for all these years, and it takes little Becky one afternoon!"

Friday, 9:45 P.M.

I was sitting on Martha's living room sofa when she walked into the room and stooped to take a slim photo scrapbook out of the bookshelf against the wall her front door. Then she walked toward the sofa, carrying the scrapbook and a loose news clipping.