Chapter 17D

Late Thursday morning, after pushing my body as hard as I could at Fiore's, I returned to Martha's for a quick shower, and then Martha and Ronnie and I went shopping.

We stopped in a clothing store on Lexington Avenue in the East 70's. These two trim young women in their medium-high heels, Ronnie in a straight, knee length dark skirt and powder blue cotton blouse, her black hair tousled about her forehead and curling around her neck and ears; Martha in a pleated, one piece, light pink dress, her hair pulled back in a small bun, her electric eyes studying every dress and purse on the racks.

Ronnie fingered an overcoat and said, "A great price on this one, huh?"

Martha frowned. "I've seen better."

Ronnie said, "Martha. So picky. Oh, hey, look at these sweaters."

I sat on a chair in the shoe department at one end of the store and watched and waited. Ronnie found a navy blue button-up sweater and slipped into a dressing room to try it out. Martha meticulously inspected the overcoats.

Soon Ronnie came out of the dressing room and stood before me, wearing the sweater and eyeing her reflection in a mirror. She turned this way and that. She studied the sweater, I studied her smooth, trim calves and her slender ankles and her cute butt and was getting a hard-on.

Ronnie turned to me with a smirk, and winked. "Exciting, huh?"

I looked her over. "It looks nice on you. But you'd look nice in just about anything."

"Steven. So charitable."

"No, really. It does."

She stared at the mirror, unsmiling, uncertain. She put her hands on her hips and sighed. "If I weren't so skinny..."

I said, "You have a perfect figure for that sweater." I meant it. In nice, neat clothes, Ronnie was as chic as anyone in a magazine ad.

Ronnie said, "Martha, what do you think? Steven's lying to me and using strange words like 'perfect', that no one has ever used when talking about me."

Martha, a few yards away and still looking through the coat rack, looked at her, and at me, and at her again. "Believe him, Ron. He has excellent taste in clothes."

And I started to add good taste in women, too, but I kept that to myself. Ronnie was just plain cute. Cute enough to eat. They were both cute enough to eat. And I'd eaten both of them, so many times I couldn't count, and they were delicious, both of them. I suddenly realized that it was like living in a three-way version of some of those free thinking beatnik communities I'd read about.

Then the two young women, these two young women with whom I was absolutely and totally smitten, talked about money to get Ronnie's sweater, which they discovered cost a great deal more than they reckoned on, and my rebellious young head and heart wished I'd had millions and millions and millions to buy them every sweater and coat and trinket in the world. I did not want them to struggle or hassle or do without. They should have it all, they should have everything, they should have whatever they wanted.

I was deeply involved in that thought after we left the store and started for home. I was angry with a feeling of helplessness. Angry to the point of speechless moodiness as I walked behind them out of the store. Why should these two women have to work so hard and do with so little?

Ronnie said, "Martha, you should have bought that coat."

"Oh... they wanted too much for it."

"But it was a great price."

"It was still too much."

Ronnie said, "But you're gonna need one. You can't just keep repairing that old one."

Martha explained patiently, "Look, I can't go into savings for a three hundred dollar coat. You know I'm on unsteady ground with the people at Columbia. If I lose my job, I'll be on the street. I have to leave my savings alone."

"You know you could move in with me again."

"And we'd be at each other's throats again."

"Eh. Temporary."

"You know what happened last time."

Ronnie said, "Well, look, they're having a sale at Bloomingdale's next week. They'll have something."

"You know Bloomingdale's is too expensive." Martha glanced at her watch. "We'd better get something for lunch. I'll have to go up to Columbia and meet Howard a little later."

During lunch, Martha managed to cheer up as she considered seeing Howard and his daughter. She said, "I haven't seen her in a year. She is so, so cute. He showed me a picture of her. No little girl could be that pretty, her picture didn't even look real." She sipped her soup and said to me, "Now, Steven, you look after Ronnie tonight. Keep her out of trouble."

Ronnie grinned. "He's gonna show me how to make that chicken salad. It'll be all mine, Martha. You can't have any."

Martha said, "It'll take you a week to eat that by yourself."

"Steven'll help me."

I told Martha, "Don't worry, I'll save you some."

Martha said, "Here's the schedule, now. I'm meeting Howard at Columbia at three, and we'll take the train to Queens for a dinner with some people he knows out there, and I'll spend some time with his daughter. So it'll be a little late when I get back, with those subways out there."

Ronnie said, "Oh, take a taxi home."

"I can't afford a taxi from out there. Anyway, he'll wait in the subway station with me. Or I can take the Long Island Railroad, it stops out there."

We returned to Martha's, where Ronnie and I gathered some extra bowls for making the chicken salad. Ronnie didn't have a baking pan for the chicken, so I borrowed Martha's.

When Martha was ready to go, she walked around the apartment picking up a few things and throwing them into her purse. I felt a chill go up my spine. I wondered if she was taking spermicides with her. I had to force myself to avoid considering it.

Ronnie stood in the living room, her hands on her waist while she watched Martha. "Hey, Martha, you're gonna be late. What are you doing, packing for the weekend?"

Martha complained, "I can't find my subway tokens. They disappeared."

"Oh, here, I have some." Ronnie rummaged in her purse. "You better get going, it's almost three." She handed Martha a couple of tokens.

Quickly Martha kissed her, and she kissed me with a hasty "G'night, hon," and she went to the door. On her way out she told Ronnie, "Don't you dare let anything happen to him while I'm gone."

"Are you kidding? He'll be looking out for *me*."

Martha left, and I stood in the living room staring at the door. Howard. Howard again. What was this with Howard?

Behind me Ronnie said, "Hey, is something wrong? What are you staring at?"

I turned around to he smiled. "Nothing. C'mon, let's go find a chicken."

It took over three hours in Ronnie's apartment to cook the chicken, boil the potatoes and eggs, and chop up the vegetables. I was absent minded and a little foggy, thinking about Martha and Howard, and I made some mistakes and fumbled with the ingredients. When the huge bowl of salad was ready and we had cleaned up Ronnie's kitchen, we sat in the dining room and ate and talked.

I grew more uneasy as it darkened outside around half past seven. I was sitting on Ronnie's living room rug with several astrology books spread before me when the tension began to get to me as the clock neared nine.

I looked up and saw Ronnie drawing at her dining room table. She had changed into a dark blue, full skirt with a white band around the hem, and she was seated in a chair with her feet drawn up and crossed on the seat in front of her, the skirt tucked down into her lap, and I looked at her smooth thighs and calves and remembered what her body looked and felt like. I felt a coldness creep up my back, an icy fear at the thought of Martha getting into bed with Howard. I wanted to go to Ronnie and hold her and cling to those long, slim legs and feel her fingers stroking me. My feelings were, I knew, irrational; neither Martha nor Ronnie ever mentioned Howard short of anything brief and unrevealing. But the urge to somehow reach out and stop the clock on Howard made me physically antsy.

Just before nine o'clock I put the astrology books away and rose to my feet. I told Ronnie I was getting tired and wanted to go upstairs to Martha's.

She looked up from her drawing. "Aw, getting' bored? We can go somewhere."

"Mm, I'm just going to go upstairs and turn in with that book you gave me the other day. I'll probably just fall asleep."

"By yourself?" She set her ink brush down on the table. "What's the matter, sweetheart? You've been nervous all night."

"Oh, nothin', just... tired from yesterday."

She smiled. "We wear you out?"

"Not really, just -- y'know..."

She got up from the table and crossed the living room toward me. "Hey, I understand, it's not that cool in here, and not much going on..."

"No, it's not you --"

She insisted, as she opened her door, "No, no. I get it. We should have planned something for tonight. Go on. Scat. If you want us to go somewhere, let me know."

I gave her a kiss on the cheek and she kissed me back and closed the door. When I got to Martha's I was too restless for anything but slow, aimless pacing in her apartment. I found a pack of her cigarettes at nine thirty and brought them downstairs with me and sat on the front steps, smoking.

At a quarter to ten I heard the front door of the building creak open behind me, and Ronnie sat on the steps beside me.

"Hi," she said, not looking at me as she lit a cigarette.

"Hi," I said somberly.

She took a drag and propped her feet on a step below her with her knees high, and she leaned forward with her chin on her knees. "Can I join you out here?"

"Sure."

She took another drag and looked ahead, across the street. "Can we talk?"

"Sure."

"Then talk to me."

"About?"

"About what's worrying you."

I sighed and looked away from her. "There's nothing worrying me."

"Yes there is."

"No there isn't."

She paused, reaching down to fiddle with her loafer, and she said, "Yep."

I said, "Nope."

She thought for a minute, looking ahead. "Memphis?"

"Eh. A little."

"Me?"

"Not really."

"Anita?"

"Hmp."

"Martha?"

I shrugged.

She said, a little impatiently, "C'mon, Steven."

I leaned back on my arms. "I wonder when she'll be home."

"I don't know. Not too late, I guess."

"They're having a sale at Bloomingdale's sometime?"

"Yeah, Saturday. One day sale."

"Could you take me there Saturday afternoon? I want to pick out something for Martha. Her birthday's coming up."

"Okay. But let's don't get there too late in the day. The place will be cleaned out."

We were silent for a moment.

Ronnie said, "You changed the subject."

"No I didn't, I was thinking about Martha."

"You asked me when I thought she was coming home, and then you changed the subject."

"Okay," I said, and I lit another cigarette and Ronnie sat with her chin on her knees and waited.

Finally I got up the nerve and asked her, "She go out with Howard often?"

"No. As far as I know, she went to a faculty dinner with him three or four months ago, and that was the last time." She sighed and raised her head and looked the other way down the street. She said quietly, "They're friends, Steven."

"Yeah, I know."

Ronnie crushed out her cigarette on the step beside her, and while she got another one she said, "Steven, if Martha and Howard were, uh, more than friends, what would you do about it?"

I thought about that, and I just shrugged.

Ronnie said, "You're exactly right." She folded her arms across her knees and looked at her cigarette lighter, turning it over and over in one hand as she talked. "You know, I watch the two of you, you and Martha. I watch the two of you talking together, and just doing things together. And I've watched you have sex with her. And... and I think, if I'm not completely stupid... that I see what's going on. And I'm pretty sure I know what you're thinking. And I'm pretty sure... that you love Martha more than you let either of us know."

I turned my head away, so that Ronnie wouldn't see my eyes getting red.

Ronnie said, "Why don't you just let her know?"

I didn't answer. I just shrugged, swallowing hard and holding on to my composure.

She said seriously, "Let me tell you something." She cleared her throat and took another drag. "I don't know about Martha and Howard. I know Martha likes him a lot, and she's known Howard since the day she came to New York. But I want to tell you this..." She cleared her throat again, and she said, "Martha loves you, Steven. More than anything or anyone in this world. Really does. And she wants you to believe in yourself when you go back to Memphis. And she's really worried, you know? Because she won't be there with you. She can't. And I know that, because she told me." She took another drag. "If there's anything Martha doesn't want, it's for anyone to be able to hurt you again or to take away your belief in yourself."

My lower lip trembled, and I felt powerless to stop it, but I tried, turning my head farther away and rubbing my mouth and chin with my hand, hard, but my eyes teared anyway.

Ronnie caressed my arm, and then held it, and she leaned her face against my arm, looking away. She said, "Do you know that Martha keeps herself from doing things, seeing people, because you're here? Martha would never, never tell you that. And I shouldn't be telling you any of this, either." She raised her face and fiddled with my hair. She said, "I'm not going to tell you a lot of things that I know about her, Steven. There's a lot that doesn't matter, and she does have problems, big problems. Because Martha needs a life. Martha needs more than just her work. And you meet a lot of those needs. I don't know if you know it, but there are times when you've made Martha happier than anyone ever has, including me. I know that, because she told me that, too."

She looked at me, and I was still turned away from her. She put her arm around my shoulder. "But I'll tell you one secret, one big secret about Martha. There's a lot of problems she has that you can't do anything about. Nobody can. But Martha told me one day that no one ever said they loved her, loved her and really meant it. Men want her. Look at her, she's beautiful. She's like a fantasy, she's so pretty. One guy in New York told her almost two years ago that he loved her. Martha found out he was married. She just wants someone to love her, really love her. Not want her or control her or own her." She rubbed my shoulder and sighed, and looked away. "Just love her, Steven. For now. Just love her. Don't try to take her life away. She loves you, but if you try to put chains on her she'll fight, she'll fight back." She looked back at me again. "It's not just you. It's anybody, even me. She'll love you, she'll love you with every drop of blood in her, but she'll fight back."

I sniffled, getting myself together, and Ronnie caressed my shoulders.

She said, "Hey. Got your handkerchief on you?"

"Yeah," I said, gulping, and I reached into my right back pocket and pulled it out and started to wipe my eye.

But Ronnie said, "No, give it to me." I handed her the handkerchief and she leaned toward me, turning my face toward her, and she said gently, "Here, let me do that." She dabbed at my eyes, smiling. "You're always so nice to me. Let me be nice to you for a minute."

"Come on, I can do that."

"No, let me. I like it. There, look at you. Let's get this off your cheek, here. You're so independent. Let somebody mother you for a change."

I said grumpily, "I'm not supposed to be doing this."

"Yeah? What are you supposed to be doing?"

"I'm supposed to be growing up."

She said, looking at me and handing the handkerchief back. "You are growing up." She smiled at me. "Barrel of laughs, ain't it?"

I gave a small laugh in spite of myself. "Oh, Yeah. Loads of fun."

She stood up and moved to stand on the step behind me, saying, "Hold it, just sit there. Be still." From behind me, she extended her legs along each side of me and sat on the step behind me, leaning against my back with her head on my shoulder, and she wrapped her arms loosely around me. "There we go," she said, and she settled against me. "I'll bet you didn't like your mother, did you?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. I didn't like mine, either. But I love Martha. I love her a lot. I wish she'd been my mother. I wish I'd had a mother like her, cranky perfectionist that she is."

"Me too," I said, choking up again.

Ronnie hugged me. She whispered, "It's okay." She looked away from me. She said, "If we didn't love our moms, we'd find one. But if we made that person our mother, that person wouldn't be able to be who she is, would she? Hm?"

I shook my head no. I understood what she was saying. I took a deep breath. I said stubbornly, "All right, I have to stop this."

"You will. Just take it easy.

"I just don't know what to do next."

"Don't do anything next. Just let Martha know you love her. Really love her. Not that possessive stuff you threw at Anita, but really, really love her. For what she is. For who she is now, today, tonight. And tell her every day that you love her. Don't just buy her something, she expects that. Surprise the hell out of Martha, Steven, and just love her. Let her know it. She needs your love and she needs your honesty, and mine, so desperately. You have no idea how hungry she is for it."

I rubbed one of Ronnie's arms that was folded around my chest. I said firmly, "All right. I will."

She hugged me and rocked me side to side for a moment. I felt her smiling against my neck. "Hey, you feel good. Did I ever tell you that?"

"You mentioned it."

She chuckled. "Well, you do. I hope you don't intend to keep getting bigger and bigger, though, you'll look like one of those bloated body builders. They look so ridiculous."

"A lot of girls like that.

"Some girls don't. Martha doesn't. I don't."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that." I squeezed her hand. "You'll make a good mom, Ronnie. And a good wife."

"I'll be good in bed, anyway."

"Too bad I'm not five years older."

"You're old enough now."

"Not according to the guys at the courthouse."

Ronnie laughed, "Well, to hell with them. The don't know anything." She ruffled my hair and rested her chin on my shoulder again. She said wistfully, "Oh, I don't know if I'll ever be married. I think I want to, many times. I think I want to, but I think what I really want is what I didn't have in Michigan. And I don't want what I've seen in New York, either. I used to go through my house in Michigan and I'd see my folks' wedding pictures, on the lamp tables, in the hall. And I'd visit friends and relatives and their wedding pictures would be set up somewhere. And I went to weddings, lots of weddings. I'd see the pictures with the new hubby and the new bride eating the cake and smiling, drinking the champagne and smiling, posing for the camera and smiling. Everybody smiling. Smile, smile, smile. Grinning like monkeys. Then you go to see the same people a year later, two years later, three years. Nobody's smiling any more. You see it when they talk to each other. They'll be smiling at you when they talk, and then when they talk to their better half they don't smile anymore. Their eyes change, their voices change. No smiling. Except a few, a small few. That's not love, Steven, that's not what they married for. If I ever get married, I want that guy to talk to me, and smile and mean it."

She craned her neck forward, over my shoulder. "You know who else loves you in this town? Hm? Besides Martha?"

I didn't say anything.

She said, "I do. I *do*. Not married love, not like the movies, not like Martha does. Maybe nothing will come of it, maybe we'll never see each other again after you go back. But I do love you." She gave the back of my neck a loud smooch. "There. Whaddya think about that?"

I almost said it. She almost tricked me into saying I loved her. I had never said that to anyone, not out loud. I nodded shyly, and I said, "Ronnie, you're sweet. I don't know why you're so nice to me."

She was quiet again for a moment. A couple passed us on the street, ambling slowly, and they gave us a friendly but curious look, and Ronnie grinned at them and said, "Hi." They both said "Hi" and I said "Hi," and they said, "Enjoying this cool weather tonight?" And Ronnie said, "Yeah, it's great, isn't it?" The couple walked down the street.

Ronnie leaned against me again and we both sat quietly for a moment.

She asked, "Wanna go anywhere? Go eat? Walk around?"

"Uh, no. Not up to much of anything, I guess."