Chapter 14

Our plane was late getting back from Atlanta, and I called Sandy from the airport to let her know, and to apologize for my late arrival. She said it was cool and I should take my time getting there. "It's Sunday night," she said. "You can sleep in tomorrow, and so can I, being the self-employed budding novelist that I am."

It was almost 9 when I arrived at the shotgun house on the north side. The lights were blazing in the front room -- Sandy's living room. She opened the door, kissed me lightly on the cheek, and told me to sit. "We're having dinner in here," she said.

"It's a long way back to your kitchen," I said. "Why not eat there?"

"This is dining room food," Sandy said. "Since my dining room is being used for exercise equipment, the living room is the next-best thing. Reach behind that chair and get out the tray tables."

I plucked out two handsome wooden tables -- they were essentially TV dinner tables, only slightly more upscale -- and assembled them for our use. Sandy was already bringing in all the fixings.

It was simple fare: steak, baked potato and a salad, but it was delicious. Afterward, I was glad to lean back and relax in Sandy's comfortable easy chair.

"Are you interested in -- ahh -- dating?" she said.

"Isn't that what we're doing?" I asked.

"I mean, on a more serious level."

"Damned straight!" I said. "Isn't it clear to you yet that I'm more than interested?"

"I'm talking about sex," Sandy said.

Her sudden directness was a shock to me, but I tried to roll with it. "Well, you won't hear any objections from me," I said.

"Great," she said.

"So -- can I stay the night?" I asked her.

"Tonight? Oh, no! No, not yet. I haven't broken up with my boyfriend yet."

"Couldn't we -- get started, and you could break up with him tomorrow?"

"No. That won't work. I would never sleep with two guys at the same time. I wouldn't sleep with you until we've broken up."

"Maybe you could phone him," I said, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. My momentary excitement at the prospect of getting laid was already subsiding.

Well, hell, I hadn't been expecting to get laid tonight. Nothing was new except for that blissful moment, back there, when I thought I was going to get lucky.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," Sandy said.

"I guess this is a kind-of honorable way for you to proceed," I said, "but isn't it a little risky for you? I mean, what happens if you and I don't hit it off, y'know -- in the sack? You'll have already cut your old boyfriend off at the knees, and now, here you are, with a premature ejaculator or a needle dick or something, and you're fresh out of loving."

"Are you a premature ejaculator?"

"Well, no. At least, not always. But it's been known to happen."

"Are you a needle dick?"

"I think I'm pretty normal in that area. Nothing to write home to Mama about, unfortunately, but normal."

"So why are you arguing against your own best interests?"

"Well, I'm thinking about how I'd feel, if I was your regular boyfriend, right now. Think about it: Here I am, Mr. Regular, doing the best I can, and you dump me for a new guy. It turns out you haven't even sampled the merchandise. But even if the new guy turns out to be a dud, I've already been dumped, in advance."

"In case you haven't noticed," Sandy said, "guys are easy. I don't really think you'll be a dud, but if you do turn out to be one, I'll be able to find a new guy, as quickly as I need to. We girls aren't, as a rule, quite so hair-triggered as guys are. Sure, we like our sex, sometimes. Sometimes we love our sex. But we're usually not quite so desperate for it. We can postpone gratification."

"Yeah, and guys, like you said, are easy. --You could probably even phone your old boyfriend, tell him you've changed your mind, and he'd come running."

"Maybe. But that would be dishonorable. I wouldn't do that."

I believed her. She was weird, but her attitude made sense -- sort of. "I'm really glad you want us to get together," I told her. "Just tell me when and where, and I'll show up."

"Here," Sandy said. "Tomorrow night, after the game. --But only if you get a hit. If you let those Yankees shut you down, don't come."

"You mean you only sleep with successful ballplayers?"

"You're going to be my first ballplayer of any kind," she said, "but knowing you, if you don't get a hit, you probably won't even be able to get it up."

"That hasn't been my problem, so far."

"OK, maybe not. But you're really lousy company when you're not hitting. So -- no kidding -- don't come by here unless you get a hit."

"This isn't more of your therapy, is it?"

"No. I told you -- I don't do sex therapy, directly or indirectly. I only do sex because it feels good."

I left Sandy's house late, fell into my own bed gratefully, and prepared to sleep for nine hours or so. But I couldn't fall asleep right away. I was too stirred up by Sandy's strangeness. I had been giving her a mild rush, almost since the day we'd met, several weeks back.