Lawrence Block - Threesome

“You?”

“I ought to go away from here.”

“Stop it.”

I didn’t stop it. I stopped saying it, but I didn’t stop it inside my head. It kept on going around and around inside me. I was the excess baggage. I was the overweight. I was the nigger in the ointment. I mean in the woodpile. What is it that you have in the ointment? Flies. A fly in the ointment.

I went inside and took another shower. Lady Macbeth, except with me it wasn’t the hands, it was the body. “Here’s the smell of the come still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little snatch.”

Days went by and there was no Harry. My mind invented fates for him. He had met some other girl and had hied himself off to Acapulco with her. He had walked in front of a bus, or leaped in front of a subway, or hanged himself in a closet. He was drunk, lying somewhere in a gutter. He was-he was anywhere but at home where he belonged, and no matter how many showers I took I still felt dirty.

“It’s too late for an abortion, isn’t it?”

“By a couple of months. What kind of talk is that, anyway? You don’t want an abortion.”

“Don’t I?”

“Of course not, Priss. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t want the baby, either.”

“You’ll change your mind.”

“Will I? I don’t think so. What happens if a person has an abortion after it’s too late to have an abortion?”

“She misses her train.”

“Huh?”

“Christ, stop it. I don’t know what happens. Probably the mother dies.”

“Oh.”

“Stop this shit, will you? Do you have any idea what that would do to Harry?”

“How would he find out? I’ll never see him again.”

“You don’t believe that crap yourself.”

“Maybe not. Rhoda-”

“What?”

“I could go somewhere else and have the baby.”

“What’s wrong with the local hospital?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean but I’m damned if I’ll dignify it by taking it seriously.”

“I could just go away.”

“Why?”

“And live somewhere by myself with my baby.”

“Wonderful.”

“It might be best all around.”

“Uh-huh. Harry’ll be somewhere in New York or Acapulco or wherever you’ve decided he is now, and you’ll be somewhere with your baby-where, by the way?”

“I don’t know. Boston. I don’t know.”

“Sensational. You’ll be in Boston with your baby, and I’ll be here with my baby. That’s just what I always wanted, Priss. I mean, I love it here, the woods and the hills and the birds and the flowers, don’t get me wrong. I love it, but the idea of living here all by my lonesome doesn’t appeal to me. I’m not the type.”

“You won’t be alone.”

“Right, I’ll have the kid.”

“And Harry.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll have Harry. Once I’m out of your lives the two of you can be together again and-”

“If you weren’t knocked up I think I might just kick you in the stomach.”

“I can’t help it, Rhoda.”

“Well, you’ve got to help it. You’re being ridiculous and you know it.”

“Maybe, but-”

“Cut it out, huh?”

Somewhere along the line I called Marcia Goldsmith. I don’t know why.

“Miss Goldsmith? You don’t know me, but my name is Priscilla Kapp.”

“Oh?”

“Harry’s wife.”

“Of course, Harry’s wife. How do you do?”

“I wondered if Harry happened to be there, or if you happened to know where he is.”

“He’s not with you? No, I don’t suppose he is, or this conversation wouldn’t be happening. No, I don’t know where he is. I occasionally see him on Wednesdays when he comes to town, if we happen to be working on a book together, but-”

“Uh, Marcia, that is, is it all right to call you Marcia?”

“Be my guest.”

“Because I know that you and Harry, that he sleeps with you on Wednesdays. Pardon me?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I mean, I’m not calling up to do the jealous wife bit or anything. I’m not even calling up to be civilized about it as far as that goes. It’s just that-”

“There’s not really anything to be civilized about, Priscilla. I trust it’s all right to call you Priscilla?”

“Of course.”

“I mean, Harry and I are not in the same league with Heloise and Abelard, you know. It’s just a way of carrying the collaborative process to its logical conclusion.”

“I know all that. Harry told me.”

“Did he really.”

“Yes. The thing is I don’t know where he is, and I just want to make sure that, well, that everything’s all right, and all that.”

“I haven’t seen him since Monday.”

“Oh, you did see him Monday?”

“Yes. He had a suitcase. He didn’t stay long, and I don’t know where he went. I had the feeling that he went back home to Connecticut.”

“Massachusetts.”

“Of course, Massachusetts. I wish I could be more help to you, but I don’t really know anything.”

“I see. If he should happen to get in touch with you-”

“I’ll tell him you called.”

“Yes, I guess that would be best. Tell him I called.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll tell him you called. Any messages?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, then, Priscilla, I’ll just tell him you called.”

“Tell him I love him.”

“Uh, sure. That you called, and that you love him. I’d better write this down. I was sleeping-”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s nothing, I had to get up anyway because the phone was ringing. No, I’d better make a note of this, though, because sometimes when I wake up I have trouble remembering whether something really happened or whether I dreamed it. And I have a feeling this might be one of those happenings I would tend to dismiss as a dream. ‘Harry’s wife Priscilla called and said that if I heard from him I should tell him she called, and that she loves him.’ That’s it?”

“I guess so.”

“It does have a dreamlike quality to it, doesn’t it? Well, if that’s all, Priscilla-”

“Yes, I guess that’s all.”

“It’s been very interesting talking to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me.”

“Maybe we’ll all get together sometime.”

“Maybe we will. Anything’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Good-bye, Marcia. And thank you again.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Good-bye, Priscilla. Keep in touch.”

“Pardon me?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, good-bye, then.”

“Good-bye.”

I reported the conversation to Rhoda. “She seems very nice,” I said.

“I’m sure she is.”

“We should all get together.”

“Maybe,” she said, doubtfully. “Priss, let’s make love.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Please, let’s.”

“Maybe later.”

I was taking another shower-I always seemed to be in the shower-when the curtain was drawn back and Rhoda got in with me. “I thought I’d soap your back,” she said.

We washed each other.

“Remember doing this at school?”

“I remember.”

“We used to giggle.”

“Yes.”

We got out and dried off, and she led me to her room. She had evidently gone out earlier and come back with a jug of California burgundy.

“Remember?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s get a little drunk. Remember how I taught you how to hold the bottle and drink from that jug?”

We drank quite a bit of wine and we made love. It was very warm and tender. I kept wanting to cry, but didn’t.

“Priss? Even if it’s just us, just you and me, if he doesn’t come back, it’ll be all right.”

“It will?”