Philip Dick - Mary And The Giant

"Oh, dear," the girl whispered. Schilling, unable to comprehend, drew back and sat rubbing his hands together.

Mary Anne took a deep breath and began to gather her shirt back around her. A wondering expression appeared on her face; turning to him, she asked: "Did you do that? You did do it, didn't you?"

"Yes," he said. And then he reached out, drew the fabric of her shirt completely away from her, and unfastened the remaining clasps. She made no protest; with curiosity she watched his hands as they traveled across her stomach to the snap that held her slacks in place. Once she made a motion of unclipping her bra; she stood groping behind her back without accomplishing anything until Schilling turned her partly around, pushed her fingers away, and undid the hooks.

"Thanks," she murmured. Her bra fell forward and she caught the cups. In a few brief motions she had pulled her slacks all the way off and, with a shiver, worked down her underpants. Collecting her clothes, she folded them in a bundle and pushed them away. For an instant her slightly luminous column danced in front of him; then she hurried forward, very smooth, very alive, creeping up onto the table.

"Yes," she told him. "Don't wait; hurry, Joseph, for heaven's sake."

He did not have to wait. By flattening her back she was able to receive him; she guided him in with her own fingers, pushed until she could go no farther, and, supporting herself upon her fists, stiffened her body. She was warm inside, warmer than he had ever found anywhere, with anyone. Her eyes were shut and she was involved in the rhythms of her body. Across her pelvis rippled a sheet of fine, energetic muscles; the activity spread until it reached her breasts and dilated each nipple. He had entered her in so short a time that neither of them had spoken a word.

It was accomplished, then. Something rushed to the surface of her body and was gone; she constricted, became hard, then soft again. Sighing, the girl lowered herself and relaxed. She withdrew her fists and contentedly laid her palms flat across her belly.

Schilling waited, and then he carefully withdrew himself. Mary Anne said nothing. Finally, after he had got his clothes back around himself and was stepping to the floor, she stirred, opened her eyes, and sat up.

In a low, timid voice she said: "That never happened to me before. I never felt anything inside me come. It was always something that happened to me; nothing I did."

"It's good," he assured her.

Presently she located her clothes and began to dress. He couldn't help looking at his watch. Only ten minutes had gone by since they descended to the storeroom. It did not seem possible, but it was actually no longer than that. If they had, instead, gone up and put on the coffee, it would just now be ready.

When the girl had finished dressing, he said to her: "How do you feel, Mary Anne?"

She stretched her arms, shook herself like an animal, and then trotted toward the stairs. "I feel fine, but I'm hungry. Can we go have something to eat?"

He laughed. "Right away?"

Halfway up the stairs she halted to gaze down at him. "Why not? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing." Mounting the stairs, he stopped behind her. She did not seem to mind; there was no objection as he reached up and put his arm around her waist. Leaning back, she rested against him, making a breathy whirr of satisfaction. He covered her right breast with his fingers and she did not seem to mind that, either; in fact, she closed her hand over his and pressed him against her until he could feel the line of ribs under her flesh. "Where do you want to go?" he asked, releasing her.

"Anywhere. Someplace we can get hotcakes and ham and coffee. That's what I want; plenty of it, too." Excitedly, she scampered up the stairs to the top. "Okay?" she demanded, outlined above him.

"Okay," he said happily, and reached to switch off the basement light.

The Pacific Star Diner was a little wooden cafe on the rim of the slum business section. Mary Anne opened the screen door and entered. A taxi driver and two workmen in black leather jackets sat at the counter drinking coffee and reading the sporting green of the San Francisco Chronicle. In one of the booths was a solemn Negro couple.

"Can I order anything I want?" Eyes sparkling, she slid into an empty booth at the rear.

"Of course," Schilling said, reaching for the menu.

"I want what I said, still. Will they give it to me?"

"If they don't, we'll go somewhere else."

The counter man, a middle-aged Greek wearing a soiled white apron, approached and took their order.

"How long will it be?" Mary Anne asked Schilling as the Greek went back to get ham from the refrigerator. "It won't be long, will it?"

"Only a couple of minutes."

"I'm starving." She began to read the titles on the jukebox selector. "Look-these are all jump tunes. All 'Jazz at the Phil' stuff ... could I play one? Could I play this Roy Brown tune? 'Good Rockin' Tonight,' it's called. Would you mind?"

He found some change and pushed it across to her.

"Thanks," she said shyly, dropping a coin into the selector and rotating the dial. Presently the cafe boomed with the noise of an alto saxophone.

"I guess it's pretty terrible," Mary Anne said as the racket finally subsided. She made no move to pick up any more money from the little heap, and Schilling asked:

"Aren't you going to play any others?"

"They're no good."

"Don't say that. Those men are artists in their field. I don't want you to give up what you enjoy in favor of what I like."

"But what you like is better."

"Not necessarily."

"If it isn't better, then why do you like it?" Mary Anne reached eagerly for a paper napkin. "Here comes the food. I'm going to ask Harry to sit down and eat with us." She explained, "That's Harry carrying the food."

"How do you know his name is Harry?"

"I just know; all Greeks are named Harry." When the man had reached the table and his long arms were beginning to push out the platters of food, Mary Anne announced: "Harry, please sit down; we want you to join us."

The Greek grinned. "Sorry, Miss."

"Come on. Whatever you want; we'll pay for it."

"I'm on a diet," the Greek told her, wiping off the table with his damp rag. "I can't eat anything but orange juice."

"I don't believe he's really a Greek," Mary Anne said to Schilling as the counter man went off. "I'll bet his name isn't even Harry."

"Probably not," Schilling agreed, starting to eat. The food was good and he ate a great deal. Presently, across from him, the girl finished the last of her coffee, pushed away her plate, and said:

"I'm through."

She had already finished, and completely so. Lighting a cigarette, she sat smiling at him across the yellow-moist table. "Still hungry?" he asked. "Want more?"

"No. That's enough." Her attention wandered. "I wonder what it's like to run a little cafe ... you could get all you wanted to eat, any time of the day. You could live in the back ... do you suppose he lives in the back? Do you suppose he has a big family?"

"All Greeks have big families."

The girl's fingers drummed restlessly on the surface of the table. "Could we take a walk? But maybe you don't like to walk."

"I used to walk all the time, before I got the car. And I didn't find that it hurt me." He finished his food, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and got up. "So let's go take our walk."

He paid Harry, who lounged at the cash register, and then they strolled outside onto the dark street. Fewer people were visible and most of the stores had shut off their lights for the night. Hands in her pockets, purse under her arm, Mary Anne marched along. Schilling followed behind her, letting her choose her own direction. But she had no particular course in mind; at the end of the block she halted.