Флетчер Флора - The Brass Bed

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jolly said.

“Would you please explain why? Perhaps you are sensitive or something. Have you ever had an unfortunate experience along that line?”

“Not at all. The truth is, it would be quite impossible. Didn’t you know that? Kirby and I tried and tried, but nothing came of it, and Kirby was very depressed because he thought he might be the one, but we went to this doctor, and he said no, it was me. Poor Kirby was extremely relieved, but I couldn’t understand what difference it made. I mean, it takes two to accomplish anything, you see, and I couldn’t understand that it made any particular difference which one of us it was that couldn’t.”

“It’s psychological,” I said. “Men are peculiar that way.”

“Really? I absolutely can’t see the sense in it.”

“What I can’t see,” said Fran, “is why you continually don’t want to hear Felix recite a poem. Perhaps you could think of one that would please her, Felix.”

“Well,” I said, “there’s a good one about a university student who decides he should quit studying and have some fun, but I can only remember a few lines.”

“What kind of fun?”

“Fun with girls mostly.”

“How about that one, Jolly? Would you like to hear a poem about a university student who decides to have some fun with girls?”

“That one sounds quite charming, and I am willing to hear it.”

I recited one of the verses, and then Fran went around with the shaker again, pouring martinis into glasses. Sid shook his head and wouldn’t have any. His feelings were still hurt, and he looked out the window and pretended that he was indifferent to everything that happened. Jolly sipped her martini with a small smile on her lips. I liked her black eye, after getting used to it. Besides making her look ferocious at times, it also gave her a rather dashing look.

“I concede that it’s nice,” Fran said about the poem, “but I was hoping for something hotter.”

“I like that part about down among the maidens and the dancing feet. That has a very nice sound,” Jolly said.

“I’m dubious about the part about white limbs, though. Limbs has a kind of nasty sound. Prudish, you know. Why couldn’t he just say legs?”

“Well, maybe he didn’t mean just legs. Maybe he meant arms too.”

“Arms? Are arms limbs? I thought only legs were limbs.”

“Oh, no. I’m positive arms are also limbs. What do you say, Felix? Are arms limbs?”

“Yes,” I said, “arms and legs are both limbs.”

“In that case,” Fran said, “why couldn’t he have said arms and legs?”

“It wouldn’t scan,” Jolly said. “A poem has to scan.”

“Nevertheless,” Fran said, “I wish it had been hotter.”

“There is a whole book of them,” I said, “and some are as hot as you could want. Why don’t you read the book?”

“What’s the name of it?”

“It’s called Carmina Burana.”

“Really? What a strange name.”

“It’s a rather strange book, so far as that goes.”

“Perhaps I’ll read it.”

“It’s the truth that those goliards must have been pretty interesting,” Jolly said. “I can understand your finding them interesting, Felix.”

“I thought I might be able to write a novel about one,” I said, “but it hasn’t been going very well.”

“I’m so sorry. I don’t like it when things don’t go well for you.”

“Things frequently don’t go well for me.”

“I’m so terribly sorry. It makes me want to cry when things don’t.”

“Would there be any money in a novel about goliards?” Fran said.

“Not as much as there is in real estate,” I said.

“Oh, well,” she said, “there’s not as much money in anything as there is in real estate. That’s axiomatic or something.”

She sat down and crossed her legs again, looking up at Sid, who was still looking out the window.

“Why don’t you behave?” she said. “Why do you have to just go on and on sulking?”

“I’m not sulking,” Sid said. “I’m not sulking at all.”

He sat down on the arm of her chair, and they began to talk quietly. Jolly came over and took one of my hands in both of hers.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” she said.

“No,” I said.

“I was certain you’d be glad. Why aren’t you? Doesn’t it make you feel good to see me again?”

“It makes me feel terrible.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Yes, I know, but tell me anyhow.”

“Because it’s an aggravation.”

“Do you think of me and want me when we’re apart?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“When is it worst? The thinking and wanting, I mean.”

“At night. When I’m lying in bed.”

“That’s true. I knew you’d say that because it’s worst then for me too. Is it any satisfaction to you to know that I’m lying in bed and wanting you too?”

“Very little. I try not to think of you lying in bed.”

“Oh. I see. Because Kirby’s there with me, you mean. Yes, I can see that it wouldn’t be pleasant for you to think of that.”

“Well, let’s quit thinking of it, then.”

“I’m quite sure I’d be miserable if it were the other way around and someone was lying with you.”

“No one’s been lying with me.”

“I expect that someone will, though, sooner or later, and I’ll be perfectly miserable about it. Do you think I ought to quit sleeping with Kirby?”

“It’s none of my business. I would like, please, not to think about it at all, one way or another.”

The front screen opened and shut. Footsteps approached in the hall, and Kirby Craig came into the room. He was wearing a white suit and white shoes, and he looked very rich and handsome and genial. Probably he was quite nice in his own way, and it was remarkable how much I hated him.

“Hello, you folks,” he said.

Jolly let go of my hand, and Sid got off the arm of Fran’s chair, and Fran stood up deliberately and set her empty martini glass on a table.

“Have you come to hit someone in the eye?” she said.

Kirby got red in the face, and suddenly he did not look at all pleasant. The red did not spread evenly under his skin, but had a kind of mottled appearance, like liver blotches, and seeing him like that gave me some satisfaction in a small way.

“Come off it, Fran,” he said. “You get fresh with me, I’ll spank your butt.”

“I believe you,” Fran said. “You are just the big, virile man to do it. I have never seen a bigger, more virile man in all this big, virile world. God, I admire you tremendously!”

“Just be a good girl, that’s all.”

“A man who would black his wife’s eye should be thrashed,” Sid said suddenly.

“Thrashed! Thrashed, for God’s sake!” Fran threw her arms up into the air and sat down again in the chair. “Why must you constantly interfere, Sid? I was absolutely confounding this big, virile man, and you have reduced the entire dramatic scene to an utter farce.”

Kirby was looking at Sid ominously.

“Who’s going to thrash me?” he said.

Sid stood up very straight and looked dignified. In spite of handicaps, he really did. He wasn’t big or impressive, but somehow he managed to look quite dignified.

“You needn’t try to terrify me,” he said. “I’m completely impervious to your brutish behavior.”

“You’re just a God-damn coward,” Kirby said. “You wouldn’t fight if I spit on you.”

“Fighting is vulgar,” Sid said. “I don’t fight.”

He walked over to the hall and turned.

“With neither men nor women,” he said.

He went out, and Fran began to laugh. On her face was an expression of mixed amazement and admiration.