Evan Hunter - Far From the Sea

There were two beds in the basement room he was renting with the dental student who was never there. There was a paisley-printed curtain hanging over the small window; it tinted the sunlight red and stained the bed. The phone was beside the bed, between his bed and the one the dental student never slept in. There was a big dental chart on the wall opposite the bed; it showed the position and gave the name of every tooth in the human mouth. David knew the names of all the teeth by heart. It was only eight o’clock; was she still sleeping? He didn’t want to wake her up, but neither did he want to chance missing her. Suppose she was an early riser? Suppose she was already out on the beach, taking the sun; she said she’d be leaving on Sunday, and this was already Wednesday; suppose he missed her?

He reached for the phone.

No, he thought, pulling back his hand, give her another fifteen minutes.

He could hear the ticking of his watch.

In the backyard outside, someone was taking a shower. He heard the person singing in the shower. There was no hot water out there; how could anyone possibly sing so loud in a cold shower? He could not tell whether the person was a man or a woman, the voice was that rotten. Naked, he got out of bed, walked across the room to the thrift-shop dresser, and turned on the small electric fan there. He was still hot. He went back to the bed. It was ten minutes past eight.

He waited.

The person outside stopped singing. He heard the shower being turned off. “Good morning,” he heard a woman chirp. “Good morning,” someone chirped back. He looked at his watch again. In the room upstairs, he heard the floorboards creak. The fat lady who wore the shorts and halter tops. The widow lady. She’d once asked his invisible dental student roommate if he’d like to come in for a cup of coffee. She’d placed her hand on his arm and said, “My coffee is very good, I’m told.” The dental student declined the invitation; he had already met the redheaded dancer he was sleeping with. David was tempted to wander by the fat lady’s room one day, see if she’d invite him in for some of her very good coffee. It had been that kind of summer.

He looked at his watch again.

Two more minutes, he thought.

He started reciting aloud the names of the teeth on the dental chart. He had gone through all of them in the lower jaw when he looked at his watch again. Okay, he thought, here we go. He picked up the slip of paper on which he’d written the phone number for the Seaview Hotel. His hand was shaking when he dialed the number.

“Seaview,” a voice said.

“Miss Regen, please,” he said.

“Who?”

“Molly Regen.”

“Just a second.”

He waited. His heart was pounding.

“Hello?”

God, he’d woken her up!

“Molly?”

“Yes?”

“It’s me. David.”

“What time is it?” she said.

“Eight-fifteen,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. He heard her yawning. “Sorry,” she said. “I was asleep.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“That’s okay,” she said.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Listen, I’m really sorry I woke you up.”

“Well, that’s okay.”

“Have you given any thought to tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, I... uh... you remember I asked you if you might like to go out with me tonight?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So what do you think?”

“Well, it’s early yet,” she said.

“Are you waiting for another call, is that it?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“I just don’t like to make decisions so early in the morning. I’m lying here in bed, I just woke up, you woke me up, I don’t like to have to make a decision just yet.”

Goddamn snooty Princess, he thought.

“What are you wearing?” he said.

“Why?”

“I’m curious.”

“A T-shirt,” she said. “And panties.”

“What kind of panties?”

“Bikinis.”

“What color?”

“Blue.”

There was a silence on the line.

“Why don’t you take them off?” he said.

“Okay,” she said, “just a sec.”

He heard the telephone clattering on a hard surface. Jesus! he thought. Jesus, she’s actually taking off her panties! He waited. His heart raced, his heart was going to explode.

“Okay,” she said, “they’re off.”

“Uh-huh,” he said.

There was another silence.

“So... uh... what’ve you got on now?” he asked. “Just the T-shirt?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of T-shirt is it?”

“Just a T-shirt. A white T-shirt.”

“Does it have any lettering on it?”

“Yes.”

“What does it say?”

“It says ‘WQXR.’ ”

“You listen to WQXR, huh?”

“Yes.”

“You like classical music, huh?”

“Is that why you asked me take off my panties? To discuss music?”

“Well, no, I...”

There was another silence.

“Are you blond?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I mean...”

“I know what you mean. I’m blond.”

“What are you doing now?” he asked.

“Just lying here.”

“On your back?”

“Yes.”

“Are your legs spread?”

“No.”

“Spread them.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Are they spread now?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you put your hand down there?”

“Down where?”

“You know. Down there.”

“Tell me where.”

“Between your legs,” he said.

“Where between my legs? Tell me.”

“On your...”

He hesitated, panicking.

“On my what?” she said.

“Your cunt,” he said.

“Okay,” she said.

There was another silence, longer this time.

“Are you... did you... are you... is your hand there now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you wet?”

“Yes.” She paused. “What are you wearing?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

“You’re naked?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Are you on your back?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have an erection?”

“Yes.”

“Is it just sticking up there?”

“Yes.”

“Just sticking up there big and hard?”

“Yes.”

“Grab hold of it,” she said.

He thought in those next ten delirious minutes, he thought, Jesus, this is impossible, she can’t be Jewish! Her image filled his mind, the first glimpse he’d had of her, Molly turning from the sea, materializing in sunlight, stepping out of sunlight, the sea wind lifting her skirt over incredibly long legs, her hand moving to flatten it, that beautiful face with its upturned Irish nose and rampant freckles (but she’s Jewish !), the wide mouth and sea-green eyes, the miracle of her! And imagined her now, as she was now, as they whispered urgently to each other now, visualized her at the Seaview Hotel on a bed in a room he had never seen, conjured her on her back with her legs spread and her hand buried in her crotch (She was using just one finger, she told him, she was getting very wet now), the long slender length of her on a tangled sheet, her blond hair loose on the pillow, her eyes closed (My eyes are closed, she whispered), freckles on her breasts (Do you have freckles on your breasts? he asked. Lots, she said), nipples poking the thin fabric of the white T-shirt (Are your nipples hard? he asked. Very, she said), hard nipples puckering the WQXR (Are they big? he asked. My nipples? she asked. Your tits, he said. They’re ample, she said), saw her writhing on that bed, crisp golden-blond moist cunt hair curling around her frantic fingers (I want to kiss your cunt, he said. Yes, I want you to, she said), his Yiddishe Shiksa, he could not believe what was happening, could not believe he had found her, could not believe the miracle of her (I’m very close, she said, and then without prompting said, Fuck me, David, oh fuck me, David, fuck me!).