Leonard Michaels - The Men's Club

Terry lifted a piece of pie to his lips and said, “Personally, I prefer courtship.” The pie slipped into his mouth. He chewed. I looked at his stunted thumbs. Brutal digits. He preferred courtship. Things figure in the human world to the degree they don’t.

“What did you do on the road, Cavanaugh?” I asked the question, unsure he hadn’t actually told us.

“A lot of courtship.”

Except for me and Canterbury, everyone laughed. Berliner, eyes still bearing diffuse visionary luster, said, “I spent a little time on the road, but I’m not Cavanaugh. I never did courtship. I never showed up at a party with a beautiful woman. If I had one I wouldn’t take her to a party.”

Cavanaugh grinned, started to laugh, stopped. Berliner’s eyes had become sorrowful, more wretched than mystical. Whatever he looked at, he didn’t want to see.

“I can dig it,” said Paul. Berliner continued as if there had been no gap in his talk.

“But like I met this woman in Baton Rouge, in a motel parking lot, leaning against a green Cadillac the color of poison. Drunk. She was so drunk. I parked my car and was walking by, trying not to notice. She says, ‘Bud, you do it good. I been watching you. Help me park my car.’”

He mimicked the woman’s accent, new tones in his voice; gentle, very gentle. I was surprised, touched, slightly ashamed of myself. Berliner had acting talent. It wasn’t that the woman lived, but that I could feel how she lived for him. I’d misjudged Berliner. The crazy spasmodic had feelings.

“She scratched up the side of her Cadillac trying to get it between two other cars. She was too drunk to do it right. So she quit, left the Cadillac sticking out in the aisle, at an angle. She was leaning against the door, tangled up in herself. She had a cigarette in her mouth and there were butts dumped all around her feet. She’d emptied the ashtray, like to mess up the world so it would be no different from herself. I smelled ugly perfume. She gives me the keys and I climb into her Cadillac. Inside, it was like her outside, stinking perfume. A lot of burns in the seat leather. I see powder jars, hairpins, a hairbrush. Maybe a hundred balls of tissue paper on the seat and all over the floor. I started the car, backed out, then pulled it in straight. When I got out and handed her the keys, I say, just to say something, ‘I also have trouble parking. It’s one of the miseries of my life.’ She says, ‘We got nothing in common, bud. Don’t put the moves on me.’ I hear don’t, I think do, but this is the thing. I’m standing close, staring at her. I see that even if she wasn’t a mess, she isn’t perfect. Okay. But like she has long eyes with points, like leaves. Silver pupils looking up at me through her hair. Red stuff from a knifed couch, like. She isn’t perfect, you know what I mean, but she’s got these eyes. Better than perfect. I mean, I was thinking this repulsive broad is really beautiful. Even drunk, she is cutting me up with her eyes. I feel myself starting to shake. I’m scared. Like a stupid kid. I don’t know what to do. I been around, but I don’t know what to do. So I put out my arm. She tells me to fuck off and I want to die. I’m humiliated. Why? Is she going to tell anyone Solly Berliner tried to pick her up? Who cares? I didn’t know anybody in that town. I could walk away and never see her again. But I stand there, dying, my arm sticking out. She falls on it. She didn’t take it, she falls on it. To me it was the same. I’m now dragging her around the parking lot, holding her up, and she’s flopping along beside me. Then she vomits. All over my fucking shoes. It was disgusting, but I didn’t complain. I walked her into the motel bar and ordered some coffee. I went to the men’s room, cleaned my shoes. When I came out I ordered a drink for myself and sat with her. A jazz band was playing. Bass, sax, drums, piano. Real good. It was nice. Like we were having a date. She drank her coffee and talked. I made listening noises, that’s all. I was hoping she would sober up, but not too quick. I asked if she wanted more coffee so she wouldn’t think I’m an animal. You know what I mean? She says no, then says she feels awful about what she did to my shoes. I laughed it off, then called for the check. Cool. In control. I stood up and held out my arm. She gets up and comes with me. We go out of the bar, then down the hall toward my room and she doesn’t say anything. At the door, when I’m putting in the key, she says, ‘Don’t try anything with me, bud.’ Maybe a minute and a half later, we’re on the bed. She didn’t have all her clothes off. I couldn’t believe it. She was holding me and kissing me like I was her teddy bear. I was still wearing my shirt and socks. Next morning her eyes are waiting for me. Sober. In her sleep something piled up behind them. Like bad smoke. I figured she was studying her big mistake. Me. Maybe hating herself, wanting me to get out so she could shower, wash it away. I don’t look too good first thing in the morning. I couldn’t blame her for having like regrets. But that wasn’t my problem. She came to my room. She says, looking at me, ‘You’re a nice chap.’ I went to the toilet. I had no feeling. Not any. The sun was shining. I had a plane to catch. My business in town, buying into this property for a corporation, was finished. A waste of time. These Southern bastards never planned to let me in. They made me fly down to shit on me. She lay there watching me dress. I didn’t bother to shave. I don’t think I said one word. I was at the door, bags in my hands, when I feel her. She’s pressing against my back, her hands on my shoulders. She says, ‘How am I to write you a letter? I don’t even know your zip code.’ I put down my bags and turned. I was going to say something, but she kissed me and put her tongue in my mouth. It was like she liked me. I started to kiss her, too, the same way. I think she really liked me. You know what I mean? I started thinking I would cancel my reservation, make another one. I could still phone Sheila, tell her not to meet me at the airport. I could tell her I’d be a couple of days late. I think she liked me a lot. But I had to go. I had my ticket. I got to the airport just in time to turn in the rented car and catch the plane. Sheila was waiting to drive me back to town. I said I had to talk to her. She says, ‘Talk.’ I said, ‘When we get home.’ She was curious, but like impatient. All the way home I was planning what to say. When we got home she says, ‘Okay, talk. You made the deal?’ I told her to sit down. Listen. She sits. I started to say something, I don’t even know what, but then I couldn’t. I lay down on the floor with my bags. She is looking at me, wondering was I going to play a stupid joke. I said, ‘Come down here.’ She dropped down on her knees. Not like she wanted to. She says, ‘Okay, what? You buy into the property? What?’ I said, ‘Kiss me. Put your tongue in my mouth.’ She says, ‘I thought you had to talk.’ I said, ‘Put your tongue in my mouth.’ She looks at me a long time, then says, ‘I will not.’ I wanted to punch her right in the head, but I only lay there feeling sorry for myself. For her, too, you know. I understood the whole problem of our marriage. Sheila doesn’t like me.”

Cavanaugh said, “Solly, did you tell that story for me?”

Berliner shrugged. “It just came out.”

Paul reached a fresh marijuana toward him. Berliner glanced at the cigarette as if he didn’t know what it was.

“That’s for telling your story, man.”

Berliner took the cigarette and lit it, pulling gas uphill in stages.

“You didn’t know your wife didn’t like you?” said Terry.

“A marriage. A marriage. You know, man. Any little thing makes you angry. I go to the grocery and forget to buy coffee. Sheila says there must be something fundamentally wrong with my brain. She looks like she wishes I was dead. Because of the coffee. I laugh. But I didn’t know the worst until I met the woman in Baton Rouge.”