Pete Hamill - Loving Women

Now .

In the trailer, she came at me. I was washing my hands at the sink when she pushed up hard against me from behind, reaching up under my dress, until she had a hand on the top of my panties. She pulled them down and I could feel the garter belt digging into my skin. She was breathing hard and I heard her twist the top off an unseen jar. The breathing got harder, and I closed my eyes and then felt a stabbing pain as she entered me from behind. Her finger was all the way up inside me and she bit and chewed the back of my neck until I started to slide away from her to stop the pain. She took her finger out of me, and I went on all fours on the floor. Above and behind me, she dug the nail of her thumb into my ass and moved the other finger down, as if pressing at the back of my balls, and then slipped it into my ass again. She unzippered the back of the dress with her free hand. She pulled the dress up to my shoulders and I stretched out my arms and allowed her to pull it over my head. I felt naked in the bra and garter belt. She slid her finger out of me and I panted with relief. The pain had stopped. I gasped for air. Her breathing sounded choked. I started to turn, get up, and then I was spread wide open again by something cold and hard in my rectum. Still dressed in the sailor suit, she slid under me, and took my cock in her mouth, all the while pushing the cold smooth object in and out of my ass until I came.

Now, she said, sliding out from under me, holding a silver butter knife with a vaselined handle in her hand, standing above me as I tried to get myself back into the world.

Now you better eat me, honey.

One evening I met her down at Sears. We always met there when we planned to go to a drive-in or to the beach. This night she came out of the store chewing the inside of her mouth.

Let’s hurry, she said, sliding behind the wheel.

What’s the problem? I asked.

Roberta, she said.

Roberta was her blond friend from Sears, the woman I’d seen months ago leaving the San Carlos one morning with Mercado. Eden talked about her from time to time, relating episodes of the woman’s life. Usually it sounded like a soap opera. The thing with Mercado hadn’t worked out, of course; Mercado wanted sex and Roberta wanted marriage. So Mercado smiled, kissed her, said good night and went away. After Mercado she’d met an ensign named Larry. Since Larry was an officer and a gentlemen, and I was an enlisted man, the four of us never went out together. It was forbidden by the rules of the democratic Navy. Sometimes we would see them in a drive-in or at the shrimp place, and wave hello. I was introduced just once to Larry. We were both in civvies. He was tall and thin and looked at me as if I were a shoeshine boy. I never said another word to him. And I never really got to see Roberta, although Eden talked to her every day at Sears.

She says she’s gonna kill herself tonight, Eden said, as she drove through the back streets.

Why, for God’s sake?

Larry jilted her. But not for another woman. Turns out he already had another woman. Little wifey back home in Ohio. Turns out Roberta is the other woman. And she can’t stand it.

Aw, hell.

I tried to tell her; I said, Roberta, no man is worth killin yourself for. Not one of them. No matter how much you think you love him.

I thought: What about me? Would you kill yourself over me? But I said nothing.

Gotta get her thinkin’ right, Eden said. Gotta save her life.

She drove fast until we came into a middle-class white section just beyond Mainside. Roberta lived in a small complex of new apartments, two stories high with stucco walls and tile roofs and cars parked in the driveways. The stairways were on the outside of the buildings. Eden led the way to Roberta’s apartment and rang the bell. No answer. Eden listened at the door.

God, I don’t hear a sound, she said.

She rang the bell more urgently, and this time we heard shuffling footsteps coming to the door.

Roberta’s voice asked us who we were.

Eden and Michael, ’Berta, honey. Better let us in.

Go away.

Eden said, If you don’t let us in, honey, we gonna knock the damn door down.

There was a pause, then the lock turned and the door opened and Roberta was standing there. She was wearing a white flannel bathrobe and she looked terrible. Her hair was wild and matted. There were splotches of makeup on her face and dirt under her fingernails. Her eyes were sore from crying and her face was swollen.

I don’t want to hear your damned sad story, girl, Eden said, taking Roberta’s arm and leading her into the apartment. I closed the door behind us and locked it.

Ain’t nothin to tell, Roberta said.

Sure there is, Eden said. All about a low-life lying conniving son of a bitch flyboy. Lots to tell about him . But we just don’t wanna hear it tonight, girl. We gotta get you lookin human .

She led Roberta to the bedroom. I wasn’t sure what to do. This was something that happened in the country of women and I didn’t know how they acted there. I looked around. There were gin bottles everywhere, overflowing ashtrays, dirty plates and glasses, mounds of clothes on the floor. Eden saw them too. She turned to me at the door of the bedroom.

Maybe you can clear up this mess, she said, while I clean up Roberta.

I nodded and she closed the bedroom door. I moved quickly around the small apartment, putting the gin bottles in garbage bags, emptying the ashtrays, folding the clothes and setting them on an armchair. I opened the windows to let the sour hangover smell drift into the damp night air.

All the while I heard the shower running and wondered if Eden had been forced to climb in with Roberta just to hold her up. And as I straightened the chairs and the couch, the apartment changed its character. The dirt and disorder had made it Roberta’s place; now it seemed to belong to nobody. There were no photographs of friends or relatives or lovers anywhere in sight. Like the place where Bobby Bolden stayed with Catty Wolverton, there were no books on the shelves and no pictures on the walls. It was an empty space. Maybe, I thought, Roberta made it her own with chaos. I’d made it look like a hotel room.

The water had stopped running in the shower, but I heard nothing from the bedroom. Navy jets raced through the sky. Their sound must drive Roberta mad , I thought. One of them could be Larry. I heard a radio playing a Tommy Edwards song:

Many a tear has to fall, but it’s all …

The door opened. Eden was standing there with a towel wrapped around her and nothing under the towel.

Come on in, she said.

Roberta was still wearing the bathrobe, but her hair was brushed straight back now, and her skin was shiny and her fingernails clean. She smiled at me like a kid arriving at a surprise party. Then she went to the large bed and, still wearing the robe, slipped under the covers. All the while, she was looking at me.

I turned to Eden.

She nodded at the bed, and then went past me, turning off lights.

I undressed and got into the bed beside Roberta, engulfed by the odor of soap and fresh perfume. Roberta looked directly at me and touched my face. Her skin shimmered whitely in the dim light.

Hello, Roberta, I whispered.

Take my robe off, she said, in a small frightened voice. If you take it off, then it’s all right.

I turned and saw Eden suddenly naked, getting into the bed on the other side of Roberta. She nodded at me. I untied the belt of the robe. Roberta sat up and I slipped the robe off her shoulders and saw her pink nipples and lush breasts and she shifted her weight and I slid the robe out from under her and dropped it on the floor.