Sol Stein - Other people

The doorbell rang. I wasn't expecting anyone.

My mood slipped. With a shrug, I pushed my hair back and went to the door.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Mr. Koslak."

The name didn't register.

"From upstairs."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

I expected to see the man who, when I passed him on the stairs, always wore black-grease-smeared striped coveralls — I thought of them as convict coveralls — with some name, his name? over the pocket in red script. When I slipped the chain and opened the door, he was standing there wearing a white, horizontal tooth-smile, a white T-shirt, and jeans that looked brand new. He seemed younger, clean, thirty-five perhaps. I was struck by how short he was; this was the first time we were on the same level. His hand thrust forward an empty cup.

"Excuse me," he said. "This sounds nuts, but my wife's cooking up something and she's run out of sugar."

"Come in, come in," I said. "Of course," and as I went to the kitchen with his cup the thought flitted through my mind, "Why hasn't he tried the Italians across the hall?" Perhaps he had and they weren't home. Maybe his wife had quarreled with the Italian wife, you never know.

I handed him the cup, and then noticed he had closed the door behind him.

I'm proud of the way Harry's made a real go of the gas station in just four years. I had no idea he'd turn into a terrific businessman. I've been in the office part of the station, watching out through the glass as all these people drive in, sometimes two and three waiting for a pump, and while the kid fills 'em up, they're talking to Harry, this and that, like they was friends not customers. I asked him how much he was making a week now and he said it'd blow my mind. I don't know where he keeps his cash. As long as I get my hundred fifty a week for shopping, I don't care. Truth is I'm putting some of that in my ha-ha rainy day fund. I keep the passbook in the bottom of the Kotex box in the drawer.

You'd have to know Harry for years to see how much he's really improved. When he worked for Pete's Sunoco, he'd blow up every other day, at Pete, at me, he just couldn't stand anyone telling him what to do. I'm glad he got the lease on the Esso. It's not just the money he makes working for himself, it's his temper.

He's not perfect, I mean I wished he was better with Mike and little Mary. They may be kids, but they're human beings, you gotta say something more than hello and goodbye. He ought to play with them like a father, you know what I mean?

Anyway, I ain't getting pregnant any more. The minute it shows, Harry changes. Instead of poking me every chance he gets, he just treats me as if I was off limits. He said he didn't like the idea of poking me with a kid inside. I asked the doctor. I told him the doctor said he can't do any harm, I'm only four months gone. I don't know what Harry does when I'm pregnant. Anyway, three kids is plenty, don't you think?

It's funny how quick the time has passed since I met Harry. I had this girl friend Roseanne who's going with a guy called Lefty and she calls me to double-date on this Saturday night because Lefty's got a friend named Harry, and I says sure, and she, Roseanne, says Harry's short, and I say does he look all right, and Roseanne says she seen him and he looks fine, just he's short. Well I'm not one to make a thing if someone's short, am I?

Harry's thing then was to tell jokes. He had a whole repertory and he told them good and Roseanne and I laughed a lot, though Lefty said he'd heard them. I could tell Harry took to me from the way he kept looking me over, not just when we were introduced but like afterwards. He referred to my tits as headlights, which Lefty and Roseanne thought was funny.

I could tell he was sensitive about being short. "Nobody's short lying down," he said that first night. He called me up the next day and asked for a date, just with me.

I never thought he'd marry me. That first time in his car when he bought that used car, I said I didn't want to, he said I was lying I did want to. How do you argue that? I didn't know what I thought. I said what I was supposed to say, no.

Then we were up in Lefty's apartment, and Lefty and Roseanne were in the bedroom. You could tell they didn't want company. We were in the other room necking, you know, nothing special, when Harry asks me to look at his thing when it was hard. I didn't have experience to compare him with, you know. It came up at an angle, the way they're all supposed to, and just a bit over to the side, that was what he said was different. He said the kids in high school had made fun of his dick because of the angle, and I said what were the kids in high school doing looking at his dick, and he said he and them, there were five or six, would get theirs hard, then corner some girl and all at once show her all those hard dicks, scare the hell out of her. Men are like boys about their things. I can't imagine girls doing the same, can you?

I liked Harry. I certainly didn't want him to feel bad. I said something nice about his dick, and he said could I touch it, and one thing always leads to another, doesn't it?

Well, he did marry me, surprise. I remember he looked shy and said "I love you" and I said "I know" and he said "How'd you know?" and I said "You made love to me, didn't you?" and he said "Oh" or something idiotic like that. When I was a kid I used to daydream about marrying somebody a lot taller than Harry, but you got to be realistic, don't you? Only I worry that Mike and Jean and whatever I got in the oven will all be short like Harry instead of tall like my father, but my mother said you got to be realistic, so I was.

Harry wanted us to go to Las Vegas. I said, "Las Vegas on a honeymoon?"

"What's wrong with Las Vegas?"

So I say, "You can't lie on the beach, you can't swim, you can't enjoy yourself."

He asks me didn't I like gambling.

I tell him we ought to get to know each other on a honeymoon, something like that.

"Okay," he says, "we'll go to the other place."

That's how we got to go to Miami. I got my first bikini to take with. Harry got used to the stares quick enough. I think he likes it when they stare. Even if they make remarks, he never picks a fight. My figure was like Ava Gardner's. I hadn't had the kids yet.

What I was really getting to was that first night, when it was official and okay. We'd sobered up from the wedding champagne on the ride to the airport. We ordered drinks on the plane, what the hell I'm scared of flying and who wants to be sober. Well, we're allowed two drinks each, so Harry orders four scotches, gives me one, and drinks three himself. He kept reaching across me for a magazine or a paperback out of the bag I was carrying, but what he wanted was a quick feel. Even though we were married I guess the idea of fooling around on an airplane surrounded by people was exciting, I don't know.

So we get to the hotel and he orders up a bottle of scotch, and I say what's that for, you could order a couple drinks but a bottle? He says it's cheaper by the bottle and you don't have to wait around for room service. I'm unpacking and he's drinking and pretty soon he's singing, you know, he's got a pretty good voice, and he tells me I should have a drink, and I tell him we have to go out to dinner, don't we, and before I know it he's flopped on the bed, sloshed.

"Come on," I tell him, "we got to go down to dinner soon."

He's not out, just sleepy, so trying not to get him mad I say, "Come on, you'll sleep later, Harry. Want to take a cold shower?" He mumbles but I can't make out what he's saying, if he's saying anything. I'm thinking this is supposed to be our honeymoon . Anyway, I figure he needs some time, so I take myself a shower, it was hot on the plane and in the cab from the airport, and I take my time dolling myself up, figuring it'll give Harry time to recover. I come out to the room and wouldn't you know he's out cold and snoring?