Gilbert Sorrentino - Aberration of Starlight

He finished shaving and patted some after-shave on, thinking that he’d want to shave again after supper, smooth as a baby’s ass and heavy on the bay rum too, that always got the janes in the mood. Marie wasn’t really a jane, or just another jane, she had class. Besides, it had been a hell of a long time since he’d had a shot at a doll with such a shape on her — Jesus, even that ugly rag of a bathing suit couldn’t hide her build, she must have been something at eighteen, but who knows? She’s probably better now, a little more meat on her and her behind had just a little bit of a spread, my God, the way it felt when he was pulling her skirt up, he could feel the soft cheeks right now in his hands. He began to clip his moustache.

She was going to buy something special in Hackettstown, of course. If she wasn’t who he goddamn well knew she was, he’d lay odds it was some new underwear, but not with her, brother, not with her. She wasn’t the kind who thought that anybody else would ever see it, what would it be then? Maybe earrings or a bracelet. Something nice for a nice lady. She looked damn good dressed up, the day she got out of Stellkamp’s car in that polka-dot dress, wow. The cunt her old man ran out on her for must have been some lay, that’s all he had to say, and no two ways about it. Probably played the old skin flute for him to beat the band. If the old lady had looked like Marie, hell, who knows? Maybe he wouldn’t have spent so much time chasing all those skirts. Maybe. It’s funny you get used to a dame and then she just don’t get you hot anymore, same old crap, stick it in, drop your load, good night sweetheart. Might as well hump a piece of liver. A guy could probably get tired of fucking Jean Harlow — well, nobody had to worry about who was or wasn’t screwing her anymore, a shame. In his room, Tom put on a pair of shorts, anklets, sandals, and a pale-blue polo shirt. He’d maybe take a little walk for himself to the Bluebird and have a Coca-Cola. He would have got a kick driving Marie into Hackettstown but that was laying it on a bit thick, yowza. The old bastard had his Irish mug down to his shoes already about tonight, got to be a goddamn prize sap to rub it in. It was a miracle she even said she’d go, the way the sour old geezer had her at his beck and call, you’d think she was his wife the way he gives her all that guff, do this and do that and do the other thing. His wife was probably a battle-ax who led him around by the nose. Now he’s the big shot, huh, don’t forget to dot the “i.”

Not that he wouldn’t consider marrying her, it wasn’t so hot after all those years to be a bachelor again, harder every day to get the old ashes hauled. And he missed a nice coozy home to come back to, let’s face it, after busting his ass all day long buttering up some goddamn hunkie or dutchman to make him spring for an order. Giving them all that bullshit about the wife and kids, pulling out the old snapshots. Jesus Christ! Well, Susan was his downfall, even now thinking about that bitch cockteasing him — probably every other man she ever met — to death, got him all hot and bothered. And that goddamn fool Alex thought he’d married the Virgin Mary. Christ, every time she crossed her legs she made damn sure you got an eyeful of the promised land. Must have driven the goddamn iceman crazy. Marie’d probably get some moolah from the old man too, maybe enough for them to go down to Florida and take it easy, maybe do some part-time selling, straight commission, for some rube outfit? Ah, all pipe dreams. If Tom succeeded in seducing Marie, any ideas he had of marriage would fly right out the window. Just stick it in that sweet little nook of hers, Jesus, after all those years of the straight and narrow, it must be tight as a bride’s! But he’d like to have it more than once, bang-bang, so it was best to play it close to the chest and keep a proposal back like an ace in the hole.

Halfway to the Bluebird, he decided to turn back, go the other way to the Hi-Top, and have himself a club sandwich. Old lady Stellkamp didn’t take it too well if you didn’t show up for meals, but he didn’t want to be sitting at that damn table with John McGrath, listening to all his hot air about all the big shots he knew in business. Some big shot he was, a pair of white shoes he must have bought in the year one. He’d have himself a nice quiet lunch and a few beers, get back in time to run a rag over the old perambulator a little and clean out the glove compartment, maybe have a game of crocket with that poor fish Sapurty. Kill some time and then play it nice and easy at supper, o-ho, Mr. Nonchalant. He’d maybe shoot a look over at Marie once in a while, give her that Clark Gable grin, and let the old son of a bitch make of it what he would. She was a swell-looking woman, really, the dumb greaseball that married her didn’t know when he was well off. Well, like he figured, the floozy he started carrying on with must have had a snapping pussy or some goddamn thing. Maybe she liked it in the backyard entrance. A lot of guys go for that.

The Hi-Top was almost empty, a couple of high-school girls sitting at a table eating hot fudge sundaes. They weren’t bad-looking, one had a nice pair of headlights, probably gave every poor kid in the class a hard-on all term long, no lie. And these kids didn’t mind showing them either — like those two Copan sisters, jailbait if he ever saw any, the younger one sitting on the porch railing with her legs up just as calm as you please, a man could look right up her skirt, one day she caught him looking at her and she just stared at him, fresh little bitch didn’t move a muscle. And her sister with that dumb ox of a lifeguard, parked out by the churchyard, she was learning fast, oh Christ, was she! It’s a wonder the kid had the strength to even show up at the beach, let alone swim. The little chippy must have whacked him off till he was cross-eyed. He looked over at one of the girls and she saw him and started to giggle and whisper to her friend, and Tom turned his chair a little so they couldn’t see his rear end, Christ almighty knew why he should care what a couple of small-town sluts thought about how he looked! But he waited until they had gone to leave.

Billy was beating the piss out of Sapurty in a game of crocket when he got back to the house and Tom went up to his room so he wouldn’t mortify the poor dope. When the game was over, he came downstairs and sat in the shade and Sapurty took a powder, with some lame excuse so he wouldn’t have to play the kid another game. God knows what he and Billy talked about, the kid went on and on about everything, Jesus, he could talk you to death, he could be a pain in the ass. He had some kind of a toy plane he started to run around with, making aeroplane noises. Well, his mother was probably back then, trying on all the fancy lace undies she bought in town, ha ha and ha again. You just might be able to get drawers made out of burlap in that burg if you were lucky, but she wouldn’t get even them. The kid was really excited, God only knew what his mother had been telling them about their date, you’d think it was the Fourth of July and Christmas all rolled in one the way he carried on. When Tom told him he was going to wear a tie, Billy started clapping his hands, Jesus, you had to feel sorry for the kid, cockeyed and under that old bastard’s thumb for years. Strike two and he was only ten. What was that thing he’d told him about the lighter he won in Coney Island? Tom forgot, but it was enough to break your heart. Tom said that it was too bad Ralph Sapurty had to leave, he wanted to see him teach Billy a few tricks of the trade in crocket. The kid was smart as a whip and just looked over at him with his plane held up in the air and started to laugh, pleased as punch. Tom did his best to keep a straight face but then he started to laugh too. The sun was starting to get low and Tom told the kid he wanted to shine up the perambulator a little and then make himself presentable for supper and that Billy should go in and wash his hands and face too. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” Tom said in his fake deep voice like he used with clients on the phone, and stretched his hands out like they did in movies about the Romans in olden days. Then he started over to the old coo-pay, looking up at John’s window out of the corner of his eye. He knew the old man had been watching him all the time. And oh brother, if looks could kill!