Ed Lacy: Enter Without Desire

I nodded. “Everything about you makes sense. That's what I see in your face, realness... honesty. And it can't be merely skin deep. Why in 1914 when Rodin heard about the war breaking, he said, 'Oh civilization—the civilization of man! It's a bad coat of paint that comes off when it rains.' See what I mean, he was honest in all his thoughts— art was life to him. Why next to da Vinci, Rodin was one of the greatest all-around men the world has ever...”

I talked and talked, even talked my steak cold. I rambled on and on as if to make up for all the months of loneliness, of not talking. I made a jerk of myself, but I had to talk myself out to her. I even told Elma about working like a dog all the previous summer to save a few bucks to last me for the winter... and how cockeyed things went.

“What was supposed to happen after the winter?” she asked, pushing her plate away with a sigh.

“First, I had to see if I had any ability. This was my first attempt at sculpting full time. If I can do it, I want to make small works, nothing more than a foot high, so they'll be within anybody's pocketbook range Not that size alone determines price, but for Christsakes, where could a family living in two or three rooms put a six-foot figure, even if they got it as a gift? I'll make small objects of beauty, capture the realism of nature and life in my clay, solid, yet living-in movement. I figure there will be a market among people who never had a chance before to buy anything except an insipid cupid doll, or a gaudy figurine, or one of those crummy brass horses. But I didn't get started, ran out of dough.”

“Now what, little artist?”

I laughed, in love with her mouth every time she talked. “Now? I been living on seven bucks a week, spent all my time trying to keep warm, something in my belly. I'd walk up and down the beach after a storm, picking up fish that had been washed ashore, waiting for me all nice and frozen....”

“Nature's deep freeze.”

“Yeah. Telling you this so you'll understand what a big deal winning this money is to me. It's a miracle, a fantastic gift. Now... my God! With twelve hundred bucks.... Oh man, I'll really give it a try. I'm going back to Sandyhook, get me a winter house... one with heat and light, hot water, buy a... Hey, I'm gassing too much, and all about boring me. Let's start over—where shall we go tonight?”

“I don't know. I can't drink much, these three cocktails are past my limit. And I certainly can't eat any more... so... what?”

“Taking in a midnight show would be a sad way of spending New Year's Eve. Know a few parties, but...” I didn't want to take Elma to any party, listen to the attempts at being oh-so-clever, the small talk... sharing her with all the people. It was hard to believe I had her alone... and we were going so fast... so fast.

“I have a party we could go to,” she said. “Except I haven't seen the people for months and... I don't feel up to that.”

“Tough spot, lousy with dough and no place to go. Sometimes I keep thinking this must be a dream, that I'll wake up. Elma, it's all too good—the crazy way we got the money, and all that money. And there's you—you're a little unbelievable.”

“I hope that's a compliment.”

“Come on, Elma, we're way past the coy stage. I've never seen anybody as beautiful as you are.” And I kept thinking, Slow down, you've only known her a few hours, slow down... don't spoil this, you can't spoil this!

“Now who's being coy? You're pretty too. Not just the big shoulders, but the rugged bitterness in your face. Listen to me, and to you.... I'm not even ordinary-pretty.”

“Stop it, stop fishing for compliments because I'm the guy to give them to you. Beauty is an individual thing and to me—you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”

She studied me for a moment—those exciting slant eyes —said, “Marsh, I think you actually mean that.”

“I do.”

“Well it's the nicest... God, the waiter's bringing us more drinks. And who ordered the strawberry shortcake?”

“We did.”

“Don't think I can put it down. One thing we'll have to do is take a long walk—work some of this food off. I'm wearing a new garter belt and it's killing my... Why are you looking at me that way? I say something wrong?”

“Wrong? No. What do you see on my face?”

“I don't know exactly. Sort of a pained expression, or... What is it?”

“Elma, we've been moving along at a fast pace these few hours we've known each other and...” I stopped. I didn't want to talk out of turn, ruin things, yet when she said garter belt I had such a vivid picture of long slim legs in sheer stockings, the flash of her bare thighs and round hips... and I wanted her so much I had to stop talking, or come right out and ask her... and we couldn't be going that fast.

I tried to cover up by gulping a cocktail, mumbling, “Come on, take a drink.”

“I'm high now. Marsh, what's happened, you look so strained, so...?”

“Elma, stop it.”

She giggled. “But what...?”

The giggle tore things. I said slowly, “All right. When you said garter belt, I pictured you... Elma, I want you!”

Then the words came bursting out, stumbling over my tongue. “Don't get sore, we're just going fast, awful fast. I'm not slipping you a line, the old one-two or... I didn't want to spoil things. I'm sorry.”

Her face seemed a mask I couldn't understand as she said, “Why should you be sorry? It's no crime to tell somebody you want them, only...”

“Only what?”

“Nothing.”

“What is it?”

“Well we are racing along and... Are you sure it's me you want, or is it the fact you haven't seen a girl in months?”

“Elma, I said this was a little unbelievable, maybe fantastic, but from the first second I saw you, your wonderful mouth, I've wanted to kiss you so very much that I... Why I had to tell you back in the studio to stop smiling, you were tearing me up. Guess I sound like a walking cliche, but this isn't any quickie deal with me. Maybe it doesn't make sense, and don't ask how I know, but I know. I'm not a kid, I've been married and divorced and... What I'm trying to say is: May sound like tripe, but I know I never want to lose you. I say that and mean it—and we've only known each other a few hundred minutes and... Okay, I've ruined things. Tell me I'm crazy, get up and walk out.”

“Do you really think I'd get up and... and slap you?”

“No. I don't know what to think, except I'm talking too damn much, to cover up my eagerness, my brashness. Hell of it is, I'm a shy joker. Really.”

“So am I. But I hate all this stupid, silly fencing between a man and a woman. If they're going to be... real friends, I suppose it's better to start with sex than have it as the climax, the end-all, make it more important than it is in a relationship.”

“Darling, I'm talking like a kid, but honestly I don't do this every night in the week, or think of you as a pushover.”

She held a slim finger against my lips. “Don't say that. Neither of us is a pushover. God, how I hate those words—pushover, a lay, a piece, a boff... those horrible, horrible, ugly man-words! Always trying to make sex a dirty, unhealthy thing, a sensational mess.”

I tried to kiss her finger but she pulled it away. I didn't know what to say. I only knew I'd never wanted any woman as much as I wanted her... and I'd fouled up everything.

She smiled at me, said, “Don't look so troubled, Marsh. I'd like to go to bed with you... and I don't do this every night in the week, either. And I...”

“Elma!”

“And I don't think we have to worry about any overnight relationship, be afraid. We'll see what works out. In a way, we're starting with much in common... both of us a little lost, and I've been lonely for a long time, too. Ever since my husband....”