Ларри Макмертри - The Last Picture Show

"I don't know what happened," Duane said again. He really didn't. He started for the door but Jacy stopped him. "Don't go out there yet," she said. "We haven't had time to do it-Sonny would know. I don't want one soul to know."

Duane sat back down on the bed and Jacy went into the bathroom and cried a few real tears of anger. It seemed to her Duane had been a monster of thoughtlessness to put her in such a position. She didn't want to touch him again, ever, and it angered her to think she would have to go on pretending to be his sweetheart for the rest of the trip. It would never do to let the class think they had broken up over sex. In fact, she would have to be even more loving with him in public, so everyone would think they were having a warm, meaningful affair.

When she thought they had been in the room long enough she went out and told Duane to leave.

"You better not tell one soul, either," she said. "You just pretend it was wonderful. And wear your slacks when we go to supper tonight-I think we're going someplace nice:"

She stood naked, hands on hips, conscious that her nudity embarrassed Duane a little, and thoroughly pleased that it did.

"Well, I'm sorry," he said again. "I don't know what happened."

"If you say that one more time I'll bite you," Jacy said. When Winnie Snips and the other girls piled into the room an hour later, pale with curiosity, Jacy was sitting in a well-rumpled bed with only her pajama tops on, staring out at the bay. The evening fog was coming in.

"Oh gee," Winnie said. "Tell us about it Jacy. What happened?"

Jacy looked languorously around at them, calm, replete, a little wasted even.

"I just can't describe it," she said. "I just can't describe it in words."

The very next day, to Duane's immense relief, the seduction happened after all. Jacy insisted he take her for a walk to show everyone how much they wanted to be alone, and while they were walking down Geary Street, holding hands in case anyone from the class should see them, Duane suddenly felt himself return. They were just outside a cheap hotel, and without hesitation he seized his chance.

"Come on," he said. He had Jacy in the lobby of the hotel before she even knew what he meant. An old lady in a blueflowered silk bathrobe registered them without comment and took five dollars from Duane. In the creaky cage of an elevator he kissed Jacy hungrily and fondled her breast, conscious that all was still well below. Jacy was skeptical and didn't return the kiss, but there was something rather adventurous about being fondled in an elevator—Winnie Snips would faint if she heard of such a thing.

Their room was tiny, with green walls, an old fashioned bed, and a narrow window that looked across Geary Street to a one-story nightclub with a dead neon sign outside. Duane wasted absolutely no time-he was taking no chances with himself. He was out of his clothes by the time the door closed, and he tugged Jacy toward the bed, pulling rudely at her skirt. She shrugged loose and went to the window to undress at her own pace.

"If you can't wait you can jump out this window," she said. "I don't think it will work anyway."

Duane was not certain it would either, and waited nervously. The room was chill and Jacy had goose bumps on her breasts. As she lay down she looked at Duane casually -men were certainly strange. All she really expected was something tickly, but Duane surprised her horribly. He didn't tickle a bit, but instead he did something really painful. At first she was too startled to move, and then she yelled out loud. Someone in an adjoining room kicked the wall indignantly. "Quit, quit," she said-it was intolerable. Duane was much too thrilled to quit, but fortunately he didn't take long. Jacy was at her wit's end as it was.

She got gingerly out of bed, meaning to take a hot bath, and discovered that the little room didn't even have a bathroom in it, just a lavatory. "There must be one down the hall someplace," Duane said, but she wouldn't let him go look for it. She felt strange and wanted to leave. All the way back to the motel she kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting to see a trail of blood on the sidewalk behind her. Duane was walking happily along, infuriating proud of himself.

"Oh, quit prissing," Jacy said. "You needn't think I'm going to take you back just because of that. I don't think you did it right, anyway."

"Sure I did," Duane said, but he wasn't really positive, and he brooded about it during the remainder of the trip. They did it twice more, once in the motel in San Francisco and once in Flagstaff, Arizona, on the way home. Duane was confident he was doing it right, but for some reason Jacy didn't swoon with bliss. She only allowed it twice more because she thought Bobby Sheen would like it if she had a little more experience. The whole business was far from delightful, but she supposed that was probably because Duane was a roughneck. In Flagstaff it went on much too long and she got exasperated and told him off once and for all.

"You never will learn," she said. "I don't know why I went with you so long. I guess we have to keep on being sweethearts until we get home, but that's gonna be the end of it. We'll just have to think of something big to break up over."

Duane just couldn't understand it: he was more dejected and more in love than he ever had .been. Jacy was bending over to slip her small breasts back into their brassiere cups; she had never looked more lovely, and he could not believe she was serious about breaking up. He tried to talk her out of it, but she went over to the motel dressing table and combed her hair thoroughly, looking at herself in the mirror and paying absolutely no attention to him.

The rest of the way home, across Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, he tried to think of ways to make her realize that they had to stay together. He was sure her disaffection would only be temporary. Jacy was thinking how glad she would be to get home. She had even decided there was no point in making a big production of breaking up: she was sick and tired of the seniors. As an audience they were not worth bothering about. When the bus finally pulled into Thalia late one June afternoon she didn't so much as tell Duane good-bye. She was tired and went right over to her parents' Cadillac while her father got her bags. Lois was watching her shrewdly.

"I see you got enough of him," she said quietly. "That's that."

"I'm just not interested in saying one word about it, if you don't mind," Jacy said.

Watching them drive away, Duane felt a little sick at his stomach. He realized Jacy had meant what she said: she was really done with him. It was very confusing to him because he had always thought you were supposed to get whoever you really loved. That was the way it worked in movies. It was all he could do to carry his suitcase to the pickup.

Sonny had merely endured the return trip, sitting in the back of the bus watching the desert go by. He had paid Duane and Jacy as little attention as possible, and it was not until he and Duane got in the pickup in Thalia that he noticed his friend was depressed.

"What's the matter?" he asked, surprised. "Nothin'," Duane said.

Sonny knew better. "Well what is it?" he persisted. "You feel bad?"

For a moment Duane considered telling the truth, but then he decided not to.

"I'm worn to a frazzle," he said. "That California's hard on a person."

They were living over the poolhall, Billy with them, though Genevieve had kept him while the seniors were gone. Returning to the poolhall was a little strange, particularly since Sam the Lion wasn't there. If he had been there they would have shot some pool and had a great time telling him all about the trip. It would have picked everyone's spirits up. As it was, the poolhall was quiet and empty, and there was not a great deal to do.