“It wasn’t sordid at all.”
“Where’d you pose for him?”
“He has a big loft in Greenwich Village. There. But not the same day.”
“Oh, that makes an enormous difference. When did he sculpt you, if you’ll pardon the expression?”
“A month later. On October sixth.”
“You remember the exact date, huh?” Frank said. “That really is sordid, Millie, remembering the exact date.”
“Only because it was his birthday,” she said.
“What’d you do? Drop in on the loft, strip down and yell ‘Happy Birthday, Paul!’ ”
“Not Paul’s birthday. Michael’s.”
“Oh, Jesus!” Frank said.
“And I didn’t just go there. Paul called and asked me to come.”
“Oh, you gave him your number, did you?”
“He looked it up, the same as you.”
“He seems to have done a lot of things the same as me,” Frank said. “Will you for God’s sake get dressed?”
“It was just like open heart surgery,” Millie said.
“What was?” Frank asked.
“Doing my navel. I didn’t have to expose any other part of me. He had me all covered up with a sheet, except for my navel. It was very professional.”
“When did it start getting unprofessional?” Frank said, and whipped his tie from the seat of the chair, and walked angrily to the mirror.
“After he cast it in bronze.”
“Did he put it on the living room table?” Frank asked, and lifted his collar and slid the tie under it, and then began knotting the tie, and had to start all over again because somehow he’d forgotten how to knot a tie. “I think that would’ve been touching,” he said. “A bronze belly button instead of a pair of baby shoes.”
“It would’ve been too big to put on a table, anyway,” Millie said. “I told you, the whole idea of the project was...”
“The whole idea of the project,” Frank said, “was to get fifty stupid housewives into bed with him!”
“We weren’t all housewives,” Millie said.
Calming himself again, carefully knotting his tie, Frank said, “In any case, Millie, I think we should leave. I don’t know how to sculpt, you see. I wouldn’t know how to sculpt a goddamn navel. Or how to pick up a goddamn lady in the Chock Full O’Nuts on Sheridan Square.”
“You did fine on the eight forty-six from Larchmont,” she said.
“Oh, I did. I see. I’m the one who seduced the innocent little housewife, led her down the garden...”
“Well, I certainly didn’t have the movie projector in my trunk!”
The telephone rang, shocking them into silence. They both turned to look at it, but neither made a move for it. The phone kept ringing.
“Why don’t you get it?” Frank said. “Maybe it’s Paul. Maybe he’s doing buttocks this week.”
Millie did not answer him. With great dignity, she padded to the phone, and lifted the receiver. “Hello?” she said. “Who? Yes, just a moment, please.” She held out the receiver to Frank. “It’s the manager. He wants to talk to Mr. McIntyre.”
Frank took the receiver from her. “Hello?” he said. “Yes? The what’s too loud?” He looked across the room at the television set. “It isn’t even on,” he said, “so how can it be on too loud? Well, you just tell the man in seventeen that perhaps the television on the other side of him is on. In eighteen, that’s right. Tell him it is not on in sixteen. Goodbye,” he said, and banged down the receiver. “Stupid ass,” he said. “Good thing we won’t be coming back here anymore.”
In a very tiny voice, Millie said, “Won’t we?”
They looked at each other silently.
“I didn’t know you’d get so angry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Then why’d you tell me, Millie?”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because of what you said.”
“When?”
“Just a little while ago.”
“What did I say?”
“You said this wasn’t a banquet.”
“Huh?”
“You said it was just an ordinary long lunch hour. Well, to me it’s a banquet. And if it’s just an ordinary long lunch hour to you, then you can go to hell. If you’re in the habit of taking lots of women to a motel in New Jersey...”
“I have never...”
“Putting a projector in your trunk...”
“I have never...”
“And showing them your lousy sixty-second commercial...”
“I thought you liked my commercial,” he said.
“Not if it’s been seen by every stupid housewife in the city of New York!”
“It’s been seen by stupid housewives all over America,” Frank said. “It’s been aired approximately two hundred and twenty times. Listen, Millie, how did you suddenly become the injured party. I’m the injured party here. I’m the one who’s been betrayed.”
“Betrayed?” she said. “Oh my God, you sound just like Michael.”
“Leave Michael out of this, if you don’t mind. Let’s get back to Paul.”
“Why? Paul was nothing but an ordinary long lunch hour.”
“A little while ago, you said he filled a very important need in your life.”
“That’s right, he did.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Millie. Either he was meaningful or he was a cream cheese sandwich on whole wheat.”
“Toasted raisin.”
“Whatever.”
“He was both.”
“Perhaps you’d like to explain that.”
“Perhaps I wouldn’t.”
“Fine. Let’s get dressed.”
“Fine,” she said.
She walked angrily to the rack, took her dress off its wire hanger, and slipped it over her head. “I thought you’d understand, but apparently you’ve never been neglected in your own home.” He did not answer. “Apparently Mae adores you completely,” she said, walking to him. She turned her back to him, and he zipped up her dress. “Thank you,” she said. “Apparently Mae never treated you in a way that might force you to consider addressing a stranger in Chock Full O’Nuts. But when someone is concerned solely with Puts and Takes and selling short, then perhaps a woman may feel the need for conversation...”
“Conversation!” Frank said. “Jesus!”
“Yes, with someone whose interests extend beyond commodities. With someone who doesn’t think of a woman as just another commodity. Paul thought of me...”
“As just another navel,” Frank said.
She stared at him icily, and then said, “Paul thought of me as a very exciting individual. That’s how he filled a need in my life. And that’s why I’ll always be grateful to him.”
“Fine,” Frank said, and put on his jacket. “Are you ready?”
“Not quite,” Millie said. “Which isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy the other aspect as well.”
“Millie,” he said, “you have said it all, you have really said it all. Now let’s just get out of here, okay?”
“I’m not dressed yet,” she said, and sat and put on her pumps, and then walked to the dresser and rummaged in her bag for her lipstick. “Haven’t you ever felt like going to bed with somebody?”
“I have,” he said.
“Not Mae, I mean.”
“Not Mae.”
“Who?”
“Hope.”
“Hope? The Head of Creation?”