THE BLACK GIRL, lanky, arched her spine and bent her arms behind her to fasten her bra.
“The first one?” Mitch said. “She wasn’t bad. She wasn’t good but she wasn’t bad, either. She was all right. Seemed like she was in an awful hurry, though.”
“Well, after all,” Cogan said, “it was probably pretty short notice for her and all.”
The black girl adjusted her breasts in the bra cups. Then she walked up behind Cogan’s chair on the apricot rug and used the heel of her left hand to touch his right shoulder. “My dress, honey,” she said, “you’re sittin’ on my dress.” Cogan moved forward without turning his head. The black girl pulled the white dress out from under him. She put it on over her head, her feet splayed on the rug.
“Shit,” Mitch said, “its not that. It’s the same thing as it is with everything else. Nobody does anything right any more.”
Cogan laughed.
“I mean it,” Mitch said. He picked up the glass on the end table next to his chair. “This’s empty,” he said, looking at it. “Want one?”
“Too early for me,” Cogan said.
“Early?” Mitch said. He stood up in his tee shirt and shorts. “After noon.”
“Still too early,” Cogan said. “You go ahead if you want, though.”
“I’m gonna,” Mitch said. He went into the bathroom.
The black girl arched her back again to zip the dress. “Honey,” she said, walking around in front of Cogan and stooping, back-to, “could you zip me up?”
“No,” Cogan said.
Mitch ran water in the bathroom. “Screwing’s no different’n anything else,” he said.
“You bastard,” she said, straightening up. She turned and looked at Cogan. “I thought you were kidding.”
“I never kid,” Cogan said. He inclined his head toward the bathroom. “Get your trick to do it.”
Mitch came out of the bathroom, the glass full of dark Scotch and water. “Nobody gives a good shit any more,” he said. “You ask somebody to do something and you’re willing to pay for it, and they say they’ll do it and then they about half do it.”
The girl backed up to Mitch. “Zip my dress, honey,” she said. “Your nice friend there wouldn’t do it.”
Mitch zipped the dress. “They still want all the money, though, bet your ass on that. No half money, no sir. All the money.” He went back to the chair, sipping from the glass. “Half the job. Pisses me off.”
The black girl sat down on the bed and put on her red shoes.
“For a guy that’s been having himself a regular party for three days or so,” Cogan said, “you sure bitch and moan a lot.”
“I’ve been paying for it,” Mitch said. “I been paying for it myself. I can bitch about it if I want. You know this broad, this Polly?”
The black girl stood up and straightened her dress. She looked at Mitch. “Honey?”
“Onna bureau,” Mitch said. He drank. “Wallet’s onna bureau.”
The black girl walked across the room, rotating her hips.
“Everybody knows Polly,” Cogan said.
“That’s what the broad you sent up said,” Mitch said.
The black girl picked up the wallet.
“There’s a hundred and seventy-three bucks in that,” Mitch said. “When I get up I wanna find a hundred and forty-eight, got that?”
“Oh-kay,” the girl said. She removed currency, counted it and put some back in the wallet. She put the wallet down. She picked up the shiny red shoulder bag from the bureau, opened it and put the money in. “No tip, Honey?” she said.
“No tip,” Mitch said.
“Because you know, Honey,” she said, “I got to give all this to my man. Girl needs something for herself now and then.”
“No tip,” Mitch said.
“You’re the original sport,” Cogan said.
“Fuck her,” Mitch said. He drank again. “This’s afternoon. She’s, this one’s gravy, right, Honey?”
“It’s better’n filing,” the girl said.
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Mitch said. “I never did no filing.”
The girl walked toward the door. “Well,” she said, “it’s not much better’n filing, some times. But it’s, it’s mostly better. Some times, you know, you get an old guy, and then it’s just faster.” She opened the door.
“You know, Honey,” Mitch said, “some day some old bastard you just milked, he might decide to carve you up some, talking like that. How’d you like that?”
“Jesus,” the girl said in the doorway, “I don’t know. You think I’d come?”
“If you could, you might,” Mitch said. “Probably not, is what I think.”
“Fuck you,” the girl said closing the door.
“Which,” Mitch said, “is pretty much what I had in mind when I had her come up here. Christ you got some funny gash in Boston. I hadda practically talk her into it. That Polly, there? Same thing. Nothing but french. ‘For Christ sake,’ I say, ‘I wanna get laid. Isn’t that what you do?’ ”
“No, it’s not,” Cogan said. “Any guy you asked could’ve told you that. I could’ve told you that.”
“You didn’t, though,” Mitch said.
“Well, you didn’t ask me,” Cogan said. “Wasn’t me that had her come up here. That broad I sent, she was all right, I assume? The guy said she’s all right.”
“No more’n that,” Mitch said. “I couldn’t get over it. I said to her: ‘Whaddaya mean, french? I happen to like fucking. Who’s hiring who, here?’ Didn’t make no difference at all. You can feel her up, you can finger-fuck her, but you can’t fuck her. For Christ sake. A fuckin’ blow job.”
“It’s supposed to be a great blow job,” Cogan said.
“When you wanna get laid,” Mitch said, “there’s no such thing as a great blow job. She’s telling me, guys spend two, three hundred a night for what she does. Is that true?”
“I guess it used to be,” Cogan said.
“Yeah,” Mitch said, “well, you know what I think? I think you’re all nuts, letting broads get away with that.”
“She’s supposed to be afraid of the clap,” Cogan said.
“Yeah,” Mitch said, “well, okay. That line of work, I don’t think you oughta be able to say like that, but I didn’t have no luck with her. She, she still didn’t fuck anybody that I could tell you about. Her teeth fall out, boy, she’s gonna be the hit of the world. But not me. You know something? I’ll tell you something.” Mitch finished his drink. “I haven’t had a real piece of ass since I was in Florida.”
“That was one fine-lookin’ broad you had down there,” Cogan said.
“Sunny,” Mitch said. “That was Sunny. I suppose you fucked her too, after I was gone.”
“Mitch,” Cogan said, “when me and Dillon got there that night, she was with you. When we left, you’re still there and, wasn’t she still with you? You’re there, what was it?”
“Three weeks,” Mitch said.
“Three weeks,” Cogan said. “And I was there five days, inna middle. How the fuck’m I gonna do that?”
“I dunno,” Mitch said. He picked up the glass. “Empty again.” He got up. “Sure you won’t join me?”
“Not late enough yet, either,” Cogan said.
Mitch went into the bathroom. Cogan heard ice go into the glass. He did not hear water running. “Sammy did it,” Mitch said from the bathroom.
“The guy from Detroit,” Cogan said. “Sharp-looking little ginzo.”
“Sammy’s Jewish,” Mitch said.
“Okay,” Cogan said. “I didn’t mean anything.”