He hadn’t expected that, either. He waited to hear more.
“Except that I don’t know him,” she said. “You remind me of somebody I don’t really know.”
“I’m a stand-in?” he said.
“The way I’m a stand-in for your wife,” she said.
Touché. He smiled, giving her that one.
She leaned back. “I like the music,” she said. She took off her shoes and put one bare foot on top of his shoe, then moved it up the side of his ankle.
“Why don’t you get us a room?” she said. “Unless you have to get home to your wife.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “You seem to like sitting here, chatting about my wife. Are you sure you want me to get a room?”
He was on automatic pilot. He had probably realized when she was driving him around in her car that they would have to go somewhere, but until she mentioned checking in to the hotel, he hadn’t really thought it through. What would it cost? And was there any possibility that they’d go to the room and she wouldn’t let him touch her? Was it possible that this was some strange game she played, and that she was just a cock tease?
“You’re frowning,” she said. “Do you and your wife have children?”
He shook his head no. He thought about the amniocentesis booklet. About Will — but she didn’t ask if he had ever had children.
“You have children yourself?”
“I can’t, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said. “I’ve got scarred fallopian tubes.”
It was more than he needed to know. Women had so many problems. He hoped she wouldn’t elaborate.
“You’re not interested in whether I’m married?” she said, running her toes up the back of his calf.
“No,” he said. “Who do I remind you of?”
“A car mechanic in New Jersey,” she said.
The flatness with which she answered took him aback. Not a movie star. A car mechanic?
“So,” she sighed.
“So what?”
“So I guess it’s my turn to ask a question.”
“Go ahead,” he said. He would have liked to toss down a big swallow of beer, but he had already drained the glass. The waitress stopped at their table and asked if they’d like another.
“No thanks,” he said. “Just the bill.”
As the waitress started to walk away, Kate said, “I might have one more while he’s gone.”
The waitress scribbled something, nodded, and walked toward the bar, swinging her hips. The “So” was obviously decisive: He was to get a room. The change from the hundred dollars was all he had — the MasterCard was at home in a drawer, where Corky insisted it be kept so they wouldn’t buy anything impulsively. He couldn’t charge the room anyway, because Corky would find out. How much did three drinks cost? Was the change going to be enough? In any case, he would have to wait for the waitress to come back, pay the bill, and go with cash in hand to the front desk.
Kate had on bright pink nail polish. He let his eyes drop to her chest. Nice breasts. The waitress had seen where he’d been looking. She put another drink in front of Kate and handed him the bill. He took out his billfold and paid her. She fished in her money belt for the change and put it on the table. He picked up a five, folded it, and handed it to her. The waitress had on shiny orange lipstick that clashed with her blouse. Nail polish, too, although her nails were bitten to the quick. She looked like a lot of women in this part of Florida: women who had wide hips even if they had slender bodies. He had tipped her five dollars, which was almost 50 percent. At the Azure he left a dollar, whether he had one beer or five. He pocketed the money and walked away, out of the bar and into the overlit lobby. A child was getting off the elevator as he passed by. The child held a pink inflatable palm tree and ran ahead of his mother and father.
“Andrew Bornstein, you come back here,” the child’s father called, stressing all syllables of the name.
At the desk, the clerk was reading a newspaper. He put it down and looked up pleasantly as Wayne approached. Wayne considered asking directions to the seafood restaurant he sometimes ate at with Corky — asking directions, thanking Mr. Clean-Cut Smiles, then walking out the door and going home and telling Corky that he had been having a beer with a friend. He looked at his watch. Whatever he told her, she would be furious. As long as she was going to be furious anyway, why not sleep with Kate?
The room was affordable. There would even be money left over. He got the key and turned and looked at the elevators, where Mr. Clean-Cut Smiles pointed. The doors were opening again, and a group of laughing men were coming out. They turned left and went into the bar. When the clerk had asked for a credit card, Wayne said that he would like to pay the bill in advance. Even this was done smilingly. Would he also smile when Wayne and Kate checked out, an hour later?
Reentering the bar, he was happy that Kate did not know his last name. He put the key on the table, and she picked it up and smiled. Her drink was empty. They walked together out of the bar, away from the already drunk laughing men, who had settled at a table in the corner. The waitress’s eyes met Wayne’s, and he realized that she knew perfectly well what she was caught between: a group of wild men who were going to act crazy and probably stiff her, and a man and a woman who had decided to go fuck. He knew that she knew he and Kate weren’t married.
But that was the way of the world. That was the way of the world. And Wayne suddenly felt quite … cosmopolitan. He touched 3 and the button lit up, and the two of them rose, side by side, to the floor where they would turn, stop in front of a door, put the key in, and then what? Images he had had at the desk tumbled like a jigsaw puzzle falling off a table, leaving big gaps everywhere: Kate’s soapy breasts, an image on the TV rolling and rolling, horizontal lines on the TV, the plaid bedspread, Kate jumping away, the mouse leading the cat on a deliberate chase.
She started the game — the flirtation — as he reached out to insert the key in the lock. She put her hand over his and stopped him from turning the key, puckering her lips so he would have to stop to kiss her. He could have turned the key anyway, but he let her have the kiss. Her lips were soft — he was feeling skin, not oily lipstick — and he was also feeling her nice breasts, or one of them anyway, pushing against his chest. He started to get hard. She put her hand on his hip, and curled her fingers into his pocket. He tried to kiss her again, but she wouldn’t let him. She wouldn’t move and she giggled and wouldn’t let him. Then she wanted him to look into her eyes, and he did, and it seemed he was seeing through to something. A couple came out of their room, closed the door, and passed by, pretending not to notice them. The man had on a shirt patterned with starfish. The woman wore a halter dress. Her bare back made Wayne raise his hand to Kate’s back. His hand felt heavy. He moved his fingers to the side of her breast and pushed gently. She moved closer, and he turned, taking his hand off the key, and stood facing her, knowing she felt his erection. She reached back and turned the key.
Inside, he pinned her hands to her sides. He gave her one very long kiss, after which she reached behind her to close the door and they settled themselves on the floor. Their bodies locked together, fast, and, as he pulled down her panties and pushed inside her, surprised and panting, feeling as if he were sixteen again, he suddenly wanted to know whether she was going to be in Florida for a day or a week, what her last name was, where in New Jersey she lived. Her dress was raised over her hips, her panties tangled around one ankle, and he was still fully dressed, his snap unfastened, the fly of his jeans unzipped.
“Come on,” she said, wriggling out from under. “We’ll tell them the room is too close to the Coke machine, that we didn’t like it.”