“You were very good.”
“They’ll let me do a record.”
“I’m happy, Mike.”
“Are you?”
She nodded, thinking that it was a strange sort of happiness. Even though Mike Hawkins was nothing to her she felt a deep sympathy for him. No, it was more than sympathy. There was a sense of easy communication between them. She felt almost as though she had a stake in his success.
“Where do you want to go now, Jan?”
She looked at her watch and noted with surprise that it was almost ten-thirty already. Had the audition taken up that much time?
“Oh, God!” she said, thinking of Laura waiting alone in the apartment on Minetta Street. “I have to go now, Mike. I’m late for a date as it is.”
“Oh.”
She heard the disappointment in his voice and she didn’t want him to be disappointed, not now. This was selfish; she could disappoint him later, but surely not now. She couldn’t help saying, “It’s with another girl,” thinking how easily the truth could be a lie.
“I see. In the Village?”
She nodded. “We’ll take a cab — I’m in an awful rush. Where do you want me to drop you?”
He hesitated while she hailed a cab and hopped into the back seat. “C’mon,” she said. “I can let you off wherever you want.”
He got in. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Nowhere.”
She took a cigarette and handed one to him and he lit them both. “I don’t get it,” she said, blowing out smoke. “Where did you sleep last night?”
“I don’t have a place to stay,” he said. “The pad on Cornelia Street wasn’t mine. I was living with Sandy but we broke up after the party.”
“Where... where have you been since then?”
He shrugged.
“I mean—”
“Let’s see... I slept on a park bench in Washington
Square one night — that must have been Tuesday. I was up the rest of the time.”
“Are you crazy? For God’s sake, no wonder you look so tired. What’s the matter with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well—”
“I just didn’t feel like sleeping, Jan. If I’d had the money I would have been drinking. Instead I just kept going, walking around. It’s a fairly good habit if you can’t afford alcohol.”
“But where will you go tonight? Mike, you have to get some sleep! You’ll fall over dead if you keep on like this.”
“I’m all right.”
“You’ll kill yourself. You can’t keep on—”
“I’ve done it before.”
“That doesn’t make it sensible. What could you do all that time?”
“Just walk.”
“Is that all?”
“Think a little. Not too much though. Mostly I just kept going. When I get that way it’s easier to keep going than to stop. I got all wound up and I have to unwind bit by bit, and the only way is to keep moving.”
“But what did you do?”
“Just walked. One night I must have gone ten or fifteen miles without a break. Did you ever see Times Square at six in the morning? That’s the only time it closes up. Between six and seven the stores are all locked and the shooting gallery is closed and the movies are done for the night. There’s Bickford’s and Hector’s serving food and coffee twenty-four hours a day, but that’s all.
“Another morning I caught sunrise on the East River. It’s times like that when you forget New York is a city. The sun comes up at you off the water and it’s the only time in the day when the air is almost fresh. And it’s quiet. This town can be the quietest place in the world at the right time.”
He smiled. “That was part of it. Some day I’ll have to show you this town, Jan. There’s so much of it you couldn’t possibly have seen yet. I’d like to—”
He stopped. She knew what he must be thinking — that things hadn’t changed, that he would not be able to show her New York or anything else, that she was still not going to love him. The cab crossed 14th Street and continued on downtown. Quickly she leaned forward and said, “Fifty-four Barrow Street” to the driver, deciding that right now the most important thing was to find him a place to sleep.
“Your pad?”
“Yes. You’ve got to sleep somewhere, Mike.”
He looked at her, puzzled, and she decided that he had to get a good twelve hours of solid sleep, that he ought to get a shave and a haircut. His hair was flopping over into his eyes and it made him look like a little boy. The puzzled expression made him look even more so. A lost little boy. She almost started to laugh.
“My place,” she said. “I can stay with my girl-friend—” it seemed ridiculous to refer Laura that way — “and you can get some sleep. Is that okay?”
“If it’s okay with you.”
They rode the remaining few blocks in silence. She wondered whether or not she was doing the right thing. She wasn’t sure. It would probably only make things messier later because he still wanted her and would go on wanting her until she explained everything there was to explain.
Why didn’t she explain now? Why didn’t she tell him that the girl she was meeting was her lover and that she was a Lesbian and that this was why she could never be more than a friend to him? Now was the obvious time to tell him. Now they were close enough for her to talk easily, and now she still had time before he got too many wrong ideas about himself and about her and about the two of them.
But other things came first. Getting him to sleep came first, and getting back to Laura came first, and die rest could wait for a while. Besides, if she told him now he might not be able to sleep, might refuse to stay at her apartment. She pictured him walking around for another night, tramping all over the city until he collapsed on a street corner somewhere. She looked outside and saw that it was starting to drizzle. She couldn’t let him walk in the rain all night.
No. There would be time to tell him.
He wasn’t the only one who was tired. She was exhausted herself, and for the first time she wasn’t especially looking forward to seeing Laura. She imagined herself walking in two hours late and trying to explain. She was too tired for explanations. She just wished that everything could be suddenly over and done with, with Mike asleep in her bed and herself asleep in Laura’s bed. And that would be the end of Thursday.
I really am tired, she thought. I don’t even feel like making love.
It was the first time she hadn’t become excited at the thought of making love with Laura. She had to be tired — that was the only answer. It was logical enough. She’d been on the go from the minute she got out of bed, running all over town all morning long, knocking herself out with the poem all afternoon, and now this—
Methinks the lady doth protest too much.
Now that was why psychology could be such a monumental pain in the neck. If an action meant something, the opposite action could mean the same thing. Everything could prove anything and you could drive yourself out of your sick little mind if you kept it up. Sometimes it was better to leave it alone and relax.
First things first. First Mike to bed, then Jan to bed, then the rest of it.
The cab pulled up in front of her building and she got out after Mike. She paid the driver and followed Mike through the rain to the door, and into the building to her apartment. The door was ajar but the apartment seemed to be undisturbed. They walked inside and she closed the door.
“Are you sure you want me here?”
Everyone was always asking her if she was sure of every little thing she started to do. Did she seem that unsure of herself?
“Of course I’m sure.”
“I could get a hotel room, you know.”
“Don’t be silly. Just get to sleep, and the sooner the better.”