“Then don’t say my behavior is inconsistent. Your own behavior needs careful watching.”
“I don’t think Eve is suspicious. There’s really no danger.”
“Overconfidence is the biggest danger,” Felix said. “Does your blonde ever call you at home?”
“Sometimes.”
“That’s careless. Do you call her when her husband is home?”
“Sometimes.”
“She is married then?”
“Yes, she’s married.”
“You shouldn’t call when he’s home. Do you check the car after she gets out? No lipsticked butts, no earrings, no gloves, no stray blonde hair or blonde bobby pins? Eve’s got black hair, remember.”
“I’m very careful.”
“Because all that’s necessary is a shred of suspicion, and then the game’s up. Then you haven’t got a wife any more, you’ve got the New York branch of the F.B.I.”
“Well, I’ve been very careful,” Larry said. “Besides, she’s careful too.”
“Never mind how careful she is. You can’t trust her.”
“Why not?”
“Because you can’t trust any woman. The minute they enter an affair, they get emotionally involved. Once they start feeling, they stop thinking.” Felix paused, folded his newspaper, and turned his green eyes full on Larry, searchingly. “I hope you’re not emotionally involved.”
“I—” Larry stopped.
“I hope not,” Felix said. “A woman is a woman and they’re all exactly the same after the first few months. Never forget that. The hardest part of any affair is getting out of it when you’ve had enough.”
“I don’t believe all women are the same,” Larry said.
“Then you don’t know women.”
“I don’t claim to be an expert.”
“They’re all the same. If you’ve had her, somebody before you has had her. No matter what she says, you’re not the first. And if, by a holy miracle you happen to be, you’re certainly not going to be the last. You can bet your eyes on that.”
“I don’t believe she... well, I really don’t know. But it doesn’t matter, in any case.”
“It does matter,” Felix said. “I can see you getting angry just thinking of the possibility. You’re too involved with her. Pull out now.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
He hesitated for a moment, finding it difficult to say the words to Felix. Then he said, “Because I love her.”
“Sure,” Felix said. “If you didn’t love her, what would be the sense?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Love them all. One at a time, or all together. Love makes the world go round.”
“How can you love more than one person at the same time?”
“You love your wife, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And don’t you love your blonde?”
“Yes.”
“So? There you are.”
“That’s different.”
“How?” Felix shrugged. “A woman is a woman.”
“Well, I look at it differently.”
“Only because you’ve still got the glow. Well, good. Without the glow, there’s nothing. But it’ll wear off, you’ll see. Your blonde’ll be just another wife then. That’s the time to get rid of her and start looking for a redhead.”
“I don’t think so.”
“And if you imagine you’ll have to look far, you’re crazy,” Felix said. “Do you know what America is?”
“What?”
“It’s a big soapy dishpan of boredom. That’s the truth. And no husband can understand that soapy dishpan. And a woman can’t explain it to another woman because they’ve all got their hands in that same soapy boredom. So all a man has to be is understanding. Yes, baby, I know, I know, you’ve got a miserable life, here’re some flowers, here’s some perfume, here’s ‘I love you,’ take off your pants. Bang!”
He watched Felix, fascinated. Felix was beginning to loosen up, and as his mind loosened, his body also relaxed so that he began shedding his stiff formality, becoming another person before Larry’s eyes.
“Do you think you’re an outstanding lover?” Felix asked. “You’re not a movie star, are you? Not Rock Hudson or Cary Grant?”
“No.”
“You’re just an ordinary guy, am I right?”
“I suppose so.”
“All right. What makes you think your blonde wouldn’t be fooling around with another ordinary guy if you hadn’t come along?”
“I don’t know.”
“Believe me, you’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. It’s a big procession, an American Marching Society. From bed to bed to bed, they march. March, march, march! And everybody looks the other way and pretends not to see the parade. Half the people in the world are out there keeping time to the music, and the other half are itching to march, too, but they haven’t got the guts. And do you know who’s leading the procession?”
“Who?”
“A woman.”
“You don’t think much of women, do you?”
“I love every last one of them. But I wouldn’t trust any of them as far as I can throw the Empire State Building. There isn’t a woman alive whose shoes can’t be placed under some man’s bed.”
“There are,” Larry said.
“Who? Your blonde, whatever her name is?” Felix paused “She is a blonde, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. Her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your wife? Eve?”
“I don’t think Eve would,” Larry said firmly.
“Want me to try?”
“No.”
Felix smiled in a very superior way, and Larry wanted to hit him all at once. He wondered why he was talking to a schizophrenic jerk like Felix, especially when he didn’t like either of the man’s personalities: the butler-butcher who looked at the world with secret eyes, or the cynical boudoir philosopher who imparted vast sexual wisdom to a small chosen audience.
“They’re all the same,” Felix said. “They want romance. There’s nothing romantic about changing diapers. And there’s nothing romantic about the unshaved man they see in the bathroom in his pajamas. Once in a while this man will do something heroic. The rest of the time he’s just that tired old unromantic husband. He’s the comfortable living-room sofa. You, me, we’re furniture in our own homes. But if we go next door, ahhh! Next door, we’re heroes!”
“I think Eve loves me,” Larry said.
“Of course she loves you! Who said she didn’t? But you’re still that living-room sofa. If the right man-next-door comes along, she can fall as easily as any woman in the world. One night she’ll be ripe, and once she takes the first step in her own mind, she’s on the way to joining the Marching Society.”
“Not Eve.”
“Who then? Your blonde?”
“Not her, either.”
“All married women are the same. You said she was married, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. Any kids?”
“One.”
“A boy or a girl?”
Larry grew suddenly cautious. It occurred to him that he had admitted far too much about himself while Felix spoke only in vague, philosophical abstracts. “What difference does it make?” he said.
“Then she does live in the neighborhood?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Why are you clamming up if she isn’t someone I might recognize?”
“I’m not clamming up. She’s got a little girl.”
“You said that too fast. She’s really got a little boy.”
“Draw your own conclusions.”
“Sure. You’ve got a married blonde in the neighborhood, and she’s got a son. How’d you meet?”