“Cut it out, Ben. You know I want you to stay as long as you please.”
“Do you? I’d have sworn you began itching for us to get the hell out of here an hour ago. Not that I blame you, you understand. I must say, however, that you’ve played a damn dirty trick on Annie.”
“I haven’t played any kind of trick at all on Annie. Damn it, this is the first time in weeks that I’ve even seen her.”
“Oh, I know there’s never been anything between you and Annie except a night now and then, but that’s not the point. The point is, you let her walk into an embarrassing situation. You’ll have to admit it’s not pleasant to walk in with your shoes off and find someone else in your half of the bed.”
“I didn’t let her do anything of the sort. Will you kindly tell me how I could have prevented it when I had no idea you were coming?”
“I suppose that’s true. It isn’t fair to blame you when you couldn’t know. I wouldn’t be acting like a friend, though, if I didn’t say that I consider this a very questionable arrangement.”
“Thanks for acting like a friend.”
“Well, go ahead and be sarcastic. I can understand your bringing a girl home, and I can’t deny that I’ve done the same thing more than once myself, but do you think it’s wise to make an affair out of a pick-up?”
Henry understood that Ben meant well and was trying to be helpful, but he was only irritated by the necessity for making concessions to Ben’s good intentions. What he wished was that Ben mind his own goddamn business and not try to give advice in matters where his only qualification was ignorance. He had an urge to employ the shock tactics that Ivy herself sometimes found useful, and he wondered what Ben’s reaction would be if he were to spell out his arrangement with Ivy clearly.
“She isn’t a pick-up,” he said. “You don’t understand.”
“Sure. I know. She doesn’t have any place to go, and you’re only being a lousy Good Samaritan. Okay, pal. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”
“Look. I’m trying to tell you. She’s not like Clara. Not like Annie. You danced with her tonight, lover. Did she act as if she enjoyed it?”
“As a matter of fact, she made me feel that I needed a bath.”
“Well, there you are.”
“You mean she’s queer?”
“That’s one word for it. She was living with a girl cousin and ran away. I happened to meet her, and she had no place to go, and I brought her here. That’s all there is to it.”
“Pal, it may be all there is to it, and it may not be. I always knew you were crazy, but not this crazy. You could get yourself involved in a pretty sticky mess.”
“That’s not your problem. If you want to do me a favor, you can keep this to yourself.”
“Sure, pal. At the moment I don’t feel a hell of a lot like doing you any favor, but I doubt that it would make very good conversation to go around telling people I’ve got a friend shacked up with a queer.”
“You can be a pretty bigoted, intolerant son of a bitch when you want to be, can’t you?”
“Thanks, pal, and a merry Christmas to all.”
“Maybe you’d better finish the line.”
“And to all a good night. Good night, pal.”
Ben stood up and walked into the living room, Henry following. Clara and Annie were standing near the door in their fur coats and hats, and Ivy still sat on the sofa in the posture of primness. Clara said good night to Henry, kissing him, and Annie said good night also, not kissing him, and Ben opened the-door and walked out into the hall and stood there waiting with his back turned.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Henry listened to the three of them go down the stairs, and then he walked over to a window and looked down upon them in the street as they crossed to the other side and moved away toward the corner where the black pot hung from its tripod. Behind him, Ivy continued to sit primly, her eyes downcast. No one had said good night to her, and she had said good night to no one.
“They didn’t like me,” she said, and her voice had a tone of arid acceptance.
“You didn’t give them much reason.”
“I admit I wasn’t very congenial, although I wanted to be and tried my best to be, but I don’t think it would have made any difference, however I was. They wouldn’t have liked me anyhow.”
“What makes you think that?”
“It’s not something I think. It’s something I feel. There’s a difference between us, and everyone feels the difference and knows that nothing can be done about it, even though no one knows what the difference is exactly.”
“You’re exaggerating. Most of what you say is only imagination.”
“Is that what you believe? I wish it were true. It’s kind of you, at any rate, to encourage me. Is that girl who was here in love with you? The dark one, I mean.”
“Annie? God, no. Whatever gave you such a fantastic idea? Annie loves only herself. Not even that. She loves the picture she has of herself.”
“I’m not so sure. I could tell that she was angry because I was here. She treated me very courteously on the whole, however. Rather she ignored me very courteously. I shouldn’t have been nearly so admirable in her place. I’m sure I’d have made an unpleasant scene.”
“Forget it. She isn’t in love with me, whatever you think, and never has been.”
“Are you in love with her?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been?”
“No. Maybe I thought I was for a little while, but I wasn’t.”
“Have you ever made love to her?”
“Yes.”
“More than once?”
“Several times.”
“Where? Here?”
“Here and there. Her place, I mean.”
“I wish you’d never done it here. I don’t mind so much there.”
“I don’t see why you should mind at all. Besides, you’re far too curious. It’s none of your business, you know.”
“You didn’t have to tell me if you didn’t want to.”
“All right. You asked, and I told you.”
“She wanted to stay tonight, didn’t she? That’s what she intended to do, wasn’t it?”
“Possibly.”
“Would you have let her?”
“Probably.”
“You mean surely, don’t you?”
“Yes. Surely.”
“And now I’ve spoiled it for you. Are you angry?”
“No. You haven’t spoiled anything that wouldn’t have spoiled anyhow, sooner or later. It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m glad you’re not in love with her. Have you ever been in love with anyone else?”
“Yes. Once. A long time ago.”
“Who was she?”
“Her name wouldn’t mean anything to you.”
“I’d like to know. Just to hear it. The sound of it.”
“Her name was Mandy.”
“Was she very young?”
“We were both young. In college.”
“What happened to her? Did she die?”
“No. She married someone else.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“You needn’t be. It got to be all right long ago. I only think of her now once in a while.”
“Was she pretty?”
“I guess so. Pretty’s a vapid word. You don’t think pretty about someone you love.”
“Tell me what she looked like.”
“I can’t. Most of the time I can’t see her myself. Only now and then for just a moment.”
“You could tell me the color of her hair and eyes. How tall she was and how she walked and held her head.”
“That wouldn’t be telling you what she looked like. You reminded me of her tonight, when you were sitting by yourself on the sofa with your knees together and your hands folded.”
“Did she sit that way?”
“No. It was something else. I thought it was a kind of intensity.”
“I wish I could love you. If I were able to love you, would you love me in return?”