Love was everywhere, commoner than loneliness. I had never realized before what a terrific business I did in rubbers. And it isn’t even spring; no one’s on a blanket in the woods, or in a rowboat’s bottom, or on a hayride. I’m talking about the dead of winter, a high of twenty, a low of three. And you can count on the fingers of one hand the high-school kid’s pipedream purchase. My customers meant business. There were irons in these lovers’ fires. And connoisseurs they were, I tell you, prophylactic more tactic than safeguard, their condoms counters and confections. How sheer’s this thing, they’d want to know, or handle them, testing this one’s elasticity, that one’s friction. Or inquire after refinements, special merchandise, meticulous as fishermen browsing flies. Let’s see. They wanted: French Ticklers, Spanish Daggers, Swedish Surprises, The Chinese Net, The Texas Truss and Gypsy Outrage. They wanted petroleum jellies smooth as syrups.
And I, Pop, all love’s avuncular spirit, all smiles, rooting for them, smoothing their way where I could, apparently selfless— they must have thought me some good-sport widower who renewed his memories in their splashy passion — giving the aging Cupid’s fond green light. How could they suspect that I learned from them, growing my convictions in their experience? Afterward, casually, I would debrief them. Reviewing the troops: Are Trojans better than Spartans? Cavaliers as good as Commandos? Is your Centurion up to your Cossack? What of the Mercenary? The Guerrilla? How does the Minuteman stand up against the State Trooper? In the end, it was too much for me to have to look on while every male in Hartford above the age of seventeen came in to buy my condoms.
Bea never came back — I had frightened her off with my wild talk at the bus stop — yet my love was keener than ever. I still kept up my gynecological charts on her, and celebrated twenty-eighth days like sad festivals. I dreamed of her huge vaginal landscape, her loins in terrible cramp. Bernie burns.
I formed a plan. The first step was to get rid of her roommate. I made my first call to Bea that night.
Don’t worry. It’s not what you think. I didn’t disguise my voice or breathe heavily and say nothing, nor any of your dirty-old-man tricks. I’m no phone creep. When Bea answered I told her who it was straight off.
“Miss Dellaspero? Bernie Perk. I don’t see you in the drugstore anymore. You took advantage of my bargains but you don’t come in.”
Embarrassed, she made a few vague excuses which I pretended cleared matters up. “Well that’s okay, then,” I said. “I just thought you weren’t satisfied with the merchandise or something. You can’t put a guy in jail for worrying about his business.”
In a week I called again. “Bea? Bernie.”
This time she was pretty sore. “Listen,” she said. “I never heard of a respectable merchant badgering people to trade with him. I was a little flustered when you called last week, but I have the right to trade wherever I want.”
“Sure you do, Bea. Forget about that. That was a business call. This is social.”
“Social?”
“That’s right. I called to ask how you are. After our last conversation I thought I’d be seeing you. Then when you didn’t come in I got a little worried. I thought you might be sick or something.”
“I’m not sick.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. That takes a load off my mind.”
“I don’t see why my health should be of any concern to you.”
“Bea, I’m a pharmacist. Is it against the law for a pharmacist to inquire after the health of one of his customers?”
“Look, I’m not your customer.”
“Your privilege, Bea. It’s no crime for a man to try to drum up a little trade. Well, as long as you’re all right. That’s the important thing. If we haven’t got our health, what have we got?”
A few days later I called again. “Bernie here. Listen, Bea, I’ve been thinking. What do you say to dinner tonight? I know a terrific steakhouse in West Hartford. Afterward we could take in a late movie.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Crazy? I don’t get your meaning. Why do you say something like that?”
“Why do I say that? Why do you call me up all the time?”
“Well, I’m calling to invite you to dinner. Where does it say a man can’t invite a young lady to have dinner with him?”
“I don’t know you.”
“Well, sure you know me, but even if you didn’t, since when is it illegal for a person to try to make another person’s acquaintance?”
“Don’t call any more.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Bea.”
“Don’t call me Bea.”
“That’s your name, isn’t it? You don’t drag a person into court for saying your name. Even your first name.”
“I don’t know what your trouble is, Mr. Perk—”
“Bernie. Call me Bernie. Bernie’s my first name.”
“I don’t know what your trouble is, Mr. Perk, but you’re annoying me. You’d better stop calling me.” She hung up.
I telephoned the next night. “My trouble, Bea, is that I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“I don’t want to hear this. Please get off the line.”
“Bea, dear, you don’t lock a fellow up for falling in love.”
“You’re insane. You must be at least twenty-five years older than I am.”
“There is a difference in our ages, yes. But they don’t arrest people for their birthdays.”
She hung up.
My plan was going according to plan. “Bea?”
“I thought I convinced you to stop calling me.”
“Bea, don’t hang up. Listen, don’t hang up. If you hang up I’ll just have to call you again. Listen to what I have to say.”
“What is it?”
“One of the reasons you’re hostile is that you don’t know anything about me. That’s not my fault, I don’t take any responsibility for that. I thought you’d come into the store and gradually we’d learn about each other, but you didn’t want it that way. Well, when a person’s in love he doesn’t stand on ceremonies. I’m going to tell you a few things about myself.”
“That can’t make any difference.”
“‘That can’t make any difference.” Listen to her. Of course it can make a difference, Bea. What do you think love between two people is? It’s knowing a person, understanding him. At least give me a chance to explain a few things. It’s not a federal offense for a fellow to try to clear the air. All right?”
“I’ll give you a minute.”
“Gee, I’d better talk fast.”
“You’d better.”
“I want to be honest with you. You weren’t far off when you said I was twenty-five years older than you are. As a matter of fact, I’m even older than you think. I’ve got a married son twenty- six years old.”
“You’re married?”
“Sure I’m married. Since when is it a crime to be married? My wife’s name is Barbara. She has the same initial you do. But when I say I’m married I mean that technically I’m married. Babs is two years older than I am. A woman ages, Bea darling. All the zip has gone out of her figure. Menopause does that to a girl. I’ll tell you the truth: I can’t stand to look at her. I used to be so in love that if I saw her sitting on the toilet I’d get excited. I couldn’t even wait for her to wipe herself. Now I see her in her corsets and I wish I were blind. Her hair has turned gray — down there. Do you know what that does to a guy?”