She looked puzzled, so I pointed to her hair then to one of the horrible wax mannikins in the window. She still didn't understand, and we went inside. A woman was having her nails done and Lee seemed interested in that. Several other women were sitting under hair dryers, idly looking at us. Women seem to have an absolutely useless look when sitting under hair dryers, all trussed up like vain hens. The elderly blonde who managed the place came forward, said, “Yes?”
“My... wife would like to get her hair and nails done,” I said, realizing how odd it must seem that I did the talking.
“Tuesday afternoon is the first open date I have.”
“How about Tuesday evening, about this time?”
“Why, yes. I can take her at seven.”
“Will that be all right, Lee?” I asked, turning to find her gone. I looked around, saw her standing outside. I walked out and I could hear the women tittering.
“What's the matter?” I asked, angry.
“Machine on head, no. No! But I like red on nails.”
“The machine only dries your hair after they wash...”
There wasn't any point in talking, Lee had walked on. It was a mild night and we walked over to 5th Avenue and sat in the park. I put my arm around her and she leaned against me, and I suppose we looked like any other couple.
When we came home, I asked if she wanted to dance, but she merely undressed, letting her clothes stay where they fell, and went to bed. I went downstairs and danced through a few records, expecting Lee to come down as soon as she heard the music. But she didn't and I used the sun-lamp for a while, took a shower, and went to bed. She seemed to be sleeping but as soon as I touched her, she put her arms around me like a robot, pulled me to her.
On Friday I decided to take Lee shopping the next day. I made out a check for two hundred, changed it to five hundred—to really feel the power of money. (Or, that's what I told myself.) For the hell of it I played three horses across the board and one of them came in, making me only a dollar or two loser. Then before I went home I ordered two custom-made shirts, bought a pair of twenty-five dollar shoes, and a couple of Barzoni ties. As an afterthought I got her a bottle of blood red nail polish.
The next morning I cooked breakfast, made her bathe and dress in her best, I painted her nails—which seemed to please her very much—and left her practically propped up in a chair like a big doll, while I bathed and shaved. It was a hot, end-of-August day, and we took a cab down to Saks Fifth Avenue, the first store that came to my mind. I was a bit nervous, wondering how she would react in the store, but it came off quite well.
Lee was impressed by seeing so many things, and her eyes lit up, but she didn't say a word. I did all the talking and choosing, and if the sales girls thought it was odd, they didn't show it. One girl looked a little bug-eyed when Lee was trying on a blouse and her tattoo came to light. We bought two light suits, several dresses, underwear, stockings, blouses, and two skirts... all in the latest style. I was rather pleased with my knowledge of style—thanks to Flo. I insisted the clothes be sent by special messenger late in the afternoon. Aside from feeling the material now and then, Lee was the perfect clothes horse, waiting patiently as I picked her clothes. We took a cab down to Slater's for shoes, stopped for lunch, bought some perfume, and finally went to Barney's over on 8th Avenue (not the calling-all-men place) where I bought her ballet slippers and a couple of rehearsal outfits.
I'd spent all “my” cash, so I stopped at my bookie's and had him cash a $100 check—which he did nervously.
It was pathetic the way Lee followed me around like an obedient child, and since it was still early in the afternoon, I walked her down Broadway and into the Paramount. The stage show was the usual corn, but she enjoyed it, hunching forward in her seat, at least showing interest. The picture had a Paris background and I was astonished to see her mumbling in French.
When we were in a cab going home, I asked, “Do you speak French?”
“Oui.”
“You speak some German, too. Where did you learn languages, in school?”
She didn't answer. Jokingly, for I don't speak anything except American—and that not too well—I asked, “Fraulein, where did you learn?”
The words had a magic effect on her: she turned quickly, almost in fear, gave me a long look, and to my amazement broke into tears. I held her tightly, wondering what it was all about.
By the time we reached the house, her mood had changed, and she was a blank again. The packages began arriving and I hung the clothes away while she sat in a chair, playing with Slob, who didn't seem too happy to be within her powerful hands.
I undressed her, put on the blue rehearsal shorts, a white silk T-shirt that showed off her firm breasts, and ballet shoes. As she stood there dumbly, I walked around her and she looked so much like a dancer I was fit to burst with pride. I stripped and got into my sweat suit, said, “Come, darling, we'll dance,” and covered her face with kisses.
The kisses must have confused her, for she took my hand and led me to the bedroom. She looked so healthy and strangely beautiful that in my mind I was going to bed with a young ballerina, and we forgot about dancing.
After supper we listened to the radio, and at nine I told her I was going out for a while. She didn't react to this, one way or another, and I kissed her, told her not to wait up for me, and to turn the radio off when she went to bed. She mechanically stroked my head as I bent over to kiss her. I went upstairs and played stud poker wildly, staying every hand. I lost about fifty dollars to Joe, Henderson, and some loud-mouthed friends of Joe's. I returned to my place at two in the morning: the radio was on and Lee was sitting in the exact position I'd left her. We washed up and went to bed. In a sense it was a relief to have a girl who didn't talk or demand explanations.
On Sunday, after a leisurely breakfast, I dressed Lee in her new clothes, asked if she wanted to go to church. She said no, and we walked along 5th Avenue, and Lee looked like any of the other tall, smartly dressed women strolling along—showing off their clothes.
The new clothes made things work out smoothly. Every night I'd rush home, have Lee bathe and dress, and then we'd go out on the town. We went to the different restaurants about New York—the Jewish ones on the lower East Side, ate Italian food in little Italy, Spanish dishes in Lower Harlem, Swedish, East Indian, Russian, and French food. I bought her several evening gowns and long gloves—to cover the tattoo on her arm—and we made the rounds of the night clubs. Lee held her liquor well, even though I tried several times to get her drunk, and her dancing had improved to the point where I enjoyed dancing with her. Since money wasn't any object, we were a perfect couple: rarely talking, never arguing about price, and having a good time. At least I did.
The one odd experience was the time I took her to a German restaurant in Yorkville. She became very nervous as we entered, kept watching everybody in the place, and was so upset she refused to eat. Muttering something to herself in German, she rushed out of the place. I threw some money on the table, ran after her. Of course it was useless to ask her what was wrong, she sat in the cab in stony silence, ignoring me. Time and again I'd plead with her, tried to be tender and endearing, asked to be a part of her life, attempted to dig beneath her surface of absolute indifference to everything. I told her I loved her, begged her to talk, tell me about herself. All I ever got was either silence or her tiny odd smile as she said, “Lee is not bright.”