The Girls of Cincinnati

by Jack Engelhard

  “Eli, that was years ago, the rabbi’s wife. The preacher’s wife was last night. I’ve got to stop this.”

  “How did she seduce you?”

  “She was visiting her daughter on campus. I was in the sorority house.”

  “You’ve got to start keeping away from those sorority houses, Maishe. Was she attractive?”

  “I specialize in wives now.”

  “That’s cause you’re older.”

  “It’s awful.”

  “So don’t do it anymore. Quit. Like smoking.”

  “I think I will.”

  “Did she pray?”

  “Eli…”

  “I’ll tell you why it’s important to know her denomination. In case she has to confess.”

  “They don’t mention names.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She told me. She said she wouldn’t use my name.”

  “She told you she was going to confess.”

  “I’M confessing, aren’t I? To you.”

  “But I don’t give forgiveness or salvation.”

  “We’ve got to stop this, Eli.”

  “We?”

  “You’re no better.”

  “I’ve been behaving.”

  “No more wives. That’s my slogan.”

  “I really can’t feel sorry for you, Maishe. If I felt sorry for anybody it would be the preacher.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve never had a preacher’s wife.”

  “But you had a politician’s wife.”

  “That’s no sin.”

  “Yes it is, Eli.”

  “But not as unholy.”

  “Something’s wrong with us,” Maishe said.

  “That’s a fact.”

  Chapter 20

  Sonja showed up at my apartment the following night and I wasn’t surprised. They really do keep on coming.

  She swore there’d be no repeat of the other night when she had run out after me naked and screaming. The reason for this visit was orgasm, which she had never experienced, most likely, therefore, the root of all her problems. Like her split bi-polar personality. Her restiveness. Her jealousies. Her frustrations. An orgasm. That was all she wanted from me. Then she’d leave me alone.

  Why me? I wasn’t in the orgasm business.

  She said, “Girls talk, you know. You’re something of a legend.”

  “Talk is talk. I’m really not that good.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Before I could stop her she was naked and under the covers and here I had thought we had played this scene before.

  “Join me?” she cooed.

  I lit a cigarette.

  “Most guys light up after,” she said.

  Her first joke.

  “Thinking about it?” she said. “Go ahead. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  I was sure she did.

  I figured if I got up and left she’d only follow me, naked and screaming, and I was in no mood for that again – or, I could comply, get it over with, which I’d never do for a thousand reasons, mainly that that’s not what sex was for, that’s not what women were for, and it certainly wasn’t my destiny, either, to provide orgasms unto the Miss Lonelyhearts of the world.

  “Can we put some music on? I notice you like classical music. That goes on for HOURS.”

  Not quite what Beethoven had in mind.

  I turned on the TV, sat down, watched and listened to the laugh-track howling at every sitcom word, and it occurred to me that this canned laughter may have been recorded 30, 40 years ago and that what we were listening to was the laughter of people who were DEAD. After a couple of these sitcoms she said, “Is that all?”

  I handed her the remote control.

  “Don’t you want to find out more about me?”

  I knew all about her, plenty.

  “I’ve completed the course.”

  “You’re no actor. You’re nothing but a boiler room operator.”

  “I could have told you that all along.”

  “I’ll bet you’re lousy in bed.”

  “I’ve been telling you that all along.”

  She started to get up and get dressed. “You call this hole your APARTMENT?”

  “Actually I call it a hole.”

  “I can’t imagine why anybody would want to live in Mount Adams. It’s all yuppies. I’ll bet all your friends are yuppies.”

  “I have no friends.”

  “Why I ever wanted you, I’ll never know.”

  “Same here.”

  “You and that rich bitch deserve each other.”

  Now she was drilling near the nerve.

  “That hot shit bitch. You probably think she’s a virgin.”

  Now she was on the nerve.

  “I wish you could see her as I see her. Maybe some day you will.”

  With that she slammed the door.

  Chapter 21

  We were on the Ohio River on Covington Landing, a floating bar and restaurant. There was a full moon and the stars were bright.

  We were both a bit tight from a couple of Manhattans.

  “Don’t you wish we were alone now?” Stephanie said.

  We were among a thousand other celebrants from both sides of the river. We were sitting at the bar.

  The Covington Landing was the IN place.

  The OHIO RIVER was the IN place.

  After her third drink she started dancing with some guy, which I didn’t mind, since I bragged about the fact that I couldn’t dance.

  White men can’t dance.

  So then a scuffle broke out when this guy she was dancing with wouldn’t let go. He wanted her for keeps. This wasn’t much of a scene, but enough. I rushed over and calmed the guy down. He grew calm when I held him by the scruff with one hand and with the other hand applied pressure to the bridge of his nose. I said everything was all right.

  He said, “Pardon me.”

  I walked her back to our seats and asked if she wanted to leave.

  “No,” she said. “I won’t let some idiot ruin a perfectly good evening.”

  She said things like this always happened when we were together. “What is it with us?”

  She shook her head in exaggerated disbelief.

  I said, “It’s not us. Funny things seem to happen when you get tipsy.”

  She admitted I had a point. “I lose control when I drink.”

  “It loosens you up?”

  “Too much.”

  Did it loosen her up in California? I didn’t ask. We’d only go round again.

  “You have to see to it that I don’t drink anymore.”

  “I can’t be with you all the time.”

  We were now outside admiring the stars. A cool breeze was coming up and she gripped my hand.

  “That’s too bad,” she said.

  Was she hinting? Was it time for me to propose again?

  “Are we falling in love again?” she asked.

  “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  She said she had a serious question. “Why do you stay at Harry’s Carpet City?”

  “It’s a job.”

  “Have you tried? Have you been looking?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged.

  “Something happened in New York. Didn’t it, Eli?”

  “Why do you keep saying that?”

  “Fat Jack once suggested that something very traumatic happened to you.”

  Here I thought Fat Jack was my friend. But he was Stephanie’s friend, too.

  “How did he suggest?”

  “Well you know we always talk. I asked him why he thought you limit yourself so.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he was sworn to secrecy.” She gave a nervous chuckle. “Do you have a record or something?”

  The fact was, I didn’t know, still. They had released me with such speed that I didn’t have a chance to ask if I had anything on my record
.

  “You know what I wish?” she said.

  “What?”

  “I wish we could start all over.”

  “But we are.”

  “Are we?”

  “Are you ashamed that I work at Harry’s Carpet City?”

  “Not really. But I just don’t want to see you stuck, that’s all.”

  “You want me to be like your GENTLEMEN CALLERS?”

  She laughed. “You know I don’t. I just think every person should try to fulfill himself. Are you fulfilled?”

  “Is anybody?”

  “But you’re not even trying.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  “Do you still dream of becoming an actor?”

  “Yes, I still dream.”

  “But dreaming won’t do it, will it, Eli?”

  “You sound like a girl who’s been talking with her mother.”

  “I sound like a girl who’s getting serious about a guy.”

  “You sound like a girl who’s had a couple of drinks.”

  “I don’t need liquor to turn me on to you. Have you stopped believing in me?”

  “But life goes on, remember?”

  “You’re not going to hold that against me.”

  “I’ve just learned to be cautious.”

  “There’s cautious and then there’s dead. Have I hurt you that much? You’ve hurt me, too. You’ll never know how much. We only know how much WE’VE been hurt. We’re experts at that. We never know how much we’ve hurt the other person. Put that in your pipe.”

  “Didn’t you once tell me all you wanted was freedom?”

  “You once said the very same thing. I’ve had my freedom.”

  “We talking about California?”

  “In a way.”

  “You…experimented.”

  “In a way.”

  “I see.”

  “Not THAT way, Eli. Not everything is SEX, Eli. But I got to know people. I told you when I left that when I came back I’d love you more, or I’d love you less. That’s the chance you take. Well, I found out that even in California, people are just people, and then there’s you, Eli.”

  “I’m special.”

  “You’re not letting me be romantic, Eli. What’s the matter?”

  I didn’t know what was the matter.

  “Is there someone else?” she asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “So why all this static?”

  “Maybe I love you too much, Stephanie. Maybe I’m unfit for you. Maybe I’ll never get to be an actor. Maybe I’ll always be stuck at Harry’s Carpet City. Maybe something did happen in New York. Maybe none of it, some of it, or all of it, Stephanie. I don’t know. I swear, I just don’t know.”

  “We seem to take turns blowing chances.”

  “But I do love you.”

  “Eli, I love you, too. I love you very, very much. So what’s our problem?”

  “Maybe that’s our problem.”

  Chapter 22

  Lou was coming up the steps and Mona and I locked eyes; it was taking him longer and longer to make the trek. You could hear him starting and stopping. You could hear him breathing. I had hired a couple of new girls in the meantime, girls who had never seen Lou and knew nothing about him, and they were frightened, wondering what it was that was approaching.

  “It’s only one of our salesmen,” Mona whispered to the fledglings.

  Now the long pause at the top landing so he could make a decent entrance.

  “Hello everybody. Hello Mona.”

  His hairpiece was askew. He was sweating. His face was yellow.

  “Hi, Lou,” Mona said.

  He plopped down and took a few minutes to catch his breath.

  “I see you got yourself some new girls,” he said. “That’s good. Could use some fresh blood.”

  “You all right?”

  “Never been better.” He leaned over. “I see you got rid of what’s-her-name, that Sonja.”

  “No I didn’t. She just hasn’t shown up.”

  Not since the latest scene in my apartment. Which gave me the willies wondering what she was up to. I wanted her around just to keep an eye on her. She hadn’t been around for days. I tried calling her but the numbers she gave on her application form were out of service. She had given a place in Price Hill as her address and once or twice I thought about taking a ride over there, imagining her dead in the bathtub, water and blood spilling over onto the tiles. I imagined her tracking Stephanie, lurking in the alleys. For all those reasons I wanted her here and even considered giving her that orgasm, if that would do the trick and keep her from doing harm.

  “What’s wrong with YOU?” Lou asked.

  “Me?”

  “You’re as nervous as a jellybean.”

  He asked if it was about what’s-her-name Sonja.

  “Is she your problem?”

  I shook my head.

  “She seems to give everybody fits,” he said. “Is she jealous of Stephanie?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just guessing. I know Stephanie is back.”

  “You measured that house again?”

  He coughed and said yes he had.

  “Is that all?”

  No it wasn’t. The developer was so pleased with Lou that he was giving him the carpet business for an entire unit of homes out there in Northwood.

  “Twenty-two homes,” said Lou. “What do you say about that?”

  “I say that’s a hell of a lot of measuring for one man.”

  “I told you those leads were GOLDEN.”

  “I told you they were stolen.”

  “Guess who’s going to make the Million Dollar Club this year?”

  “Hope you’re around to collect the medal.”

  “You worry too much,” he coughed, and coughed and coughed and coughed.

  “You all right, Lou?”

  “You always act as if I’m going to die any minute. I’m not that old, you know. I’m only in my fifties.”

  ONLY IN HIS FIFTIES? I could have sworn he was well up in his seventies.

  Phil Coleman, the man they called Hot Shot, charter member of the Million Dollar Club, walked up just in time to hear that last one and said, “Sure, Old Lou here is still a young man. He’s one of our stars. You know, those stars that keep shining for years and years after they’ve gone out.”

  He checked around the room for admiration, smile as wide as the devil’s. It was an amazing thing for Phil Coleman to come up here, for Hot Shot that he was, he didn’t need my leads. He didn’t want my leads. Considered them “the bottom of the barrel.” He got his leads direct from downstairs, off people who had phoned in or just come in to browse. Browse my eye. Soon as they meandered in they were hooked once he got his fangs into them. Customers just casually entering the showroom for “a hallway rug” didn’t know there were seven HUNGRY salesmen in there waiting to pounce on them. That included Morris Silver, except that Morris didn’t sell anymore. He just sat there at the big table telling stories.

  “Why is it always JOKES with you guys?” Lou said, which was strange, coming from Old Lou, who was always fearful of the big three since he was a much lesser salesman from the time of his stroke, inferior in terms of sales and stature – but not so since he got his hands on those QUALITY leads and was now in business with an entire housing DEVELOPMENT.

  “Jokes?” said Phil Coleman. “Nobody takes you more seriously than me, Lou.”

  “You’re always cracking jokes.”

  “Calm down, Lou.”

  “I’ll calm down once you get out of here.”

  “Oh? Eli’s your man?”

  “What’s the trouble, Phil?” I piped in.

  “No trouble. No trouble at all. I just wanted to know if you got any leads. For the rest of us.”

  “Why now?”

  “I hear this is the place. For hot leads and hot chicks.”

  He looked around and gave me a wink.

  “I do
n’t know about hot chicks…”

  “Word gets around.”

  “I don’t know about hot leads, either.”

  “That’s not what I hear. I hear Lou’s scoring big. Where you getting those leads, Lou?”

  “What’s it to you, Phil?” said Lou.

  “I want in on the action.”

  “We just got lucky,” I said.

  “That’s some job out in Northwood. Some luck, twenty-two homes.”

  “But I keep giving you leads, Phil. I spread them around.”

  “Not like the ones you’ve been giving to Old Lou here, lately.”

  “You worried I’m going to have a better year than you?” said Lou.

  “Hey, I’m on your side, Lou. I’m one of your fans.” He winked at Mona, who didn’t wink back. She was wise to him. He was full of winks and grins, this Phil Coleman. “Don’t forget, I’ve thrown a few leads your way,” Hot Shot Phil said to Lou. “How soon they forget, right Lou?”

  “Yes, I remember that kitchen linoleum job.”

  “Hey, can I help it if it didn’t pan out? All I can do is give you a lead. It’s your job to sell.”

  “I’m TEN TIMES THE SALESMAN you are.”

  Lou was going for his second stroke.

  “Hey, Lou, you’re the greatest,” Phil said for his exit line.

  Lou chuckled. “He thinks that Northwood lead came from you. It’s killing them down there that I’m back.”

  He said, “You hear me? Lou Emmett is BACK.”

  Chapter 23

  Sonja finally showed up, emaciated. She’d been sick. An accident. Too many sleeping pills. Three days in intensive care.

  “I’m too hard on myself,” she confided with a show of weariness.

  “Not to mention everybody else.”

  “Why should I always be the one who suffers?”

  “Guess what? You’re not.”

  “I’ve done a lot of thinking,” she said, “and I know what’s at the bottom of all of this.”

  “What’s that?”

  I was curious.

  “It’s a certain individual.”

  I shot her a look.

  “Oh not you,” she said. “Someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ll find out,” she said smugly.

  Then she ran to her desk.

  I walked over and told her she was fired.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said.