Between Friends

by Kitt, Sandra

  Dallas remembered every single man she’d ever been to bed with. It was easy. There hadn’t been that many. They could all be accounted for on one hand. She remembered the first time she’d ever had a climax. That much described, praised, and mystified sensation of the flesh that was supposed to make the effort all worthwhile. It had been, but it had not touched her heart or soul.

  He was a musician she’d met. A cool and worldly clarinet player who blew jazz. Dallas recalled that she was supposed to interview him and his band at their club appearance in an East Village joint for a small weekly she worked on as an undergrad intern. He’d teased her with his sophistication, seduced her with his music. The foreplay between them had gone on for several weeks before they ever even touched. Dallas thought she was falling in love with him. But the physical euphoria that had brought her to the edge of madness and toppled her into gasping breaths and pulsing nerves had been less his skill and expertise than it was her need for affirmation and affection.

  It had been great sex.

  But it had been a one-night stand.

  So had the first time she’d made love. She had wanted to lose her virginity. At sixteen being a virgin had become a burden. The boys in school were after her, not because they were infatuated, but because they wanted to be the first.

  Valerie had lost hers at thirteen. Thirteen! Dallas remembered how Valerie had giggled, proud of herself. It had been with one of her brother’s friends, a boy of seventeen. But what had amazed Dallas was not that her best friend had already done it, but that she had apparently really liked it. With Maureen it had been much different. Not exactly rape, Maureen had decided years late, but definite coercion. She’d been compromised by a visiting cousin when she was nine. Someone she’d always liked. Too young to know that what was happening was wrong, she’d never said anything. But neither had she been left particularly traumatized.

  Dallas thought about seeing Alex Marco again, about being with him earlier for most of the day, and sitting talking in his car. Feeling, oddly enough, that same protectiveness with him she’d first experienced in the Marco basement when she was fifteen. But bringing up the delicate but bold subject of her virginity now kept her awake. The loss of it. No … the surrender of it to Alex Marco. Because she’d asked him to.

  Dallas recalled that it was fear that had sent her to him. Fear of failure at the fumbling hands of one of her classmates, who would then naturally need to shoot his mouth off about his success, and of her incompetence as a lay.

  Actually, it was Brett Percell who’d helped Dallas to make the decision. She thought they were going together. He’d started to sit with her at lunch, to ask her questions. He walked her almost all the way home from school one day rather than take the bus. When they held hands, she was aware that their entwined fingers reminded her of a zebra. She thought Brett really liked her, and maybe he really did. He’d taken his time and told her she was fine … he was used to dating girls with darker skin, but he liked her anyway.

  She liked him because he was funny and cute. He was popular and stayed out of trouble. She’d felt nothing when he’d kissed her and even less when Brett had tried to touch her. Which is probably why, when the opportunity was there to go all the way, Dallas knew she didn’t want to. Not with him. And then he had said something that had cleared up the mystery of his sudden interest in her. He had promised that if she’d let him do it to her, he’d take her to the Westbury Music fair to see … well, she couldn’t remember who. It was then that Dallas had decided that if the only thing she had of any value was the place between her legs, then at least it should go to someone who had never tried to use her, or wanted anything from her.

  She’d searched everywhere for the scrap of paper with the phone number on it. For more than a week she leafed through notebook pages, dug into the pockets of sweaters and jackets, emptied out totes and bags and wallets, and then gave up. Finding it by accident as it slipped out quietly and slowly, like a leaf falling from a tree, from between the pages of a novel she’d never finished reading. By then Dallas was having second thoughts. Until Valerie and a group of their friends had decided on an evening out together, and she had stayed home rather than go along stag, not attached to anyone. Not having anyone to hold hands with. Not wanting to be the only token in a group that never accepted her as being quite the same as they were anyway. Not when it came to dating. Not when it came to pairing off.

  Dallas dialed the number the next day. A woman answered the phone. A woman with an aged voice.

  “Hello?”

  Dallas hadn’t expected a woman to answer. She struggled for her voice.

  “Hello? Who is it?”

  “I … I … is … Alex there?”

  “Alex?” the woman repeated in the absentminded squeakiness of the elderly, as if the name meant nothing to her.

  “Yes. Alex Marco. He gave me this number.”

  “Oh, Alex … He’s my grandson. No, he’s not here no more.”

  “Oh,” Dallas murmured, feeling a contradictory rush of relief and disappointment.

  “He’s got his own place. You want the number?”

  Dallas blinked. This was not a dead end. Did she want the number? “Yes. Yes, thank you.”

  “All right, wait a minute … wait a minute …”

  Dallas listened as the receiver was put down, and a rustling of noise came through the line as the woman searched around her for whatever source contained the number. There was coughing and a grunt of movement.

  “Wait a minute …” the woman said again. “Here it is …”

  Dallas wrote down the number that was recited, thanked the woman, and hung up. She felt a surge of victory, of accomplishment. Until she realized she hadn’t gotten anywhere, yet. She still had not reached Alex. She had yet to ask for his help. Dallas stood across the street from the high school, digging her fingers through the heavy load of coins in her pocket, which she’d collected to use in the pay phone. If she’d used the one at home, for sure Eleanor would have discovered the phone numbers on the bill and questioned her or Dean about long-distance calls into the city.

  Dallas hesitated, staring off across the way at her classmates gathered casually around the grounds of the school before the start of the first period class. They engaged in what had always been to her the confusing rituals of mating, dating, and fitting in. She gnawed on her lip, trying to think if there was even one boy whom she liked well enough to encourage.

  Dallas sighed and turned back to the phone. Her heart pounding, she dialed the second number. And then hung up before the phone began to ring. She waited a few minutes and then tried again. She had no time to change her mind this time. The phone was picked up on the first ring, and a brusque male voice answered impatiently.

  “Yeah …”

  “H-hi. I’d like to … to speak to Alex Marco, please.”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Look, I’m running late for work. Who is this?”

  “It’s … Dallas Oliver,” she whispered. Only as she said her name did it occur to Dallas that Alex Marco might not even remember who she was.

  “Who?”

  “Dallas. We met last year.” There was no response. No recognition, and now it was too late to hang up. “Don’t … don’t you remember? It was … because of Nicholas, and …”

  “Dallas …” he murmured. “Sure, I remember. What do you want?”

  She felt the blood drain from her body. She felt lonely and confused. He didn’t sound exactly pleased to hear from her. Dallas turned her back on the school and the sounds and voices of her friends and classmates. “You said I could call you. You said that …”

  “Is it Nick again? I told you to stay away from him,” he said, annoyed. “Maybe you should tell Lillian this time. Maybe …”

  “Can I come to see you?”

  There was a short pause.

  “What?”

  “Can … can I come to see you?” Her voice was thin and shaky, nervous with the audacity of what she was doing. And
she was scared.

  “Christ … what did he do to you?” Alex asked, the annoyance building.

  “I can’t talk about it,” Dallas improvised.

  “All right, all right …” Alex said. “Ahh … I can’t see you until this afternoon around four or later.”

  “That’s okay,” Dallas quickly agreed. “I can take the train in. Where should I come?”

  “Take the LIRR into Jamaica, and change for the train to Flatbush …”

  Dallas hadn’t really expected Alex to agree to see her. So she was unprepared to write down the directions. She memorized it all, repeating the details to herself all through school. She’d not mentioned her planned trip even to Valerie, knowing that she would be hounded for information. And Dallas feared that she herself would let something slip out that would betray her, and her intentions … and Alex Marco.

  She never could remember anything that had happened the entire day in classes. Nothing until afterward when she’d walked to the nearest commuter station and boarded a train into the city, for the first time by herself. Dallas had had no idea how expensive anything was going to be and had only enough money for her train ticket and bus fare, and two dollars left over. She wasn’t used to the city and got off the bus by mistake a half mile from the street Alex had given her. She walked the rest of the way, both frightened and fascinated with the energy of the streets, of the people and overwhelming noise. The homes here were different. Smaller and closer together, mixed in with three- or four-storied buildings with apartments above and storefronts below. She knew she must have looked out of place, too wide-eyed, because men watched her. She could feel their gazes searching beneath her clothing and exposing her. This thing of her body changing and sloughing off the rest of childhood was terrible. And now men and boys wanted her, not because of herself, but her body. They were constantly in season … sniffing about for anyone in heat.

  Dallas reached the address Alex had given her. There was no answer when she rang the bell in the tiny vestibule of the building. She panicked. What if she’d remembered it wrong? What if he’d forgotten, or had no intentions of showing up? How long should she wait? Dallas began to experience the utter foolishness of her mission. What was she going to do … except to return back home?

  She left the building and glanced around the strange street. Suddenly it was no longer an adventure and seemed like an awful mistake to have come. She began walking aimlessly down the street, until slowly tears filled her eyes and ran down her face, blurring her vision. Suddenly she couldn’t stand the noise or the people or the city and wished she were home again. Dallas didn’t know what to do. She completely circled the block. Crossed beneath an elevated train. She passed signs with the name Bay Ridge. She had no idea where she was or how to get back to the rail line in Flatbush.

  The houses were right on top of each other, and she began to feel closed in and crowded. It was dusk now, and chilly. She cried as she walked, scrubbing the heel of her hand, like a child, across her eyes. Sniffling up with nothing to wipe her runny nose.

  Dallas arrived back where she’d started. She entered the building and again tried the bell. Nothing.

  She sat down on the two steps in the foyer and then the crying continued. She was going to have to call her father. She was going to have to …

  Someone rushed into the door and stopped short in front of her. Dallas raised her head and through her tears saw Alex. She just stared at him, and he at her. She was so glad that he’d shown up that she cried even harder, burying her face in her folded arms.

  “I know I’m late. You been waiting long?” Alex hesitated. “Jesus Christ … are you okay?”

  She couldn’t say a thing. Just shook her head and cried. Dallas heard him sigh heavily.

  “Christ …” he repeated, a touch of anxiety in his tone. “Okay, okay … let’s go inside.”

  She heard the jangle of keys, the front door being unlocked and opened. She stood up and blindly followed Alex into the building. It smelled musty and stale. She’d never known anything like it. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever even been in an apartment building before. Alex was already ahead of her, taking the stairs two at a time. Dallas reached the second floor as Alex continued up the final flight to the third level. By the time she got there she’d almost stopped crying because she was out of breath. A door stood open into an apartment, and she cautiously approached, peering inside. Dallas jumped when Alex appeared again, running his hand through his hair.

  “Come on in,” he said awkwardly.

  She stepped into the room past Alex, and he closed and locked the door behind her. Dallas slowly walked into the center of the room and realized that this was pretty much it. She glanced around at the large open studio space, but didn’t really notice very much. Nothing that she was ever able to recall later when she was alone again. Except for a love seat, a table, and a floor lamp. The bed. Not really a bed. A platform base with a mattress on top. The bed was unmade. She stared at it. It had never even occurred to Dallas that Alex might have a girlfriend. A wife! What if there had been someone with him that very morning—or the night before—in that bed?

  “What did Nick do to you?”

  Dallas spun around to face Alex. She felt immediately comforted because he looked the same as the first time she’d met him. Only … there was something older about him, too. In his eyes and the set of his mouth. His face didn’t look quite so thin. His mouth seemed …

  “Nick? Nicholas?” Dallas repeated absently. She was suddenly wondering if Alex would look at her the way the boys at school did. He showed impatience, standing with his hands braced on his hips.

  “Yeah, Nick. What did he do? Did he try to …”

  Dallas blushed and turned away. She shook her head.

  “Did he hit you again?”

  She gnawed her lip and hugged herself. “It wasn’t Nick.”

  “It wasn’t?” Alex questioned, confused. “Then who …”

  Dallas took a deep breath and faced Alex once more. She played with her hair. “It … it wasn’t anybody.” She felt awkward. It hadn’t occurred to Dallas that she’d actually have to say it to him. Ask him.

  He gestured toward her with his hand. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, it wasn’t Nick. It wasn’t anybody? Then … what’s going on? Why did you call me?”

  Dallas looked at Alex and her heart began to pound. She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t even form the words.

  “Answer me,” he said firmly, annoyance sharpening his tone and making Dallas jump.

  “I … I wanted …” She swallowed but felt the tears building up again. This wasn’t going to work. What she wanted, Dallas suddenly realized, perhaps even Alex could not give her.

  He sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. “Dallas …” He walked toward her.

  Dallas stood riveted, afraid to move. Was he going to get angry with her? Was he going to shake her? Alex took hold of her arms and made her face him squarely. He tucked himself down a little, bending his head so he could look her right in the eye. His voice once again tried patience.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. You know that. I’m not going to be mad at you. No matter what it is. Just tell me. What happened?”

  She stared at him. She felt so guilty and so ashamed. But she’d come this far on nerve and determination.

  “I … want you to go to bed with me.” Her voice was barely audible.

  Alex stood stone-still, not even blinking. “Say that again,” he slowly commanded, as if he didn’t understand the words, let alone the request.

  Dallas took a deep breath. “I want you to … to … take my virginity.”

  “You want me to …” Alex attempted.

  His features contorted into an expression of utter disbelief. He released her as if her skin burned his hands. Alex began shaking his head as he squeezed his eyes closed and began muttering, “No … no, this isn’t happening. It can’t be …”

  “But I want you to …”

 
“I don’t care what you want,” Alex thundered, glaring at her. “Are you crazy? Where did you get an idea like that? This isn’t how it’s done.” He combed his hands through his hair, and began to pace back and forth in front of her. “You don’t go up to some guy and say … and … and say …” He looked helpless again, and gave up, walking away from her. “Jesus … oh, man … fuck!”

  “I know how it’s done,” Dallas countered, revving herself up for an argument.

  “Good! Then you also know it happens when two people like each other, and they’ve been going together for a while, and …”

  “I want you to do it.”

  “Stop saying that, will you?” Alex demanded. He marched over to her and took her arm. He began to propel her back to the door. “Look … go home. You had a fight with your boyfriend, then make up with him. Or find somebody else.” He jerked open the door and stood aside for her to leave. “It just can’t be me.”

  Dallas felt her shame spread, embarrassment creeping over her. And oddly, the more Alex objected, the more Dallas was convinced that she was doing the right thing. And she had no intention of being turned away.

  When she just stood staring silently at him, Alex raised his hands in surrender. “I won’t say anything about this, I swear.”

  “I know you won’t,” Dallas said, her voice stronger now, the tears completely gone. “That’s one of the reasons why I chose you.”

  Alex snorted in disbelief. “You chose me? What is this? Some sort of lottery?”

  “Please listen to me. I know what I’m doing. I know what I want. I know you don’t really care about me …”

  “Dallas … it’s not that I don’t care about you,” Alex began slowly. “But we don’t know squat about each other. You can’t just go up to someone and say, will you bust my cherry …” She looked blank, and Alex cringed, coloring over. “You know what I mean.”

  “I still want you to do it to me.”

  “Why me?” he asked frantically. “You telling me there’s not one horny guy in your whole goddamn school that doesn’t want to screw you?”