“If you really want to look out for yourself, take the pill. That’s what I do,” said Molly. “You really better watch out. Alex is a prince and all; I know he’s supposed to be the smartest of all of us and the most elegant,” she recited as if intoning a litany she had heard too many times, “but if you ask me he’s a self-centered bastard, and his ego is getting bigger by the minute. He’s going around telling everybody that you left your crazy Sicilian father just to screw him.”
“Molly,” Vicki said, “do you always have to shoot your mouth off?”
“It’s just what I feel.”
“It’s OK,” Gina said. “It was nice of you both to come,” she added, getting up.
“Look,” Vicki said, “if you want him, you have him. He’s very involved with you. He’s bragging about it—so what.”
“All I’m saying,” Molly broke in, “is that he comes on like he’s out of this world, and he’s really no different than any of them.”
Gina opened the door. “Look, I’m really glad you came. It’s just that I’m really tired. I haven’t been able to sleep for weeks because of my parents. And I just want to sleep now.”
When they had gone she sat down and tried to lift the weight that had fallen on her. It was too late for a bath. The water had cooled and she was too upset to be soothed that easily. Suppose the whole thing was just an ego trip for him. It doesn’t matter, she thought, I’m still better off here than there. The phone in the hallway was ringing. Someone thudded toward it. Nobody in this place sleeps, she thought irritably.
“Geenah!” someone screamed. The call was for her. She straightened her bathrobe and went out to the phone.
“Is everything all right?” Alex asked anxiously. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“I was just worrying about me too,” she said. “You see how much we have in common.”
“Did anyone come?”
“Just Molly and a friend of hers.”
“Stay away from them.”
“Look, my family isn’t going to come tonight. It’s too late. What time is it, anyway? If my parents were going to come, they would have.” Let him worry, she thought. She wouldn’t tell him they didn’t know where she was.
There was silence at the other end. “Well,” he said finally, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Tomorrow,” she said, hanging up the phone. If he’s so pleased that I would risk being beaten to a pulp for him, she thought, he should come to stop it from happening. She couldn’t get away from the real blast Molly had given to her elation. Her freedom was barely a night old, and already it was dribbling away into nothing. Nobody leaves you alone when you’re alone, she thought. She pulled the plug on the now cold bathwater, watching it swirl down the drain.
Vicki’s doctor had an office on Park Avenue and Seventy-eighth Street. It had a beautiful marble foyer filled with palms. Three women sat in his waiting room. One was pregnant, but elegantly and beautifully dressed in a sheer linen dress fitted tight at the bodice and falling in graceful gathers from an Empire waist. Gina stared at her wistfully. She had spent real money on a dress she could only wear for a few months. That somehow summed up all the differences between this woman and the ones in her old neighborhood, who had made do with one pair of polyester slacks, a smock top, and skirts widened by an ever-lengthening chain of safety pins. The pins could then be saved for fastening diapers.
Dr. Skogee had been almost too obliging on the telephone. Once she had given Eddie Lanik’s name, he said he would fit her in. He really was busy, too. She felt uncomfortable. It was one thing to go to bed with Alex, but something else to admit it. Publicly. A nurse took her aside and asked her some questions, filling out a card. Reason for coming? A checkup and advice about birth control, she said flatly. The nurse took her into an examination room and handed her a bathrobe. Gina undressed and wrapped it around her. It was chilly. It must be thirty degrees in here, she thought. She looked around for a magazine, but there was nothing but medical equipment in the room. After twenty minutes or so, she sat down on the table; after ten more, she curled up on it and closed her eyes.
When the doctor came in, he patted her rump. “Well, how is Eddie?” he said, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen him around.”
“Neither have I,” she answered. Somehow it didn’t seem right to tell him she had never met him.
“You know him long?” he asked, washing his hands.
“Not really,” she answered.
“But well,” he smiled.
She smiled.
The nurse came in and placed some instruments on a tray. She stood next to the table, placing Gina’s feet in the stirrups.
“I’ve never had this kind of examination before,” Gina said, covering her eyes.
“Nothing to it,” Dr. Skogee said.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me,” she said as he inserted a speculum. “I just want a diaphragm.” She felt a slight sting. The idea of a conversation in this position was awful.
“That cervix looks clean as a whistle,” he said with conviction. He drew out the speculum. It’s over, she thought. But it wasn’t. Finally he stood up. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “The ovaries are maybe a little tender. How many times a week do you have intercourse?” he asked.
“It varies.”
“Well, if it’s often you might be better off with the pill. Especially if you’re not the type of person who remembers. Eddie, though, naturally always advocates the diaphragm.” He began to fit her. He was very quick, even quicker explaining how she could check to see if it was in place. When he finished he stood next to the table. “Have a good time,” he said, touching her cheek lightly. “And give my best to Eddie.”
“Thank you,” she answered, not knowing what else to say. “I will.”
He shook his head and left.
She stopped at the nurse’s desk on the way out. “I would rather pay my bill now,” she said, “instead of having it sent.”
“The doctor said there would be no charge for the examination or the fitting,” the nurse answered, handing her a prescription for a diaphragm.
“That’s very kind of him,” Gina said, feeling pretty guilty.
“Take care of yourself, dear,” the nurse said, dismissing her.
She walked into the September sunlight feeling disturbingly elated. It wasn’t right to have let him think she knew Eddie. He thinks I more than know him, she suddenly realized. I even helped him think that. But the slight shame paled before the sense of how easily it had all been done. She had the prescription filled at a drugstore nearby. The pharmacist, standing behind a high glass display case, his face hidden, didn’t even bother to look at her. The thought became huge: I can hardly wait to try it out.
She walked through the park and took a bus up Broadway to the Bristol. She bathed. She tried on four different combinations of blouses and skirts before she settled on a white dress. As she went to meet Alex she could see from a distance that he was in a good mood. He was pacing back and forth, looking in all directions. As soon as he spotted her he smiled and waved.
“We’re free,” he said, “we’re free. We can have a whole night.”
Why this now, she wondered. What had changed since last night? Maybe he just got used to the idea.
“I have it all planned. We’re going to spend a real evening instead of just going to bed together. We’re going to a movie!”
“A movie? What movie?” she asked. What movie is better than going to bed with me, she thought.
“This movie is my father’s favorite movie,” he said, turning her toward downtown. He hugged her to him as they walked. “He took me to see it when I was five. I still remember the first time I saw it. The crowd scene scared me half to death.”
“Five is pretty young for crowd scenes. He should have waited until you were six. Six is the right age.”
“The first time I saw Children of Paradise,” he went on, ignoring her, “I was too young to know
what it was about. But he wanted me to see it because it was his favorite. I’ve seen it maybe twelve times and I never get tired of it.”
“You like the same things, you and your father?” she asked. Suddenly, he was full of his father. In all the weeks they had been together, he had scarcely mentioned him. Now, all of a sudden, there he was. Nino goes, his father appears, when all the while, freedom was there in her bag. She kept thinking about it. She didn’t even know if it was because she was excited, or something. She just wanted to see what it was like. Maybe if she told him about it, she thought, he might be curious too.
But he was still talking about his father. “Remarkable,” he was saying. “He’s the most remarkable person in the world. You’re going to meet him. We’ll go down to Philadelphia for a weekend. We can do it now. We can borrow his car for a day and drive to the countryside. The hills are fantastic.”
“Let’s do it,” she said insincerely. Somehow, she was lying a lot since she had left home. It already seemed a thousand years ago, even though it was only one night and seven hours. Before, she rarely lied, although she often said nothing. Then she lied about Alex and lied a lot more about where she was when she was really with Alex. Now she was lying to Alex. There’s a lesson in this, she thought, but what was it?
When they got to his apartment, he began to rummage through the refrigerator for dinner. He always had a supply of Polish ham, fresh sweet butter, and rye bread. “Next time,” he said, putting it all on the table, “why don’t you make dinner? Do you cook, and things like that?”
“Sure,” she said. “I can do anything. . . .” She giggled.
“Pretty happy with life,” he said, grabbing her. “Really high this time,” he said, amused.
“Getting better all the time,” she agreed. “Why don’t you finish dinner for tonight?” She disappeared into the bathroom with her handbag.
After supper they stretched out on his bed and he began nibbling her. “You look like such a a little virgin in white,” he said, tickling her. “Why do you wear dresses like that?” He began unbuttoning the top.
“I forget,” she said.
“You’re my virgin,” he said. “Say that.”
“Say what?”
“Say you’re my virgin.”
She murmured something and kissed him. He was running his hands down her back, over her hips, down her thighs. He began nibbling her belly, his teeth moving over her in small striking bites. His tongue moved lower. It flicked inside her. He stiffened, his whole body grew tight. He sat up and spat. “What are you doing with that Ramses junk on?” he demanded.
How does he know it’s Ramses? she thought. “What’s the matter?” she asked him.
He stuck his fingers inside her and hooked one into the diaphragm. “This is the matter.”
It really did look offensive, hanging there on his finger. It had looked so friendly before, on hers.
He walked it like a dog, to the garbage can, stood looking at it, and then dropped it in. “Go take a bath,” he said, “and get that stuff out of you.”
“You haven’t got a bathtub,” she said, wounded. “What’s wrong with it? What would we do if I got pregnant?”
“How do you know what I want to do? You never ask me. If you were even thinking of this, you should have mentioned it to me first. You must have known I wouldn’t like it,” he said angrily, “or you would have told me first.”
“There wasn’t time to tell you. It just occurred to me last night.”
“Where did you find out about these things, anyway? How did you get it? You couldn’t have figured this out yourself. You wouldn’t have known how.”
“Thanks,” she said. “It’s none of your business.” It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was a confusing argument. Either way she was losing. If she’d figured it out herself, she lost innocence credit. If she hadn’t, she was just someone else’s dupe.
“It must have been Molly. I bet I know what she said.” He began to mimic her. “‘You have to be your own best friend. Take care of yourself.’”
He was getting to her. “What’s the point of making a scene about it? If I’m taking care of myself, I’m taking care of you. You don’t want the responsibility of a child any more than I do.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t. But this isn’t about a child. It’s about trust.” He was pacing around the room, furious.
Gina began getting dressed.
He watched her. “Talking about this turns me off,” he said. “Let’s just read or something.” He picked up a book. He was not going to notice that she was leaving. She buckled on her sandals. Contraception hasn’t improved my sex life, she thought. She stood fully dressed, but indecisive. If she left now, she would really be changing a lot. Exactly what, she didn’t know, but she knew it would be a lot.
“Look,” she said. “I’m sorry the whole thing happened. I hate arguments. I’ve been watching them all my life and I’m not going to have any with you. So I think it might be better for me to go home. We can see each other when all this passes,” she said.
“If you leave now, it’s never going to pass,” he said. But when he looked up, she saw his eyes were bright with water. She watched surprised, wondering if the wetness would really become tears. It came to her that she didn’t really understand him. This had some meaning for him she couldn’t figure out. But before she could make up her mind to go, he came to the door and hugged her.
“Don’t leave,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me now.”
If I stay now, it’ll mean he’s won, she thought. But what was more disturbing was the sudden sense of what she was in for with him. He had seemed never to be at odds with anything. And now in the last couple of days there had been so many moments when he drew lines, reached points he couldn’t get beyond. Now he was becoming as gentle as he had been harsh, stroking her neck and back as he unbuttoned her dress. His hands were sweeping the energy, the flight, from her thighs. There are no good choices, she realized, the recognition cutting into the thoughtless pleasure she had taken in the feel of him. Either she went along without the diaphragm, or . . . the alternatives didn’t show up. Her thoughts broke down under the pressure of his body, the lovemaking that was somehow more urgent, more desperate than before. He seemed to be everywhere at once, bringing her to the edge of orgasm and stopping, teasing her, running his nails across her back and hips, slipping, wrenching her away from orgasm.
He was hypnotic. He was, she realized dreamily, taking her over completely; she could feel herself ebbing away. Now he forced her shoulders back against the bed, pinning one with his body and the other with his hand on her arm. He began to lick her face and body. His grip on her shifted and tightened.
“You have to say it now,” he murmured. “You have to say you’ll do what I want.”
“What do you want?” she said, half repeating his question.
“Whatever I want,” he said, pressing his lips against her softly.
“Whatever you want,” she agreed. “Whatever you want,” she repeated, not caring so long as he came back into position.
He pulled her toward him. Orgasm was something to agree on.
Afterward he lay curled against her, dozing off. She had never known such intense emotion. Pleasure had washed through her, peaking and peaking again. She ran her fingers lightly on his face, looking at him as though she had never seen him before. “My God,” she murmured. “My God.”
It wasn’t until the morning that she saw her back was etched with welts and her buttocks were splashed with black-purple bruises. His teeth had cut into the soft even skin of her belly.
It was difficult to believe he had done it. He wasn’t tough—compared to Nino he was a marshmallow—but all the same, he was far more dangerous in an unfathomable way. How had it happened? The fight over the diaphragm had made her want to leave. But then he had seemed so stricken, so lost; she had stayed, giving to his vulnerability what she would not give to his anger. Once she had, she had b
ecome far more vulnerable to him than he had been to her. She stared at the welts on her back, twisting toward the mirror to see that they began at her shoulders and moved all the way down her back. He had turned the tables on her in a big way. How could she not have felt it? The worst part was that she had found his intensity dazzling. She had lost herself in it, and with that, lost the burden of wariness. Yet look what happened without it, she thought, stunned by the sight of her back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, watching her. “I didn’t realize . . .” his voice trailed as he saw her finger the blotchy tooth-tattoo.
“It’s OK,” she said without conviction. Not even the silky light dress lay comfortably on her back. The smoothest fabric would feel like barbed wire for days.
“I just got carried away, I guess,” Alex went on.
No you didn’t, she thought. You knew exactly what you were doing. The lines of welts ran down her left and right sides, perfectly parallel.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he said sheepishly.
“It’s really OK,” she insisted. “It was worth it,” she said, deciding to brazen it out. But they had trouble looking each other in the eye.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he continued. “I know just the treatment for boo-boos.” He put his arms around her.
“I’ll bet you do,” she answered, forcing a smile. At least he hadn’t offered to bathe and dress the cuts. She hated people who hurt you and then offered to repair the damage. “Quack cures are my favorite,” she said.
But after he left for work she was not amused. She sat over a cup of tea until it got cold. Then she made another cup and stared into it. He has a tremendous will, she thought. Her desire gave him power over her and he didn’t and wouldn’t hesitate to use it. It had never occurred to her that he had that kind of will. Where had he kept it all this time? But then, it hadn’t occurred to her that she too had a tremendous will, and that she could lose it in the long, clean lines of his body, the hard, muscular stomach, the powerful thighs, the chest flecked with burnished gold hair. Somehow she couldn’t say she had lost or he had won. The whole thing was getting into a dimension that was way beyond her. She feared the words there were for these things. Her mind kept moving from desire to self-doubt to fear of where that road could lead. But by the time the second cup of tea had cooled, she brought herself back to questions she could answer.
The Right Thing to Do Page 12