Fifteen minutes later back in my motel room, just as I opened the door, the telephone was ringing.
"Hello."
"Matt Scallen?"
I didn't recognize the voice. It was low and soft, a man.
"Eddy Schwartz," he said. "I use to know a buddy of. yours back in Pittsburgh. I saw yuh pitcher in the paper last week. Remember Augie Ratner?"
Who would forget Augie? Augie owned a nice cozy little bar. Former fighter, never missed a football game.
"How's Augie?"
"Great. He sold the joint and he's playing golf and trying to keep his waistline down. He said hello."
"What're you doing in Des Moines?" I asked.
"Little business. Little business."
"Say hello to Augie."
"Got time for a sandwich and drink?"
"I'm off the sauce. I got a date tonight."
"I'll be around tomorrow," he said.
"Call me," I told him. That's all there was to the phone call then. I never thought anything about it until later-much later.
Somebody knocked at the door. I opened it. It was Mary Beth. She was all smiles and tit. She walked straight into the room.
"Where you been keeping yourself?" she asked.
I looked at the open door. I wasn't going to close it. Maybe she would get the hint.
"What do you want?" I asked in a tough voice.
She giggled. "Oh, honey." She patted my cheek. "Funny boy. Like you don't know."
"I gotta go, Mary Beth."
She rolled her eyes and giggled again.
"You practicing tonight?"
"That's right." I was busy putting on a clean shirt.
"Honey, I'll give you all the practice you need."
I gave her a quick kiss, grabbed her by the elbow and in three steps I'd hustled her out the door. I shut the door and had her walking down the hall. Before she knew what had happened, I'd said so long and was in my car and pulling away from the curb.
It was a nice night. I felt strange, kind of like a kid, a high school freshman, going on a first date. I wasn't sure of myself at all. No passes, I told myself, don't make any passes at her or you'll blow it. Then I remembered something she'd said, about how she was going to explain something to me. Why was she ducking me? Well, whatever it was I wanted to know. You're going soft in the head getting all nervous about a nurse. Sure, it had been a long time since I'd felt nervous about meeting a girl. Second childhood, Scallen. The early change.
We went to one of those places that had been a private club once in Des Moines when the only booze you could buy by the glass was in private clubs. Now it was a regular nightclub, all full of trick Victorian furniture made in Grand Rapids, Michigan, to look like genuine gaslight era antiques.
She stared at me after the waitress left.
"Seven-Up?" She gaped.
"Don't smoke, don't chew, and I don't go with the girls who do."
She laughed, then said, "Do you mind if I have a cigarette with my martini?"
"Have a couple of martinis."
"Don't you drink at all?"
"I've done my share."
"The head injury?" she asked.
I shook my head. I heard the drummer, then the electric guitar.
"Dance?" I said. We walked into the other room where the band was playing. Hard rock. I wanted to hold her. That's the trouble with modern dances. You don't get to hold the girl. After about five minutes we sat down. Funny. I looked at her. I couldn't figure myself out. I wasn't thinking about laying this girl. I was thinking it would be just nice to talk to her. No, that wasn't it. I was afraid to think about wanting to lay her. I'd blow my mind. I was afraid to. I was afraid of losing her. You must be crazy, Scallen! Since when were you ever afraid of losing a girl? Knock it off. But I stopped thinking like that. It worried me, the part about losing her. I was really afraid of losing her.
"Here we are," she smiled and picked up her martini glass. She clinked it against the rim of my glass.
"Gin?" I asked, looking at her glass.
"Vodka."
She sipped her drink and I sipped mine.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
"Didn't you see my hospital records?"
"No. We didn't see any of that."
"You saw enough," I said. She ignored the remark and stared straight at me.
"I've lived all over."
"What're you doing here?"
"One more shot at the big time."
"What do you mean?"
"This is a farm club. Always a chance to make it with the Vikings out of here."
"What are you?"
"Quarterback."
"Why do you play?"
"I like it. It pays."
"You could get killed."
"Sure. Walking in the street."
"Do you always talk like this?"
"No," I said.
"Let's not."
"Fine," I said. "What is the ring?" Mary Cassidy was very beautiful. I looked at her hair and eyes and her lovely, white skin. She wore what looked like a man's ring on her right hand. It had a crest with wings on it.
"I was going to marry him," she said. She glanced briefly at the ring. "He was a pilot. He was shot down in the South China Sea last year."
"I'm sorry."
"It's all right. He's dead."
"Crappy war."
"Were you in the service?"
"Three years. It was another war then."
"What did you do?"
"Infantry."
"Oh," she said.
"Let's drop the war. Let's talk about you."
"I said I'd tell you why."
"O.K."
"I can't stand anybody to touch me. Not since he was killed."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. I just can't stand it."
"I danced with you."
"That's different."
"I see."
"I'm sorry," she said. "You must have thought I thought you had a disease. Who was that girl?"
"Who was what?"
"That terrible girl in the hospital."
"Then you knew?"
"I hated you," she said.
"You don't hate me now?"
"You're not as I thought."
"I didn't ask that girl in."
"You didn't put her out, either."
"I'm only human."
"Subhuman," she said.
"You're going to have me back talking about the war in a minute."
I looked at her eyes. They were beautiful. I reached and took her hand. She didn't move and I covered her hand with my hand.
"Let's get out of here," I said.
"No." she said. She drew her hand away.
"Why not?"
"You know why. Let's dance."
"Wait a minute," I said. I called the waitress over and ordered another round.
When we were in the other room dancing, I said, "Haven't you tried to figure it out?"
"I was very much in love with him. We went together all through high school and college."
"Did you ever sleep with him?"
"Don't talk like that, please."
I was holding her hands. They felt cold. My hands were warm.
"You ought to figure it out," I said.
"I've tried."
"What happens when somebody kisses you?" "I feel rotten. I was never like that."
"He's been dead a year."
"I know."
"You're very beautiful." I took her by the hand and led her back to the table. Our drinks were there. Damn, I wanted a drink suddenly. I felt edgy. No, I felt the desire for a drink, and I fought it off, but I could feel it hanging around the edge of my lips, trickling down into my chest.
"Let's get out of here," I said.
"I knew you wouldn't enjoy it."
"Not your fault," I said. "Come on. Let's get out of here." I stood up. "I want a drink. Badly. Maybe I won't if we get out of here."
We drove across town. It was dark and chilly. I turned on the heater. We passed a park. It was dark and out of the streetlights. I parked beside the curb. I turned and looked at her.
"Look," I said. "I like you a helluva lot. Maybe I can help you."
She laughed. "Oh, God, you can do better than that."
"I'm not kidding."
I clenched both fists tightly. I thought of a massage girl in Thailand. She had taught me a lot. I counted to five. I unclenched my fists and. stretched my fingers wide.
"What're you doing?"
"Take it easy," I said. "Nobody's going to make a pass at you."
I shook my hands rapidly back and forth. My wrists and fingers felt loose. I turned toward her.
"Take it easy," I said. "I'm not making a pass at you."
"What is this?" she asked. She sounded scared. We looked at each other in the dark.
I lifted my hands. She clasped her face in her hands and drew her head back. I did not move my hands. We sat half-turned, facing each other.
Be gentle, I thought. Make the touch relaxing.
"Close your eyes," I said softly. I brought my hands nearer the side of her face. She did not move. I put three fingers on each side of her face. I pressed slowly and gently.
"Please, please," she said, but did not move.
I made a slow circular movement on each side of her face, two fingers against her temple, my thumbs against her cheeks. I did not rub over the flesh, but felt the muscles move in her cheeks and along the side of her head. I did it three times and then moved my fingers down an inch or two and made the same slow circular motion.
I felt her jaw and face relax. I continued making the same circular motion. I drew my hands an inch away. She did not move. I could hear her breathing. Her eyes were closed.
I lowered the little finger of each hand against her cheek, just grazing her cheek, then drew it back, at the same time ever so lightly grazing her flesh. I touched my index finger upon her cheek and just as it finished grazing her cheek, I gently lowered my middle fingers and grazed her cheeks so there was only one finger of each hand over touching her skin at the same time.
"Ah-hhhh," she said. Then, with all four fingers of each hand pressed together, I ran them smoothly and lightly up and down her cheeks to her temple and down to her chin. I could feel my cock tingling, her skin tingling.
I brushed her lips gently with my lips. Her head jerked back immediately and she struck at my hands.
"You said!" she cried.
I turned away. I didn't say anything. I started the car and drove along the street silently.
To hell with you, Cassidy, I thought for a second. I was sore at her, but knew I didn't have any right to be sore. She touched my arm.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I can't. You're nice. Please understand."
"I'm not nice."
"Yes. You are nice. Really, I can't."
I wanted to hold her close, to hold her tenderly, to kiss her tenderly, to feel her heart beating against mine, her lips opening softly, her mouth opening against my mouth.
To hell with it, I thought. I didn't know what her hang-up was. But I was willing to wait. I felt a tenderness toward her I hadn't felt in a long time. I didn't understand it. It had been so long since I had felt this way toward a girl. Screw 'em and leave 'em. I did not want to leave Mary.
After a while we arrived at her apartment. I walked with her to her door and she went in and I drove back to the motel. I went into my room. The landlady was lying in my bed. She looked at me and smiled.
"Who's the girlfriend?" '
"Screw off."
"Now you're talking."
She pushed back the covers. She lay there naked. It's true. A cock has no conscience. I could have walked out of the room. But I didn't.
"I'm pooped," I said.
"Tell me another," she said. "You'll feel really sleepy in a little while."
"For Chrissake," I said, feeling my cock getting hard. She saw it happening.
"Come here, Smokey Bear." She laughed.
I tripped on my shoes snapping the lights off and got into bed. It was dark. I didn't have to look at her. She tried to turn the bed light on and I stopped her.
"What's a matter?" she asked.
"I'm afraid of the light."
She laughed and I turned off my head when I started seeing Mary Cassidy in my mind. It didn't take long. And the landlady was right. I fell asleep in a hurry.