Hunger and Thirst (44 page)

Something seemed to flicker between them, impelled by the music. An idea, a sensation, a sudden response. His hand tightened on her’s. They drank in the sight of each other, holding themselves fast with their eyes. Her lips moved slightly as if she were about to speak. He saw her exhale through parted lips. Then she turned away quickly and he saw her breasts swell out and knew that her temples were coloring even though it was too dimly lit to see.

He turned back front.

Some moments he was deep in each pulsation of music. Others, he was deeply conscious of himself and of her. Once, he knew, she was looking at him, but he didn’t turn. And, after a while, she returned her gaze to the orchestra.

* * * *

During intermission they went down into the basement and Erick showed her the Dramatic’s Green Room. Both the Green Room and the Drama office were locked up. They peered in through the glass windows.

“Not very exciting,” he said.

“That’s because there are no people there,” she said.

Their faces were close together as they looked. He could smell her perfume. His cheek brushed against her’s. She took in a little shuddering breath. He turned suddenly and kissed her cheek lightly. She touched his hand.

“Erick,” she said, softly.

* * * *

The concert ended and there was an encore and they all went out into the hall again. They passed Felix and two other football players. Felix looked at Erick with stolid venom.

“I hope he doesn’t know where I live,” Erick said.

“Why?” she asked.

“He’ll come there and break my neck.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, “Felix is a nice boy.”

“Brutus is an honorable man.”

She gave him an off-glance. “I wonder what brought them here,” he said to clear the air.

“I don’t know,” she said.

As they walked up the campus, he asked her, “Do you have to go anywhere tonight?”

“No,” she asked, “Why?”

“Well,” he said, “I th-thought you might like to see a movie.”

“Why I’d love to!” she said.

Sudden happiness welled up into him again, the entire series starting over again. Just being with her, he thought, having her boundless happiness beside me. It did something to him.

They decided to go to the Variety Theatre. It was the least expensive show in town. She insisted she wanted to see the picture again.

“Hungry?” he asked her. “Just a little,” she said.

They went downtown to a cafe.

A waitress handed them two menus.

“What will you have Sally?”

“Oh, just a sandwich and a cup of coffee.”

“Oh, have more than that.”

“I never eat much on Sunday night,” she said.

“But I’m going to have dinner.”

“Well, of course, if you didn’t have it yet. Really, Erick, all I want is a sandwich.”

They ordered.

While they were waiting, he asked, “How old are you Sally?”

“Twenty-three.”

“That old? I feel like a child,” he said.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen next month.”

“Oh! What day?”

“The twenty-second.”

She seemed to concentrate a moment. “The twenty-second,” she repeated and he knew suddenly that he would receive a card from her on that day. It would be just like Sally.

“You’re four years older than I am,” Erick said.

“That’s nothing,” she said, “My mother is fifteen years older than my father.”

He felt himself start. She didn’t seem to notice. He wondered if her remark meant anything. It couldn’t, so soon, he thought.

The food was brought and they started to eat.

“What do you want out of life?” he asked her after some idle conversation about food and music.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “I’d like children.”

“I trust you’re planning on marriage first,” he kidded.

She looked serious. “I’m glad you said that,” she said, “Most of the fellows I know don’t seem to think marriage is necessary.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And it gets upsetting. Just last week a boy casually asked me to sleep with him.”

He knew he winced. He didn’t want to but he couldn’t help it. It was as if suddenly it were revealed to him that she was a woman with a woman’s body and desires and that he was not quite prepared to admit it to himself, thinking, perhaps unconsciously, that it would mar attraction if he thought she could lust like anyone else.

“I h-hope you spat in his eye,” he said, wanting to strike himself in the mouth for stuttering.

“I let him know how far off base he was,” she said, seeming not to notice his falter.

“I guess that happens pretty often to you,” he said, without thinking.

“Why
me
?” She looked concerned.

“Well, I mean … you have such a … a stunning figure,” he flustered, “And … well, you’re so warm and friendly. It gives a fellow ideas.”

“You?”

“Here’s dessert,” he said. But he knew he couldn’t get out of it that way. In a moment he said, “You can trust me Sally. Does th …”

“Thank you,” she broke in, “Oh, I’m sorry, what were you going to say?”

“Nothing. I was just about to say—Does that sound corny?”

She reached out her hand and closed it over his, tenderly.

“Oh
no
, Erick,” she said.

They walked up the block to the theatre.

“Popcorn?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” she said. He got himself a box.

They slid in past a few people and sat down. A newsreel was on. “Good,” she said quietly, leaning over, “We’ll see the picture from the start.” He smiled. Little thing, he thought. But he always hated coming in a picture too.

Her hand took his again. It was a habit now. It would have seemed unnatural for her not to do it. He felt as though they belonged together.

A cartoon came on. A series of incredible sadisms in technicolor, he recalled Lynn having called them.

Sally leaned over. “May I have some of your popcorn?”

“Sure,” he said, “Don’t you want me to get you a box?”

“No, no. I just want a little.”

“Okay.”

He took out his glasses. He reached for his handkerchief but she took the glasses. “I’ll clean them,” she said. She took a tissue from her handbag and breathed on the lens and polished them clean. Then she handed them back.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

“Popcorn?”

“Mmm! Thank you.”

They sat munching while a savage mouse degraded and tortured a cat. Every once in a while, she reached over and took some popcorn.

“Just a little, huh?” Erick asked, kidding.

“Isn’t it all right?” she said, almost wistfully.

He smiled. “Of course it is.”

“I don’t like to eat from a separate box.”

He didn’t know what it was. The words weren’t romantic. It was what they seemed to say. They acted like a drug on him, filling him, choking off his breath. He turned to her and looked. But the glare from the screen blurred his glasses and he couldn’t see. But he felt her fingers tightening in his. And she spoke his name. Very softly.

* * * *

“Did you like that?” he asked as they came out.

“I like the way Vera-Ellen dances,” she said.

“She
is
good. Do you dance like that?”

“Not in a million years,” she said, determinedly, “Oh, hi!” she said to a young man who walked past.

“Gad, but you have acquaintances,” Erick said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“I dated him once,” she said matter of factly. Then she looked at her watch. “The bus doesn’t come for fifteen minutes. We have time for a cup of coffee if you’ll buy me one,” she said.

“Delighted, ma’am.”

“Gee, I had a nice time today,” she said as they sat waiting for the coffee at the drugstore counter.

“Good,” he said, “So did I.”

She smiled. “Did you? I’m so glad. We’ll have to do it again.”

“We will.”

They had to run for the bus. They sat in the back puffing and his hand took hers for a change. It seemed natural. He knew he couldn’t have done it with anyone but her though.

“My coffee is gurgling,” he said.

“So is mine,” she said and they laughed.

Then, when the bus started, he suddenly realized he couldn’t say anything to her. A cloud of muteness seemed to fall over him. He felt tight and restless. They were almost to the end of the date and he knew how much he wanted to kiss her. But he didn’t know how he could go about it and it made him ill at ease. Every word seemed futile now. He heard himself saying various things but he couldn’t remember from instant to instant what he’d said and he couldn’t follow the thread of the conversation very well. She must have been equally upset he thought because she didn’t seem to notice his confusion.

After a few minutes she just smiled at him and tightened her fingers and leaned against him a little as if she understood everything and were consoling him. His stomach felt tight with unrealized desire.

When they got off the bus, his heart began to beat rapidly. He felt almost a desperate urge to put his arms around her and hold her tightly.

“Don’t forget this corner,” she said.

“I will,” he said, “I mean I won’t.”

The words were spoken by someone else. He wondered why she was walking so slowly, as if she wanted to stop. And finally, they did and he knew why. She took a deep breath and looked up at him.

“Leo is having some friends in,” she said quietly.

It was everything; a statement, a sigh, an invitation.

It happened so quickly and so easily. That’s what he remembered the most. How fast and how easy it was.

How his arms slid around her and she moved in close. How there was nothing awkward about the way he kissed her warm cheeks, her ear lobes, her neck, and how he buried his face in her warm silky hair and breathed in deeply of its richly perfumed fragrance.

“Erick,” she whispered, her breathing faster. They rubbed their cheeks together. A sharp breeze flowed over them. And she made a soft noise as he lifted her chin with a shaking hand.

Their eyes met. Hers were glistening as though the moment were too much and she had to cry. Her lips trembled. He moved his face closer and closer and their eyes were always on each other.

Then he felt her warm breath on him and his lips touched hers. They pressed closer, she molded her mouth on his. He felt her convulsive shudder and the sudden sliding and tightening of her arms around his neck.

It was a long passionate kiss. Her lips were full and soft, parted slightly. She moved her head gently as their mouths clung together.

Finally, their lips separated and she pressed her cheek against his.

“Oh, Erick,” she murmured, shaking.

“Sally.”

“Why were you so angry with me that night?” she asked, almost unhappily.

“Angry
? When?”

“When I met you. You didn’t even look up at me when I said goodnight.”

“I was … angry at myself.”

“Why?”

“Because you were with Felix instead of me.”

She drew back a little and looked into his eyes as if for vindication of his words.

Then she said, “Oh!” and pressed her mouth passionately on his. She kept drawing her lips away a fraction of an inch and kissing his mouth again and again.

“Erick, Erick” she whispered, almost frantically and clung to him with all her strength.

For a long moment they were silent, holding onto each other.

Then she said, “I guess … I’d better go in.”

“All right.”

They walked slowly toward the house, arms around each other.

“Say goodbye to me here,” she said at the porch steps.

Her arms slid around his neck and her mouth pressed softly against his. She kissed his cheek.

“Goodnight, darling,” she said.

“Goodnight.”

They moved apart and he went down the steps slowly, their hands being the last to separate, as if reluctantly.

He turned to go. Then, impelled, he turned back.

She was standing motionless on the porch, watching him.

Everything seemed to vibrate beneath him. And she came down the steps, rushing, and threw herself into his arms. She kissed him almost violently, her chest heaving, her mouth open. And he felt as if he were lost in her, absorbed by her lips and clinging body.

“Oh darling,
darling!
” she whispered breathlessly when their lips had parted.

“This is incredible,” he murmured, feeling dizzy.

“It is, it
is,”
she said.

She held onto him a long moment. Then she looked up with a smile of resignation.

“I have to go in,” she said.

“All right,” he said again. He kissed her. “Good night Sally.”

“Good night, darling,” she said, and kissed him back, gently.

Then he turned away and walked dizzily down the path, the blood rushing through his body, the heat still clinging to him. He turned once and saw her blow him a kiss from the door. He raised his arm. Then, impulsively, he broke into a run up the street and stood panting under the lamppost, waiting for the bus.

“Oh my god,” he said, “
Oh my God.”

Then, a callous despoiler of all dreams, his stomach contracted, making him shiver. He gritted his teeth. But he had to laugh out loud at the utter incongruity of trembling romance and throbbing kidneys.

“Hell of a note,” he informed the stars, “Do I have to go!”

* * * *

She was always primping him, adjusting his tie with an adoring smile, brushing his blonde hair back with a gentle hand. Doing all things for him with much loving care.

Her general effect was one of all-pervading warmth. It shone out from her and touched him through her every word and glance. It seemed as if she could give her entire self with a touch of her fingers. As if she were transferring herself wholly in an instant, filling him with herself.

They went out a lot together.

To movies, to concerts and plays, dancing. And, although the evenings always ended with her in his arms, they never mentioned love. Once she wrote him a poem entitled,
Don’t Speak of Love
. It entreated him not to speak of it until he was certain.

He was never certain.