Out on the Cutting Edge

A couple of men left. One came in, conferred with Tom in an undertone, and went out again. A man in a suit and tie came in, had a double vodka, drank it right down, ordered another, drank that right down, put a ten-dollar bill on the bar, and walked out. This entire exchange was carried out without a word from him or the bartender.

On the television set, Flynn and Reagan went up against Raymond Massey's version of John Brown at Harper's Ferry. Van Heflin, rotten little opportunist that he was, got what was coming to him.

I got out of there while the credits were rolling. I scooped up my change, put a couple of bucks back on the bar for Tom, and left.

Outside, I asked myself what the hell I'd thought I was doing there.

Earlier I'd been thinking of Eddie, and then I'd looked up and found myself in front of the place he'd been afraid to get near. Maybe I went in myself in order to get a sense of who he'd been before I knew him.

Maybe I was hoping for a peek at the Butcher Boy himself, the notorious Mickey Ballou.

What I'd found was a ginmill, and what I'd done was hang out in it.

Strange.

I called Willa from my room. "I was just looking at your flowers,"

she said.

"They're your flowers," I said. "I gave them to you."

"No strings attached, huh?"

"No strings. I was wondering if you felt like a movie."

"What movie?"

"I don't know. Why don't I come by for you around six or a little after? We'll see what's playing on Broadway and get a bite later."

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"It's my treat."

"It was your treat last night."

"What was last night? Oh, we had Chinese. Did I pay for that?"

"You insisted."

"Well, shit. Then you can pay for dinner."

"That was my plan."

"But the movie's on me."

"We'll split the movie."

"We'll work it out when you get here. What time? Six?"

"Around then."

She wore the blue silk blouse again, this time over loose khaki fatigues with drawstring cuffs. Her hair was braided in twin pigtails, in the style of an Indian maiden. I took hold of her pigtails and held them out at the sides. "Always different," I said.

"I'm probably too old for long hair."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? I don't even care, anyway. I wore it short for years. It's fun to be able to do things with it."

We kissed, and I tasted scotch on her breath. It wasn't shocking anymore. Once you got used to it, it was a pleasant taste.

We kissed a second time. I moved my mouth to her ear, then down along her neck. She clung to me and heat flowed from her loins and breasts.

She said, "What time's the movie?"

"Whenever we get there."

"Then there's no hurry, is there?"

We went to a first-run house on Times Square. Harrison Ford triumphed over Palestinian terrorists. He was no match for Errol Flynn, but he was a cut above Reagan.

Afterward we went to Paris Green again. She tried the filet of sole and approved of it. I stayed with what I'd had the other night, cheeseburger and fries and salad.

She had white wine with her meal, just a glass of it, and brandy with her coffee.

We talked a little about her marriage, and then a little about mine.

Over coffee I found myself talking about Jan, and about how things had gone wrong.

"It's a good thing you kept your hotel room," she said. "What would it cost if you gave it up and then wanted to move back in?"

"I couldn't do it. It's inexpensive for a hotel, but they get sixty-five dollars a night for their cheapest single. What does that come to? Two thousand dollars a month?"

"Around there."

"Of course they'd give you some kind of a monthly rate, but it would still have to be well over a thousand dollars. If I had moved out I couldn't possibly afford to move back in. I'd have had to get an apartment somewhere, and I might have had trouble finding one I could afford in Manhattan." I considered. "Unless I got serious and found some kind of real job for myself."

"Could you do that?"

"I don't know. A year or so ago there was a guy who wanted me to go in with him and open a bona fide detective agency. He thought we could get a lot of industrial work, trademark infringement, employee pilferage control, that sort of thing."

"You weren't interested?"

"I was tempted. It's a challenge, making a go of something like that. But I like the space in the life I lead now. I like to be able to go to a meeting whenever I want, or just take a walk in the park or sit for two hours reading everything in the paper. And I like where I live. It's a dump, but it suits me."

"You could open a legitimate agency and still stay where you are."

I nodded. "But I don't know if it would still suit me. People who succeed usually want the trappings of success to justify the energy they have to put into it. They spend more money, and they get used to it, and then they need the money. I like the fact that I don't need very much. My rent's cheap, and I really like it that way."

"It's so funny."

"What is?"

"This city. Start talking about anything and you wind up talking about real estate."

"I know."

"It's impossible to avoid. I put a sign by the doorbells, No Apartments Available."