The Erection Set

“It’s fun, Dog. I haven’t done it in a long time.”

“Tell me about it tomorrow when you have pneumonia,” I said.

“Will there be tomorrow?”

“Sure. You’re giving me a sense of responsibility.”

“Like taking in a stray bird?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, I’ll call you. Full of health and vigor and youth ...” She stopped and the humor left her face. ”I ... didn’t mean it that way .. ”

“Kitten,” I reminded her, “I ain’t no stripling. I look in the mirror every day when I shave. The gray is there and the lines are beginning to show. It happens to everybody.”

“I like you that way.”

“Good, since I don’t have a choice. Besides, kicking around with you is a little rejuvenating. It brings me back to the old days.”

“Mondo Beach?”

The glass stopped halfway to my mouth. “How’d you know about that?”

Her eyes danced a little bit. “Because I’m originally from the same neck of the woods as you. About six miles away. When I was little we used to go to the north end of the strip ... the part the Barrins didn’t have fenced off for their estate. Sometimes we’d swim around the jetty and picnic on their property, pretending we were rich.”

“How about that.”

“Did you ever go there, Dog?”

“A few times. I was pretty much of a loner.”

“Tell you something else,” Sharon added. “My father worked for Barrin Industries ... oh, about fifteen years. I was even inside the big house once when Dad had to deliver some reports from the factory.”

“Small world. You never should have left the countryside. What the hell you see in the city is beyond me.”

“Commerce, big Dog. One has to clothe and feed oneself. I’m not exactly the factory type and there was nothing left for me in the old hometown once Dad died. You ought to know the feeling.”

I pulled over the peanut bowl and stuck it between us. “My leaving wasn’t entirely voluntary. I was encouraged. Hell, if you haven’t heard the old stories you’re missing a lot of scoop.”

“Oh, we heard things, but mostly it was overhearing what the grown-ups were talking about. It didn’t make much of an impression. Just before I left, there was a lot of hoopla going on about those girl cousins of yours. I never paid much attention to it. You’re going to be quite a shock to them, aren’t you?”

“My lawyer is preparing them for the strain,” I glanced at her. “Why are you so curious about the Barrins?”

“I guess I’m still hungry for any news from home. I haven’t been back since I left.”

“Good. Let’s take a crack at it together.”

She looked at me a few seconds, smiled and nodded. “Okay. When?”

“Tomorrow ... if you can get off.”

“Mr. S. C. Cable is damn well indebted to me, Kelly boy. My time is my own for a while.”

I looked at my watch. It was after one in the morning. “Then let me get you home. It’s going to be a short night. Where do you live?”

“Not far. We can walk.”

I shook my head and laughed, threw some money on the bar, grabbed a handful of peanuts and held out her raincoat. “Come on, seal,” I said.

Her apartment was a high rise on the East Side, a modem slab of polished concrete and glass that towered next to its twin, presided over by uniformed doormen with calculating eyes that could read through any pretense but couldn’t quite accept reality.

Sharon’s offer of a nightcap was warm and for real and she let me open the door of her apartment, entered ahead of me switching on the lights, then hung our coats in the foyer closet. “You make the drinks,” she said. “The bar’s over there and I’m going to change, as they say, into something more comfortable. At least dry.” She let out another tinkly laugh. “You’ll just have to suffer. I don’t think you’d look very good in one of my housecoats.”

“I’ll live.”

I made the drinks, then toured the room, wondering how the hell anybody could stand the cold efficiency of modem living. Everything was functional American, conscientiously decorated according to the rulebook of Manhattan. It took a few minutes before I recognized what was wrong. There was nothing personal about the place at all. It was just that ... a place. Like hotel suites that came out of their own rulebooks.

Her voice came from the darkened comer of the room and I could feel her eyes watching me. “What are you thinking, Dog?”

“How long have you been here?”

“Four years. Why?”

“This isn’t a girl’s place at all.” I turned around and she walked into the light, a picture of loveliness in a sheer blouse knotted under her breasts and a gamin skirt that swirled around those lovely legs. Her hair was up under a turban that made her look like something from the Arabian Nights and I felt a thump in my stomach before I got hold of myself.

“Strange observation. Most men would never notice it. But you’re right.” She took the drink I held out and folded up on the plastic couch with her legs tucked under her, then settled back, smiling. “I can’t call an apartment in Manhattan home. I just live here. I don’t even want to fake it with all the nice little goodies women usually enjoy playing with. I’d rather wait.”

“For what?”

“The real home I’m going to have.”