The Spiked Heel

Well, all right, she thought, all right, I won’t touch you. Okay, okay, I won’t touch you, didn’t know you were so fussy about things like that, anyway, and how did I get in a cab with you, anyway, who asked you to take me home, I was having a good time, wasn’t I?

“I was having a good time,” she said aloud.

“That’s nice,” he said.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, nothing, sure, nothing. You sit there like… like I don’t know what and you say nothing. All right, nothing. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m not going to force you to tell me anything, anything at all. Just sit there, clam. Just sit there and make pearls inside your shell, clam.”

“Oysters make—”

“I know all about oysters,” Marge said angrily, pulling herself to one side of the cab. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“No,” he said.

“Well, you’re not.” She couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason for her sudden indignation, but she was indignant as all hell, and she imagined it had something to do with Griff’s attitude. After all, she really hadn’t had that much to drink, and besides her head was absolutely clear now — well, almost. “You’re an old…” She sought a word. “I don’t know. You’re just an old.”

“Clam,” Griff supplied.

“Yes. ’Zactly.”

“All right, Marge,” he said.

“All right, Marge. Nice little girl, Marge. Here’s a pat on the head, Marge. Here, Margie, Margie, Margie.” She tried a whistle, as if she were calling a dog, but the whistle came out as an inadequate puff of air. “You know what?” she asked.

“What?”

“You’ve got no sense of humor.”

“Maybe not,” he said.

“Don’t sound so proud. It isn’t good to have no sense of humor. The trouble with everybody today is that they don’t know when they’re happy. They have to be told when they’re happy.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right. Mac said so.”

“Oh. Then it must be right.”

“And you see? He didn’t try anything, anything at all. He was a perfect gentleman, and he got me drinks all night, which is a lot more than you did.”

“That’s true,” Griff said.

“Am I drunk?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Well, then, I’m drunk, So what?”

“So nothing. I wish I were drunk.”

“You do not. If you wished you were drunk, you’d be drunk.”

“Suppose I wished… well, never mind.”

“Anything you wish, you get. I wished I was a model, and tonight I was a model. You see?”

“I see.”

“You do not. You’re trying to humor me. Only you haven’t got a sense of humor.”

“I’m just a clam. Clams never laugh.”

“No, but they make pearls.”

“Oysters—”

“Don’t talk about clams or oysters, please,” she said. “I don’t think I feel so good.”

“All right.”

“You’re a very accommodating fellow, did you know that? My wish is your command. You’re kind, courteous, sincere—”

“Yes, I know. I’m a gem.”

“Hey, do you know something?”

“What?”

“I think there were a lot of sluts there tonight. What do you think of that?”

“It’s entirely likely,” Griff said.

“Certainly. Even Mac said so. Well, you know, he was talking about one with you, before you shook hands.”

“Yes,” Griff said.

“Was he trying to hurt you?”

“When?”

“When he shook hands with you?”

“No.”

“Oh. I thought he was trying to hurt you.”

“No.”

“I thought he was.” She wet her lips. “I like April.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Don’t you like April?”

“It’s all right, I suppose.”

“I keep forgetting. Clams don’t like anything.”

“Except other clams.”

“How do clams…?” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oops, never mind.”

“The same way oysters do,” he said.

“It must be dull.” She hiccupped. “Excuse me.”

“You’re excused.”

“April is very nice and misty. It always reminds me of sad songs, ‘Yesterday’s Gardenias’ or ‘Blue Rain’ or ‘Serenade in Blue,’ songs like that.”

“You left out the most important one,” Griff said.

“Which?”

“‘I Remember April.’”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes. And ‘Laura.’ That’s an April song, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You feel like growing in April, don’t you? Everything else is growing, and you feel like growing with it, don’t you? Do clams grow?”

“Clams grow.”

“In April?”

“In April.”

“Maybe it isn’t so bad being a clam. In April. I can’t see it during January. Clams must be very lonely in January.”

“Well, it’s a lonely life,” Griff said, “but we try to manage.”

“Are you feeling a little better now?”

“Yes, a little.”

“That’s good. Hey, did Mac hurt you?”

“No.”

“What were you doing then? You looked like two kids trying to… I don’t know. You looked sort of stupid.”

“Did we?”

Marge shrugged. “I could use a cup of coffee, do you know that?”

“We can stop somewhere.”

“No, no, I’ll make some for us when we get home.”

“Your parents…”

“No, I don’t live with my parents. Didn’t you know that? I used to live with a roommate, but she got married. I moved out of my parents’ house when I was twenty-one. I think that’s significant.”

“Is it?”

“Certainly. When you’re twenty-one, you’re on your own. That’s the way I feel. You don’t live with your parents, do you?”

“My parents are dead,” Griff said.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right.”

“Oh, Griff, I’m so terribly sorry. Griff, you make me feel like crying.”

“They’ve been dead a long time,” Griff said.