Window Shopping

"She's really beautiful," Emily whispered, her voice hoarse. Her chest rose and fell slowly and she lay her cigarette still lit upon the banister. "Damn that's a big dildo."

"You've seen one of those before?"

"Yeah." Emily spoke breathlessly as if the sight before us brought back some tingling memory that absorbed all but a shred of her concentration. I turned my eyes from Lisa to my friend, who stood next to me, arms crossed except for the cigarette dangling from her hand. I could see the tension in her body, shifting nervously as she watched. Her large nipples stood out like berries beneath her thin dress. She turned and grinned at me. "What are you looking at, Gary? The show's over there."

But Lisa slid down her blinds ending the free show.

"Lord I need a glass of cold, cold water."

I laughed and got up to get us both a glass. "I can't believe she showed us that dildo.

"Me either. I'd like to be on the other end of that."

"Maybe she did it send you a message."

"Maybe she did. I gave her enough hints."

"So go knock on her door."

"Are you kidding?"

"Why not? Aren't double headers a classic lesbian toy."

"Straights use them too. You can bend them around and . . . " Emily stopped short and then grinned at me."

And I got another image in my mind of Emily taking the soft shaft and turning it on herself for double penetration.

"I know what you're thinking. You're wondering how that would work. I'm so horny that I'd show you if I had one."

"So go borrow Lisa's."

"Yeah, I can see that now. I just stopped over to see if you had a cup of sugar and a dildo. No problem."

"Yeah, but maybe she wants you to come over and get in the driver's seat."

"Honey, I'm a catcher. Haven't you noticed that I usually date butches?"

"Not really. You don't date people who look like men."

"Butch isn't a haircut. Lisa is very feminine. Plus she likes guys. Probably just a baby dyke dabbling."

"Still, she's pretty, she hasn't anyone to occupy the other end of that phallus. And she kissed you in the bathroom. With intent, I assume."

"Yeah, there was intent. You dirty bastard, Gary, you're trying to get me laid."

"What's good for the goose . . ."

"I ought to goose you."

"I'd like it too much."

"Yes, you would Gary. But what excuse would I use?" I went to my cupboard and pulled out a decent cabernet and two wine glasses. "Bring her a bottle of wine, she can turn you down decently but at least you have an excuse, and something to do if she isn't in the mood."

"Good plan. I'll try it. I'll eat her alive."

Emily slid open the screen to my porch and disappeared inside. I was half drunk, but decided to visit my refrigerator and get one more. Emily hadn't slept with anyone since her breakup with Mary. I found myself wishing she were with me, and stopped to think about it. Maybe if she got some I would too. Sometimes things happened that way, you give up something to get something else.

Yeah right. That sounded too much like some psychic crap. Karma seemed like wishful thinking to me.

A moment later I spotted a light turn on in Lisa's living room. I watched her walk across the room and then I saw Emily's taller silhouette through the curtains. I saw her pour a glass of wine. A few moments later the two figures came together.

The necked standing for a time then lowered themselves until they disappeared from view. The lights stayed on but I saw no more. Somehow the whiskey bottle came out, and I told myself again and again that it was okay, that the woman I love had found someone that it was good, and I could bear it.

Again and again, I told myself and hoped to believe it.

* * *

"Wake up sleepyhead."

I awoke with a start. My head was pounding, and my stomach shaking. The sun was bright in my eyes. I was still in the chair on my porch, still wearing my leigh and Hawaiian shirt. The bottle of V.O. sat empty at my side, the glass, half full.

"Where are you?" It was Emily.

I stood up just before Emily pulled open the screen door. "Oh my God! Look at you! Did you pass out on the porch last night?"

I nodded and braced myself against the wall. "I think I need an aspirin."

"I think you need more than that. You look terrible! Come to bed."

I stumbled after her into my mercifully dark apartment. "My God, you're still in those clothes." She led me to the bedroom. My stomach heaved, and I made a quick detour to the bathroom."

Fortunately nothing much came up. I found some naproxen and slammed down a double dose. It didn't sit well, but it sat. Emily unbuttoned my shirt as I stumbled to bed. I didn't last long.

**`*

I awoke a few hours later, my head down to a dull roar. The scent of fresh coffee filled my nostrils, and I came out. Emily was asleep in my easy chair with her laptop. She shook her head and smiled when I shambled into the living room. "You look a lot better. When I saw you this morning you looked like Death himself."

"I felt like dying. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to make sure you'd be okay."

"My stomach is fine now. Do you want some coffee?"

"Absolutely. Why did you drink that much? I haven't seen that bottle out for a long time."

I told her I had been thinking of Theresa because I knew she'd believe it.

She grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me direct in the eye. "Gary, listen to me. You can't carry a torch forever sweetie. Theresa's the kind of person whose career will always be more important to her than any man."

"It seems like I always fall for the wrong girl."

"You and me both, sweetie."

"So it didn't go well between you and Lisa."

"Au contraire. She fucked me within an inch of my life." And she closed her eyes, and shimmied to emphasize what must have been wild.

"Wow."

"Don't get too excited. Lisa's a party girl."

"Maybe you can change her mind."

"I doubt it. People are what they are."

"Do you have a thing for straight girls?"

"That would be silly. Love is mostly about luck anyway. You have to meet the right person at the right time in your and their life."

I forced a laugh. Emily grinned at me. "Speaking of sex with straight girls do you know who hit on me this morning?"

"Huh?"

"Patsy Bennett in 11-F."

"Her? I thought she was Suzy Homemaker. She's got all those yellow ribbons and such on her car."

"It seems her husband has a two-girl fantasy. Seeing Lisa and I dance together pushed them over the edge"

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing. She's not really into it, and I don't want to waste a few hours wrestling with some girl who doesn't want to be there just to please some man. Plus if I was going to do a threesome it wouldn't be with Mike."

"Who would you choose? Brad Pitt?"

"I'm more an Ed Norton kind of girl."

"Ed Norton?"

"He's sweet."

"I would never have guessed."

"What about you. What guy would you have your threesome with?"

"Don't you mean 'what woman'?"

"Answer the question white man. What guy?"

"Gosh, I'd never thought about it . . .. Probably Michael Douglas because he'd bring Catherine Zeta-Jones."

"What a guy you are."

"That's right."

"You ought to consider how women often prefer sensitive men with an edge."

"Is that my problem. Not enough edge."

"Not sensitive enough. If you really understood you'd have chosen some metrosexual."

"But I don't want to go to bed with a man."

"Yet men expect their straight girlfriend to go down on another woman."

"I'm not Mike Bennett."

"Thank heaven for that. If you had been her husband, I might have said yes."

"Really?"

"No. Patsy would still have been a problem."

"I would never marry Patsy."

"Why not? She's voluptuous and has a good job."

"She has the personality of an unsalted cracker."

Emily laughed. "Oh, a vicious streak! I hadn't seen that in you before. You may learn how to mimic bad boys yet. But you'll never be one. Are you going to be in trouble for not going into work this morning?"

"Not with the near all-nighter I pulled Wednesday."

"Good. Well, now that you're up and going home to plan tonight's wardrobe."

"Are you and Lisa going out again?"

"I'm making her dinner."

"Sounds romantic."

"I hope so."

"Maybe her boyfriend works weekends."

"If it was serious wouldn't he come over late for some hootchie cootchie?"

"He might have my job."

Emily laughed. "Honey, you still found time for Theresa. You always find time for me, even though I'm a bitchy dyke. Lisa would have been waiting up for you."

I laughed, but I watched her every move while she slinked out the door. I decided this would be a good day to go into the office. Work does such a fine job of occupying the mind, on that day I wanted not to think. I was glad for Emily. And jealous as well, jealous of them both.

It didn't get any worse. I didn't see a lot of Em that week, except briefly through Lisa's window. It looked like the affair was on. The only time she stopped by was to ask me if she looked 'right'. She always looked better than right so I didn't have to lie.

On Friday I did something I never, ever do. I went in to the strip club I pass on the way home. The lot was full and the bouncer tried to mix friendliness and intimidation as he shock me down for the cover. It was dark and smelled of weak cigarettes, nothing like Emily's Gitanes. A long haired latino girl danced around a pole illuminated in bright purple light. I made my way to the bar passing a tall black girl with butch hair and enormous breasts. She winked at me and I couldn't help but notice the bills hanging from her garter.

I grabbed an open stool. To my left a middle aged construction worker stroked the back of a tiny oriental girl. She pressed her breast against his bicep and sipped from a low glass. The bartender wore tight black pants, high heals and white oxford, unbuttoned just enough to give me a peek down her shirt. And I peeked.

"What'll it be, sugar?"

'Sam Adams." I turned away to look at the Latin dancer, who was in the process of taking down her top. Her breasts were small and firm, much like I imagined Emily's would be. I felt someone brush against me.

"Hey baby what's up?" It was the black dancer I'd seen earlier. She had smooth skin the color of milk chocolate and I noticed for the first time an oriental cant to her eyes.

'Not much." I forced a smile.

"Honey you don't look so happy. You aren't supposed to be unhappy, not here." And she bent over giving me a look down her bikini top. Like I needed the advantage, for her breasts were huge, outsized as the rest of her was slim. Almost skinny. Almost like Emily looked in a bikini without the breasts or the color. I'd only seen Em in a bikini once, at the pool with Mary and drenched in sun screen. I wondered if Lisa would get her back there again.

"You like my boobies?" She put her hands under her top and began to juggle them so they bounced.

"I am a man."

"I noticed baby. But you're all alone. And I need a place to get off these heels.

I nodded and made a bit of space. Four-inch heels seemed the rule in this club. "So what's your name honey?"

'Gary."

"I'm Ebony."

"You know, a girl works up a mighty big thirst shaking it up there.'

"Uh huh." I glanced at the stage where the long-haired latino girl was hanging upside down on the pole.

"Could you buy me a split of champagne?"

'How about a glass of wine."

"Fine, but I make a split last."

"Alright." I had been feeling flush after my last raise, and I had no will to refuse. I'd come here for feminine companionship, and it had come, albeit at a steep price. I pulled out the cash and paid the bartender, because I realized a tab would get me into serious money all too quickly.

"I've never seen you here before."

"I've never been here before."

"Well, glad you came?" She winked at me and leaned forward to offer a detailed view down her top. I looked too.

"I don't know yet."

"Well, I do. Handsome guy like you, dressed real nice, the girls will all be wanting to dance for you. I'm just glad I got here first?"

"I just wanted a drink."

"Need someone to drink with? Dancing makes a girl thirsty."

I laughed. I knew she was working me, but she winked and pushed up against me, and against my better nature I did notice that she was shapely, even if I suspected that Intel had as much to do with her figure as mother nature. I knew she was working me, but I had money but lacked a woman. Maybe she wasn't the woman I sought but she was sitting next to me and pretending that I was sexy. Pretend was good enough for me at that moment.

The bartender removed my twenty and brought the girl, whose name I couldn't remember, a fruity looking drink that probably rated ten proof, if that.

"So what kinda music you like?"

"The Blues."

"Like B.B. King?"

"Big Mama Thornton, Bonnie Raitt, Buddy Guy, Candye Kane."

"Candye Kane? Isn't she a big girl who used to be a stripper?"

"Porn star, actually."

"No shit? She was in films? She's awful big for that. I'm built a lot better than she is."

"But can you sing?"

"I sure can." She launched into a few bars from something Shakira or someone else. She had decent vocal tone too.

"You're not so bad, but Candye is better."

"Well, she isn't so pretty as I am. If she can get into porn, so can I."

"Getting in is easy. All you need is a DV camera and a fast desktop."

"Think so? There's some money there for a girl who likes to show what she has and has some titties. And I do had some titties. She jiggled them for effect, and got more motion than I suspected.

I had to admit she was right. "So why do you want to get into porn?"

"First of all, I really like sex. I can't live without it for very long. That's why I like the job, lots of hot girls and horny guys. It's a lot easier to do a job if you like what you're doing. Second, I got a kid. I need to make some money now because I can't shake it forever."

I nodded in agreement and let her talk.

"It's hard raising a kid today, what with dentists, school clothes and such, especially by yourself."

"What about her father?"

"Her daddy's gone, killed in the war. My momma didn't raise me to be no 'ho. But I'm not raising my little boy in the ghetto neither. I shake my ass and I can afford a decent place. If I get into porn I can make some real money."

"I can't really argue with your logic, though you might want to try to get a college education."

She laughed, and I tried again to remember her name. "I couldn't stand studying when I was in school, why would it be different now that I'm out and have a kid."

"Because you understand the necessity."

"Bobby, what's your name . . "

"Gary."

"Gary, I ain't no science girl, if you know what I mean. I know what I know and that doesn't include Shake-spear or cosmopology."

"There's no such word as 'cosmopology'."

"I just made it up."

"Well, it might make Webster's for a few more editions."

"Hell, that's just a big heavy book anyway. Probably costs a fortune."

"They're cheap for what you get. You'll want one for your son, once he learns to read."

"He reads real good, they have him taking home a new book every week. When I make it home in time, I have him read me a bedtime story."

"What did he read you last time?"

"Story called "Make way for ducklings. Old book, it was my mama's."

"Damn, I go to a titty bar and find myself talking about children's books."

She laughed loud and clear and pressed her thigh and breast against me, the most contact allowable by law. And I laughed too, more than slightly aware of her body pressed against me, but also aware that something was missing. She was more than I expected, but I expected nothing and wanted everything.

We talked a bit more before her turn came to dance. I watched from the bar, her body slowly swaying to the music, spinning around the pole. I could see her looking at me, but I could also see her work the men at the line of the bar, moving in close for their bills, her legs open, thighs almost touching their ear, moving sex merely inches from their mouths as they slid the bill beneath her garter. She winked at me and followed a young man behind a curtain.

"Ebony's giving a private dance," explained the bartender as she refilled my scotch. I didn't remember when I had switched to scotch.

A petite blonde wearing a blue bikini dropped into the seat next to me. "Got a light?" she asked.

I pulled out the lighter I carried for Emily and lit her cigarette. "My name's Mickey." And she batted her eyes at me.

Ebony had been attractive, in the way of buxom young woman. Mickey was just plain beautiful in the way of fair-skinned Celtic girls, firm like a woman working the fields, every curve perfect, every movement liquid. She looked a lot like Lisa, only much fairer, and if possible firmer.

I bought her a drink too. "Did you like my dance," she asked, and I admitted I hadn't seen it.

"Yeah, I noticed you talking with Ebony. But she won't be back for a while. She's got a groom in there, a friend of her regulars. She'll give the boy a lap dance he won't forget. Probably more than a few." And then she winked at me.

"Well, I didn't come for a lap dance.

"So what did you come for? Window shopping?"

I laughed. "Distraction really. I didn't want to go home."

"Your old lady giving you hell?"

It took a moment to get the words out. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"Just lose one?"

"I never had one, I suppose."

Mickey squeezed my arm, "That's the sort of words that always end up in a sad story Sombody got use you for something?"

"No, she didn't."

'You leave her?"

"Never."

Mickey leaned forward and took a long sip of simulated vodka. "Man you really are mixed up over somebody."

I laughed.

"If you aren't having fun, it isn't worth it. We're here to party, right?" Mickey licked her lips and took a drink. I decided that her vodka bottle had to be filled with water—she'd never be able to stay slim —or coherent- drinking like that. There was a silence, long andawkward as neither of us knew what to say except that we were supposed to say something to each other. Finally, she asked me what I did.

"Architect."

"So you design buildings and such?"

I laughed. "Until recently I just designed parts of buildings and fixed technical problems. But I've finally had a drawing of mine accepted, a craftsman style home out in Venford."

"Venford's a pretty wealthy area."

"Nobody but wealthy people can afford a custom home. Especially with the good stuff. The good materials cost too much. Custom design ups labor costs too because you can't just slap it together."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Most the houses today have almost been stamped out like a car. Cookie cutter."

"Sounds like you like the old homes."

"I do. The old guys, Burnham, Richardson, Sullivan, Wright, Johnson, they had a sense of style, proportion. Everything fit, and since craftsmen built everything cool cost little more than mundane. Everyplace you look there's a little something a detail to set it apart. That's why so many of the older homes are so neat."

"I don't want an old house. I want a heater that keeps me warm."

"Oh, that can be done. Just takes money."

Mickey laughed. "Yeah, well if I had money I'd be out with some handsome guy in a tux. Or shopping. Or at home with the family."

"Even rich people don't get to do what they want all the time."

"Then what's the point of being rich?"

"To have more of what you want."

"Babe, I live for too much. Too much sleep, too much caffeine, too much sex."

"I believe in that too, but I don't have a girlfriend."

"You told me. You spend a lot of time dwelling on that don't you?"

"I suppose I do." Then I stopped and took a drink, and I thought of Emily's joy when she described how Lisa had done her."