Lager to drink and then went back to her preparation.
"Couscous," she said. "With chicken and vegetables."
"Sounds great," Paul said.
Susan cleared a space among the pans and put some chicken breasts down on the marble counter and began to cut them into cubes. Pearl stood on her hind legs, with her front paws on the counter, and pointed the raw chicken from a distance of three inches.
"Doesn't that tend to beat hell out of the knife blade?" Paul said.
Susan looked at him as if he'd espoused pedophilia.
"No," Paul said quickly. "No, of course it doesn't."
I sipped my beer. Susan continued to hack up the chicken. She had her lower lip caught in her teeth, as she always did when she was concentrating. I liked to watch her.
Paul watched me watching her.
"Is Susan the first woman you ever loved?" he said.
"Yes."
"What about this hussy you mentioned the other day in the Ritz bar?" asked
Susan.
"She was a girl," I said.
"And you?" Susan said.
"I was sixteen," I said. "And she sat in front of me in French class."
"Sixteen?" Paul said. "You had a childhood?"
Pearl managed to get a scrap of raw chicken. She got down quickly and trotted to the living room where she put it on the rug and rolled on it.
"I can hardly remember her face now," I said. "But she had long hair the color of thyme honey, and she combed it straight back and it was quite long and very smooth. Her name was Dale Carter,and I used to write her little notes of poetry and slip them to her. And she'd read them and smile and I knew she was flattered."
"Poetry?" Susan said.
Pearl returned from the living room licking her muzzle.
"Yeah. Stuff I'd read and would adjust to fit her.
Dale, thy beauty is to me like those Nicean barks of yore… that kind of thing."
Paul and Susan looked at each other. Pearl continued to point the chicken.
"Well," Susan said, "you were sixteen."
"Barely," I said.
"So," she said, "did it develop?"
"We became friends," I said. "We would talk all the time between classes and we would eat lunch together and sit on the high school steps after school, and I just couldn't get enough of her. I just wanted to look at her and hear her voice."
Paul was sitting quietly, watching me. There was no amusement in his face.
"She was slender," I said. "Medium height, from a well-off and intellectual family in the Back Bay. Very, ah, Brahmin. And there was something about her way of carrying herself. She seemed to walk very lightly. She seemed to be very, very interested in what you said, and she would listen with her lips just a little apart and breathe softly through her mouth while she listened."
Susan wet her lower lip and opened her mouth and leaned forward and panted at me.
"A little more subtly than that," I said. "And she would sort of cock her head a little to the side when she talked and look right at me."
Susan tossed her chicken into a bowl and poured some honey over it, and sprinkled on some spices. Pearl's eyes had never left the chicken. When it went in the bowl her eyes didn't leave the bowl.
"Did you go out?" Susan said.
"Not really," I said. "They used to have sort of a canteen dance every afternoon after school in the basement of the Legion hall across the street. Some sort of keep-the-kids-off-the-street campaign which lasted about six months. And we used to go over there sometimes and dance. I never danced very well."
"I'll say," Susan murmured.
"But with her I was Arthur Murray. She seemed to operate a little off the ground, as if her feet were floating; and her hand on my shoulder was very light and yet she felt every movement of the music and seemed to know exactly where I was going before I went. And she always wore perfume. And good clothes. I don't even remember what they were like, but I knew they were good."
"Longish skirt," Susan said. "Thick white socks halfway up the calf, penny loafers, cashmere sweater, maybe a little white collar like Dorothy Collins on The Hit Parade."
"Yeah," I said. "That's
"Couscous," she said. "With chicken and vegetables."
"Sounds great," Paul said.
Susan cleared a space among the pans and put some chicken breasts down on the marble counter and began to cut them into cubes. Pearl stood on her hind legs, with her front paws on the counter, and pointed the raw chicken from a distance of three inches.
"Doesn't that tend to beat hell out of the knife blade?" Paul said.
Susan looked at him as if he'd espoused pedophilia.
"No," Paul said quickly. "No, of course it doesn't."
I sipped my beer. Susan continued to hack up the chicken. She had her lower lip caught in her teeth, as she always did when she was concentrating. I liked to watch her.
Paul watched me watching her.
"Is Susan the first woman you ever loved?" he said.
"Yes."
"What about this hussy you mentioned the other day in the Ritz bar?" asked
Susan.
"She was a girl," I said.
"And you?" Susan said.
"I was sixteen," I said. "And she sat in front of me in French class."
"Sixteen?" Paul said. "You had a childhood?"
Pearl managed to get a scrap of raw chicken. She got down quickly and trotted to the living room where she put it on the rug and rolled on it.
"I can hardly remember her face now," I said. "But she had long hair the color of thyme honey, and she combed it straight back and it was quite long and very smooth. Her name was Dale Carter,and I used to write her little notes of poetry and slip them to her. And she'd read them and smile and I knew she was flattered."
"Poetry?" Susan said.
Pearl returned from the living room licking her muzzle.
"Yeah. Stuff I'd read and would adjust to fit her.
Dale, thy beauty is to me like those Nicean barks of yore… that kind of thing."
Paul and Susan looked at each other. Pearl continued to point the chicken.
"Well," Susan said, "you were sixteen."
"Barely," I said.
"So," she said, "did it develop?"
"We became friends," I said. "We would talk all the time between classes and we would eat lunch together and sit on the high school steps after school, and I just couldn't get enough of her. I just wanted to look at her and hear her voice."
Paul was sitting quietly, watching me. There was no amusement in his face.
"She was slender," I said. "Medium height, from a well-off and intellectual family in the Back Bay. Very, ah, Brahmin. And there was something about her way of carrying herself. She seemed to walk very lightly. She seemed to be very, very interested in what you said, and she would listen with her lips just a little apart and breathe softly through her mouth while she listened."
Susan wet her lower lip and opened her mouth and leaned forward and panted at me.
"A little more subtly than that," I said. "And she would sort of cock her head a little to the side when she talked and look right at me."
Susan tossed her chicken into a bowl and poured some honey over it, and sprinkled on some spices. Pearl's eyes had never left the chicken. When it went in the bowl her eyes didn't leave the bowl.
"Did you go out?" Susan said.
"Not really," I said. "They used to have sort of a canteen dance every afternoon after school in the basement of the Legion hall across the street. Some sort of keep-the-kids-off-the-street campaign which lasted about six months. And we used to go over there sometimes and dance. I never danced very well."
"I'll say," Susan murmured.
"But with her I was Arthur Murray. She seemed to operate a little off the ground, as if her feet were floating; and her hand on my shoulder was very light and yet she felt every movement of the music and seemed to know exactly where I was going before I went. And she always wore perfume. And good clothes. I don't even remember what they were like, but I knew they were good."
"Longish skirt," Susan said. "Thick white socks halfway up the calf, penny loafers, cashmere sweater, maybe a little white collar like Dorothy Collins on The Hit Parade."
"Yeah," I said. "That's
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