down.“
”Have many,“ I said.
”No.“
”And you’re worried about being frigid.“
She nodded.
”I don’t know what that means either,“ I said.
”It’s a term men invented,“ she said. ”The sexual model, like everything else, has always been male.“
”Don’t start quoting Rose at me,“ I said. ”That may or may not be true, but it doesn’t do a hell of a lot for our problem at the moment.“
”You have a problem,“ Pam Shepard said. ”I do not.“
”Yes you do,“ I said. ”I’ve been talking with Eddie Taylor.“
She looked blank.
”Eddie Taylor,“ I said, ”big blond kid, runs a power shovel. Fat around the middle, and a loud mouth.“
She nodded and continued to as I described him, the lines at the corners of her mouth deepening. ”And why is he a problem?“
”He isn’t. But unless he made it all up, and he’s not bright enough to make it up, you’re not as comfortably in charge of your own destiny as you seem to be.“
”I’ll bet he couldn’t wait to tell you every detail. Probably embellished a great deal.“
”No. As a matter of fact he was quite reluctant. I had to strike him in the solar plexus.“
She made a slight smiling motion with her mouth for a moment. ”I must say you don’t talk the way I’d have expected.“
”I read a lot,“ I said.
”So what is my problem?“
”I don’t read that much,“ I said. ”I assume you are insecure about your sexuality and ambivalent about it. But that doesn’t mean anything that either one of us can bite into.“
”Well, don’t we have all the psychological jargon down pat. If my husband slept around would you assume he was insecure and ambivalent?“
”I might,“ I said. ”Especially if he had a paroxysm the morning after and was last seen crying on the bed.“
Her face got a little pink for a moment. ”He was revolting. You’ve seen him. How I could have, with a pig like that. A drunken, foul, sweaty animal. To let him use me like that.“ She shivered. Across the street Jane and Rose stood poised, eyes fixed upon us, ready to spring. I felt like a cobra at a mongoose festival. ”He didn’t give a damn about me. Didn’t care about how I felt. About what I wanted. About sharing pleasure. He just wanted to rut like a hog and when it was over roll off and go to sleep.“
”He didn’t strike me too much as the Continental type,“ I said.
”It’s not funny.“
”No, it isn’t no more than everything else. Laughing is better than crying though. When you can.“
”Well, isn’t that just so folksy and down home,“ she said. ”What the hell do you know about laughing and crying?“
”I observe it a lot,“ I said. ”But what I know isn’t an issue. If Eddie Taylor was so revolting, why did you pick him up?“
”Because I goddamned well felt like it. Because I felt like going out and getting laid without complications. Just a simple straightforward screw without a lot of lovey-dovey—did-you-like-that-do-you-love-me crap.“
”You do that much?“
”Yes. When I felt like it, and I’ve been feeling like it a lot these last few years.“
”You usually enjoy it more than you did with old Eddie?“
”Of course, I—oh hell, I don’t know. It’s very nice sometimes when it happens, but afterwards I’m still hung up on guilt. I can’t get over all those years of nice-girls-don’t-do-it, I guess.“
”A guy told me you always went for the big young jocko types. Muscle and youth.“
”You have yourself in mind? You’re not all that young.“
”I would love to go to bed with you. You are an excellent-looking person. But I’m still trying to talk about you.“
”I’m sorry,“ she said. ”That was flirtatious, and I’m trying to change. Sometimes it’s hard after a long time of being something else. Flirtatious was practically the only basis for male-female relationship through much of my life.“
”I know,“ I said. ”But what about the guy who says you go for
”Have many,“ I said.
”No.“
”And you’re worried about being frigid.“
She nodded.
”I don’t know what that means either,“ I said.
”It’s a term men invented,“ she said. ”The sexual model, like everything else, has always been male.“
”Don’t start quoting Rose at me,“ I said. ”That may or may not be true, but it doesn’t do a hell of a lot for our problem at the moment.“
”You have a problem,“ Pam Shepard said. ”I do not.“
”Yes you do,“ I said. ”I’ve been talking with Eddie Taylor.“
She looked blank.
”Eddie Taylor,“ I said, ”big blond kid, runs a power shovel. Fat around the middle, and a loud mouth.“
She nodded and continued to as I described him, the lines at the corners of her mouth deepening. ”And why is he a problem?“
”He isn’t. But unless he made it all up, and he’s not bright enough to make it up, you’re not as comfortably in charge of your own destiny as you seem to be.“
”I’ll bet he couldn’t wait to tell you every detail. Probably embellished a great deal.“
”No. As a matter of fact he was quite reluctant. I had to strike him in the solar plexus.“
She made a slight smiling motion with her mouth for a moment. ”I must say you don’t talk the way I’d have expected.“
”I read a lot,“ I said.
”So what is my problem?“
”I don’t read that much,“ I said. ”I assume you are insecure about your sexuality and ambivalent about it. But that doesn’t mean anything that either one of us can bite into.“
”Well, don’t we have all the psychological jargon down pat. If my husband slept around would you assume he was insecure and ambivalent?“
”I might,“ I said. ”Especially if he had a paroxysm the morning after and was last seen crying on the bed.“
Her face got a little pink for a moment. ”He was revolting. You’ve seen him. How I could have, with a pig like that. A drunken, foul, sweaty animal. To let him use me like that.“ She shivered. Across the street Jane and Rose stood poised, eyes fixed upon us, ready to spring. I felt like a cobra at a mongoose festival. ”He didn’t give a damn about me. Didn’t care about how I felt. About what I wanted. About sharing pleasure. He just wanted to rut like a hog and when it was over roll off and go to sleep.“
”He didn’t strike me too much as the Continental type,“ I said.
”It’s not funny.“
”No, it isn’t no more than everything else. Laughing is better than crying though. When you can.“
”Well, isn’t that just so folksy and down home,“ she said. ”What the hell do you know about laughing and crying?“
”I observe it a lot,“ I said. ”But what I know isn’t an issue. If Eddie Taylor was so revolting, why did you pick him up?“
”Because I goddamned well felt like it. Because I felt like going out and getting laid without complications. Just a simple straightforward screw without a lot of lovey-dovey—did-you-like-that-do-you-love-me crap.“
”You do that much?“
”Yes. When I felt like it, and I’ve been feeling like it a lot these last few years.“
”You usually enjoy it more than you did with old Eddie?“
”Of course, I—oh hell, I don’t know. It’s very nice sometimes when it happens, but afterwards I’m still hung up on guilt. I can’t get over all those years of nice-girls-don’t-do-it, I guess.“
”A guy told me you always went for the big young jocko types. Muscle and youth.“
”You have yourself in mind? You’re not all that young.“
”I would love to go to bed with you. You are an excellent-looking person. But I’m still trying to talk about you.“
”I’m sorry,“ she said. ”That was flirtatious, and I’m trying to change. Sometimes it’s hard after a long time of being something else. Flirtatious was practically the only basis for male-female relationship through much of my life.“
”I know,“ I said. ”But what about the guy who says you go for
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