to do.” She flashed a “get over it” look at Kim and then just stood there, waiting.
Kim felt her heart sink. She looked at the Mason jar and saw that her exquisite green moth had almost got its thorax free. What she really wanted was to tell Tracy to leave her alone. But without Tracy, she really was alone. And there were other urges stirring inside her, strange, unsettling urges. And some nameless instinct told her Tracy might be her only key to their gratification.
With a last glance at the Mason jar, Kim stuffed her things into her tote bag and followed Tracy outside.
* * *
With an hour to spare until her lunch date with Nina, Jenny decided to drop in on Paul Daw. His office was in the same building as Craig’s, and he usually spent Monday mornings catching up on his charts. His secretary told Jenny to just go ahead in.
Paul was seated at his desk with his back to the door, facing the single tall window that overlooked Bank Street, three stories below. He was on the phone, his tone sharp, and Jenny was sure he hadn’t heard her come in.
“Chris, I’ve told you why I can’t let you move in. My mother would never understand. Why do you insist on—”
Jenny cleared her throat and Paul spun in his chair. It was the first time Jenny had ever seen anger in her old friend’s eyes, even the startled kind, and she felt her simple desire to see him wither into embarrassment. Paul’s face was beet red. Absurdly, Jenny was reminded of a time as a girl when she walked into a bedroom in her Aunt Frannie’s house and caught her cousin Nelson masturbating over a Playboy centerfold.
Without addressing her, Paul turned his chair back to the window and spoke in hushed tones. Jenny caught only fragments.
“...talk to you tonight...can’t right now...don’t push it, Chris, okay...love you, too...”
Paul hung up and turned to face her, a big bogus grin on his face. And although Jenny had no idea why, she felt a sudden pity for him. She’d always suspected, and this accidental trespass only reinforced the notion, that Paul functioned under some burden of guilt or shame. She’d never asked him about it because their relationship, their intimate exchanges, had always flowed in the opposite direction, from Jenny to Paul. It struck her now how very little she knew about the man. She’d always taken it for granted that Paul was straight and well adjusted and that whatever he was hiding—if anything—was none of her business anyway.
She wished she’d exercised the simple courtesy of knocking before waltzing in where she wasn’t wanted.
“Paul, I’m sorry...”
“Nonsense,” Paul said, getting to his feet. “Come in. Take a load off. You startled me is all.” He looked at the phone. “That was just...a friend. No big deal.”
Jenny sat in the comfy leather chair Paul used for his patients. The action seemed to ease him and he sat across from her, assuming his accustomed posture, arms crossed, head cocked, lips thoughtfully pursed. The attentive therapist.
“So,” he said. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Jenny wanted to take up the pretense of normalcy, but the way he’d looked at her just then...
She said, “I feel so bad about just barging in like that. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine, Jen. Actually, I should thank you. You saved me from a row with a pushy female.”
Did I? Jenny thought. But she decided to let it go.
Smiling, she said, “When are you gonna let one of these ‘pushy females’ net you?” She patted her belly. “Get one of ’em knocked up and settle down once and for all?”
Paul said, “When hell freezes over,” his smile more genuine now. “When the sun sets in the east and God renews Satan’s pass at the Pearly Gates. Coffee?”
“Got any lemonade?”
Paul came around the desk and offered Jenny his hand. “Follow me,” he said. “I’ve got just the thing.”
Relieved to have that pocket of tension closed, Jenny cheerfully complied.
* *
Kim felt her heart sink. She looked at the Mason jar and saw that her exquisite green moth had almost got its thorax free. What she really wanted was to tell Tracy to leave her alone. But without Tracy, she really was alone. And there were other urges stirring inside her, strange, unsettling urges. And some nameless instinct told her Tracy might be her only key to their gratification.
With a last glance at the Mason jar, Kim stuffed her things into her tote bag and followed Tracy outside.
* * *
With an hour to spare until her lunch date with Nina, Jenny decided to drop in on Paul Daw. His office was in the same building as Craig’s, and he usually spent Monday mornings catching up on his charts. His secretary told Jenny to just go ahead in.
Paul was seated at his desk with his back to the door, facing the single tall window that overlooked Bank Street, three stories below. He was on the phone, his tone sharp, and Jenny was sure he hadn’t heard her come in.
“Chris, I’ve told you why I can’t let you move in. My mother would never understand. Why do you insist on—”
Jenny cleared her throat and Paul spun in his chair. It was the first time Jenny had ever seen anger in her old friend’s eyes, even the startled kind, and she felt her simple desire to see him wither into embarrassment. Paul’s face was beet red. Absurdly, Jenny was reminded of a time as a girl when she walked into a bedroom in her Aunt Frannie’s house and caught her cousin Nelson masturbating over a Playboy centerfold.
Without addressing her, Paul turned his chair back to the window and spoke in hushed tones. Jenny caught only fragments.
“...talk to you tonight...can’t right now...don’t push it, Chris, okay...love you, too...”
Paul hung up and turned to face her, a big bogus grin on his face. And although Jenny had no idea why, she felt a sudden pity for him. She’d always suspected, and this accidental trespass only reinforced the notion, that Paul functioned under some burden of guilt or shame. She’d never asked him about it because their relationship, their intimate exchanges, had always flowed in the opposite direction, from Jenny to Paul. It struck her now how very little she knew about the man. She’d always taken it for granted that Paul was straight and well adjusted and that whatever he was hiding—if anything—was none of her business anyway.
She wished she’d exercised the simple courtesy of knocking before waltzing in where she wasn’t wanted.
“Paul, I’m sorry...”
“Nonsense,” Paul said, getting to his feet. “Come in. Take a load off. You startled me is all.” He looked at the phone. “That was just...a friend. No big deal.”
Jenny sat in the comfy leather chair Paul used for his patients. The action seemed to ease him and he sat across from her, assuming his accustomed posture, arms crossed, head cocked, lips thoughtfully pursed. The attentive therapist.
“So,” he said. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Jenny wanted to take up the pretense of normalcy, but the way he’d looked at her just then...
She said, “I feel so bad about just barging in like that. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine, Jen. Actually, I should thank you. You saved me from a row with a pushy female.”
Did I? Jenny thought. But she decided to let it go.
Smiling, she said, “When are you gonna let one of these ‘pushy females’ net you?” She patted her belly. “Get one of ’em knocked up and settle down once and for all?”
Paul said, “When hell freezes over,” his smile more genuine now. “When the sun sets in the east and God renews Satan’s pass at the Pearly Gates. Coffee?”
“Got any lemonade?”
Paul came around the desk and offered Jenny his hand. “Follow me,” he said. “I’ve got just the thing.”
Relieved to have that pocket of tension closed, Jenny cheerfully complied.
* *
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