pretty breasts and round peachlike behind. The long blond hair draped around her when she let it down, cushioning her head and neck and back, and the downstairs hair yellow too, and the odor coming out of her. Norman almost sung about her like some goose-pimpling eau de cologne called Fuck Me Now Immediately Daddy Do Not Dally Any Further!
So we did it first on the floor. She undressed like her clothes were burning her. But it was sexy, mate, I tell you. And there she was. And in a few seconds—
There were you, I shot in.
Yeh.
Laughter.
And what is there to say about big thighs pulling open of their own accord? And eyes hot as a weird blue stove?
Wow.
A couple hours later, we go again. She’s quieter now, but clings real tight. She even dug her nails in my back just a little when the whistle blew.
Yeh, yeh, yeh! We whistled and beat on the chairs.
Yeh, Norman. Tell it. White wobbled.
And then just before we go to sleep—it’s about 2 now— she tells me a little saying her mother told her. It went: No matter how much you might get hurt, there’s love that can heal you.
Was it good, Norman? Basil smirked.
It was very, very good. Exquisite body. And she knew what she was doing. She knew all the right spots.
No matter how much you might hurt, I repeated, there’s love that can heal you.
Yeh, I felt good. Hey, it was heavenly. Heavenly. And then she sang a little song. Some kind of folk tune. Maybe it was European, I dunno. I thought it was Mother Goose or something. No words, just humming and a kind of refrain she repeated.
Hey, man, that sounds great. White had stood up straight to speak. Getting as sober as he could for the official congratulations.
Heavy stuff, young Norman, I added.
Hooray for Norman! Basil sputtered. Not only do people buy his paintings, but he gets to fuck beautiful girls that sing, for Christ’s sake! This tickled Domenick.
But then Norman looked at us with another thing in his face and voice. Yeh, it was good. I thought it was beautiful, the fire and all. I even picked her up and carried her and laid her in the big bed.
Hey, that’s a line from Frank Yerby, I kibitzed him, admiringly so. Frank Yerby.
Yeh. Norman puffed and puffed on the cigarette now. And John had a big smile, pulling his head up and down slowly, affirming the reality of the tale.
But then I went to the window, finished another bourbon and smoked a Gauloise, and looked down at 4th Avenue.
It was that cool, huh?
Yeh. And after that, I went and lay down beside her. In the little night light, I could still see how beautiful she was, and I thought, Shit, it’s my fuckin lucky period. Goddamn. So I lay out. I was painting pretty good. Another show in a couple months. A couple bucks in my pocket. And this fantastic sweet thing next to me in the half-dark.
Wow.
Norman got another drink and pulled himself straight.
Wow.
Yeh, wow, he said, his eyes clouding over like a windshield without a defroster on a suddenly frosty day. And then, about an hour or so later, I guess—I was sleeping—and I dunno, I just felt … Something just got in me. Something woke me up.
Uh-huh.
And I open my eyes, raise up a little in bed. My eyes had to get used to the half-dark. But I notice too that Monica is also raised up in bed. Full up. My eyes focus and I can suddenly see her. She’s sitting there, man, straight up in bed … And she’s got a pair of scissors held up in the air! And now she can see that I see her, and our eyes meet.
What? It came from all of us at once, and the word just hung a second in the whistling smoke, half-crumpled and half-floated to the floor.
But I could tell—I could see—that Norman wasn’t lying. He wasn’t. And now he was repeating the last part again, so it could really penetrate.
Yeh, she was sitting there in the dark with a pair of fuckin scissors.
Why? Basil finally asked, almost sober now.
We looked at each other and at Norman.
Norman coughed from the smoke in his face, the
So we did it first on the floor. She undressed like her clothes were burning her. But it was sexy, mate, I tell you. And there she was. And in a few seconds—
There were you, I shot in.
Yeh.
Laughter.
And what is there to say about big thighs pulling open of their own accord? And eyes hot as a weird blue stove?
Wow.
A couple hours later, we go again. She’s quieter now, but clings real tight. She even dug her nails in my back just a little when the whistle blew.
Yeh, yeh, yeh! We whistled and beat on the chairs.
Yeh, Norman. Tell it. White wobbled.
And then just before we go to sleep—it’s about 2 now— she tells me a little saying her mother told her. It went: No matter how much you might get hurt, there’s love that can heal you.
Was it good, Norman? Basil smirked.
It was very, very good. Exquisite body. And she knew what she was doing. She knew all the right spots.
No matter how much you might hurt, I repeated, there’s love that can heal you.
Yeh, I felt good. Hey, it was heavenly. Heavenly. And then she sang a little song. Some kind of folk tune. Maybe it was European, I dunno. I thought it was Mother Goose or something. No words, just humming and a kind of refrain she repeated.
Hey, man, that sounds great. White had stood up straight to speak. Getting as sober as he could for the official congratulations.
Heavy stuff, young Norman, I added.
Hooray for Norman! Basil sputtered. Not only do people buy his paintings, but he gets to fuck beautiful girls that sing, for Christ’s sake! This tickled Domenick.
But then Norman looked at us with another thing in his face and voice. Yeh, it was good. I thought it was beautiful, the fire and all. I even picked her up and carried her and laid her in the big bed.
Hey, that’s a line from Frank Yerby, I kibitzed him, admiringly so. Frank Yerby.
Yeh. Norman puffed and puffed on the cigarette now. And John had a big smile, pulling his head up and down slowly, affirming the reality of the tale.
But then I went to the window, finished another bourbon and smoked a Gauloise, and looked down at 4th Avenue.
It was that cool, huh?
Yeh. And after that, I went and lay down beside her. In the little night light, I could still see how beautiful she was, and I thought, Shit, it’s my fuckin lucky period. Goddamn. So I lay out. I was painting pretty good. Another show in a couple months. A couple bucks in my pocket. And this fantastic sweet thing next to me in the half-dark.
Wow.
Norman got another drink and pulled himself straight.
Wow.
Yeh, wow, he said, his eyes clouding over like a windshield without a defroster on a suddenly frosty day. And then, about an hour or so later, I guess—I was sleeping—and I dunno, I just felt … Something just got in me. Something woke me up.
Uh-huh.
And I open my eyes, raise up a little in bed. My eyes had to get used to the half-dark. But I notice too that Monica is also raised up in bed. Full up. My eyes focus and I can suddenly see her. She’s sitting there, man, straight up in bed … And she’s got a pair of scissors held up in the air! And now she can see that I see her, and our eyes meet.
What? It came from all of us at once, and the word just hung a second in the whistling smoke, half-crumpled and half-floated to the floor.
But I could tell—I could see—that Norman wasn’t lying. He wasn’t. And now he was repeating the last part again, so it could really penetrate.
Yeh, she was sitting there in the dark with a pair of fuckin scissors.
Why? Basil finally asked, almost sober now.
We looked at each other and at Norman.
Norman coughed from the smoke in his face, the
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