right-hand wall stretched a mammoth bar.
I sat there and had just finished my first beer when I saw her come in. She was alone. She wore a kelly green dress, knit so that it hung onto her everywhere it could. I wasn’t the only one watching as she came along the bar. She sat beside me and fitted a slender cigarette between her lips and lit it, then squinted her eyes and exhaled at the ceiling and said, “I don’t smoke, really.”
“Just on special occasions.”
“Something like that.”
Joyce ordered a Black Russian and another Little Kings for me and laid a twenty on the bar. Her hair was a little ratty and puffed out from her shift, and the effect along with the streaking made her look wild. We sat drinking, not talking, until I said, “How’s that gunshot?”
A flight’d come in the previous night, a married man who was discovered by his mistress in bed with yet another woman, a new girlfriend. The mistress had gotten hold of a .357 and tried to shoot his cock off. She missed it but hit both femoral arteries. Phyllis sent up twenty typed and crossed units before they got him stabilized and through surgery. How he hadn’t bled out no one knew but he was a young man, strong and thick, and though he was still unconscious they said his EEG looked okay.
“Fine,” she said. “Do you want to talk about that place?”
“Not really.”
“It’s just that I have so much of it when I’m there. And then again at home.”
“What happened to the others?”
“Who?”
“You said some of you were going out after work.”
“I guess they were too tired.” She opened her purse and took out a tin box and opened it and removed a black and white pill, then offered the tin to me.
“What are they?”
“Quaaludes.”
“I never tried one.”
“They’re fun. And you don’t have to drink so much.”
I swallowed one and we drank a moment before I said, “So what do you like to do?”
“What?”
“When you’re not having so much of it at the hospital or at home, what do you really like?”
She laughed and put her hand on my forearm and said, “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that.” She sipped from her glass and adjusted it on the mat so that it fit back into the wet circle it had made, and said, “I like to sail.”
“You have one? A sailboat?”
“My brother-in-law. He’s down in Coral Gables. Have you ever been out? No sound but the wind and the water. The boat lifting and falling. It’s like flying. The sad thing is we only made it down once last year.”
“You can’t afford your own boat?”
“Oh, we have a power boat here at the harbor—forty-foot Chris-Craft with twin custom Mans. But sailing, I don’t know enough about it, and god knows my husband doesn’t. We’d buy it and then have to hire someone to take us out in it. So we wouldn’t go.”
“It’s so sad.”
“Shut up,” she said and laughed and touched me again, this time on the front of my shirt. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers and then opened her hand and pressed it against my chest.
“You know what else I like?”
“What?”
“Dancing.”
“Ah.”
“You’re not going to tell me you don’t.”
“Aren’t I?”
I took off my sport coat and hung it over the stool and she took my hand and led me onto the floor. It was “Le Freak” by Chic. I felt silly, as I always did dancing, but as the beers and the pill spread through me and I watched her, I began to let myself go into it, let her pull me in, and at some point knew I didn’t look silly anymore because Joyce moved so evocatively that she made us both attractive. I became now simply a reflection of her.
We grooved through “Dancing Queen” and “That’s the Way (I Like It)” before the set slowed into “How Deep Is Your Love” and she moved in so I could feel her breath on my neck. I put my hands on her hips and as we moved together she pressed into me until I felt my cock swell. She ran her hands up and down my arms and
I sat there and had just finished my first beer when I saw her come in. She was alone. She wore a kelly green dress, knit so that it hung onto her everywhere it could. I wasn’t the only one watching as she came along the bar. She sat beside me and fitted a slender cigarette between her lips and lit it, then squinted her eyes and exhaled at the ceiling and said, “I don’t smoke, really.”
“Just on special occasions.”
“Something like that.”
Joyce ordered a Black Russian and another Little Kings for me and laid a twenty on the bar. Her hair was a little ratty and puffed out from her shift, and the effect along with the streaking made her look wild. We sat drinking, not talking, until I said, “How’s that gunshot?”
A flight’d come in the previous night, a married man who was discovered by his mistress in bed with yet another woman, a new girlfriend. The mistress had gotten hold of a .357 and tried to shoot his cock off. She missed it but hit both femoral arteries. Phyllis sent up twenty typed and crossed units before they got him stabilized and through surgery. How he hadn’t bled out no one knew but he was a young man, strong and thick, and though he was still unconscious they said his EEG looked okay.
“Fine,” she said. “Do you want to talk about that place?”
“Not really.”
“It’s just that I have so much of it when I’m there. And then again at home.”
“What happened to the others?”
“Who?”
“You said some of you were going out after work.”
“I guess they were too tired.” She opened her purse and took out a tin box and opened it and removed a black and white pill, then offered the tin to me.
“What are they?”
“Quaaludes.”
“I never tried one.”
“They’re fun. And you don’t have to drink so much.”
I swallowed one and we drank a moment before I said, “So what do you like to do?”
“What?”
“When you’re not having so much of it at the hospital or at home, what do you really like?”
She laughed and put her hand on my forearm and said, “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that.” She sipped from her glass and adjusted it on the mat so that it fit back into the wet circle it had made, and said, “I like to sail.”
“You have one? A sailboat?”
“My brother-in-law. He’s down in Coral Gables. Have you ever been out? No sound but the wind and the water. The boat lifting and falling. It’s like flying. The sad thing is we only made it down once last year.”
“You can’t afford your own boat?”
“Oh, we have a power boat here at the harbor—forty-foot Chris-Craft with twin custom Mans. But sailing, I don’t know enough about it, and god knows my husband doesn’t. We’d buy it and then have to hire someone to take us out in it. So we wouldn’t go.”
“It’s so sad.”
“Shut up,” she said and laughed and touched me again, this time on the front of my shirt. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers and then opened her hand and pressed it against my chest.
“You know what else I like?”
“What?”
“Dancing.”
“Ah.”
“You’re not going to tell me you don’t.”
“Aren’t I?”
I took off my sport coat and hung it over the stool and she took my hand and led me onto the floor. It was “Le Freak” by Chic. I felt silly, as I always did dancing, but as the beers and the pill spread through me and I watched her, I began to let myself go into it, let her pull me in, and at some point knew I didn’t look silly anymore because Joyce moved so evocatively that she made us both attractive. I became now simply a reflection of her.
We grooved through “Dancing Queen” and “That’s the Way (I Like It)” before the set slowed into “How Deep Is Your Love” and she moved in so I could feel her breath on my neck. I put my hands on her hips and as we moved together she pressed into me until I felt my cock swell. She ran her hands up and down my arms and
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