The Golden Notebook (35 page)

evening: it was the kind of dress she had never worn with Paul, out of all kinds of inhibitions; and which she had been wearing since, defiantly. She now put on a skirt and a shirt, and made herself up to look healthy rather than interesting. Michael was sitting up in bed surrounded by comics. 'Why are you going out when you only just got home?' He sounded deliberately aggrieved. 'Because I feel like it,' she said, grinning in answer to his tone. He gave a conscious smile, then frowned, and said in an injured voice: 'It isn't fair.' 'But you'll be asleep in an hour-I hope.' 'Is Julia going to read to me?' 'But I've already read to you for hours. Besides, it's a school-day tomorrow, and you've got to go to sleep.' 'But when you've gone I expect I'll talk her into it.' 'You'd better not tell me about it then, because I'll be cross!' He sauced her with his eyes; sitting up broad, solid, pink-cheeked; very sure of himself and his world in this house. 'Why haven't you put on the dress you said you were going to wear?' 'I've decided to wear this instead.' 'Women,' said the nine-year-old, in a lordly way. 'Women and their dresses.' 'Well, good night,' she said, holding her lips for a moment against the smooth warm cheek; sniffing with pleasure at the fresh soap smell of his hair. She went downstairs, and found Julia in her bath. She shouted: 'I'm off!' and Julia shouted back: 'You'd better get home early, you didn't get any sleep last night.' In the restaurant Cy Maitland was waiting for her. He looked fresh and vital. His clear blue eyes were undimmed by sleeplessness; and Ella said, sliding into the seat beside him and feeling suddenly fatigued: 'Aren't you sleepy at all?' He said, at once triumphant: 'I never sleep more than three or four hours a night.' 'Why not?' 'Because I'll never get where I want if I waste time sleeping.' 'You tell me about you,' said Ella, 'and then I'll tell you about me.' 'Fine,' he said. 'Fine. To tell you the truth, you are an enigma to me, so you'll have to do a lot of talking.' But now the waiters were ostensibly at their service, and Cy Maitland ordered 'the biggest steak they had in the place' and coca-cola, no potatoes because he had to lose a stone in weight, and tomato sauce. 'Don't you ever drink alcohol?' 'Never, only fruit juice.' 'Well, I'm afraid you are going to have to order me wine.' 'It's a pleasure,' he said; and instructed the wine waiter to bring a bottle of 'the best he had.' The waiters having departed, Cy Maitland said, relishing it: 'In Paris the garcongs go out of their way to let you know you're a hick; but here I see they just let you know it, without trying.' 'And are you a hick?' 'Sure, sure,' he said, his batteries of fine teeth gleaming. 'Well now it's time for the story of your life.' It took them to the end of the meal-over, as far as Cy was concerned, in ten minutes. But he waited agreeably enough for her, answering her questions. He had been born a poor boy. But he had also been born with brains and had used them. Scholarships and grants had taken him where he wanted to be-a brain surgeon, on his way up, married well with five children, a position and a great future, even if he said it himself. 'And what does a poor boy mean in America?' 'My pop was selling ladies' hose all his life and he still is. I'm not saying anyone ever went hungry, but there aren't any brain surgeons anywhere in our family, you can bet your life. ' His boasting was so simple, so natural to him, that it was not boasting. And his vitality was beginning to infect Ella. She had forgotten she was tired. When he suggested it was now time for her to tell him about herself, she postponed what she now understood would be an ordeal. For one thing, it occurred to her that her life, as far as she was concerned, could not be described by simple succession of statements: my parents were so and so; I've lived in such and such places; I do such and such work. And for another, she had understood that she was attracted to him, and this discovery had upset her. When he laid his large white hand on her arm, she felt her breasts lift and sting. Her thighs were wet. But she had nothing in common with him. She could not remember ever, not once in her life, feeling a physical response for a man who was not in some way kin to her. She had always responded to a look, a smile, the tone of a voice, a laugh. As far as she was concerned, this man was a healthy savage; and the discovery that she wanted to be in bed with him split her. She felt irritation and annoyance; she remembered feeling precisely like this when her husband attempted to rouse her by physical manipulation against her emotions. The end of that was frigidity. She thought: I might easily be a frigid woman. Then she was struck by the humour of it: she was sitting here, soft with desire for this man; worrying about a hypothetical frigidity. She laughed, and he enquired: 'What's funny?' She replied at random, and he said good-humouredly: 'O. K., you think I'm a hick too. Well that's O. K. with me. Now I have a suggestion. I've got about twenty telephone calls to make, and I want to make them from my hotel. Come back with me, I'll give you a drink, and then when I've finished the telephone calls, you can tell me about you.' Ella agreed; then wondered if he interpreted this as a willingness on her part to go to bed with him? If so, he showed no signs of it. It struck her that with the men she met in her world, she could interpret what they felt or were thinking from a glance, a gesture, or an atmosphere; so that words told her nothing about them she did not know already. But with this man, she knew nothing at all. He was married; but she did not know, as she would have done for instance with Robert Brun, what his attitude would be to infidelity. Since she knew nothing about him, it followed he knew nothing about her: he did not know, for instance, that her nipples were burning. She agreed, therefore, and casually, to go with him to his hotel. He had a bed-sitting-room and a bath in an expensive hotel. The rooms were in the heart of the building, air-conditioned, windowless, claustrophobic, neatly and anonymously furnished. Ella felt caged; but he seemed quite at home. He supplied her with a whisky, then drew the telephone to him and made, as he had said he would, about twenty telephone calls, a process that took half an hour. Ella listened, and noted that tomorrow he had at least ten appointments, including four visits to well-known London hospitals. When he had finished the calls, he began striding exuberantly up and down the small room. 'Boy,' he exclaimed, 'boy! But I feel great.' 'If I weren't here, what would you be doing?' 'I'd be working.' There was a great heap of medical journals on his night-table, and she said: 'Reading?' 'Yes. There's a lot to read, if you're going to keep up.' 'Do you ever read, except for your work?' 'Nope.' He laughed, and said: 'My wife's the one for culture. I haven't time.' 'Tell me about her.' He instantly produced a photograph. She was a pretty baby-faced blonde surrounded by five small children. 'Boy! Isn't she pretty? She's the prettiest girl in the whole town!' 'Is that why you married her?' 'Why, sure...' He caught her tone, laughed at himself with her, and said, shaking his head as if in wonder at himself: 'Sure! I said to myself, I'm going to marry the prettiest and classiest girl in this town and I did. That's just what I did.' 'And you're happy?' 'She's a great girl,' he said at once, enthusiastic. 'She's fine, and I've got five fine boys. I wish I had a girl, but my boys are fine. And I just wish I had more time to be with them, but when I am, then I feel fine.' Ella was thinking: If I get up now and say I must go, he'd agree, without rancour, with good-nature. Perhaps I'll see him again. Perhaps not. Neither of us will care. But I have to do the directing now, because he doesn't know what to do with me. I ought to go-but why? Only yesterday I decided it was ridiculous, women like me, having emotions that don't fit our lives. A man now, in this situation, the sort of man I would be if I'd been born a man, would go to bed and think no more of it. He was saying: 'And now, Ella, I've been talking about myself, and you're a darned fine listener, I must say that, but do you know, I don't know the first thing about you, not the first thing.' Now, thought Ella. Now. But she temporised: 'Did you know it was after twelve?' 'No? Is it? Too bad. I never go to bed before three or four and I'm up by seven, every day of my life.' Now, thought Ella. It's ridiculous, she thought, that it should be so difficult. To say what she now said was going against every one of her deepest instincts, and she was surprised that it came out apparently casual, and only slightly breathless: 'Would you like to go to bed with me?' He looked at her, grinning. He was not surprised. He was--interested. Yes, thought Ella, he's interested. Well good for him; she liked him for it. Suddenly he put back his broad healthy head and whooped: 'Boy, oh boy, would I? Yes, sir, Ella, if you hadn't said that I wouldn't have known what to say.' 'I know,' she said, smiling demurely. (She could feel this demure smile, and marvelled at it.) She said, demurely; 'Well, now, sir, I think you should set me at my ease, or something.' He grinned. He was standing across the room from her; and she saw him as all flesh, a body of warm, abundant, exuberant flesh. Very well then, that's what it would be. (At this point, Ella detached herself from Ella, and stood to one side, watching and marvelling.) She got up, smiling, and deliberately pulled off her dress. He, smiling, took off his jacket, and stripped off his shirt. In bed, it was a delightful shock of warm tense flesh. (Ella was standing to one side, thinking ironically: Well, well!) He penetrated her almost at once, and came after a few seconds. She was about to console or be tactful, when he rolled on his back, flung up his arms, and exclaimed: 'Boy. Oh boy!' (At this point Ella became herself, one person, both of them thinking as one.) She lay beside him, controlling physical disappointment, smiling. 'Oh boy!' he said, contented. 'That's what I like. No problems with you.' She thought this one out slowly, her arms around him. Then he began talking of his wife, apparently at random. 'Do you know what? We go to the club, dancing, two, three nights a week. You know, that's the best club in the town. All the boys look at me and think, lucky bastard! She's the prettiest girl there, even after five kids. They are thinking we have a whale of a time. Oh boy, and sometimes I think, suppose I told them-we have five kids. And we've had it five times since we married. Well, I'm exaggerating, but that's about it. She's not interested, though she looks as if she is.' 'What's the trouble?' asked Ella, demure. 'Search me. Before we got married, when we were dating, she was hot enough then. Oh boy, when I think!' 'How long were you-dating?' 'Three years. Then we got engaged. Four years.' 'And you never made love?' 'Made love-oh, I see. No, she wouldn't let me, and I wouldn't have wanted her to. But everything but. And she was hot then, boy, when I think! And then on the honeymoon she froze up. And now I never touch her. Well if we're tight after a party sometimes.' He let out his youthful energetic laugh, throwing his large brown legs up and letting them fall. 'And we go dancing, she's all dressed to kill, and all the boys looking at her and envying me, and I think: if they just knew!' 'Don't you mind?' 'Hell, of course I mind. But I'm not going to force myself on anyone. That's what I like about you-let's go to bed, you say, and that's fine and easy. I like you.' She lay beside him, smiling. His large healthy body was pulsing with well-being. He said: 'Wait a while, I'll make it again. Out of practice, I guess.' 'Do you have other women?' 'Sometimes. When I get the chance. I don't chase any. Haven't the time.' 'Too busy getting where you want to go?' 'That's right.' He put his hand down and felt himself. 'You wouldn't rather I did that?' 'What? You don't mind?' 'Mind?' she said, smiling, lying on her elbow beside him. 'Hell, my wife won't touch me. Women don't like it.' He let out another whoop of laughter. 'You don't mind then?' After a moment, his face changed into wondering sensuality. 'Hell,' he said. 'Hell. Oh boy!' She made him big, taking her time; and then said: 'And now, don't be in such a hurry.' He frowned in thought; Ella could see him thinking this out; well, he wasn't stupid-but she was wondering about his wife, about the other women he had had. He came into her; and Ella was thinking: I've never done this before-I'm giving pleasure. Extraordinary; I've never used the phrase before, or even thought of it. With Paul, I went into the dark and ceased to think. The essence of this is, I'm conscious, skilled, discreet-I'm giving pleasure. It has nothing to do with what I had with Paul. But I'm in bed with this man and this is intimacy. His flesh moved in hers, too fast, unsubtle. Again she did not come, and he was roaring with delight, kissing her and shouting: 'Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!' Ella was thinking: But with Paul, I would have come in that time-so what's wrong?-it's not enough to say, I don't love this man? She understood suddenly that she would never come with this man. She thought: for women like me, integrity isn't chastity, it isn't fidelity, it isn't any of the old words. Integrity is the orgasm. That is something I haven't any control over. I could never have an orgasm with this man, I can give pleasure and that's all. But why not? Am I saying that I can never come except with a man I love? Because what sort of a desert am I condemning myself to if that's true? He was enormously pleased with her, generously appreciative, glistening with well-being. And Ella was delighted with herself, that she could make him so happy. When she had dressed to go home, and was telephoning for a taxi, he said: 'I wonder what it would be like, being married to someone like you-hell!" 'You'd enjoy it?' asked Ella, demure. 'It'd be-man! a woman you can talk to, and have such fun in the sack too-man, I can't even imagine it!' 'Don't you talk to your wife?' 'She's a fine girl,' he said soberly. 'I think the world of her and of the kids.' 'Is she happy?' This question so surprised him that he leaned up on his elbow to consider it and her-he was frowning with seriousness. Ella found herself liking him enormously; she sat dressed, on the side of the bed, liking him. He said, after thinking it out: 'She's got the best house in the town. She's got everything she ever asks for, for the house. She's got five boys-I know she wants a girl, but perhaps next time... She has a fine time with me-we go out dancing once or twice a week, and she's always the smartest girl wherever we go. And she's got me-and I'm telling you Ella, I don't mean to