Published in UNCLE
SINGLES HEAVEN
Calvin had read in the paper the other day that neighborhoods were being killed by too many bars and boutiques, also restaurants that operate out of converted apartment houses and last about a month. It had begun to happen on his street, and it was fine with him. He liked sushi and Burmese food, especially because lots of women ate at these places. It meant he would spend less on his dates. First, they could walk to his place if things worked out, and then he’d only have to spring for taxi fare once when the lady wanted to go home. Since he told them his business was selling Maseratis he couldn’t very well wheel out his reconditioned Pinto. The Maserati story wasn’t exactly a lie. He had gone to the only dealer in the state and asked for a job, and the dealer said he’d call him when he had an opening. That wasn’t long ago, only three years.
Girls had been on Calvin’s mind ever since his fourteenth birthday. He probably would have married one if his mother had stuck to Pop and if his sister hadn’t married twice and walked out on both guys. He had liked the last one. That one tried to act like a father to Calvin—not in the way of baseball and hot dogs or trips to the zoo—but when he was in the mood he would pass on tips about keeping out of trouble. He’d say things like, “The trick is, kid, sometimes you gotta go underground, and if you can’t, try to grow up gay.” Calvin thought hard about being gay, but still couldn’t forget girls.
So he loved women, but didn’t want to know about their troubles. They understood him pretty soon, though once a very nice lady called him an unfeeling dog. He was not unfeeling. If anything, he thought he was too sensitive. Maybe that was why he was always trying to bring some class to the third-rate jewelry store he worked in. It was enough to turn him into a cat burglar the way he had to explain to this morning’s customers about the 48 payments they could make on the one-quarter carat stone that Calvin knew was practically an industrial diamond. While the girl nearly swiveled her hand off at the wrist, trying to catch a sparkle or two, and the poor nerd she came in with was probably wondering if they shouldn’t just live together or maybe take turns staying over three nights a week, Calvin sort of slipped away from them though he was still standing there looking polite and interested….
Morgan slid the marquise blue-white gem down her slender finger, then, brushing away the silver fox from her warm throat with strong tanned hands, he fastened the matching necklace under her fragrant dark hair. He glanced at the glowing picture she made. “She’ll take them,” Morgan said lightly.
Waking Calvin up, the nerd said, “We’ll take it.” He let Calvin put the ring back in the box, watching closely so he didn’t switch rings. He didn’t even want the box wrapped, and held it while Calvin computed sales tax and his 48 payments.
Sam, the manager, was always telling Calvin he should stick to selling and not worry about class. Sam thought about overhead and inventory all the time. “Calvin,” he would say when they opened the shop, “You’re not pushing those fake alligator watchbands. You know we’re overstocked.”
Well, Calvin had a real alligator watchband, which he didn’t buy where he worked. When he got home—that was Calvin’s world. Everything in it was the best credit could buy. Of course, his budget was slightly in trouble—well, actually badly but that was only temporary—he knew those minimum payments would eventually clear his debts. The banks couldn’t not extend more credit, either, as long as he paid every one its ten dollars a month on time.
Tonight he hurried into a shower, then took his time shaving. He hated to nick himself. Holes in the face did not belong with the look he went for.
After patting his face with a discreet palmful of Ho Hang (by Balenciaga, $40 per six ounces), he slipped on a heavy silk broadcloth shirt. He had a half-dozen of them, all in pale ecru, made up for him by a Chinatown tailor. They felt like whipped cream against his skin. Then gray flannel slacks and a roomy silk tweed jacket by Rangoni. The slacks weren’t too baggy, because Calvin stood about five-nine. The shoes: they were made of cordovan sheepskin and fit better than running shoes. He took his 12 credit cards with him everywhere he went. The only trouble with that many was they bulged like a shoulder holster under the jacket.
The bar that just opened around the block, the Goose Barn, was already packed when he got there. There was this dance floor the size of a bathmat at the end of the room, put there so the drinkers wouldn’t be bothered. But there was plenty of parade space between tables up to the bar, meaning when you fetched your drinks everybody could browse the merchandise going by.
So here Calvin went, snaking his flannels between tables up to the bar.
“Hey Fred, you’re looking great,” he said to the bartender. Fred looked awful, but that was bar talk. The bags under his eyes were green under the track lights, and even though this was only the second time Calvin had been in here the bartender looked as if he hated him. Calvin showed him two fingers held together horizontally. Without looking, Fred reached behind, walked his fingers along the row of bottles and snagged a Laphroaig (that fact that the Goose Barn carried Laphroaig made it, in Calvin’s estimation, a place of class and not likely to become a copy shop next month). The bartender did not add ice to the glass he set before Calvin. He might hate people, but he remembered their preferences. Equal to his whiskey, Calvin took a small rolling sip. He was a civilized drinker. Fizzes and cocktails were for nerds.
He sat awhile, listening to the talk around, not forgetting to scan the sizes and some of the fives walking around. His eyes automatically skipped over the lesser fives. Honestly, he thought, it’s discouraging. His mother’s old picture album had better looking ladies in it than he was seeing now.
“…There’s, you know, no meeting of, you, minds,” the six on the next barstool was saying. She bracketed the air with two fingers of each hand on the word “minds.” The guy with her nodded. She said, “A good relationship is, you know, important. You gotta have, you know, a sense of commitment.”
She looked familiar, a lot like the lady who came up to Calvin’s place last week, but the voice was huskier. Maybe they had just met and she was only trying to sound sexy. If she was the same lady, then he felt sorry for her friend. She wouldn’t come to bed until Calvin told her he respected her as a person and it was as much her right to meet and make out with guys she just met as it was his to do the same with women. Her voice started tinkling right about then, and he got worried about complaints from the neighbors. She finally got into bed, but it wasn’t much fun, they were both too upset. Then she burst out crying, and he didn’t know why, but felt like crying too. After that, he was in such a hurry to get her home he drove her in the Pinto.
Suddenly, Calvin straightened up. Coming his way was a nine, maybe better. She lifted onto the stool at his left as he got a close look. He felt dizzy, delirious. Her hair drifted around her face like a shiny storm cloud. When the track lights hit her eyes they turned bronze, a color he’d never seen before. Her skin, her lips, her—he stole a glance over the essentials, which were resting sweetly on the bar top—reminded him of Joyce Kilmer’s poem, “Trees.” She turned to Calvin and said! “May I have a light, please?”
He flicked his lighter and held it to the tip of a long, very thin cigarette.
“My name is Cal,” he said, smiling.
“I’m Jeannie.”
He loved her voice. It was low and soft.
Fred was standing in front of them, waiting.
“May I order you a drink?”
“Well.” Her frown brought two delicious eyebrows together. “I don’t really like drinking in bars. I don’t know why I’m sitting here, or why I came in here in the first place.” A tremble lurked in the lining of that smooth throat.
Fred moved away.
Her remark bothered Calvin. He didn’t want another nervous lady on his hands, but his adrenalin had alerted all stations. The only ten he had met until Jeannie had been in his fantasies. In fact, all the tens he had ever known inhabited his daydreams, which had become more or less an occupational habit where he worked.
“Then may I offer you a drink at my place?”
“Oh…I suppose you live alone?”
It was delightful. She seemed actually to blush.
“Yes, but not to worry. I am a gentleman.”
Smiling all at once, she answered, “Then I will go. But I have to phone my mother first. Be back in a minute.”
She kept him waiting ten minutes, but Calvin understood. Female rites in the restroom were important last touches. Also, she was probably too shy to use the vending machine while there were other women around.
He tried to think about something else. Romance had gotten so complicated that sometimes he got depressed. No, think about something else.
Five minutes ago they had been strangers, but now she bent under Morgan’s will as if she had been waiting for him all her life. “I have never known a man like you before,” she whispered. “Show me. Make love to me. Oh, yes, yes, yes….”
Jeannie returned, apologizing for staying away so long. They left the Goose Barn and she seemed charmed that he lived close by. “It’s so hard to live in a nice area with shops and grocery stores you can just walk to,” she said.
The fact that Calvin lived in a brick building charmed her too. He ushered her into his apartment. Women knew at once they were going to get first-class treatment when they saw his place.
“It’s lovely in here,” Jeannie sighed. “Such a good place to hide from the world.” She sank into Calvin’s white leather couch. The way she extended herself halfway along it showed him that she either (a) really trusted him or (b) found him attractive too. He wondered why she was sad and where she lived…
Her gaze lifted to Morgan’s. “It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “Everything changed when I found you.”
He shook his head, forcing himself back on track, and when he saw Jeannie looking puzzled, moderated the head shaking to a modest denial. “It’s nothing special, just comfortable. I’ll get our wine.” He had to watch that drifting off. His other personalities mixed in when he got nervous, not just when he was bored.
In the kitchen he filled a kettle half-full with water and put it on the range. It was something he always did, in case the occasion later called for some cocoa as they snuggled together on the couch, or bed, or rug. Once he and a girl had the cocoa in the shower, which was not something he planned ever to repeat.
He took a light Sauvignon Blanc from the refrigerator, two chilled stemware, carried them into the living room and began uncorking the wine.
Somebody knocked on the front door. Annoyed, he went to open it and stared straight into a face like an iron meteorite. Only the fact that the face wore an expensive suit prevented Calvin from slamming the door shut.
“Yes?”
The face didn’t answer, instead look over Calvin’s shoulder then entered his home as if Calvin was the butler. For a moment Calvin had absolutely no idea what to say or do. Then he said coolly, “You have the wrong place,” and flipped a thumb at the open front door. That was when he noticed lipstick streaked across the paneling in a big “X.”
He glanced at Jeannie, who shrugged.
“I’m dramatic,” she said.
Ironface continued to ignore Calvin. He bent down and kissed Jeannie smack on the lips. “Good going,” he told her.
She pouted. “You could have come up sooner. The dweeb might have raped me.”
The grin on Ironface was the most unflattering comment Calvin had ever seen anyone make about him. Ironface said, “I stayed two blocks behind you. The lock downstairs took me a couple of minutes. I didn’t want to break it. Okay?” He finally turned to Calvin. “I’ll have some of that wine, too.”
“You’ll what!” Calvin was still standing at the open door.
Ironface just poined. He had a way with gestures as well as expressions, Calvin saw.
The girl giggled, and Calvin knew his face was red. He struggled to figure our his next step, and while he was thinking, Ironface added, “And shut that door.”
He shut it, not because he had been told to but because an open front door made him nervous. You couldn’t tell what might come through it, though now it was already inside.
Going along the wall, Ironface walked to the window and peered at the street.
Then he opened the window and peered some more through the rungs of the fire escape. Calvin decided to go along for the time being and pour the wine Ironface had asked for.
Morgan moved fast, so fast Karpov didn’t have time to turn his head. The wine bottle caught him in the temple. Karpov staggered, but didn’t go down. Enraged, he let out a bellow and groped under his arm. Morgan’s long legs covered the floor to the window in two strides. Making a hammer of both fists he slammed the back of Karpov’s thick neck. It was over.
He turned to the girl. She was backed up on the couch, staring at him with wide, fascinated eyes. He smiled. She whimpered. Her breasts rose and fell faster. Her tongue darted out, slowly, wet—
“You got any cigarettes?” Iron face asked. Calvin took some out of his pocket and turned them over. “Filtertips,” Ironface said, disgusted.
“What do you want here? Calvin did not believe this was happening but he wished he could end it, break it up, make them go away. Why me? his brain whimpered.
“Jeannie picked a nice place.” Ironface winked. “We’ll borrow it.” Back to the window to watch the street. After a minute he seemed satisfied about something and took off his coat. There was a gun under his arm, not a fat wallet like Calvin’s. Suddenly all three of them jumped and Ironface whirled around in the direction of the shriek. Calvin remembered the water he had put on to boil and headed for the kitchen.
“Hold it there.” Ironface had the gun in his hand. “Walk in ahead of me.”
The kettle was roaring like a steamboat by the time Calvin turned off the gas. Ironface watched him from six feet away.
It was a slim chance, but Morgan took it. In one swift motion he grasped the kettle and flung the boiling water in Karpov’s face. Karpov screamed and dropped the gun. He rushed to the sink and thrust his steaming face under cold water. Morgan could have picked up the gun and used it but he knew Karpov was finished. He’d want the hospital, not Morgan.
“Come on, come on, move it.” Ironface waved him back to the living room with the gun. “Sit someplace, stay outta my way.”
Calvin sat on a hard chair far from Jeannie, who had her feet up on his couch and was cozily drinking wine. She had nearly finished the bottle.
“Where’s the phone?”
Calvin pointed to it.
“This thing?” Ironface picked up the black acrylic arch which flopped open in his hand. It had cost Calvin $200 at Cartland’s Custom-Mades. “Sheesh!” Clumsily, Ironface punched numbers.
“Benj?” We’re set, come on over. It’s good for at least a week.” He gave Calvin’s address, then slapped the arch together. The look he shot Calvin may have been appreciation, but it didn’t feel as if it was. Ironface grinned, took the bottle from Jeannie, and settled down beside her.
A week? Calvin thought in panic. Somebody else was coming and they were all going to be together a week. And after that? When they left, if they ever left, were they going to let him live, or what? He had to do something, RIGHT NOW, before Benj got here. Why hadn’t he shut himself outside the apartment when Ironface told him to shut the door?
A week. Calvin looked at his watch, as if it could give him a clue.
“Nice watch,” Ironface said. “Nice band too.” He rose from the couch, came over to Calvin and stripped it off Calvin’s wrist. It disappeared into a pants pocket.
Morgan said…Morgan jumped…
His brain fizzled. A half-hour later he was still trying to make a plan when Benj buzzed upstairs and Ironface asked who it was before buzzing back. Then Benj knocked on the door and it was too late.
Calvin’s brain turned into a blank television screen. He was simply not thinking at all anymore, and he woke up to find he had lunged out onto the fire escape and was screaming “Help! Fire! Murder! Police!”
Brakes squealed. People got out of their cars to look at him four floors up. Inside, Ironface yelled curses and grabbed Jeannie and his jacket and barreled out the door, blitzing Benj so hard he spun around twice. When Benj straightened out he followed after Ironface and Jeannie.
They were gone.
Calvin jumped back through the window and ran to the door and slammed and locked it. He was shaking and sweating so much all he could do was lie on the floor. After 15 minutes, when his heart finally stopped banging against his tonsils, he crawled
onto the couch and lay there. After another 15 minutes he noticed the open window and got up, wobbly in the knees, to close and latch it. He wondered where Ironface and Jeannie and Benj had gone. Maybe she was going to pick on another guy in a bar tonight. Maybe she’d try a restaurant instead, making out to be a woman eating all alone. The idea frightened Calvin all over again and also made him mad. He knew he ought to do something about, something involving the least risk to his own health, of course. But what? What?
An anonymous call to the police? An anonymous letter to the newspaper, mailed from another state?
“A quiet visit in person,” Morgan said softly. “The art of surprise is best when turned back upon….”
“Oh, shut up,” said Calvin.
