Mary And The Giant

"Get to the point."

"He had looked over my songs. But he couldn't publish them. Not enough water had gone under the bridge, he said."

"What did he mean?"

"At first I couldn't imagine. Then I saw how he was looking at me. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes," Mary A

"Well, that was it. He said something about not doing it there in the apartment; he had a cabin he liked to use, a few miles out of town. So nothing could interfere."

"He was using his job to get girls?"

"Joe Schilling," Beth said, "is a very kindly, very thoughtful man. I like him. But I'm realistic. He has a weakness: he wants his women.

Thoughtfully, Mary A

Beth flushed. "I-suppose you could put it that way. But I-"

"Da

"I was a professional model," Beth said, her cheeks blazing.

"I explained it to you; I was an artist."

Suddenly Mary A

"What do you mean?"

"I just realized what you are." Matter-of-factly, she said, "You're a whore."

Beth stood up. Her face was pale, and little lines, like cracks, spread between her eyes and radiated from her mouth. "And what do you suppose you are? Going to bed with him to keep your job-isn't that being a whore?"

"No," she said. "That's not what happened." It had not been that at all.

"And now you've suddenly become fastidious," Beth said rapidly. "Why? Because he's older than you? Be realistic-you're being kept in grand style, continental style. You have a lover who knows how to do it right. It sounds ideal; you're lucky."

Deep in thought, Mary A

"What is it?" Beth said. "How about letting me in on it? I think I deserve to be let in on it."

"Jesus," Mary A

"I see," Beth said. "Well, perhaps from your standpoint, from a cynical adolescent's standpoint-" She ceased, as the door opened and the great brooding figure of Carleton B. Tweany appeared. He carried three cans of Golden Glow beer and a can opener. "So soon?" she said briskly.

"They're warm," Tweany muttered.

"I'm feeling a little ill," Beth said, picking up her purse and moving toward the door. "Nothing serious, just a sick headache. Come along, Carleton. Please take me home."

"But we-" he began.

Beth opened the door and went out into the hall. Without looking back, she said:

"This is certainly the dirtiest building I have ever been in." Then she was gone, and, after a moment of hesitation, Tweany put down the beer cans and followed after her. The door closed, and Mary A

She looked around for her coat. She waited until she was sure Beth and Tweany had gone, and then she dropped the door key into her purse, slammed the door, and started down the hall.

On the front porch sat two obese colored women; they were reading movie magazines and drinking wine. Mary A

Music flowed around her, the outpourings of a symphony orchestra. She halted in the entrance, and then she walked two slow steps, studying her feet and seeing, at the same time, the pattern of the floor. She saw the sudde

"Hello," she said.

"Well," Max said, eyeing her grumpily. "Look who showed up.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Turning, Max said across the store to Schilling: "Look who decided to drop in for a few minutes and say hello." Schilling glanced instantly up. He put down the record he was holding and said: "I was begi

"I'm late," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Not too late, though." He returned to his customer.

Removing her coat, she carried it carefully downstairs. When she returned, the young man had left, and Joseph Schilling was alone at the counter. Max was outside sweeping off the sidewalk.

"I'm glad to see you," Schilling said. He was sorting records, a new Victor shipment. "Are you back for good?"

"Naturally," she answered, going behind the counter. "I'm sorry you had to call Max to come down."

"No harm done."

"You haven't had your morning coffee, have you?"

"No." His face was lined and drawn; he seemed especially ponderous today. When he bent down to rummage in a carton, he lowered himself with care.

"Are you stiff?" she asked.

"Like a steel plank."

"My fault, again," she said. "I'll check the shipment; you go back and get your coffee."

Schilling said: "I was getting the idea you weren't going to show up at all."

"Didn't I tell you I'd be in?"

"You did." He concentrated on the records. "But I wasn't positive."

"Go drink your coffee," she said. Suddenly she said: "Why is it up to me?"

He stared at her with emotion; his eyes were intense and he cleared his throat to speak.

"Go drink your coffee," she repeated, wanting him to stop confronting her. He had forced her to leave; or, at least, he had not made it possible for her to stay. She felt frightened, and now she went away from him toward the front of the store. A customer had entered and was examining a display rack.

Behind her, Joseph Schilling changed his mind and did not speak. He moved in the direction of his office. She could hear him going. So she didn't have to tell him now; she could tell him later. Or perhaps not at all.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, turning quickly to the customer. "What can I do for you?"

20

That evening after work Joseph Schilling took her to di

Candles spotted the gloom as they followed the waiter to their particular table. The tables were low and covered by red-checkered tablecloths. The walls-Spanish in style-were adobe; the ceiling was low, and at one end of the room was a rococo railing overgrown with elderly ivy. Beyond the railing three musicians in Spanish costume were playing di

The waiter seated Mary A

"It's peaceful here," Mary A

Joseph Schilling listened to her voice, and now, as he held the menu, he looked across the table at her and tried to be sure what she was feeling. "Yes," he agreed, because the restaurant was peaceful. People came here to eat and relax and talk with one another; the light was dim and there was a low quietude, as if everything, the people, the tables, were melting and flickering with the candles, flowing together into passivity. He rested. He felt the cessation of pressure, and he joined the people around him.

But the girl was not relaxed; she said she was peaceful, but she sat like a little ivory rod, her hands on the table before her: white hands, folded, cold with the light of the candle. She was not calm; she was a hard, chipped, highly polished device that seemed to have no particular feelings; she was withdrawn, as if she had shut off everything but her wariness. She heard everything, watched him without even looking at him; but that was all.