A Long Line of Dead Men

"So do I."

"Because the question of where we go from here is one of the things you'll have to decide," I said. "And I guess that's when you'll have to decide it."

I spent the rest of the day in my room at the Northwestern. Every hour or so I tried the number in Forest Hills, and each time it went unanswered. I made other phone calls throughout the day, and watched the Yankees on the MSG cha

I turned off the set and the phone rang. It was Jim Shorter.

"I hope I'm not, you know, interrupting anything," he said. "But you gave me your card and said to call anytime."

"I'm glad you did," I said. "How's it going?"

"Not so bad. I haven't had a drink yet today."

"That's great, Jim."

"Well, it's early. The day's not over yet. Anyway, there's days when I don't drink at all." And, after a pause, "I went to a meeting."

"Good for you."

"I guess it was good for me. I don't know. I can't see how it could have been bad for me, right?"

"Right. Where'd you go?"

"The same place we went last night. I put a buck in the basket and I had two cups of coffee and a handful of cookies. You can't lose on a deal like that, can you?"

"The price is right."

He told me about the meeting. The crowd was lighter than last night, he said, but he recognized a couple of the same people. He gave me some highlights from the speaker's story.

"I wanted to raise my hand," he said.

"You could have."

"People who'd been sober for less than ninety days were raising their hands and giving their day count and getting a round of applause. I was going to raise my hand and say it was my first day, but I thought, shit, let me wait a few days."

"Whatever you're comfortable with."

"Maybe I'll go again tonight," he said. "Is it okay to go to more than one in a day?"

"You can go all day long," I said. "There's no limit."

"Are you going? Maybe I could check out a West Side meeting, see if there's a difference."

"I'd like that," I said honestly, "but I've got plans tonight."

"Another time, then. How's the case coming?"

"Let's say it's a slow day."

"Well, I won't keep you," he said. "Maybe I'll, uh, give you a call tomorrow."

"Anytime," I said. "I mean it."

I was crossing the lobby on my way home when I remembered I hadn't put Call Forwarding back on. I went upstairs, punched in the code, dialed the apartment across the street, and told Elaine I'd be home in two minutes. "So why call?" she said. "Oh, right. Call Forwarding."

She was already dressed when I got there, wearing the leather outfit she'd modeled for me earlier, along with more perfume and makeup than was her custom. "What I decided," she explained, "is that a dungeon is no place for understatement."

"You don't think people will be exercising a little restraint?"

"I'll forgive you for that," she said, "but only because I love you. You probably want to shower, and your clothes are laid out for you on the bed."

I showered and shaved and put on the pair of dark slacks she'd laid out for me, then walked into the living room holding the shirt. "What's this?" I asked.

"It's a guayabera."

"I can see that. Where did it come from?"

"Yucatán, originally, except I think this particular one was produced in Taiwan. Maybe it's Korea. It says on the label."

"What I mean is-"

"I bought it for you. Try it on. Let me see. Hey, it looks great."

"What are all these pockets for? And all this piping."

"It's the style. Don't you like it?"

"If you'd told me in time," I said, "I could have let my sideburns grow and grown a little mustache. Then, with just the right haircut, I could look like a pimp in a 1940s movie."

"I think you look casual yet commanding. It's a present, incidentally, but you don't have to thank me."

"Good," I said.

Marilyn's Chamber was located in the basement of a warehouse on Washington Street. Meat packagers occupied the premises on either side, and across the street. There was no sign to lead you to the club. The green door was unmarked, with a low-wattage red light bulb just above it. It was ten o'clock when we knocked and were admitted by a young man with dark black skin, a shaved head, a sleeveless black jumpsuit, and a black mask. It was a quarter after one when the same young man opened the door and let us out.

There was a cab cruising down Washington Street and I stepped to the curb and hailed it. I gave the driver our address and sat back, and when Elaine started to say something I interrupted her to suggest that we ride home in companionable silence.

"I'd rather talk," she said.

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Are you afraid I'll embarrass the driver?"

"No, I'm afraid-"

"Because his name is Manmatha Chatterjee. He's from India, home of the Kama Sutra. His people invented fancy fucking."

"Please."

"So he's not going to be embarrassed."

"I am."

"Besides, if he blushed, who'd know?"

"God damn it…"

"I'm whispering," she said, "and he can't possibly hear me, you silly old bear, you. I'll stop. I'll behave. I promise."

She didn't say anything the rest of the way. In our elevator she said, "May I speak now, master? Or do you suppose the elevator is bugged?"

"I think we're safe."

"I had a good time. And I wasn't too warm in the leather."

"You might have been if you kept the top on."

"I suppose. You looked dashing in your guayabera."

"Casual yet commanding."

"I'll say. I'm really glad we went. I'll tell you, it's going to be a while before you see anything like that on television."

"Let us hope."

"What I really loved is how ordinary the people looked. I'm not talking about what they were wearing, but the people themselves. You go expecting extras from a Fellini movie and you run into folks who could host a Tupperware party."

"Some sexual underground."

"But that makes it more exciting," she said, "because it's more real. With the body piercing, everybody was so matter-of-fact. And it all seems so weird, doesn't it? Tribal, primitive."

"And permanent."

"Like tattoos, but more than skin deep. But my ears are pierced, and when you come right down to it, what's the difference between an earlobe and a nipple?"

"I give up," I said. "What's the difference?"

We were in our apartment now. "I don't know," she said, slipping both arms around my waist. "What's the difference between mashed potatoes and pea soup?"

"Anybody can mash potatoes."

"I already told you that one, huh?"

"Many times."

"The old jokes are the best jokes. That was fun, wasn't it? Did you have a good time?"

"Yes."

"Did it upset you when I took my top off?"

"It surprised me," I said. "It didn't upset me."

"Well, with all those tits in your face, I didn't want you to forget what mine look like."

"No chance of that. Yours were the prettiest."

She danced away from me. "Ha," she said. "You're go

"Who said I was lying?"

"Let's put it this way- if you were Pinocchio, now would be a good time to sit on your nose."

"I'll tell you what else surprised me," I said. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to participate."