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Then she flipped over and threw herself against me, her body skittering across mine, and clamped her mouth to mine, splitting my teeth with her tongue, her tiny hands clutching our faces together. I could feel the expectant hunch of her on my stomach, but she was too short to breach the gap. She sprayed kisses over my face, in my ears, warm and flickering like the summer rain. But her head crept slowly down my chest as her rocking crotch searched, found and took me as if I were the gift, and cradled me preciously. She sat up and back, her hands on my chest, and gave as much as she took.
The motion was slow and easy for a time, graceful in her control, then faster. She closed her eyes, then bared her teeth, then faster, her hands sliding against my chest. And faster still, her toes dug into the mattress, riding in quick little punches. She grabbed my neck, pulled my face to her, to the small hot slaps of her breasts. My body bent in a circle, a hard, fleshy ring around her, and she the tiny missing link completing the arc – and she pumped like a ru
I lay empty, only now aware of her greedy contracting spasms, wondering if she had really had a climax. (In the months to come I understood that she always did, and always would. She liked to fuck. She wasn't obsessed with it, or manic about it, she just liked it. She was obsessed with movies. She always cried afterwards, thinking GIs expected it. I never heard one complain, though, now that I think about it. Maybe she knew more than we thought.)
I woke when she climbed off the bed. Her eyes were puffy, but she smiled like a child on her birthday.
"I ride on top," she said, " 'Cause… cause you too… big." She meant heavy. "And so you can watch in mirror."
My back ached, I was nearly raw and my head still hurt, but it had been a long time since I felt quite so good. I had forgotten how nice love without complications can be.
"I forgot to look," I said from the bed, watching her prop one foot on the wall and pee in the sink. I had to laugh.
"You should look," she said when she finished. "Room is fifty centavos more for mirror." She turned around. "How come you laugh?"
"Because you're beautiful."
"You put me on."
"No. Never."
"TDY not pretty."
"No. But you're beautiful."
"What you mean?"
"Beautiful like God, like an angel."
"Shame," she said, but she smiled.
"And I promise to look in the mirror next time." She laughed.
As I dressed an afternoon thunder shower flashed heavy rain in the sun. I opened the shutters, and smoked, waiting. The rain eased into large, splattering drops against the bright washed green of the vine, then ended with a roll of thunder like applause after a fine performance, and TDY and I left.
The world sparkled, spotless in the slanted rays of the sun. Water splashed like laughter from the glimmering puddles in the bronze street as calesa ponies sauntered past, and beggar boys marveled at the tickling ooze of mud between their toes as shy-eyed gum-and-flower girls disapproved from shaded doorways. They were happy, so easily impressed by a passing storm. Even TDY giggled and danced around me, splattering my unconcerned pants.
"What took you so long, man," Morning asked as TDY and I met Novotny, Qui
"He sleep long time," TDY answered for me.
"Not too long, I bet, with that little Indian around," Novotny said, laughing. Qui
"Yeah," I said. "And thanks, too. I think I'll pass out again…"
"That's for sure," Qui
"… so I can wake up all over."
"She's something else," Morning said, rubbing his hand down her back and across the pout of her butt. "Pure silver under there. Pure." TDY laughed and arched against his hand, purred and tilted back her head. Morning asked if she wanted a beer.
"I go home, Joe. Clean up house," she said. "See you Mr. Moustache," she said, switching her butt against my leg. She pulled one end of it. "You tickle pussy sometime, huh?" She giggled and skipped down the street.
"Okay, where's home for that sweet little girl?" I asked. "Just in case you guys aren't around when I ah, pass out."
"She keeps the apartment for us," Morning explained. "We bought her."
"Like a vacuum cleaner?"
"No, man, like a maid." Morning said that TDY had been a calesa-girl, the lowest class whore, and Haddad had fucked her one night, realized what a gold mine she was, and convinced the Trick to buy her from the pimp she belonged to. Haddad provided the financing for half of his usual ten percent, persuaded TDY, then installed her a maid-of-all-tricks in the apartment which the Trick already rented in Town. The Trick kept her in food, clothes and money. She in turn kept the place clean and was available to any member without clap, when she wasn't at the movies. No one ever made her miss a movie. Cagle had tried once, and she cut him off for a month.
"Works out fine," Morning said. "You want in? Gives you a place to sleep, shower and shave on break. It's not fancy – six beds, a couch, a shower and a little bitty kitchen which is TDY's."
"How much?"
"Ten bucks a month to Haddad. He handles the arrangements and accounts, credits three-to-one, pesos to dollars, on your money, keeps the place up, pays the bills and gives the excess to the orphanage to outfit our basketball team and buy books."
"Come on," I scoffed.
"He's in love with one of the teachers, but she won't have anything to do with him because he's in the market. She thinks he's a threat to the economy, an arrogant Jew American Ugly. But she lets him coach the basketball team, and buys the books with the money he gives her…"
"But that's by God all he gives her," Qui
"We're a bunch of fucking philanthropists," Novotny said.
"A bunch of fucking nuts," I said, slapping Morning on the shoulder. "Move over and let another one in, mother."
"There's five guys from Trick Four who use the place," Morning added. "But they break when we're working, so we don't get in each other's way." He paused expectantly.
"So?"
"One of them is a Negro…"
"So?"
"I just thought, if you minded, I should let you know."
"No sweat, Morning," I said.
"Just wanted to avoid trouble."
"You? Come on. You make trouble in gallon jugs, Morning."
"Sells well, anyway, man. Let's go have a drink."
"Take two – they're small."
"Goddamn, yours are," Qui
As we walked away, laughing, Cagle remained leaning against the wall. He hadn't moved during the whole time. Morning went back to wake him up.
"Little fart can crap out anyplace," Novotny said.
Just as Morning reached for his shoulder, Cagle jumped at him, screaming and brandishing a knotted cane like a saber. Morning leapt backwards, arms and legs spread like a spider's, shouted "Sonofabitch!", then hopped forward as if out of physical control. Cagle parried Morning's arms, slid into him like a fencer and stabbed him in the heart.
"Touché!" he smirked. "What sort of spy are you, Agent Monday Morning. Taken in by the sleeping-dog lie. Ha! I'm sending you back to the Sally League."
Morning was limp. "Someday I'm going to kill you, Cagle." He wasn't angry; but he had been scared. In spite of the calm and composure with which he carried himself, Morning was intensely nervous. He was forever on edge, but it never showed except when something like Cagle's attack caught him with his face down.