here like a starved alley cat, give me hate and misery.”
Hurrah. I was heard. I wasn’t speaking in a dead tongue. Maxine heaved herself upright, sucking in her stomach, and performed a full
grande dame
on me.
“You’re hopeless, you and your defenses. You’re even sicker than I feared. You remind me of a girl in group we had to throw out. If anyone touched on the truth, she turned into a howling cornered animal.”
“So that’s what we’re having. A sample group-therapy session. I thought we were taping for the Johnny Carson Show. Leave. Go quick, tell Rhoda how hopeless I am before you forget one word of this interview.”
Maxine proceeded silently to repack the tons of crap that had exuded from her vinyl satchel. I might have had the small but gratifying satisfaction of delivering the last word, but Lady Luck is obviously being paid handsomely to ignore my existence. The phone rang, and it would have required a deadly karate blow to the jugular to get rid of the intruder.
It was Claude, sounding as though he was reporting in to his parole officer.
“Harriet?”
“Claude darling, I’ve been waiting for your call.”
Maxine went into a full Marcel Marceau extravaganza so I should say hello for her.
“The plans for tonight have changed,” he told me.
“Oh, rats, I’ve been cooking and cleaning and shopping like a field hand all day. Well, darling, we’ll have a nice quiet dinner alone.”
“Will you let me finish what I was saying?” he snapped.
“I’m all ears, sweetheart.”
“I was able to reach Charles, and we’ve arranged to have an early dinner at La Bonne Femme.”
“Oh, no,” I said, because my loathing for uptown fag restaurants is practically a phobia.
“Harriet, I was thinking it would be better if I have dinner alone with them and get home early.”
If not for the hostile spy sitting in my living room, I could have been very explicit about my objections. Maxine took a metal teasing comb out of her valise and messed up her streaked mop of hair to look as though a battalion of mercenaries had had a go at her and one Turk more or less wouldn’t faze her.
“Nonsense,” I said gaily, “I’d love to join you.”
There was a very long pause from the other end of the wire.
“Hello, Claude?”
“I’m still here.”
“Wonderful.”
“I think it would be better if you didn’t come tonight.”
“Darling, I’ll be at the Bonne Femme with bells on, I promise you.”
“Oh, Christ. Will you behave yourself with Charles and his girl friend?”
“I’m dying to meet her. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. What time did you say?”
There was another monstrous pause. Maxine was leaning forward in her chair, her flexible spine no doubt tingling.
“Seven,” he said finally. “But if you make any trouble…”
“Isn’t that the place where they serve that fabulous cheese platter with all those broken crackers?”
This time there was no confusion about the silence, because he slammed the receiver down.
Since there was now no need to go into my scrublady routine, I flopped down on the couch and lit a Marlboro.
I could tell, from the expression on her face, that Maxine had elected to forgive me. Let it never be said that pride got in the way of her pleasure.
“Ugh,” I said, “could Jerry shoot some Novocain into my gums and freeze my face into a smile for tonight?”
“Why didn’t you give Claude my regards?” my sit-in pouted.
“For crying out loud, Maxine, could you please stop thinking about yourself for one second?” I myself was already struggling with the issue of what to wear. Entertaining at home, I would have been sublime in bare feet and a saffron Burmese prayer robe, but to appear before a pack of hostile faggots would have given pause to Cinderella’s godmother.
What’s wrong between you and Claude?”
I couldn’t answer because quite incredibly tears of exasperation filled my eyes and throat. My guest levitated off the wicker chair
Hurrah. I was heard. I wasn’t speaking in a dead tongue. Maxine heaved herself upright, sucking in her stomach, and performed a full
grande dame
on me.
“You’re hopeless, you and your defenses. You’re even sicker than I feared. You remind me of a girl in group we had to throw out. If anyone touched on the truth, she turned into a howling cornered animal.”
“So that’s what we’re having. A sample group-therapy session. I thought we were taping for the Johnny Carson Show. Leave. Go quick, tell Rhoda how hopeless I am before you forget one word of this interview.”
Maxine proceeded silently to repack the tons of crap that had exuded from her vinyl satchel. I might have had the small but gratifying satisfaction of delivering the last word, but Lady Luck is obviously being paid handsomely to ignore my existence. The phone rang, and it would have required a deadly karate blow to the jugular to get rid of the intruder.
It was Claude, sounding as though he was reporting in to his parole officer.
“Harriet?”
“Claude darling, I’ve been waiting for your call.”
Maxine went into a full Marcel Marceau extravaganza so I should say hello for her.
“The plans for tonight have changed,” he told me.
“Oh, rats, I’ve been cooking and cleaning and shopping like a field hand all day. Well, darling, we’ll have a nice quiet dinner alone.”
“Will you let me finish what I was saying?” he snapped.
“I’m all ears, sweetheart.”
“I was able to reach Charles, and we’ve arranged to have an early dinner at La Bonne Femme.”
“Oh, no,” I said, because my loathing for uptown fag restaurants is practically a phobia.
“Harriet, I was thinking it would be better if I have dinner alone with them and get home early.”
If not for the hostile spy sitting in my living room, I could have been very explicit about my objections. Maxine took a metal teasing comb out of her valise and messed up her streaked mop of hair to look as though a battalion of mercenaries had had a go at her and one Turk more or less wouldn’t faze her.
“Nonsense,” I said gaily, “I’d love to join you.”
There was a very long pause from the other end of the wire.
“Hello, Claude?”
“I’m still here.”
“Wonderful.”
“I think it would be better if you didn’t come tonight.”
“Darling, I’ll be at the Bonne Femme with bells on, I promise you.”
“Oh, Christ. Will you behave yourself with Charles and his girl friend?”
“I’m dying to meet her. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. What time did you say?”
There was another monstrous pause. Maxine was leaning forward in her chair, her flexible spine no doubt tingling.
“Seven,” he said finally. “But if you make any trouble…”
“Isn’t that the place where they serve that fabulous cheese platter with all those broken crackers?”
This time there was no confusion about the silence, because he slammed the receiver down.
Since there was now no need to go into my scrublady routine, I flopped down on the couch and lit a Marlboro.
I could tell, from the expression on her face, that Maxine had elected to forgive me. Let it never be said that pride got in the way of her pleasure.
“Ugh,” I said, “could Jerry shoot some Novocain into my gums and freeze my face into a smile for tonight?”
“Why didn’t you give Claude my regards?” my sit-in pouted.
“For crying out loud, Maxine, could you please stop thinking about yourself for one second?” I myself was already struggling with the issue of what to wear. Entertaining at home, I would have been sublime in bare feet and a saffron Burmese prayer robe, but to appear before a pack of hostile faggots would have given pause to Cinderella’s godmother.
What’s wrong between you and Claude?”
I couldn’t answer because quite incredibly tears of exasperation filled my eyes and throat. My guest levitated off the wicker chair
Similar Books
