They went into the bedroom and undressed quickly. The one time she had put on the dress for Boylan they had done the same thing. There was no avoiding echoes.

Willie made love to her sweetly and gently, almost as though she were frail and breakable. Once, in the middle of love-making the word respectfully had crossed her consciousness and she chuckled. She didn’t tell Willie what had caused the chuckle. She was very different with Willie than with Boylan. Boylan had overcome her, obliterated her. It had been an intense and ferocious ceremony of destruction, a tournament, with winners and losers. After Boylan, she had come back into herself like someone returning from a long voyage, resentful of the rape of personality that had taken place. With Willie the act was tender and dear and sinless. It was a part of the flow of their lives together, everyday and natural. There was none of that sense of dislocation, abandonment, that Boylan had inflicted upon her and that she had hungered for so fiercely. Quite often she did not come with Willie, but it made no difference.

“Precious,” she murmured and they lay still.

After awhile Willie rolled carefully on his back and they lay side by side, not touching, only their hands entwined, childishly, between them.

“I’m so glad you were home,” she said.

“I will always be home,” he said.

She squeezed his hand.

He reached out with his other hand for the package of cigarettes on the bedside table and she disentangled her fingers, so that he could light up. He lay flat, his head on the thin pillow, smoking. The room was dark except for the light that was coming in through the open door from the living room. He looked like a small boy who would be punished if he were caught smoking. “Now,” he said, “that you have finally had your will of me, perhaps we can talk a bit. What sort of day did you have?”

Gretchen hesitated. Later, she thought. “The usual,” she said. “Gaspard made a pass at me again.” Gaspard was the leading man of the show and during a break in the re-hearsal he had asked her to come into his dressing room to run over some lines and had practically thrown her on the couch.

“He knows a good thing when he sees one, old Gaspard,” Willie said comfortably.

“Don’t you think you ought to talk to him and tell him he’d better leave your girl alone?” Gretchen said. “Or maybe hit him in the nose?”

“He’d kill me,” Willie said, without shame. “He’s twice my size.”

“I’m in love with a coward,” Gretchen said, kissing his ear.

“That’s what happens to simple young girls in from the country.” He puffed contentedly on his cigarette. “Anyway, in this department a girl’s on her own. If you’re old enough to go out at night in the Big City you’re old enough to defend yourself.”

“I’d beat up anybody who made a pass at you,” Gretchen said.

Willie laughed. “I bet you would, too.”

“Nichols was at the theater today. After the rehearsal he said he might have a part for me in a new play next year. A big part, he said.”

“You will be a star. Your name will be in lights,” Willie said. “You will discard me like an old shoe.”

Just as well now as any other time, she thought. “I may not be able to take a job next season,” she said.

“Why not?” He raised on one elbow and looked at her curiously.

“I went to the doctor this morning,” she said. “I’m pregnant.”

He looked at her hard, studying her face. He sat up and stubbed out his cigarette. “I’m thirsty,” he said. He got out of bed stiffly. She saw the shadow of the long scar low on his spine. He put on an old cotton robe and went into the living room. She heard him pouring his beer. She lay back in the darkness, feeling deserted. I shouldn’t have told him, she thought. Everything is ruined. She remembered the night it must have happened. They had been out late, nearly four o’clock, there had been a long loud argument in somebody’s house. About Emperor Hirohito, of all things. Everybody had had a lot to drink. She had been fuzzy and hadn’t taken any precautions. Usually, they were too tired when they came home to make love. That one goddamn night, they hadn’t been too tired. One for the Emperor of Japan. If he says anything, she thought, I’m going to tell him I’ll have an abortion. She knew she could never have an abortion, but she’d tell him.

Willie came back into the bedroom. She turned on the bedside lamp. This conversation was going to be adequately lit. What Willie’s face told her was going to be more important than what he said. She pulled the sheet over herself. Willie’s old cotton robe flapped around his frail figure. It was faded with many washings.

“Listen,” Willie said, seating himself on the edge of the bed. “Listen carefully. I am going to get a divorce or I am going to kill the bitch. Then we are going to get married and I am going to take a course in the care and feeding of infants. Do you read me, Miss Jordache?”

She studied his face. It was all right. Better than all right.

“I read you,” she said softly.

He leaned over her and kissed her cheek. She clutched the sleeve of his robe. For Christmas, she would buy him a new robe. Silk.

II

Boylan was standing at the bar in his tweed topcoat, staring at his glass, when Rudolph came down the little flight of steps from Eighth Street, carrying the overnight bag. There were only men standing at the bar and most of them were probably fairies.

“I see you have the bag,” Boylan said.

“She didn’t want it.”

“And the dress?”

“She took the dress.”

“What are you drinking?”

“A beer, please.”

“One beer, please,” Boylan said to the bartender. “And I’ll continue with whiskey.”

Boylan looked at himself in the mirror behind the bar. His eyebrows were blonder than they had been last week. His face was very tan, as though he had been lying on a southern beach for months. Two or three of the fairies at the bar were equally brown. Rudolph knew about the sun lamp by now. “I make it a point to look as healthy and attractive as I can at all times,” Boylan had explained to Rudolph. “Even if I don’t see anybody for weeks on end. It’s a form of self-respect.”

Rudolph was so dark, anyway, that he felt he could respect himself without a sun lamp.

The bartender put the drinks down in front of them. Boylan’s fingers trembled a little as he picked up his glass. Rudolph wondered how many whiskies he had had.

“Did you tell her I was here?” Boylan asked.

“Yes.”

“Is she coming?”

“No. The man she was with wanted to come and meet you, but she didn’t.” There was no point in not being honest.

“Ah,” Boylan said. “The man she was with.”

“She’s living with somebody.”

“I see,” Boylan said flatly. “It didn’t take long, did it?”

Rudolph drank his beer.

“Your sister is an extravagantly sensual woman,” Boylan said. “I fear for where it may lead her.”

Rudolph kept drinking his beer.

“They’re not married, by any chance?”

“No. He’s still married to somebody else.”

Boylan looked at himself in the mirror again for a while. A burly young man in a black turtle-neck sweater down the bar caught his eye in the glass and smiled. Boylan turned away slightly, toward Rudolph. “What sort of fellow is he? Did you like him?”

“Young,” Rudolph said. “He seemed nice enough. Full of jokes.”

“Full of jokes,” Boylan repeated. “Why shouldn’t he be full of jokes? What sort of place do they have?”

“Two furnished rooms in a walkup.”

“Your sister has a romantic disregard of the advantages of money,” Boylan said. “She will regret it later. Among the other things she will regret.”

“She seemed happy.” Rudolph found Boylan’s prophecies distasteful. He didn’t want Gretchen to regret anything.

“What does her young man do for a living? Did you find out?”