nice,’ said Robin. ‘What’s your brother’s name?’
She paused. ‘Henry, Hank.’ She almost did not mind the questions, for this one was particularly cute. Still, she bit her nails furiously. She had no harmless answers. Why do they always have to know so much before they fuck you? she thought. Why?
‘There are three brothers in my family,’ Robin said. ‘I’m the oldest.’
‘How old is oldest?’
He looked over at her and smiled. ‘Oldest is twenty-five. Is that very oldest?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Ancient.’
‘How many kids in your family?’ Robin asked. ‘Two?’
He is tough, she thought, shaking her head. She had nearly forgotten how tough they all were. ‘Only one,’ she replied. Only one left.
‘One? I thought you said you had a brother.’
‘I did,’ said Tully, ‘have a brother.’ Two brothers, even. Two that I know of. ‘He’s not around anymore. Make a right at the next corner.’
Tully navigated him through the short streets near her house. And then the Grove. Robin pulled up near her house, took one short look at it – broken porch, long grass – and then one long look at her.
‘Can I come and see you tomorrow?’ he asked.
Nothing would be better, thought Tully. My mother on one side of him, Aunt Lena on the other. And so Tully smiled and gave him her stock answer, the answer she gave to all the boys, the only answer she had. ‘Sure, great, come. Maybe we could go for a ride in the afternoon.’ She looked around her. ‘Am I sitting in a red Corvette?’
‘With red leather seats,’ he replied.
‘Cool,’ said Tully. Right in front of him, she pulled on the big black skirt over her little skirt and a sweater over the T-shirt, then took a tissue and started wiping her makeup off.
Robin watched her. ‘You live pretty far away from everything, don’t you?’ he said.
‘Oh, but that’s not true,’ she said. ‘I live very near the railroad.’
‘The railroad? The St Louis and Southwestern Railroad?’
‘I guess. What does it matter?’
‘It’s got a lot of history,’ Robin said.
‘Oh, good,’ said Tully.
‘Like you?’
‘Me? I’m history-less,’ Tully said.
‘I never would’ve guessed you live near a railroad. You didn’t strike me as the type.’
‘Oh, but that’s not true.’ Tully smiled. ‘I am exactly the type. You can always tell.’
‘Always? How?’
‘Because,’ Tully said, handing him the smeared tissue, ‘the girl who lives near the railroad always wears the brightest lipstick.’
‘Hmm,’ said Robin. ‘As I recall, when you came in, you weren’t wearing any lipstick at all.’
The look she cast him quickly prompted him to ask her if he could walk her to the door.
Shaking her head, Tully said, ‘My mother is very sick.’ Hedda’s room was on one side of the house and Aunt Lena’s on the other; the house was dark, the entire street was dark, not too many people were up. Tully leaned over and kissed Robin full on the mouth. His lips were soft and wet; he smelled of alcohol and apple strudel. She liked that and kissed him deeper. Deeper and deeper; his lips were open while his eyes were closed. Tully always watched when she kissed them. What’s the point otherwise? Their faces are everything. She groped for him; his lips got more urgent, more and more urgent. She touched his hair, his neck, his shoulders. He groaned softly as he ran his hand under her skirts, over her bare legs, over her thighs, to touch her, one hand under her skirt, one on her breast. She was almost naked underneath her clothes; the Corvette windows got all fogged up. Robin kissed and kissed her. He pulled up her T-shirt and buried his face in her breasts as Tully stroked his hair, nearly shutting her eyes herself at the feel of his brown head. ‘Tully, what are you doing to me?’ he whispered, getting over to the passenger seat, on top of her, grinding himself against her. ‘What are you doing?’
Tully felt his erection, his need, his want, his breath, oh, this was just what she wanted. It had been such a long time since she had smelled lust and desire, had felt an erection. She moaned aloud, and that only made Robin grind harder against her. She unbuttoned his pants and took him out. He groaned. Really wanting him inside her, Tully moved her G-string over and guided him in. Robin went to touch her with his fingers, but she was already pushing him past them, inside, inside, inside.
Robin was much too excited, and it was over very quickly. As Tully liked it; she always liked it best when they came fast and out of control. It wasn’t very comfortable in the car; backseats were better, but the Corvette seemed better altogether. Tully had never been in one. When Robin came, she held him against her and caressed his back. Good, she thought, and smiled. Good. He stayed there, propping himself up but on top of her for some minutes, until she patted him lightly on the arm. ‘I gotta go,’ she whispered.
‘Oh, Tully,’ he said. Gently, she pushed him off her, and when he moved back to his own seat, she adjusted her skirts and brushed her hair. Robin buttoned his pants. ‘So you gotta go. You don’t want anything else? Anything else for yourself?’
Tully was amused. How to tell him that in the last ten minutes she got everything for herself she possibly could get from him, and anything else was out of his league, out of his Corvette, and in any case, completely unnecessary.
‘Robin, I’m so fine,’ she told him. ‘But I really gotta go.’
‘Can I still see you tomorrow?’ Robin said, touching her cheek.
Tully smiled. This one was a real gentleman. Some of them were. ‘Sure, great. Come,’ she said, kissing him quickly, and then was out, up the path, up the porch steps, and inside.
September 1978
Sunday morning, Jennifer sat by the phone and waited for Jack to call her. Last night he said he would call her, but here it was, noon already. Jennifer didn’t even go to St Mark’s for the ten o’clock Mass, waiting for him to call.
The last guests had left by about midnight, and Jennifer spent until two in the morning compulsively cleaning her room before she lay down in her bed. How did he get home? Jen had thought. He left around eleven, mumbling something about getting a ride. But he lived nearby, so he might have just stumbled home.
Jennifer slept poorly, waking up at five-thirty in the morning to sneak into the garage. Then she started cleaning up the house, and at six-thirty her mom and dad got up and helped her. Jennifer went back to her room, vacuumed, dusted, polished, shined. Then she came down to breakfast.
Sunday breakfasts! How she loved the mozzarella and onion omelettes her mom made; the whole family, all three of them, did. But this morning, Jennifer looked down into her omelette and thought about his breath, his breath on her shoulders, on her hair, his breath as he leaned over and laughed in her ear while she felt his sweat-soaked blond hair brush against her face.
‘Jenny, did you have a good time?’ Tony Mandolini asked her.
‘Great,’ she said into her food.
‘Did anyone get drunk or embarrass themselves?’
And they danced, oh, they danced together to ‘Wild Wild Horses.’