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Show •196 "How's that for appearances being a deceit?" "Do you still want me to live with you now?" Fancy said. "I'll do it." Later that night she woke up and threw her arms around me, almost tilting us out on the floor. "I don't want to die," she said fiercely in my ear. I kissed her neck sleepily, stroked her hair, touched her knee with mine reassuringly- "We're just kids," I said. "We don't have to worry about that for a long time." Instead of taking heart at this she clung to me more desperately and when I ran my fingers over her face I felt hot tears. After a second or two her sadness convinced me and I felt like crying myself because I wouldn't live forever and life was only a mockery. An appearance. Poor Jack Lemmon, passed out on the floor, had it right. "Do you like me better than other women?" Fancy says one morning. "I love you." I mean it sincerely, but maybe I would love any girl I walked with on this phenomenal morning in March, and Fancy, a sensitive girl, suspects it. Winds blow gently from some spicy shore over our startled, still winter-bound city. Dogs, whores and doormen practically prance in the streets. Cops smile for the first time since Christmas. Cabdrivers stop to let pedestrians cross the avenues. A |
