Running the Bulls Page 17

  At the bar, he discovered a rather attractive young woman in a smart red suit sitting on the stool next to his. Wally had just put a Bloody Mary down in front of her.

  “Is it a double?” she asked Wally, who nodded his head, terrified. Howard smiled what he hoped was a sexy smile as he slid back onto his stool. He lifted his rum, held it up as a toast. The woman looked over at him. He guessed she was in her thirties.

  “Here’s to divorce,” said Howard. “The legal alternative to murder.”

  At this, the woman smiled. She clinked her Bloody against Howard’s rum, and then they both drank. Howard wished Pete was still around to see him hitting on a woman so young. Pete should save his energy for moments like this, and not for the Abigails of the past. Not for fake blue eyes.

  “I’m Donna,” the young woman said. She put her hand out and Howard took it. “You’re one of the regulars, aren’t you?” Howard lifted her fingers up to his lips and kissed them. A glob of spit stayed on the hand, and so, gentleman that he was, he wiped it away with his shirtsleeve. He heard Wally drop something from behind the bar. It crashed and broke. Larry suddenly couldn’t remember the words to the song, or so it seemed, for he quit singing.

  “You’re a good-looking young lady,” Howard said then.

  “You’re not so bad looking yourself,” Donna replied, and it seemed to Howard that she honestly meant it. She tilted her head then and looked closely at him. Was she being seductive? Was this a female signal, a transmitting beacon? Howard grinned. He couldn’t help himself. Jesus, it was good to be alive. Why shouldn’t he be talking to this woman? He was almost divorced. He was certainly retired. And he still had between his legs the pump nature had given him. Why the hell not?

  “Here’s to life,” Howard said, and they toasted again, taking long drinks. Then, as fast as it had come, the smile was gone on Donna’s face.

  “My boyfriend just broke up with me,” she said, lip trembling. “He’s gone back to his wife and kids.” At this last disclosure, she burst into tears. Wally appeared instantly, like someone shot from a circus gun, the Human Cannonball, a stack of napkins in his hand. He put them down in front of Donna, who grabbed one. Howard took a second napkin and held it out before her, waiting, a kind of backup for when the first one grew soggy.

  “Do you know what the problem is with men?” she asked. Howard shook his head. He didn’t. “They spend ninety-five percent of their time thinking about their penises.” Howard considered this. That was a lot of time. How did he ever manage to read The Iliad twice, not to mention Shakespeare, Chaucer, and Dickens?

  “I haven’t thought of my penis since I got back from the mens’ room,” Howard told her. Donna smiled at the joke. It seemed to placate her.

  “Okay, ninety percent,” she said.

  “I just moved all my stuff out of my wife’s house,” Howard confessed then. It felt amazingly good to be confiding in a stranger, someone who didn’t know Ellen, who could remain, if not on Howard’s side, then at least neutral. Donna blew her nose now on the napkin and tossed it down on the bar. Wally fetched it up instantly, disposed of it in the trash barrel.

  “Bring me another double Bloody,” Donna told him.

  “Put that on my tab,” said Howard.

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Donna laughed. “I’m not one of those broads who sit in bars hoping men will buy them drinks. Besides, mine are all free. I manage this big white elephant.” And that’s when the disco ball in Howard’s head slowed its spinning. He now realized why Wally had become like some pathetic Step ’N Fetch It, why Larry had launched right into “Crocodile Rock.” This was Eva Braun sitting next to him, two of her three sheets already flapping in the wind! Good Christ, but Howard Woods was hitting on corporate America in a skirt!

  “I came to this shit-pile town to save this dump from extinction, and what do I get for it?” Donna said. “Deceit and lies.”

  “I know all about that, sister,” said Howard, sympathy now seeping from his pores, along with rum.

  “For five years he’s been getting a divorce,” Donna said now. “He promised.”

  Howard slammed his glass down on the bar. “You heard the woman!” he shouted to Wally, who appeared to be frozen in front of the cooler. “Another double Bloody!”

  ***

  Larry Ferguson had to get used to the sight of a sweaty Howard dancing with Donna Riley, aka Eva Braun, before he could even play “It’s All in the Game.” But Howard did what he used to do on all those anniversary celebrations over the years. He requested his and Ellen’s favorite song. Many a tear has to fall. His shirt had dark wet moons under both arms, but he didn’t care as he pulled Donna up close to him. She had taken off her red suit jacket earlier, a corporate red all right, a dress-for-power color. All evening Howard had watched the movement of breasts beneath her white blouse, as if they were sleek, white dolphins swimming just beneath waves of silk. Now, he could feel those breasts against his chest as he and Donna danced, slow, sensual, pelvis to pelvis. Twice, she had lifted herself up, unsteadily, on the tips of her feet, to kiss Howard on the lips. And he had kissed back, even allowing some of his tongue to wander into the arena of her mouth. He had stopped caring that Wally and Larry were watching every move he made, every move she made. As far as Howard was concerned, there was just the two of them, just him and this firm young woman who was going places in the corporate world. Now and then, he looked over toward the blue beads on Larry’s forehead to request another song. “Never Been to Spain” had become the most popular one of the night.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Donna whispered, and Howard nodded. Let’s do that, he wanted to say, but words were not important just then. They were on the same wavelength, he and Donna Riley, their two broken hearts joined on that night, in that seedy lounge, to make one good, solid heart.

  ***

  Between the two of them, and what with holding each an extra drink which they’d brought from the bar, it took Howard and Donna Riley twenty minutes to get to his room. Part of the delay had been in Howard’s insisting they stop at the pay phone where he again dialed Ellen’s answering machine. This time, laughing too hard to say anything himself, he had handed the phone to Donna and motioned for her to speak. She had done so, pretending into the receiver that she and Howard were having wild sex. Oh, Howie, baby, oh that feels good, that feels so good, do it again, Howard, oh baby! And then she had hung up. Howard couldn’t remember when he had so much fun. But that was before Donna put her two Bloody Marys down on the floor and again took off her red jacket.

  “Come on, bulley bulley,” Donna said, beckoning to Howard. “Look what I’ve got.” She then flapped the red jacket back and forth as Howard thrust fingers out from each side of his head, implying that horns grew there.

  “Olé!” Howard shouted, as he charged the red jacket. But Donna whipped it out of his reach. “Olé!” he shouted again, as he turned and came charging back. For five boisterous minutes Howard had charged Donna’s red jacket, there in the long hallway of the Holiday Inn. Twice, sleepy guests had complained by opening their doors and threatening to call the manager. This caused even more mirth as Howard covered his head with Donna’s jacket and listened while she explained, between fits of giggles, that she was the manager.

  When they finally found Howard’s door, the unlocking of it had presented another kind of obstacle. Howard put both of his drinks down on the hallway floor and fished the card that was his key out of his pocket.

  “How the hell am I supposed to open my door with this?” Howard had asked, as he held the card key up and peered through the holes in it. “This should get you a book at the library, not open your door.”

  It was Donna’s turn to try, and she did so, giggling when she couldn’t hit the slot. That was when Howard looked down the long corridor to see Wally and Larry, both peering around the corner, watching like voyeurs. The card finally clicked in the door
.

  “Fucking A!” Donna said, jubilant. She pushed the door open and then went with it, landing with a splat on the floor inside. Howard managed to help her up onto the bed before he went back outside to fetch their drinks. That’s when he peered again down the corridor. There they were, Larry and Wally, their faces like two shiny moons glistening at the other end of the hall.

  “Howdy, boys!” Howard shouted. He heard Donna laugh from within the room. He slammed and locked the door, still grinning to know that he had just become a legend in the lounge.

  Donna sat up on the king-size bed and patted her hand atop the mattress.

  “How do you sleep on this?” she asked. “I wasn’t here a week before I had a new box spring and a Sealy Posturepedic delivered to my room.” This made her laugh again, a giggle that seemed to be part hiccups and part belch. “I charged it to the bastards who own this place.” She reached for a Bloody Mary and tried her best to get the straw to go into her open mouth. But, as the key had done earlier, the straw kept hitting outside the slot. The more the straw turned away from Donna’s mouth, the more she giggled. Howard finally staggered over and helped guide the straw home. Donna sucked on it loudly. This struck them as insanely funny and they laughed together, the camaraderie of drunks. But then, this had been their MO all night long. This was what had bonded them, along with their broken hearts: they had the same sense of humor.

  “God, that was funny!” said Donna. She began unbuttoning her white silk blouse, oblivious to the spots of tomato juice that dotted the front. Howard sat in the lumpy chair and watched, ice clinking in his glass of rum as he swirled it. He imagined this action a sexy one, swirling one’s drink as a woman undressed. That was until he spilled the rum on the front of his own shirt. Seeing this, Donna giggled again. She took her blouse off and threw it at him. It hit his chest and lay there, silk clinging to sweat. Jennifer Kranston flashed into Howard’s mind just then. Ah, yes, Jennifer! She had been one of the first students he’d ever taught. She was young, but so was he back then. He was young and married. He had wanted Jennifer Kranston every damn time she glided into the classroom. But he had denied himself that lovely student. He was her professor, after all. And, like Donna’s ex-boyfriend, he had a wife and kids.

  When Donna unhooked her bra and let her breasts fall free, Howard moved from the chair and onto the bed next to her. She was not a beauty, not like Jennifer, or Ellen. But she had become soft, and vulnerable, which is saying a lot for corporate America. Howard put his lips against the warm skin of her neck as his hand came up and touched her breast. He kneaded it gently and Donna moaned.

  “God, I am so horny,” she whispered. This almost stopped him. It seemed too much too soon, an admission that Ellen would never have risen to. Not even with Ben Collins. “I was supposed to go to Boston this weekend, to visit Anthony,” Donna added. She stood, wavering a bit, and unzipped her skirt. Her breast was pulled from Howard’s hand then and he let it go. What was it about this breast? In his drunken stupor, Howard had been trying to put a finger on it, so it speak. And then, naked and soft and seeming to need him so, Donna stepped directly in front of his face. She lifted one of her breasts and guided the nipple into his mouth. Howard bit it gently and then took both of her breasts into his hands.

  “You look wonderful,” he said to her, and she seemed to like this. She smiled as she leaned toward him and kissed his forehead. She slipped her panties down and kicked them away with one foot. Still standing before him, she reached for one of his hands and pulled it down between her legs. She quickly separated his middle finger from the others and then urged him to push it into her. He did so, and she groaned. It was all so different to Howard. Women had not been like this in his day, at least not the women he knew and dated. Where did these newer girls learn such things? He imagined Donna studying these maneuvers at some corporate seminar, a new strategy on how to fuck the American consumer. First, trainees, you separate the fingers… watch closely now as Paula Simms, our marketing director, demonstrates. But, dammit, Howard Woods had come of age in the early 1950s, when the Kinsey Report was still dripping its controversial ink. When Howard first got a copy of the report and read the entire thing from cover to cover he was changed forever. He could no longer look at Ralph and Agnes Craig, who lived next door in the beige ranch-style, in the same way ever again. He couldn’t even look at his own parents the same way. His conclusion back then was that there should be a law about people over thirty having sex like that. But hey, it was the 1950s. Maybe there was a law.

  “Wait for me,” Howard said to Donna. He took off his shirt and then his pants and tossed them onto the lumpy chair in the corner. Wearing only his boxers, he pulled her down onto the bed and again took her left breast in his hand. He lowered his mouth to it. What was it about this breast? He tried not to think this thought, for he could feel the stiffness of his penis, its intensity against the warmth of her leg. He had already learned, somewhere in his midforties, not to deny the penis its urgency. But the more he squeezed and kissed Donna’s breasts, the more they felt as if small, hard balls were rolling about just below the skin. And then he knew. The breasts weren’t real! He was holding two sacs filled with some liquid. So this is what Pete Morgan had been complaining about, all those mornings and afternoons on the golf course, about those women he had met and bedded in middle America. It’s like holding a couple bags of putty, Pete always said. I tell you, a tit just isn’t a tit anymore. But Howard had paid little attention to Pete’s lamentations, assuming he, himself, would never know what two bags of putty felt like, happily married to Ellen as he was.

  Donna reached down and began fumbling with Howard’s boxer shorts.

  “Get these off,” she whispered. “Hurry.”

  Howard kicked the boxers off. She reached down and put her hand on his penis, began stroking it.

  “Nice,” she said. How could he help it? He was proud of himself in that instance, when he dared pause to think of it. Yes, sir, the good old pump nature had given him. Nice, indeed. Suddenly, Donna was up on all fours, her head tossed back to look at him.

  “Put it in,” she said. Howard could only stare. Doggy style? He hardly knew this woman. It had taken Ellen and him years to build away from the missionary style and toward something more, well, secular.

  “Hurry up,” Donna ordered, the corporate side of her now returning. Howard was afraid she might bark, or even bite, considering the style of sex she was demanding. He crawled up behind her and peered over her shoulder. She was swaying back and forth then, a soft humming noise coming from her throat. He put one hand on her waist and inched in closer. He reached down and lifted his penis with the other hand. At least it didn’t seem intimidated by this young woman. He leaned forward on his knees as he entered her. She opened her mouth just then and let the hum escape, like it was some kind of chant, a mantra maybe. Ice rained down outside the door. Clink clank clunk. Howard shut his eyes. He tried to block out both the ice and Donna’s incessant hum, which was now beginning to sound like an outboard motor. The quick sex had somehow quelled the merriment of the alcohol. How had it gotten this bad this fast between Ellen and him? That’s what kept running through his mind as he pushed forward, Donna pushing back to meet him, a hum with each thrust.

  Suddenly, there came a great hiss, one which Howard knew didn’t originate in Donna Riley’s throat. He had heard a milder form of this hissing before. But where? Donna hummed again, as if answering even his thoughts. And then he remembered! In that instant, as if knowing he was onto it, the box spring crashed through and onto the floor with a thud. Howard was pulled free of Donna and thrown up over her, as if they were two dogs being separated by some invisible animal control officer. His forehead hit the headboard with a dead thud.

  For a few long seconds there was only silence as they both realized what had happened. Clink clank clunk. The ice machine seemed more busy than usual. And then Donna laughed again. But this time, Howard
sensed a sadness in the laugh. It was the kind of laugh he had always reserved for Charlie Chaplin. Sure, the Little Tramp was funny, but how can you fully laugh at someone so hungry they boil and eat a shoe? Donna laughed that kind of pitying laugh. She arched her back, her elbows poking into his stomach, and he realized then that she was pinned beneath him. He did his best to lift his head from the headboard and flop over onto his back. The coils of the mattress hissed again as they accepted the weight of him. Donna pushed steamy, wet hair back from her face and looked over at him.

  “Howie, you ought to order yourself a new Sealy,” she said. “And move away from the ice machine.” Howard only nodded. He wondered if he could charge a new mattress to the bastards who owned the place, as Donna had done, and especially now that it appeared he would be living there forever. Now that he was flat on his back, he was coming to realize just how drunk the two of them were. Donna turned on her side then, away from him. In no time small snores were floating over to Howard, coming from the same throat that had produced the infernal hum. He closed his eyes. It seemed if he didn’t, he might cry, and that might wake the young woman who slept soundly at his side. He wouldn’t want that. Tomorrow would bring with it a sad reckoning, and she would need her strength to meet it head-on. He’s gone back to his wife and kids. Funny, but that’s exactly where Howard Woods wished he, too, could go.

  ***

  When Howard opened his eyes, it was almost dawn. He had forgotten to pin the curtains and now light was leaking in through the perpetual part in the center, a thin stream of pink and yellow sky. He could see that the sparrow was already busy coming and going from its nest in the Holiday Inn sign. Donna Riley was gone. The only proof that she had even been there were the two glasses sitting beneath the pineapple lamp, tomato juice and lipstick smeared around their rims. Howard brought a finger up to touch his right temple. There seemed to be a small bell beneath the skin there, one that was being steadily rung. He hoped his face wasn’t bruised, remembering that he had not tried to break his fall against the headboard. He stared up at the ceiling, more distant now that the box spring was flat on the floor. How had it gotten this bad, this fast? He decided he would wait for sunrise before he dragged himself up and into the shower. As he looked down at his white arms, his white legs, a terrified notion hit him. What if he saw, engraved and swollen in his skin, a dozen or so tattoos? He had read about sailors, drunk to the gills, engaging in all sorts of self-mutilations. He lifted his arm, afraid he might see a big corporate-red heart with Eva Braun written inside it, next to Mom. But his pale skin was still unblemished, except for the marks and ravages of time. He turned his head to watch the sparrow.