because if yoing to have a roommate, and she isnt a dyke, then the bestthing is a perfect fool, which Mag was, because then you dump the lease onthem ahem out for the laundry.
One could see that Holly had a laundry problem; the room was strewn, like a girlsgymnasium.
" -- and you know, shes quite a successful model: isnt that fantastic! But a goodthing," she said, hobbling out of the bathroom as she adjusted a garter. "It ought tokeep her out of my hair most of the day. And there shouldoo much trouble onthe man front. Shes engaged. Nice guy, too. Though theres a tiny differenheight: Id say a foot, her favor. Where the hell -- " She was on her knees pokinguhe bed. After shed found what she was looking for, a pair of lizard shoes, shehad to search for a blouse, a belt, and it was a subject to ponder, how, from suchwreckage, she evolved the eventual effect: pampered, calmly immaculate, as thoughshed been attended by Cleopatras maids. She said, "Listen," and cupped her handunder my , "Im glad about the story. Really I am."
That Monday in October, 1943. A beautiful day with the buoyancy of a bird. Tostart, we had Manhattans at Joe Bells; and, when he heard of my good luck,champagne cocktails on the house. Later, we waoward Fifth Avenue, wherethere arade. The flags in the wind, the thump of military bands and militaryfeet, seemed to have nothing to do with war, but to be, rather, a fanfare arranged inmy personal honor.
We ate lunch at the cafeteria in the park. Afterwards, avoiding the zoo (Holly saidshe couldo see anything in a cage), we giggled, ran, sang along the pathstoward the old wooden boathouse, now gone. Leaves floated on the lake; on theshore, a park-man was fanning a bonfire of them, and the smoke, rising like Indiansignals, was the only smudge on the quivering air. Aprils have never meant mue, autumhat season of beginning, spring; which is how I felt sitting withHolly on the railings of the boathouse porch. I thought of the future, and spoke ofthe past. Because Holly wao know about my childhood. She talked of her own,too; but it was elusive, nameless, placeless, an impressionistic recital, though theimpression received was trary to what one expected, for she gave an almostvoluptuous at of swimming and summer, Christmas trees, pretty cousins andparties: in short, happy in a way that she was not, and never, certainly, thebackground of a child who had run away.
Or, I asked, wasnt it true that shed been out on her own since she was fourteen?
She rubbed her hats true. The other isnt. But really, darling, you made sucha tragedy out of your childhood I didnt feel I should pete."
She hopped off the railing. "Anyway, it reminds me: I ought to send Fred somepeanut butter." The rest of the afternoon we were east a w out ofrelut grocers s of peanut butter, a wartime scarcity; dark came before wedrounded up a half-dozen jars, the last at a delicatessen on Third Ave was he antique shop with the palace of a bird cage in its window, so I took her there tosee it, and she ehe point, its fantasy: "But still, its a cage."
Passing a Woolworths, she gripped my arm: "Lets steal something," she said,pullio the store, where at ohere seemed a pressure of eyes, as thoughwe were already under suspi. "e on. Dont be chi." She scouted ater piled with paper pumpkins and Halloween masks. The saleslady wasoccupied with a group of nuns who were trying on masks. Holly picked up a maskand slipped it over her face