The Lonely Hearts Hotel(54)
“Instead of asking people about what the seating capacity in their restaurants is, why don’t you ask the women some of the things you need to know? Like how they all smell so good? Do you want to know how to identify a proper lady? You lift up her arm, you stick your face in her armpit and inhale and it still smells good. You know, most girls make an effort to please a man.”
Rose sat on the bed. There was no point in defending herself against these accusations. She wouldn’t dignify them. If you were stupid enough to listen to them, then you deserved them.
“It’s bad enough that you flirt with other men, but it’s the type of men you flirt with. It makes me really question myself. Like, if you’re at all attracted to me, does that mean I’m a lowlife creep too? How stupid was I? I mean, it’s one thing to fuck the help, but you don’t go and set them up in their own apartment and parade them around town.”
It made her feel like a rabbit caught in headlights. It made her feel as if a curse had been placed on her and now she was a little statue.
“Why don’t you please tell me who you would be, if it weren’t for me? I want you to explain it to me. You would be scrubbing floors, if you were lucky. You would be trying to seduce some other boss, who would have the good sense to ignore you.”
“I don’t know where I’d be?” she asked sarcastically.
“Why don’t you gain some weight? You look like you’re starving to death. I can see your rib cage poking out. No man wants to see something like that. Ask any man, he’ll tell you that he likes a woman with flesh he can grab on to. He likes a big ass he can stuff his face into. That’s it. That’s the main value that a woman affords to a man. I should be a happy man. I’m rich. Everyone knows who I am. I’m a respectable member of the community.”
“Are you?”
“What do you mean by that? Why would you question me like that? Who the fuck do you think you are? My equal? You think that sucking my dick gives you any sort of position or standing in this world? The minute I stop letting you suck my dick, you go back to being poor. Now take off your clothes and show me your ass, and I swear to God that better be in an enticing way.”
She had no power at all. And she had to do it. Her fingertips trembled as she removed her clothes. She hated that he could see her crying. Her tears were ones of humiliation, impossible to stop. They were a different temperature than other tears—and they seemed hot as they streamed down her cheeks. After her outer garments were removed, she took off her slip. What falls to its knees faster than silk?
? ? ?
HE CAME BACK AND APOLOGIZED to her the next day. She didn’t forgive him. She took out her old plan of the Snowflake Icicle Extravaganza from her pocket.
? ? ?
MCMAHON HAD SPENT so much money on her clothes, there was no reason she ought to show up in anything other than spectacular outfits. But after that night she somehow managed to put her clothes together in ways that made them look odd.
She wore a headband so low on her forehead that a great black feather went down to her nose and almost obscured her eyes. When someone said something peculiarly interesting, she would blow on the feather in order to get a clear-eyed view of them. As though she were blowing bangs out of her face.
Another time she was wearing a black velvet cape he had bought for her. She was holding it up over her face as if she were a vampire. Count Dracula.
Also, he could never tell when she was actually drunk because she would often pretend to be inebriated. She pretended to be three sheets to the wind, and it made everybody laugh. And then she would say the types of things that she always wanted to say but that she knew she shouldn’t, being a girl and all.
If he accused her of pretending to be drunk, she would claim that she had no idea what he was talking about. She would swear that she actually had been smashed, because she couldn’t for the life of her remember a thing that had happened.
That was especially infuriating. He couldn’t confront her about the things she had done. She would raise her hands to both sides and shrug.
Once she pretended to be drunk so she could act like a man. She started to flirt heavily with one of the girls. She held her finger under her nose, pretending it was a mustache.
“My darling, you are better than all the other girls. You are prettier than them all. It’s true. You are gold and they are all bronze. Watch out for all the other girls. They will be so jealous of you that they will want to stab you to death.”
All the men had laughed, but they were also a little alarmed. If Rose could see through them, perhaps every other woman could too. But then they decided that Rose was probably just a peculiar girl. And even though they suspected that she was very good in bed, and they had all fantasized about sleeping with her, they were rather relieved that it was McMahon and not them who had responsibility for this most unusual girl.
? ? ?
SHE WAS MAKING A CAKE in her hotel room. She had never made a cake before. She was doing it deliriously. She was whipping everything together violently. She dumped in a bag of flour and it blew up in her face. She crushed the eggs and tossed them in the bowl, shells and all. Then she poured in some milk and began to beat it all viciously.
“What in the world are you fucking doing?”
“I’m making a giant wedding cake.”
“Oh, I see. I see. You want me to divorce my wife and marry you. Is that it? If that’s it, I wish you would just have the courage to come out and say it.”