Brooklyn was waiting by his car in the parking lot. She was still in her work clothes but she’d changed into high heels and gotten rid of her apron. Bill could see she’d freshened up, did her make-up and her hair. He could smell her too. She’d obviously put on fresh perfume.
“Sure you’re not angry with me?” she asked.
“Positive.”
“Good.” She smiled at Bill. “Guess I owe you for the pie.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“You sure? I don’t mind paying for it.”
“Where you live?” Bill asked.
“Not too far,” Brooklyn said.
“How much you gonna pay?”
“However much it costs.”
“Last chance,” Bill said. “You sure you want to pay for that pie? I mean it didn’t cost nothing.”
“I think it’s only right.”
“I didn’t ask if you thought it was right. I asked if you were sure you wanted to pay.”
“I’m sure.” Brooklyn looked straight into Bill’s eyes as she said those last words. Bill kind of thought it was almost like a dare. Soon as she had said them, he leaned in and kissed her, a deep kiss. As he did so, he reached into her blouse and took a little feel of her.
“I’ll follow you,” he said.
And he did.
And there they were. She led him into her apartment, tossed her purse on the table, turned to him and kissed him.
They kissed all the way to her sofa, fell down on the sofa, Bill’s hands already reaching under her skirt for her down there.
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” Brooklyn said. Bill had just started to push her panties aside. They were still kissing. She spoke through the kisses.
“What?” Bill said.
“You know what.” Brooklyn fixed it so they were both sitting up.
“No,” Bill said. “Actually I don’t.”
“You know. You’re a married man.”
“I am. Guilty.” He reached for her but she pulled back.
“What?” he asked her.
“You know me and Lily had a bet on you.”
“Say what?”
“We did. Fifty bucks on who could screw you first.”
“Why would you do something like that?” Bill asked.
“We heard a little bit about you. We both thought you were cute. So we made up a little competition.”
“So you’ll win the bet,” Bill said.
“No. We called it off when you got married. Now I’m thinking, you know, you really weren’t paying me any mind and so I flirted even though you’re married now. So I’m thinking I wouldn’t want some waitress messing with my new husband.”
Bill saw Brooklyn look at her feet, thought she was being maybe shy-like, maybe shameful. He laughed, a long open and unabashed laugh.
“What?” she said.
“What?” Bill said. “You ask now? That’s what.”
“Better late than never.”
“Come here,” Bill said.
He was a dog, no two ways about it. He was a low-down dirty two-legged dog and that’s all there was to it.
Brooklyn inspired the very worst in him. All-but? Forget that. All-but changed swiftly to everything and more. All-but morphed into anything and everything and then some. Brooklyn was, to him, absolutely gorgeous, positively perfect. She had the loveliest digits — fingers and toes — he’d ever seen. She was sweet to kiss, soft to touch and there wasn’t a spot on her he didn’t get himself intimately acquainted with.
Brooklyn. His father was from Brooklyn. His mother was from Brooklyn. Brooklyn was Brooklyn.
Brooklyn was the closest thing he’d seen to Lucy, that gorgeous hostess over on the west side no one could have. They weren’t twins or sisters, that was for sure. But they had those same dark features, that same angularity, the same long, black hair and slightly freckled faces.
Brooklyn. A bit of angel.
Pick up a copy of all my works here: By Peter Weiss
