One Fifth Avenue

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t like it.”

“That’s only because no one’s ever done it properly,” he said. The kissing “down there” seemed to go on for hours, and finally, she gave in, with her legs shaking and her vagina pulsating. Then she was overcome and burst into tears.

He kissed her on the mouth, and she could taste herself on his lips and tongue. Reason told her she ought to be repulsed, but it wasn’t so bad; more, she thought, like clean, slightly damp clothes just out of the dryer. She put her hands in his hair, which was softer and finer than her own. She stared into his eyes. Would he tell her he loved her?

“Did you like it?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said.

Then he went into the kitchen.

“Is that it?” she asked, wiping her cheeks and laughing. “Aren’t you going to…?”

He came back with two shots of vodka. “Sustenance,” he said, handing her the tiny glass. “It doesn’t have an oyster in it, but it’ll do.” He took her hand and led her into the bedroom and removed his boxer shorts. His penis was fat, with a thick vein on the underside, and his balls swung slightly in the sack of prickly pink skin. She lay on her back, and he crunched her knees up to her chest, kneeling between her legs. When he pushed his penis in, she braced herself for some pain, but surprisingly, there was none, only a pulse of pleasure. “Lola, Lola, Lola,” he said, repeating her name. Then his body stiffened, his back arched, and he collapsed on top of her. Lola put her arms around him, kissing his neck.

In the middle of the night, he woke her up, and they made love again. She fell asleep, and the next morning, she awakened to find him staring at her. “Ah, Lola,” he said. “What’s going to happen with you?”

“With me?”

“With me and you.”

Lola wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “Philip?” she said shyly, teasing his penis with the tip of her nail. In the next second, he was on top of her again. Lola opened her legs, and after he’d come and was lying on top of her, exhausted, she whispered, “I think I love you.”

His head jerked up and he looked at her with surprise. Smiling and kissing the tip of her nose, he said, “‘Love’ is a big word, Lola.” He stretched and got out of bed. “I’m going to get us some breakfast. How about bagels? What kind of bagel do you like?”

“What’s the best kind?” Lola asked.

He laughed, shaking his head at her remark. “There is no best. It’s whatever kind you like.”

“What do you like?” she asked.

“Sesame.”

“I’ll have sesame, too.”

He pulled on his jeans and, looking at Lola lying naked on his bed, smiled. This was what was so great about New York, he thought. You never knew what was going to happen. One’s life could literally improve overnight.

While he was gone, Enid Merle, having heard suspicious noises coming from Philip’s apartment the night before, decided to check in on him. She went through the small gate that separated their terraces and knocked on the French door. Her worst fears were confirmed when a young lady, wearing only what appeared to be one of Philip’s T-shirts—with probably nothing underneath—came to the door. She looked at Enid curiously. “Yes?” she said.

Enid pushed past her. “Is Philip here?”

“I don’t know,” the girl said. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” Enid said, not unpleasantly.

“I’m Philip’s girlfriend,” the girl said proudly.

“Really?” Enid said, thinking that was quick. “I’m Philip’s aunt.”

“Oh,” the girl said. “I didn’t know Philip had an aunt.”

“And I didn’t know he had a girlfriend,” Enid said. “Is he here?”

The girl folded her arms as if realizing she was practically naked. “He went to get bagels.”

“Tell him his aunt stopped by, will you?”