She pulled away from him and drew the blinds. The room fell in a yellow twilight. She undressed and sat on the bed and pulled off her stockings. He looked at her large breasts and flat stomach and white thighs. There was a weak feeling in his throat. She lay down on the sheets and waited for him.
“It isn’t nice to keep a girl waiting,” she said.
He got in beside her.
“That’s a good boy. Don’t you like this better than giving your money to those girls?”
“What girls?”
“I know you and Seth go to one of those places back of town. Tell me how they act when you’re in the room with them.”
“Ask Seth.”
“I bet he’s lovely when he finds somebody who will give it to him.”
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“I couldn’t tell you.”
“Here, how’s this?” she said. “That’s a good boy. Let April do the work.”
That evening he returned to his room. He had a headache and felt depleted. He sank down in the armchair before the window and let the perspiration roll down his neck into his shirt collar. He wished he had let April alone and had slept during the afternoon. After they had been together for a while he had wanted to rest, but she wouldn’t let him go. Whenever he tried to stop she got him worked up again and forced him to continue, and now he felt sick. The Benzedrine had built him up, and then it abruptly dropped him. He put his feet on the bed and let his arms hang over the sides of the chair to the floor. He looked out the window at the late red sun slanting across the rooftops and the now russet-colored buildings. The swallows spun in black circles over the chimneys.
It was seven-thirty. He had to meet Virdo Hunnicut in his room at nine. Why couldn’t he have stayed away from April and rested during the afternoon? He felt like going to sleep and not getting up until the next night, but Hunnicut had said that there was something important for them to discuss. J.P. called the desk clerk and asked to be awakened at eight-thirty. He lay down on the top covers of the bed and went to sleep.
He dreamed he was sitting on the back porch of his home, looking out over the cotton field and its red earth and long green rows. The sky was dark with clouds, and the heat lightning flashed in the east. He breathed the wet smell of the rain as the first drops fell on the field. He was very alone on the porch of the tenant cabin, and he watched the lightning illuminate the edges of the clouds, and the showers burst from the sky. He leaned back in the wooden chair and put his feet on the railing and thought how he wanted to put it all into one song.
J.P. sat upright in bed just before the desk clerk rang the telephone to wake him. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. He was sweating all over, and his headache had increased. He stripped to the waist and went to the bath and turned the shower on his head. He let the cold water run over him until his mind had cleared. He dried himself with a towel and looked in the mirror. His face was dull with sleep and fatigue. He combed his hair and went back into the bedroom and took a clean shirt from the dresser. His head kept throbbing.
He started to leave the room and stopped. He took the cardboard box of pills from his pocket and slid it open. He hesitated for a moment, then went back into the bath and filled the water glass. He would need something to get him through the evening. A few minutes later he knocked on Virdo Hunnicut’s door.
“It’s open.”
J.P. went in. Hunnicut sat in the stuffed chair by the desk with an electric fan blowing on him. He wore a flowered silk sports shirt that was stained with perspiration. There was a bowl of ice cubes in front of the fan. His face was flushed pink from the heat.
“Have you ever seen it so goddamn hot for September?” he said. “I got one window in the room and it opens on the air shaft. It feels like they got the heaters on.”
J.P. sat in the straight-backed chair opposite Hunnicut. He watched the big man sweat and wipe his face.
“What did you want to talk about?” he said.
“I’ll tell you if you give me the chance.”
“I ain’t feeling too good. I want to get some sleep tonight.”
Hunnicut leaned his weight forward, opened the desk drawer, and handed him an envelope.
“What is it?”
“Look for yourself.”
He opened the envelope by tearing off the end and looked inside.
“Train tickets,” he said.
“You’re going to Nashville.”
“The Barn Dance?”