Three Women. March Hastings

any of it had gotten on her teeth.

      Giving her hair a last flick with the comb, she took a breath and waited for Phil’s double knock at the door. She didn’t expect him to be on time. He had always been five minutes late ever since they started dating nine months ago because he usually forgot his keys and had to go back up for them. They made a joke out of this key business. Ever since his folks separated, his ma had started locking the door when Phil went out. He just never got used to it.

      Anyway, Paula was ready ten minutes early. She looked around the bedroom for something to do. She didn’t want to go into the kitchen and risk getting messed up, so she picked up a pencil and started nervously to sketch a face on the back of an old envelope. All the envelopes and margins of newspapers and backs of bills had Paula’s doodlings on them. Sometimes she copied a landscape from a calender, or a face. Back in high school, she had gotten the best marks in art class. Her pictures hung around the room during Open School week.

      The double rap sounded lightly on the door and startled her. She dropped the pencil, grabbed her best coat and ran out to greet Phil.

      “Well, hi.” A grin danced over the rugged face and brought out a dimple near the side of his mouth.

      “Hi, yourself,” she answered, standing with the coat on her arm so he could admire how the dress fit and outlined her body.

      He took the coat and held it for her. The top of her head just about reached his shoulders, the kind of broad shoulders that made all his jackets look padded. She liked his bigness and the darkness of his skin. Phil was like a wall she felt she could stand behind whenever she was cold or afraid.

      “Did you notice?” he said. “I’m on time.” He tapped his trousers pocket. “Ma’s got a new system. She puts the keys in my pants before I get dressed.”

      Paula noticed that he was wearing a new dark blue suit. The color made him look even darker, almost Arabian. If you didn’t know Phil, she thought, he could look like the most mysterious person in the world.

      He came inside and said hello to Paula’s folks then said he couldn’t sit down for a minute. They had to run.

      Paula followed him out and clattered down the stairs after him. It was fun trying to keep up with him in her heels. The big steps he took equalled three of her own.

      Out in the street he put an arm around her and led her to the old Ford that had been his father’s. His coat lay across the front seat and he tossed it carelessly into the back.

      He started the motor. Then he turned suddenly and grabbed her to him.

      “No,” she protested in a thin voice. “I want to stay neat.”

      “Oh, hell. What for?” His black eyes flashed smiling at her and the dimple danced. She smelled the briskness of his after-shave lotion and lightly kissed a razor nick on his chin.

      “For your aunt, silly. Don’t you want me to look perfect?”

      “You always look perfect. She’s not going to care what you look like anyhow.”

      “Women always notice what other women are wearing.”

      “That’s what you think.” He flicked the earring on her lobe, and then eased the car out into traffic.

      Paula arranged herself more comfortably and took a pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment. “That’s not what I think. It’s what I know. Honestly, you men are so conceited. Do you all think women only look at you?”

      “They’re wasting their time if they don’t,” he chuckled. “Besides, Bryne’s a regular guy. You’ll see.”

      She let him win the argument; it was easier. Besides, it was better that way. She just wanted to sit and watch his big hands on the wheel. For all their size and strength, the fingers were trimly masculine so that she felt clean and beautiful when they touched her.

      The afternoon traffic captured them on Lexington Avenue and she thought she should let Phil concentrate on the driving rather than talk to him. She lit a cigarette and put it between his lips. He let it droop from his mouth, squinting one eye against the rising smoke.

      “You know,” he said, “I really hope the old gal takes to my idea. Boy, would it be a big step in the right direction.”

      Paula caught the sudden seriousness in his voice and she realized that Phil was really depending on this afternoon. It never occurred to her that he would ever depend on anything except his own efforts.

      “Well, of course she’ll go for it.” She filled her own voice with certainty. “It’s a very sensible idea. I could see where she would hesitate if you wanted to start out in a new business of your own. But buying a partnership in that paint store — that’s a going thing, for sure. Nobody with any brains would turn down such an offer.”

      “I guess you’re right.” He pulled up for a red light and flicked the cigarette out of the window. “I guess you’re pretty damned right all the time. Aren’t you, honey?” He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose.

      The comfort of his compliment settled around her like the warmth of a blanket. She knew that Aunt Bernadette would give him the money. And then — then the world would open wide for Paula, too.

      A poodle with a pink bow on its head looked at them from the car alongside and he pointed it out to her.

      “You want to raise dogs someday? Lots and lots of puppies?”

      She felt her face go warm and she couldn’t think of some quick, smart response.

      “Oh, my baby’s blushing!” He laughed. “We’ll take care of that later.”

      The car jumped forward again and she was glad that he had to keep his eyes on the traffic.

      Aunt Bernadette lived in a brownstone house on East Eleventh Street. They drove slowly by, looking for a place to park. Slim trees ringed with metal guards lined the sidewalks and Paula thought how green and lovely it must be here in the springtime. This was the kind of street you can stroll along on a Sunday afternoon, quiet and pleasant and neighborly. On a street like this, you didn’t yell after your friends; you walked to reach them and then only chatted in a normal tone of voice.

      Phil found an empty space near the corner and they had to walk halfway back. In her mind Paula prepared herself for sitting properly in an old fashioned chair and sipping tea from a delicate china cup. She hoped Aunt Bernadette would think she was a lady and a suitable companion for her nephew. If the old lady approved of her, she might be more kindly disposed to Phil’s proposition. Yes, Paula could help Phil appear serious and capable.

      They reached the flight of steps. For a second she took Phil’s hand and squeezed it.

      “Stop worrying,” he said.

      She smiled weakly and followed him up to the shining black door.

      Aunt Bernadette’s apartment was on the main landing. Paula patted her hair a last time as Phil lifted the brass knocker and let it drop.

      They waited a few seconds before Paula saw the door knob turn.

      “Hello,” the woman said as she opened the door, and Paula wondered if Aunt Bernadette were sitting in the parlor somewhere.

      Phil pushed her inside and at the same time kissed the woman a big smack on the cheek.

      “Paula, this is my Aunt Byrne,” he said.

      For an instant Paula could do nothing but stare at the woman. This was Aunt Bernadette? she thought. Paula had expected wrinkles, but not a crease marred the face of this tall, stately, somehow ageless woman. The sun gleamed on her red blonde hair that fell in a soft wave to just below her ears. No pins held it in place and the hair tumbled at random like a young boy’s. Her hazel eyes slanted upward, large, almond-shaped, with a sly smile darting behind them. The clear skin with a hint of freckles across the nose was the kind of skin you wanted to touch and caress with your hands.

      Paula