BUtterfield 8

BUtterfield 8 by John O'Hara Page B

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Authors: John O'Hara
Tags: Fiction, Literary
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to. I want you, that’s why.”
    “Do you want me to tell you?”
    “Well—”
    “First you want me because I’m good in bed and your wife isn’t. Or if she is—don’t bridle. I guess she is, judging by the way you took that. But you’re tired of her and you want me because I’m young enough to be your daughter.”
    “Just about,” he said. “I’d have had to have you when I was very young.”
    “Not so very. I saw pictures of your daughters in your living room, and they’re not much younger than I am. But I don’t want you to feel too old so we’ll pass over that. You want me, and you think because you paid the rent for an apartment that I’d be yours and no one else’s. Isn’t that true?”
    “No. As a matter of fact it isn’t. I was thinking not an hour ago, before I knew where you were, Gloria, I discovered something and that is, I didn’t care who you were with or in what bed, I still wanted you.”
    “Oh. Desperate. You
are
getting a little, uh, you’re getting worried about how near fifty is, aren’t you?”
    “Maybe. I don’t think so. Men don’t get menopause. I may have as many years left as you. I’ve taken good care of myself.”
    “I hope.”
    “I hope you have, too.”
    “Don’t you worry about me. The first thing I do tomorrow is go to my friend on Park Avenue.”
    “Who’s your friend on Park Avenue?”
    “My friend on Park Avenue? That’s my doctor. I’ll be able to tell you this week whether there’s anything the matter with you, and me.”
    “Do you always go to him?”
    “Always, without fail. Listen, you, I don’t want to sit here and talk about venereal disease. You didn’t let me finish what I was saying. You think I’d be faithful to you because you gave me an apartment. My handsome friend, I would be faithful to you only as long as I wanted to be, which might be a year or might be till tomorrow afternoon. No. No apartment for me. If you want to take an apartment where we can go when I want to go with you, or where you can take anyone you please, that’s entirely up to you. But after looking around at your apartment and making a guess as to how you live? Not interested. You haven’t enough money to own me. Last year, last fall, that is, I got a pretty good idea how much I was worth. Could you pay the upkeep on a hundred-and-eighty-foot yacht? Diesel yacht?”
    “No, frankly.”
    “Well, this man could and does, and I’ll bet he doesn’t use it half a dozen times a year. He goes to the boat races in it and takes a big party of young people, and has it down in Florida with him when he goes, and before it was his I saw it at Monte Carlo.”
    “I guess I know who that is.”
    “Yes, I guess you do. Well, he wanted me, too.”
    “Why didn’t you take him up if you want money?”
    “Do you know why? Because do you know those pictures of pygmies in the Sunday papers? Little men with legs like match sticks and fat bellies with big umbilicals and wrinkled skin? That’s what he looks like. Also I can’t say I enjoy his idea of fun. Ugh.”
    “What?”
    “I honestly wouldn’t know how to tell you. I’d be embarrassed. Maybe you’ve heard, if you know who it is.”
    “You mean he’s peculiar?”
    “Huh. Peculiar. Listen, darling, do you know why I like you? I do like you. Do you know why? You’re just a plain ordinary everyday man. You think you’re something pretty hot and sophisticated because you’re unfaithful to your wife. Well, I could tell you things about this rotten God damn dirty town that—ugh. I know a man that was almost elected—Well, I guess I better shut up. I know much too much for my age. But I like you, Liggett, because you want me the way I want to be wanted, and not with fancy variations. Let’s get out of here, it’s too damn effete.”
    “Where do you want to go?” Liggett said.
    “Down to Fortieth Street to my practically favorite place.”
    They went to the place in Fortieth Street, up a winding staircase. They

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