Fat Ollie's Book by Ed McBain

speak, they had to admit that sex with someone of a different tint was actually something of a kick.
    â€œHow about all this stuff I hear about black men?” Kling once asked.
    â€œWhy?” she said. “Are you feeling underprivileged?”
    â€œI’m just curious.”
    â€œYou know the joke, don’t you?”
    â€œWhich one is that?”
    â€œMan loses his penis in an automobile accident, he goes to see a surgeon who says he can give him a penis implant?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œGuy says, ‘That’s great, but how will I know what I’m getting?’ The surgeon says, ‘I’ll show you some samples.’ He goes in the back room, comes back with a penis six inches long, shows it to the guy. The guy says, ‘Well, since I’ll be getting a new one, I was hoping…’ The surgeon holds up his hands, says, ‘I understand completely,’ goes in the back room, comes back with a penis eight inches long. The guy says, ‘Well, to be perfectly frank, I was hoping for something with a bit more authority.’ The surgeon goes off again, comes back with a penis twelve inches long. The guy says, ‘Now you’re talking! Does it come in white?’”
    Kling burst out laughing.
    â€œDo that answer yo question, honey chile?” Sharyn asked.
    The intimacy went beyond white and black.
    The intimacy was based on the knowledge that living together with anyone was something that required constant care and attention. Intimacy demanded utter honesty and complete trust. Intimacy meant never being afraid of revealing yourself to another person, exposing yourself to this person, warts and all, without fear of condemnation or derision.
    Kling, who was not Jewish, described intimacy as a “shlep,” a Yiddish word that actually meant “to carry, or pull, or drag, or lag behind,” but which he took to mean “a long haul,” as in the expression “Man, that was a shlep and a half!” common to everyone in this city regardless of stripe or persuasion, United We Stand, and God Bless America! They were both in this for the long haul. And though they knew true intimacy wasn’t easy, they realized that once you got the knack of it, everything else seemed so very simple.
    Sharyn found a yarn shop near Rankin Plaza that would needle-point a small pillow to her specifications. Actually, she had two of the pillows made, one for his apartment, the other for hers, one in white letters on black, the other in black letters on white. Each pillow read:
    S hare
    H elp
    L ove
    E ncourage
    P rotect
    Â 
    Kling was bone-weary when he got to her apartment that night. He had taken the subway out to Calm’s Point, and didn’t get there till almost nine-thirty. He’d grabbed a hamburger at the squadroom, but he was grateful nonetheless for the soup and sandwich she had waiting for him. He didn’t see the pillow until after he’d eaten. In fact, he was lying on the sofa in her living room, watching the Eleven O’Clock News, his head resting right on the pillow, when Sharyn suggested that he might be more comfortable with a softer pillow, and he said, “No, I’m fine, hon,” and she said, “Here, let me help you,” and she took the pillow from under his head and replaced it with a down pillow from the bedroom, and then she put the smaller pillow on his chest, and he still didn’t look at it, what was wrong with this man? Patience, she told herself, you did get through med school, you know.
    So she waited until the news went off, and they were both ready for bed, and then she came into the bedroom stark naked, holding the pillow with both hands at the joining of her legs, covering the wild tangle of her pubic patch, and he squinted at her, and said, “A definite improvement,” and she burst out laughing and threw the pillow at him.
    He read the needlepoint:
    Â 
    S hare
    H elp
    L ove
    E