The Burglar Who Thought He Was Bogart - By Lawrence Block Page 0,26

and worn, covered about half of a floor that badly needed refinishing. The bed and dresser looked to have come with the apartment, or from a thrift shop. The walls were bare except for a Birds of the World calendar hanging from a nail and, Scotch-taped to the wall above the desk, a National Geographic map of Eastern Europe. It was impossible to make out much in the candlelight, but it would have been hard to miss the small jagged area outlined in red Magic Marker.

“This must be Anatruria,” I said.

She moved to stand beside me. “My country,” she said, her voice heavy with irony. “The center of the universe.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “This is the center of the universe.”

“New York?”

“This room.”

“You are so romantic.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Oh, Bear-naard…”

And there, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be old-fashioned enough to draw a curtain. We embraced and disrobed and went to bed, but you’ll have to imagine the details for yourself. We didn’t do anything you couldn’t see on television, anyway, if you’ve got cable and stay up late enough.

“Bear-naard? Sometimes I smoke after I make love.”

“I can believe it,” I said. “Oh. You mean a cigarette.”

“Yes. Would it bother you?”

“No, of course not.”

“My cigarettes are in the drawer of the night table. Could you reach them for me?”

I passed her a half-full pack of short unfiltered Camels. She put one in her mouth and let me scratch a match and light it for her. She sucked in the smoke as if it were life-sustaining, then pursed her lips and blew it out like Bacall showing Bogart how to whistle.

“Of course a cigarette,” she said suddenly. “What else would I smoke? A herring?”

“Hardly that,” I agreed.

“It is to lessen the sadness,” she said. “Shall I tell you something? I wanted to make love with you the first night, Bear-naard. But I knew it would make me sad.”

“I guess I must not be very good at it.”

“But how can you say that? You are a wonderful lover. That is why you break my heart.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look at me, Bear-naard.”

“You’re crying.”

I reached to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. A fresh one promptly took its place.

“It is no use to wipe them away,” she said. “There are always more.” She took another deep drag on her cigarette. When she smoked, she really smoked. “It is the way I am,” she explained. “Lovemaking saddens me. The better it is, the worse I feel.”

“That’s a hell of a thing,” I said. “I’m almost ashamed to admit it, but I feel terrific.”

“I have a good feeling, too.”

“Well, then—”

“But underneath it is this sadness. And so I smoke a cigarette. I don’t like to smoke cigarettes, but I do it to hold back the sadness.”

“Does it work?”

“No.” She handed me the cigarette. “Would you put it out? You can use that little dish for an ashtray. Thank you. And now would you stay with me for a little while? And hold me, Bear-naard.”

After a while she started to talk. The apartment was awful, she said, but it was all she could afford. New York was so expensive, especially for someone without a steady salary. And the location was good because she often got work in the area of the United Nations, translating or proofreading documents. She could take a bus right up First Avenue, or even walk if the weather was good and she had the time.

She knew there were things she could do to make the place nicer. She could paint the walls, she could replace the horrible rug, she could buy a TV set. Maybe she would get around to it someday. If she was still here. If she didn’t move….

Her breathing changed and I decided she was sleeping. My own eyes had closed by that time, and I could feel myself drifting. But “Would you stay with me for a little while?” wasn’t exactly an invitation to bed down for the night, nor was her bed wide enough for two people to sleep in. It was okay for presleep activity, as long as you didn’t get overly athletic, but when it came time to make a long string of zzzz’s, it was a tad crowded.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her, picked out and put on the pieces of hastily discarded clothing that were mine. Before extinguishing the candles I went to the door and unlocked the locks so I wouldn’t have to fumble with them in