Saint Jig

“Well, what did you do next?”

Henry asked the question with sympathy. He knew his friend was suffering.

“I bought her a drink. It was no use.”

“What kind of drink?”

“Vodka and coke, like you told me. I even had one myself. What a lousy concoction.”

Jig made a face.

“And then?”

“Then I bought her another one, and after that, another one. Cost me eight bucks for liquor in the end and that’s not counting the taxi and the movie. And what do I get for all that? Nothing, sweet old goose egg, nothing.”

“Jig, are you sure you did everything like I told you? Get enough vodka into Patsy and anyone in pants can make the scene with her.”

Henry immediately regretted what he had said when he saw his roommate lower his eyes. Jig was so damn sensitive. Patsy was the fourth girl he had fixed him up with. All of them had been fair-looking girls, not too choosy, who viewed bed-going like any other simple recreation, bowling or canasta, and didn’t fuss too much about who was their partner, as long as they had one. Very easy targets, especially Patsy, but Jig hadn’t scored once. And Jig was a good-looking kid. So what if his left hand was slightly deformed? That didn’t make a guy a cripple.

“Yes,” Jig replied wearily, “I did everything exactly like you told me. I took her to a horror picture like you told me. She squirmed and tittered all through the stupid thing.”

“And what did you do? Did you move in?”

“I didn’t do a damn thing. I couldn’t. The way it worked out, she was sitting on my left side.”

Jig clenched his good fist and banged his kneecap three or four times.

“Oh! Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Hen. You’ve been a real friend to me, fixing me up and all that. I just can’t seem to come through. Sometimes, I feel that they want it, but then I start thinking about my hand and I figure they wouldn’t want something like that travelling all over their bodies. Other times, they just don’t appeal to me and I wonder what the hell I’m doing there with them.” He added bitterly, “I’ll probably die a virgin.”

Henry thought back to his first experience. He didn’t remember her face. She had been a pro at the Forty-Two Club. Jig was staring down at his left hand. Suddenly he waved his withered fingers in front of Henry’s face and burst out, “I ask you, Henry, what broad would want this crawling over her thigh?”

“For Christ’s sake, forget about the hand.” He tried to speak gently because he genuinely wanted to help this poor guy who didn’t know what to do when he got into a room with a woman. “Look, Jig, nobody cares about that hand of yours. You’re the only one it bothers, and you talk like you’re some kind of freak. Nobody gives a damn about your hand.”

“Patsy did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I took her home and I was making small talk with her outside her apartment door, like you told me to do. She hadn’t noticed my hand; I’d kept it in my pocket most of the time. After a while, we got to making out a little and I was working on her neck like you told me. She was breathing pretty hard, and I figured that finally I had it made and that she was going to invite me inside like you said she always does. Then it happened.” Jig got up and stood beside his desk, flipping the pages of a book.

“What happened?”

Jig spoke quickly, unwilling to dwell on the scene. “She took my hand, my left hand, and put it on her breast. I tried with all my might, but I couldn’t hold it there. It slipped off. She put it up there again and the same thing happened. Then she stepped back and gave me a really dirty look. ‘Whatsamatta,’ she said, ‘aren’t ya interested?’”

Henry chuckled. “What did you say then? That could have been a great opening.”

“I didn’t say anything. I ran.”

“You what?”

“I ran. Down the stairs into the street and then for a block or two. All a big joke to a Casanova like yourself, I suppose.”

Henry hated himself for having chuckled. “Sorry, Jig. Must have been pretty rough.”

“And stop apologizing all over the place!”

There was a moment or two of silence as they looked at each other.

“Listen Jig, I know I’ve suggested this to you before and that you haven’t liked it, but you ought to think of it seriously. Why don’t you go down to the Forty-Two Club, that’s where I got my first—”

“I’m not going to pay for it,” Jig interrupted him firmly. “I’m not going to pay for it.”

“I paid for it and I managed to survive. I’ll clue you in on all the details.”

“It’s different for me, Hen, can’t you understand? You can have any girl you want, anytime. I’ve seen how women act with you. I’m cherry and I admit I’m pretty desperate, but I’ve got to believe that the girl wants it because of me with my hand and all, and not a lousy ten buck bill.”

“Jig, you poor bastard, you’re overestimating the whole thing. Every girl is a pro; every girl has her price. If it’s not ten bucks, then it’s a wedding ring.”

“Well, I’d rather give a wedding ring. Then at least you’re getting something that belongs to you, that every guy who happens to have a fat wallet can’t have.”

“Boy, have you got a lot to learn. After you’ve had your first piece, you’ll look at it differently, believe me. You’ll wonder what you got so concerned about. Anyway, it’s too late now to argue with you. Let’s sack.”

“I just want to say one more thing, Hen. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, don’t think I don’t, but those girls, Patsy and the rest, I don’t think they’re my type. Horny as I am, I can’t seem to really get excited over them. Even if I could have got into Patsy’s apartment, I don’t know if I could have gone through with it.”

“Listen, Jig, when a broad’s lying beside you in the dark and she’s panting, and her legs start twining around yours, you can go through with it all right.”

“Maybe you can, Henry.”

Henry laughed. “Believe me, Jig, anybody can. Goodnight.”

The poor guy, Henry thought as he lay in bed. A few twisted fingers and he thinks he’s a cripple. A simple piece of tail and he makes a production out of it. He thought of all the women he had had so effortlessly. Then an idea struck him as he remembered part of their conversation. He doesn’t want to pay for it—well, what if he doesn’t have to pay? In a few seconds, he had a plan.

“I’m probably the only twenty-one-year-old virgin in history,” Jig was saying. “They ought to canonize me. Saint Jig.”

Henry sensed the despair in the humor. “We’ll work something out. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t kill yourself,” Jig muttered. “Goodnight.”

The next afternoon, Henry withdrew fifty dollars from his bank account. It was a lot of money but what the hell, the poor bastard was desperate. He got to the Forty-Two Club at about ten o’clock that evening. It was a weeknight, and the place was not very crowded. A few of the girls had customers, a few were sitting alone at tables, one or two were at the bar. He chose a girl whose back view looked pretty good to him.

“Drinking alone?” She turned to him and smiled professionally.

Her intelligent good looks surprised him, they came through in spite of the thick make-up. She would do very well. Henry got right down to business. He asked her if she could use fifty dollars and had a few hours to spare. Yeah, she had lots of time and that’s what she was there for. Then, he outlined his plan. She was to pretend that she was a friend of his and she was to allow Jig to seduce her.

“I don’t want you to just lay back but, on the other hand, I don’t want you to scare him off. He’s got to think you like him. It’s his first time and he’s going to be scared.”

“I got ya,” she nodded. “He won’t be the first I’ve had like that, all arranged I mean.”

“Good,” said Henry. “One more thing. This guy, my friend, Jig, has a bum hand. Don’t draw any attention to it. It won’t bother you, will it?”

She looked around her, her eyes taking in the whole bar. “You should see some of the poor creeps that come limping in here, hunchbacks, guys with stumps, and you should hear some of the things they ask us to do.”

They left the bar and crossed the street over to the Paris Hotel. He paid the clerk seven dollars and they were shown a room. She stretched out on the bed as soon as the bellboy had left. Henry hadn’t noticed that she looked that good.

“I think you better sit here,” he said, indicating a chair in the corner. “Tell him that your baggage is arriving tomorrow, he’s got to think you’re a friend of mine. And do you think that you could get rid of some of that make-up? I think he prefers the homespun type.”

While she was in the bathroom, Henry phoned his roommate.

“Jig, a friend of mine just got into town. I’ve been telling her about you, and she’d like to meet you. I think you’ll like her. No, Jig, not another Patsy, just an ordinary friend. Paris Hotel, room 606. How soon can you make it? Good, then I’ll expect you in a half-hour.”

The girl emerged from the bathroom, almost beautiful without the make-up. There were droplets of water in her eyelashes.

“He’ll be here in half an hour.” He fished a roll of bills from his pocket. “Here’s the fifty. You’ll stay with him as long as he wants, won’t you?”

She took the money and counted it. “Sure, I’ll stay as long as he wants. You must think a lot of him to spend this kinda dough.”

“He’s a good guy and he has a rough time.”

They sat down on the bed together. He noticed the firm, impressive bulge of her thighs, caught the scent of soap on her white flesh.

“Well, we’ve got about twenty minutes to kill.”

“It’s a rest for me,” she said.

“You been in this business a long time?” he asked. “You look pretty young.”

He was wondering about her body, its secrets and its textures.

“Long enough to make it hard to get out,” she said indifferently. “Okay, okay,” she said, when he moved against her, “only you’ll have to make it fast if you don’t want to surprise your buddy.” She added a little wearily, “I suppose it’s all on the same bill.”

Ten minutes later, she was sitting dressed on the chair Henry had designated. Henry was leaning against the door, waiting, satisfied now that he had made a good choice for Jig. They heard the elevator.

“Say,” he said, smiling at his classic question, “what’s your name? I’ll have to introduce you to him.”

“Ramona. They call me Ray.”

Jig knocked, and Henry opened the door.

“Jig, glad you could get here. I want you to meet my friend Ray. Ray, this is Jig.”

“I’ve heard all about you,” she said, smiling.

Henry lay in his bed. It was well past midnight and he hadn’t heard from Jig yet. Well, finally he was getting his. Saint Jig. Henry chuckled, feeling a little saintly himself for having engineered the plan. He had been quite impressed with Ray and was certain that she could carry it through. Maybe he’d see her again himself in a week or two. After a while, he and Jig could laugh about it. Henry fell asleep, finally, congratulating himself.

The telephone rang at four-thirty that morning. Henry stumbled out of bed and stood by the desk. He knew who it was.

“Hi, Jig. You’ve certainly been at it a long time.”

“Congratulate me, Hen.” His voice was ecstatic.

“Congratulations, Jig,” he said paternally. “Everything go all right?”

“Everything went beautifully. She’s really a wonderful person, Ramona. Something just clicked between us.”

Henry smiled. “Great. I’ll see you soon and you can give me the details. Don’t wear yourself out.”

Jig went on as if he hadn’t heard.

“And you know what, Hen? She doesn’t care about my hand. Actually, she kissed it. Did you hear me? She kissed my hand.”

Good for her, thought Henry. She knows her trade. “Okay, Jig, I’m glad it worked out. Tell me about it in the morning, I’m dead now.”

“You can’t go back to bed,” Jig cried gleefully. “You’ve got to come down here.”

“Thanks Jig, but I’m not interested right now. Save it for me.”

“What do you mean, you’re not interested? We’re having a champagne breakfast. We want you here.”

“I know this was important to you, Jig, but isn’t this celebration a little out of proportion?” Henry laughed.

“Well, you don’t get engaged every morning.”

“What?”

“Engaged. I’ve asked her to marry me. I’m not going to let her walk out of my life.”

Henry felt himself grow weak.

“Jig, I’ve got to talk to you. Just because a woman is good in bed, it doesn’t mean that—”

Jig interrupted him sharply. “I wish you wouldn’t talk about Ramona that way. After all, she’s a friend of yours.” Henry heard Jig cup the mouthpiece to muffle his voice. “I didn’t go to bed with her, Henry. What do you think I am? There will be lots of time for that.”

“Is she there?” Henry shouted angrily. “Put her on!”

“What’s the matter with you? I thought you’d—”

“Put her on!”

Henry heard them exchange comments. She took the receiver.

“Listen, you little bitch, if you think—”

“Please,” she whispered pathetically, “I’ll return every cent—”

“Lemme talk to Jig. Jig, sta-stay right where you are. Don’t move. I’ll be right down!”

Henry sank into the chair beside the phone. He replaced the receiver, but he didn’t get up for a long time.