The Merry Month of May by James Jones

Author:James Jones
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Literary, Art, Typography, Fiction
ISBN: 9780006140436
Publisher: Fontana Press
Published: 1970-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

13

“YOU CAN’T EXPECT HER to have the ability of someone older who’s had years of practice and education in bed behind them,” Weintraub said reasonably.

“Perhaps not,” I said. “But look at Sam. She’s the same age. Nineteen, too.” I was feeling bad now about the whole thing.

“Ah, but Sam is a different kettle of fish!” He grinned. “To coin an apt phrase. She’s sophisticated. She’s been around plenty.”

“I suppose.” I felt gloomy. “But what about her and Hill, now? I saw them in the—, you know.” I coughed. “I thought Florence was Hill’s—well, you know.”

“But none of them believe in sleeping with just one person. Monogamistic love,” Weintraub said agitatedly. “You know that. Unless, of course, both parties decide that that is what they want. Then it’s their business. You know all that. So Sam’s making it with Hill a little bit now. And Florence is making it with me. And you. And a bunch of others, I expect.”

We were sitting in a bar. In fact, it was the old Monaco Bar, that bum’s hangout, the same place where Dave had told me about first meeting the Cinema Group kids earlier in the month. We had left the Odéon around one-thirty, with the understanding I would do what I could about writing a Commentary for them when and if that were possible, and in the meantime would try to get two articles written for the Review, all of the material for which, the entire issue, the kids would guarantee to get out to my printers in Holland for me. They had offered me an assistant, and I had chosen the angelic-faced Terri of the beautiful hair when Hill, after his tête-à-tête with Samantha, had declined my request for him. Sam had not left with us.

I must say, the old Monaco did not look like such a low dive anymore, after the happenings of the past few weeks. We had walked straight down to it from the front steps of the Odéon along the rue de l’Odéon. Ahead of us all that way was a huge cordon of police and police camions at the Carrefour, blocking off rue de l’Odéon where it met Boulevard St.-Germain. The CRS boys were lined up across the entire street, at least three lines deep, and wearing their helmets, gasmasks and fighting raincoats, and carrying shields and the long matraques. They hardly looked human. The smell of tear gas was everywhere, but we all were used to that by now.

“Don’t worry about it. You and me can walk right through them to the Boulevard,” Weintraub said cheerily as he led me into his old Monaco stamping-ground. “Of course, if we were twenty years younger and had long hair we probably couldn’t,” he added.

We had picked an empty table at the back.

“I think Hill is falling for her,” I said now, after the exchange on sex. “For Sam. I mean in a really serious way.”

“Oh, come on! Of course he is! Just like he fell for Florence, and then turned her over to me and that other kid.

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