Free The Temple of Gold by William Goldman Page B

since I had a fine sense of humor and could appreciate a joke as well as anyone. And that, he explained, was every bit as important, for if there was nobody around to laugh, where would the funny men be? True enough, I suppose, although I suspect he was just trying to make me feel better at the time. Which he did.
    So we laughed at my joke, standing there in that stuffy room. We laughed for a long time, giggling away, and the next thing I knew she had her arms around me and was kissing me on the mouth, something that had never happened to me before. She pulled me in close and held me tight, kissing me over and over. First I tried to get away. But I stopped that quick.
    Then she turned my head and began blowing in my ear, which has never made me turn cartwheels. Actually, I believe it really doesn’t do anything to anybody, but long ago the idea started that it did, and it’s kept on ever since because no one has had the guts to stop it. Well, she was blowing away at my ear, tickling me, though I never in this world would have laughed, as it would have hurt her feelings. Then she started to talk.
    “Raymond,” she said. “Raymond. Raymond. Raymond.”
    “What?” I asked her.
    She didn’t answer but just kept saying my name again and again as she horsed with my ear. And I knew that sure as God made green apples, I wasn’t keeping my part of the bargain.
    So finally, I suppose by instinct, I started doing something which I now know was a good thing, being what she wanted. Except then it was pure luck that I did it.
    I started unbuttoning her blouse. It took me about an hour, since my hands were shaking, but I finally managed it. After which I pulled her blouse out from her skirt. A woman’s brassière is something I can now work with my eyes closed, and frequently have. But right then, I couldn’t find the handle. I tugged and pulled and sweated over it, but the goddam which way, getting no place. Then she gave that soft laugh of hers, put her hands behind her back for just a second, and it was loose. I lifted it, gently I think, and there they were.
    “My God, Miss Twilly,” I said. “They’re huge.”
    She blushed, tried to cover herself. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
    “No,” I told her, pushing her hands away. “It’s O.K. with me.”
    She put her arm around me and began walking me toward the stairs. “Come on, Raymond,” she said. “Come on.” And she started up with me following.
    I have walked those stairs many times in my life, both before and since, but never has it seemed as hard or taken as long. Because halfway up I started sweating and shivering so that I could barely move. We got to my bedroom where she pulled down all the shades, one by one, and when she did that I could tell her hands were none too steady either. Then she closed the door. It wasn’t very dark; we could still see each other plain. As I watched, Miss Twilly started taking off her clothes.
    “You too, Raymond,” she said.
    But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. So when she was done she came over and tried pulling off my shirt.
    “I can do it,” I whispered, my throat very dry.
    “All right,” she said. “Show me you can.”
    I turned my back and she laughed softly at that, so I turned to face her again. I took off my shirt and pants. Finally I stood there, wearing just my sneakers.
    “Finish it up,” she said.
    “Even my shoes?”
    “Even your shoes.”
    I kicked them off. She sat down on the bed, smiling, and then she lay all the way back, stretching her arms toward me. I didn’t move. She sat up again, reached out her hands, taking me gently, guiding me over to the bed. Pretty soon everything was warm and soft and neither of us was shaking any more.
    Anyway, that was the first time.
    After we’d said good-by at the front door, her patting me on the head, sort of crying, I ran over to Zock’s house and told him all about it. Not in a boasting way but mainly because I was confused and he, being