Free A Perfect Life by Eileen Pollack Page B

and yanked his vest.
    He turned and raised his fist. “Fuck you and your ugly friend,” he said. He plucked his vest from my hand and lumbered back up the steps.
    â€œDon’t you want a kiss?” Maureen shouted up to him.
    He shot us both the finger.
    â€œThat does it,” I told Maureen.
    Never mind, she said. She had gotten us in, hadn’t she? She tried to straighten her stockings, but her hands were shaking.
    â€œHe shouldn’t be able to get away with that,” I said.
    â€œJane,” she said, “if I stopped to report everyone who was a jerk to me in the course of a day, I would never have any fun. Let’s go in. I’d rather spend my time dancing.”
    Reluctantly, I held the door while she wheeled through.The club was more crowded than usual, probably because spring had finally come. No matter how many times Maureen said “Excuse me,” the people in front of her wouldn’t clear a path. Her only view was of crotches and rears. I could barely see, even when I stood on my toes.
    A bearded man in a flowered shirt stopped beside Maureen. “Need a drink?” he said. “I’m on my way to the bar.”
    She had met many such men at clubs, just as she had met them at record stores and shoe shops. Often, she dated the same man for six months or a year. But most of these men tended to vanish at the critical point, perhaps for the reasons most men don’t ask the women they date to marry them. Or they didn’t have the courage to ask Maureen.
    â€œHi.” A boy tapped my arm, then jerked his thumb toward the band. “Want to dance?” His hair was shaved short. He had a delicate skull, light brown skin, and a goatee.
    â€œSure,” I said. We found an empty space. The music was so loud that all I had to do was move my body with the beat. I hadn’t danced much in high school. Dancing was something my sister did, not me. But now it seemed the perfect way to exorcise the temptation I felt to twitch or drop things or move in unpredictable ways. Since I had started coming to these clubs, I had found that I looked forward to dancing all week. I felt blissfully limp. From the corner of my eye, I saw the bearded man steering Maureen’s wheelchair toward the door.
    â€œBye,” she mouthed. “Good luck,” as if, despite knowing me, she assumed I was hoping to go home with this boy.
    He opened his eyes and smiled. He had a pleasant face and a lithe body. “Want to leave?” he asked.
    I suddenly felt so alone, abandoned not only by Maureen but also, strangely, Willie, that I smiled and said, Why not . The cold air made me shiver. “I’m Ché,” he said. “And you’re—?”
    â€œJane,” I said. He asked where I went to school. I’m a biologist, I said. I’m older than I look.
    â€œBiology?” he said. “That’s cool. I studied anatomy once. And a semester of botany. To help me, you know, paint.” He asked if I wanted to get coffee and a doughnut.
    â€œI can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry.” A trolley clattered past. “My sister is coming tomorrow.”
    â€œYour sister,” he said. “That’s cool. You can hang out with me tonight. Then I’ll go to my studio and you can hang out with your sister.”
    â€œNo,” I said. “She’s coming very early. I need to get some sleep.”
    â€œYou make her sound like a test.” The boy snapped his fingers. “Never mind the doughnuts. I have this really amazing almond cake my mom sent. And there’s a pint of Steve’s mint chip in my freezer.”
    Ice cream and cake. He seemed so harmless, so young. The light changed, and the trolley rattled up the hill. I said I guessed some ice cream and cake couldn’t hurt.
    His apartment was only a few blocks away. He lived in one room, with a hot plate on the floor, a single bed, and a refrigerator the size of a