Free The Horse is Dead by Robert Klane Page B

would be able to touch her again.
    "Everybody square off," Uncle Bernie sang, fiddling like mad.
    The four couples formed the square.
    "Bow to your partner ... bow to your corner..." Uncle Bernie was really getting in the mood. The bow was just a blur against the fiddle. "Take your partner and promenade..."
    Nemiroff took hold of Miss Booe's hand and put his other hand around her tiny little waist. They skipped around the circle. Nemiroff couldn't keep his eyes off Miss Booe's jugs.
    "Back to where you started and bow again..." the words sang. "Turn to your partner and do-si-do . . ." Nemiroff turned to Miss Booe and did the step. On the way back he brushed up against her behind. He shuddered.
    "Now all join hands and round again . . ." The call was getting faster. Nemiroff watched the jugs.
    It was on the second do-si-do that Nemiroff jumped on Miss Booe. At first Uncle Bernie kept on playing and singing, not giving a damn what the hell was going on. Then the other dancers stopped to watch Nemiroff and Miss Booe struggling on the floor.
    Uncle Bernie stopped playing and walked over. "I don't remember that part of the dance," he said. "What are you doing?"
    There was no answer.
    "Come on," he ordered, "break it up." The people who had gone outside started to come back inside when they heard the music stop. What they saw was Uncle Bernie busting his fiddle over Nemiroff's head in an attempt to get him separated from Miss Booe. When that failed, Uncle Bernie was left with only one alternative. He went back to the piano. " 'If you knew Susie, like I knew Susie . . . oh ... oh ...'"
    The room cleared out in seven seconds. Nemiroff and Miss Booe included.
     
    Nemiroff thought about his latest scene with Miss Booe all the way home that night He figured he really blew it this time. She would never even look at him again. But at least Nemiroff had touched her again. That was worth something.
    Nemiroff heard the music coming from the bedroom as soon as he walked in the front door of his house.
    "Goddamn it, Rena, can't you ever stop playing that lousy guitar?"
    "Shove it." Rena had a way with words.
    Nemiroff tried to read a magazine but the rotten music coming from the bedroom was getting to be too much. "Put down that fucking guitar," he said. The moan coming from the bedroom reminded Nemiroff that he better watch his language. It bothered Nemiroff that Rena never put the guitar down. Not even to eat. She was always picking and strumming on it. There was always that stinking guitar. And the dirty talk. God, Nemiroff was getting sick of the dirty talk. It was starting to get to him.
    Nemiroff made up his mind. He pushed the chair back from the desk and stood up. "Rena," he yelled, "I'm coming back there. And this time there isn't going to be any dirty talk." He paused for effect "This time there's just going to be dirty actions."
    Nemiroff shed most of his clothes while he ran down the hall to Rena's bedroom. He tore off his shorts as he entered the room. "Rena," he said, looking at her nude body lying on the bed, "enough is enough."
    Rena saw him flying through the air, heading straight for her. Nemiroff was oblivious of everything except finally nailing her once and for all. He struggled to climb on top of her, and with a quick jab, he was in. It was beautiful. There were bells, and music.
    "Oh, Rena, baby," he sighed, "do you hear it?"
    "Uhmm," she said.
    "It's wonderful, isn't it?" Nemiroff kept pumping away. "Just like in the movies."
    "Yes," Rena said.
    "I mean I thought hearing music when you made love was just make-believe." Nemiroff kept humping.
    "It is make-believe," Rena said.
    "It can't be," Nemiroff said. "I hear it! You hear it, don't you?"
    "Yes," Rena admitted, "I hear it"
    "It's love," Nemiroff said, "that's all it is. At last real love."
    "No it isn't" Rena said. "You're hearing music because you happen to be fucking my guitar."
    It was impossible. Nemiroff had to look. "What the hell is going on?"
    "Don't blame