Little Doors Read Free

Mitchell’s inane socialism, the man seemed to have stumbled upon an undeniably exciting find. In Crawleigh’s own extensive searches of the literature, he had never encountered the book cited by Mitchell. (And why did that queer title strike him so deeply?) Now he knew he had to track it down, though. If he failed to incorporate it into his study, everyone would soon be making unflattering comparisons between his book and Mitchell’s, in terms of completeness.
    To the library, then! Descend like the Visigoths on Rome! Pillage the stacks, burn the card catalog, smash the terminals, rape the librarians.…
    One shouldn’t start thinking in such violent sexual imagery on a hot April afternoon, of course, unless one was quite prepared to act on it, Crawleigh reminded himself.
    So up he got and went to seek Audrey’s awesomely attractive and appreciated little arse.
     
    * * *
     
    Which now reared under the sweaty sheets like two little melons.
    It was Audrey’s lunch hour. Crawleigh had cajoled her to come with him back to her apartment, which was not far from the Street.
    Audrey lived in a single room with a kitchen alcove and bath and one window. The shade there was pulled down now, an ebony oblong framed by hot white light on top and two sides. The room was plunged into that peculiar deracinating artificial darkness that could only be found when you shut out the sun in the middle of a bright day and retreated inside from the busy world with its bustling billions. Crawleigh felt simultaneously ancient and infantile. He was sated, yet not bored with life. On the other hand, he felt no immediate impulse to get up and get busy. Simply to lie here beside Audrey was his sole ambition for the moment.
    Crawleigh rested on his back; Audrey on her belly. Turning his gaze on his little nymph, Crawleigh saw that Audrey’s arms formed a cage around her head, while her face was buried in the sheets.
    This was most unlike Audrey. Usually after sex she was quite talkative, regaling him with really amazingly funny anecdotes about her daily travails and accomplishments. It was astounding how much drama she could extract from such trivial situations, and Crawleigh always listened with gleeful indulgence.
    Something must be wrong now. Crawleigh experienced a mortal shiver as he considered the possibility that perhaps his performance had been below par.
    Crawleigh laid a hand on her sheet-covered rump and squeezed with what he hoped was proper affection.
    “Was it all right today, dear? I really enjoyed it.”
    Audrey’s mattress-muffled voice drifted up. “Yeah. I came.”
    Crawleigh grew slightly miffed at her easy vulgarity. Such talk was fine during the act itself, but afterward things should be, well, more romantic. Connie, for all her other faults, was never so coarse.
    “For heaven’s sake, then, why the sulking? You’d think I just tortured you.”
    Audrey whirled around and pushed up, coming to rest on her haunches, looking down on naked Crawleigh with the twisted sheet pooling around her thin waist. In the half-light, her little pink-tipped breasts reminded Crawleigh of apples. Her face was really angry.
    “It is torture!” she cried. “Mental torture. I really like you, Jerry, but I can only see you whenever you have a lousy minute to spare. And when we’re together, we never leave this stinking room. There’s more to life than sex, you know. When are we gonna go someplace exciting, do something different? I gotta come back to this room every day after work as it is, without spending lunchtime here too!”
    Crawleigh was unprepared for the vehemence of this outburst. He had had no sense of mistreating Audrey, and he was taken aback by her accusations.
    All he could think to say was, “You must have had an awful day at work to get so upset, dear.”
    “So what if I did?” Audrey shot back. “I always have an awful day at that place. You know what it’s like—people shouting and insulting you, standing over those