enjoyed with one’s husband, not every Tom, Dick, and Murray in Manhattan.”
“Yeah, well, that’s all fine and good if you’re married ,” Abby snorted. She gave me an impish smirk, hoisted one eyebrow to the hilt, then blew a perfect smoke ring in my direction. “And need I remind you, Little Miss Morality, that neither one of us is?”
Her smoke ring hit the crossbreeze and disappeared.
“I’m not the one who needs reminding,” I said with a sniff. “I’m painfully aware of my single-woman status. You, on the other hand, seem to think you’re married to all mankind.”
Abby laughed out loud. “No, I’m a lover of all mankind, you dig? I’m not ready for marriage yet. Who knows if I’ll ever be?” Taking another big gulp of her drink, she eyed me over the rim of her glass. “And I think any woman who waits till she’s hitched to indulge in the pleasures of sex is a dope. Present company included.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, putting my mental dukes up for round two of our favorite fight. “Well, I think any woman who gets pregnant out of wedlock is an even bigger dope!”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Do you see anybody here who’s pregnant?” she huffed.
“Not yet ,” I needled.
“And you never will!” she said, flipping her long braid from one shoulder to the other. “I’m no dope, you dig? I’ve got a diaphragm, and I know how to use it.”
(I had a diaphragm, too, I should tell you—courtesy of the Margaret Sanger Clinic on 16th Street. I’d had myself fitted for the contraceptive device right after Dan and I started dating, when I came to realize how thoroughly attracted to him I was. I hadn’t used the contraption yet—nor did I intend to anytime in the near future—but my desire for Dan was so intense, I couldn’t be sure of my self-control. And like any good Girl Scout, I believed in being prepared.)
“The diaphragm isn’t infallible, you know,” I said, turning serious and giving Ab the evil eye. I hated to be such a nag and a killjoy, but I felt it was my solemn duty. Abby was the best friend I’d ever had in my life. I loved her like a sister. And if she ever had to suffer the brutal social ostracism of unwed motherhood, or the wrenching torture of giving up her baby for adoption, or—worse—the pain and horror of a squalid backstreet abortion, I didn’t think either one of us would be able stand it.
Abby tossed her head and let out a loud guffaw. “Chastity ain’t the answer, either, babe!” she insisted. “It may keep you from getting pregnant, but it still makes your life miserable!”
“How would you know?” I teased. “You’ve never tried it.”
We were both laughing now—which was the way most of our sex-focused sparring matches ended: in a draw, with a couple of chuckles and no hard feelings.
“Speaking of chastity,” Abby said, “will the sex-starved Detective Street be dropping by to see you tonight?”
“Not a chance,” I said, heaving a pregnant sigh. (No pun intended. I swear!) “He left town early this morning and drove up to Maine with his daughter. They’re spending the holiday weekend with his parents. And since Monday is the big day—July Fourth, I mean—they won’t be back till Tuesday.”
“Did he invite you to go with them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Dan planned the trip just for his daughter—he wants Katy to get to know her grandparents better. If I had gone with them, it would have changed everything. The focus would have been on me instead of Katy. Dan has told his daughter about me, but I haven’t met her yet. And I don’t think Dan wants me to—not until he’s absolutely sure our relationship’s going to last.” I snuffed out my cigarette and poured some more gin down my throat, dabbing at my steamy cheeks with the soggy cocktail napkin.
Abby shrugged her shoulders. “Sounds like Danny the dick is as uptight as you are.”
“He’s not uptight, he’s upright!” I cried,
“Yeah, well, that’s all fine and good if you’re married ,” Abby snorted. She gave me an impish smirk, hoisted one eyebrow to the hilt, then blew a perfect smoke ring in my direction. “And need I remind you, Little Miss Morality, that neither one of us is?”
Her smoke ring hit the crossbreeze and disappeared.
“I’m not the one who needs reminding,” I said with a sniff. “I’m painfully aware of my single-woman status. You, on the other hand, seem to think you’re married to all mankind.”
Abby laughed out loud. “No, I’m a lover of all mankind, you dig? I’m not ready for marriage yet. Who knows if I’ll ever be?” Taking another big gulp of her drink, she eyed me over the rim of her glass. “And I think any woman who waits till she’s hitched to indulge in the pleasures of sex is a dope. Present company included.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, putting my mental dukes up for round two of our favorite fight. “Well, I think any woman who gets pregnant out of wedlock is an even bigger dope!”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Do you see anybody here who’s pregnant?” she huffed.
“Not yet ,” I needled.
“And you never will!” she said, flipping her long braid from one shoulder to the other. “I’m no dope, you dig? I’ve got a diaphragm, and I know how to use it.”
(I had a diaphragm, too, I should tell you—courtesy of the Margaret Sanger Clinic on 16th Street. I’d had myself fitted for the contraceptive device right after Dan and I started dating, when I came to realize how thoroughly attracted to him I was. I hadn’t used the contraption yet—nor did I intend to anytime in the near future—but my desire for Dan was so intense, I couldn’t be sure of my self-control. And like any good Girl Scout, I believed in being prepared.)
“The diaphragm isn’t infallible, you know,” I said, turning serious and giving Ab the evil eye. I hated to be such a nag and a killjoy, but I felt it was my solemn duty. Abby was the best friend I’d ever had in my life. I loved her like a sister. And if she ever had to suffer the brutal social ostracism of unwed motherhood, or the wrenching torture of giving up her baby for adoption, or—worse—the pain and horror of a squalid backstreet abortion, I didn’t think either one of us would be able stand it.
Abby tossed her head and let out a loud guffaw. “Chastity ain’t the answer, either, babe!” she insisted. “It may keep you from getting pregnant, but it still makes your life miserable!”
“How would you know?” I teased. “You’ve never tried it.”
We were both laughing now—which was the way most of our sex-focused sparring matches ended: in a draw, with a couple of chuckles and no hard feelings.
“Speaking of chastity,” Abby said, “will the sex-starved Detective Street be dropping by to see you tonight?”
“Not a chance,” I said, heaving a pregnant sigh. (No pun intended. I swear!) “He left town early this morning and drove up to Maine with his daughter. They’re spending the holiday weekend with his parents. And since Monday is the big day—July Fourth, I mean—they won’t be back till Tuesday.”
“Did he invite you to go with them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Dan planned the trip just for his daughter—he wants Katy to get to know her grandparents better. If I had gone with them, it would have changed everything. The focus would have been on me instead of Katy. Dan has told his daughter about me, but I haven’t met her yet. And I don’t think Dan wants me to—not until he’s absolutely sure our relationship’s going to last.” I snuffed out my cigarette and poured some more gin down my throat, dabbing at my steamy cheeks with the soggy cocktail napkin.
Abby shrugged her shoulders. “Sounds like Danny the dick is as uptight as you are.”
“He’s not uptight, he’s upright!” I cried,
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