So Long As You Both Shall Live (87th Precinct) Read Free Page A

distance of some three feet, and then held up the strobe as though he were the Statue of Liberty. “Smile,” he said, and pressed the shutter-release button. The shutter clicked, the strobe light flashed. Pike and Augusta blinked.
    “That’s got it,” Kling said.
    “Thank you,” Pike said.
    As Kling handed the camera and strobe back to him, he noticed there were tears in Pike’s eyes.
    “Alex,” he said, “we can’t thank you enough for what you did today.”
    “It was my pleasure,” Pike said. He kissed Augusta on the cheek, said, “Be happy, darlin’,” and then turned to Kling and took his hand and said, “Take good care of her, Bert.”
    “I will,” Kling promised.
    “Good night then, and the best to both of you,” Pike said, and turned swiftly away.
     
    In the elevator, the bellhop said, “Are you newlyweds or something?”
    “That’s right,” Kling said.
    “You’re the third newlyweds I had today. Is this some kind of special day or something?”
    “What do you mean?” Augusta asked.
    “Everybody getting married today. Is it a religious holiday or something? What’s today, anyway? The ninth, ain’t it?”
    “Yes.”
    “So what’s the ninth? Is it something?”
    “It’s our wedding day,” Augusta said.
    “Well, I know that, but is it something? ”
    “That is something,” Augusta said.
    “Right, I appreciate that,” the bellhop said, “but you know what I mean, don’t you? I’m trying to figure out, is it a day of some special significance where I’ve already had three couples who got married today, that’s what I’m trying to figure out.” They were on the eighth floor now, and walking down the corridor to room 824. When they reached the room, the bellhop put down their bags, and then unlocked the door and stepped aside for them to enter.
    In the room, they both fell suddenly silent.
    The bellhop wondered aloud why all the double-bedded rooms were always at the end of the hall, but neither of them said a word in answer, and the bellhop speculated that maybe all the hotels were trying to discourage romance, and still they said nothing in response. He put their bags up on the luggage racks, and showed them the bathroom, and the thermostat, and explained how the red light on the phone would indicate there was a message for them, and made himself generally busy and visible while waiting for his tip. And then he did something rare for a bellhop in that city—he touched his fingers to his cap in a sort of salute and silently left the room. Kling put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the knob and locked the door, and silently he and Augusta hung up their coats, and then began unpacking their bags.
    They were neither of them kids. Their silence had nothing to do with virginal apprehension or fears of physical incompatibility or frigidity or impotence or anything even mildly related to sex, which they had been enjoying together and almost incessantly for quite some time now. Instead, their silence was caused by what they both recognized to be a rather serious commitment. They had talked about this peripherally in the lobby, but now they thought about it gravely and solemnly, and decided separately that they’d been speaking the truth when they said they wanted this to last forever. They both knew that no one had forced them into marriage: they could have gone on living together forever. They had each and separately agonized over taking the plunge, in fact, and had each and separately arrived at the same conclusion almost at the same time. When Kling had finally asked her to marry him, Augusta had said yes at once. He’d asked her because he’d decided simply and irrevocably that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And she’d accepted because she’d made the same decision concerning him. They were now married, the man had spoken the words this afternoon at a little past 4:00, the man had said, “For as you both have consented in wedlock, and have acknowledged it