Brass Bed Read Online Free Page A

quite impossible. Didn’t you know that? Kirby and I tried and tried, but nothing came of it, and Kirby was very depressed because he thought he might be the one, but we went to this doctor, and he said no, it was me. Poor Kirby was extremely relieved, but I couldn’t understand what difference it made. I mean, it takes two to accomplish anything, you see, and I couldn’t understand that it made any particular difference which one of us it was that couldn’t.”
    “It’s psychological,” I said. “Men are peculiar that way.”
    “Really? I absolutely can’t see the sense in it.”
    “What I can’t see,” said Fran, “is why you continually don’t want to hear Felix recite a poem. Perhaps you could think of one that would please her, Felix.”
    “Well,” I said, “there’s a good one about a university student who decides he should quit studying and have some fun, but I can only remember a few lines.”
    “What kind of fun?”
    “Fun with girls mostly.”
    “How about that one, Jolly? Would you like to hear a poem about a university student who decides to have some fun with girls?”
    “That one sounds quite charming, and I am willing to hear it.”
    I recited one of the verses, and then Fran went around with the shaker again, pouring martinis into glasses. Sid shook his head and wouldn’t have any. His feelings were still hurt, and he looked out the window and pretended that he was indifferent to everything that happened. Jolly sipped her martini with a small smile on her lips. I liked her black eye, after getting used to it. Besides making her look ferocious at times, it also gave her a rather dashing look.
    “I concede that it’s nice,” Fran said about the poem, “but I was hoping for something hotter.”
    “I like that part about down among the maidens and the dancing feet. That has a very nice sound,” Jolly said.
    “I’m dubious about the part about white limbs, though. Limbs has a kind of nasty sound. Prudish, you know. Why couldn’t he just say legs?”
    “Well, maybe he didn’t mean just legs. Maybe he meant arms too.”
    “Arms? Are arms limbs? I thought only legs were limbs.”
    “Oh, no. I’m positive arms are also limbs. What do you say, Felix? Are arms limbs?”
    “Yes,” I said, “arms and legs are both limbs.”
    “In that case,” Fran said, “why couldn’t he have said arms and legs?”
    “It wouldn’t scan,” Jolly said. “A poem has to scan.”
    “Nevertheless,” Fran said, “I wish it had been hotter.”
    “There is a whole book of them,” I said, “and some are as hot as you could want. Why don’t you read the book?”
    “What’s the name of it?”
    “It’s called
Carmina Burana.”
    “Really? What a strange name.”
    “It’s a rather strange book, so far as that goes.”
    “Perhaps I’ll read it.”
    “It’s the truth that those goliards must have been pretty interesting,” Jolly said. “I can understand your finding them interesting, Felix.”
    “I thought I might be able to write a novel about one,” I said, “but it hasn’t been going very well.”
    “I’m so sorry. I don’t like it when things don’t go well for you.”
    “Things frequently don’t go well for me.”
    “I’m so terribly sorry. It makes me want to cry when things don’t.”
    “Would there be any money in a novel about goliards?” Fran said.
    “Not as much as there is in real estate,” I said.
    “Oh, well,” she said, “there’s not as much money in anything as there is in real estate. That’s axiomatic or something.”
    She sat down and crossed her legs again, looking up at Sid, who was still looking out the window.
    “Why don’t you behave?” she said. “Why do you have to just go on and on sulking?”
    “I’m not sulking,” Sid said. “I’m not sulking at all.”
    He sat down on the arm of her chair, and they began to talk quietly. Jolly came over and took one of my hands in both of hers.
    “Aren’t you glad you came?” she