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you.”
    The titillation of his finger on her thing was making her feel good. She had done this to herself on occasion and it had also felt good. Sometimes it made her shudder with pleasure which, she knew, meant that she had had a climax, although it did leave her with the feeling that she had done something nasty.
    Suddenly, she heard Henry gasp and his hard-on seemed to twitch and jump and she felt warm sticky fluid on her hand. Then he removed his fingers from her thing, which she could not quiteunderstand, since she felt that a little more work on his part would make her reach a climax.
    “Oh God, Mutzie,” Henry said. “We’ve got to be married now.”
    “Because we did this?” Mutzie said. She felt let down, slightly disappointed.
    “Partly,” Henry said. “It shows how much we need each other. Besides, after awhile you’ll want to go all the way. That’s nature’s way of showing how deeply two people need each other.”
    “It is?”
    She could find some logic in this. And she agreed that sooner or later they would go all the way. She imagined that once they did it in the natural way, she would also climax when he did.
    “So are we engaged or not?” Henry pressed.
    “I’m not sure,” Mutzie said honestly, although she felt the pressure to say yes.
    “I can’t live with that anymore, Mutzie. I want a yes or a no.”
    “I don’t think I’m ready, Henry,” Mutzie said after a long silence. Suddenly she thought of Jean Harlow. What would the beautiful Jean say to this? she wondered. Oddly, by thinking of Jean Harlow, she suddenly confronted the reality of the present. Where was she, after all? On the fourth floor landing of a walk-up apartment house, which smelled vaguely of dust and cabbage. All around her, it looked grimy, dirty and depressing. Henry’s shoes were scuffed and unshined and she noted that there were slick oily stains on his dark pants.
    “It’s either yes or no,” Henry pressed. He had stood up and was leaning against the railing. He lit a cigarette and she could see his face light up with the glow of the match. There was Henry Goldbaum. No Errol Flynn, no Clark Gable, no William Powell. Just Henry Goldbaum, who would one day be a cutter and bringhome enough money so that she could live in an apartment house just like this one.
    “Then no,” she said, standing up.
    “No? How can you say no?”
    “I said it,” she said.
    “Me?” Henry said, punching a thumb into his chest and blowing out a long stream of smoke. “You turning me down?”
    “You asked yes or no. An answer right away. Tonight. So tonight I say no.”
    He grimaced, his lips curled in a crooked smile.
    “I can’t believe this,” he mumbled, stiffening. He took another deep drag on his cigarette.
    “I’m sorry, Henry,” Mutzie said. She had taken out her key and pushed it into the lock of her apartment.
    “You’re sorry? Your mother will be pissed.”
    “So I’ll be an old maid. A dried-up shiksa prune.”
    “You’ll regret this as long as you live,” Henry said, raising his voice, as she shut the door. “Goddamned hooer,” he shouted. She waited on the other side of the door, anger rising. “That again,” she sighed. Then she heard him run noisily down the stairs, banging the walls as he went.
    But that night as she lay in bed and the anger began to subside, her feelings were totally different than she had expected. Instead of feelings of anxiety and fear about her future, she felt free, courageous, optimistic. Where was it written that she must settle for less than her expectations? Who said people can’t live the lives depicted in the movies? She had been to the city many times, where she observed the glitter and glamour of people living what seemed to be lives that were lived in the movies. She saw them ride in their fancy cars, dine in fine restaurants, attend the opera and the theater. She read about their lives in newspapersand magazines. Who said it was not possible for a poor Jewish