第35章
《THE CATCHER IN THE RYE(麦田里的守望者英文版)》章节:第35章,宠文网网友提供全文无弹窗免费在线阅读。!
Or is it too late for you?"
"How do you mean?" I said. I didn't know what he was driving at or anything.
"Innarested in a little tail t'night?"
"Me?" I said. Which was a very dumb answer, but it's quite embarrassing when
somebody comes right up and asks you a question like that.
"How old are you, chief?" the elevator guy said.
"Why?" I said. "Twenty-two."
"Uh huh. Well, how 'bout it? Y'innarested? Five bucks a throw. Fifteen bucks the
whole night." He looked at his wrist watch. "Till noon. Five bucks a throw, fifteen bucks
till noon."
"Okay," I said. It was against my principles and all, but I was feeling so depressed
I didn't even think. That's the whole trouble. When you're feeling very depressed, you
can't even think.
"Okay what? A throw, or till noon? I gotta know."
"Just a throw."
"Okay, what room ya in?"
I looked at the red thing with my number on it, on my key. "Twelve twenty-two,"
I said. I was already sort of sorry I'd let the thing start rolling, but it was too late now.
"Okay. I'll send a girl up in about fifteen minutes." He opened the doors and I got
out.
"Hey, is she good-looking?" I asked him. "I don't want any old bag."
"No old bag. Don't worry about it, chief."
"Who do I pay?"
"Her," he said. "Let's go, chief." He shut the doors, practically right in my face.
I went to my room and put some water on my hair, but you can't really comb a
crew cut or anything. Then I tested to see if my breath stank from so many cigarettes and
the Scotch and sodas I drank at Ernie's. All you do is hold your hand under your mouth
and blow your breath up toward the old nostrils. It didn't seem to stink much, but I
brushed my teeth anyway. Then I put on another clean shirt. I knew I didn't have to get
all dolled up for a prostitute or anything, but it sort of gave me something to do. I was a
little nervous. I was starting to feel pretty sexy and all, but I was a little nervous anyway.
If you want to know the truth, I'm a virgin. I really am. I've had quite a few opportunities
to lose my virginity and all, but I've never got around to it yet. Something always
happens. For instance, if you're at a girl's house, her parents always come home at the
wrong time--or you're afraid they will. Or if you're in the back seat of somebody's car,
there's always somebody's date in the front seat--some girl, I mean--that always wants to
know what's going on all over the whole goddam car. I mean some girl in front keeps
turning around to see what the hell's going on. Anyway, something always happens. I
came quite close to doing it a couple of times, though. One time in particular, I
remember. Something went wrong, though --I don't even remember what any more. The
thing is, most of the time when you're coming pretty close to doing it with a girl--a girl
that isn't a prostitute or anything, I mean--she keeps telling you to stop. The trouble with
me is, I stop. Most guys don't. I can't help it. You never know whether they really want
you to stop, or whether they're just scared as hell, or whether they're just telling you to
stop so that if you do go through with it, the blame'll be on you, not them. Anyway, I
keep stopping. The trouble is, I get to feeling sorry for them. I mean most girls are so
dumb and all. After you neck them for a while, you can really watch them losing their
brains. You take a girl when she really gets passionate, she just hasn't any brains. I don't
know. They tell me to stop, so I stop. I always wish I hadn't, after I take them home, but I
keep doing it anyway.
Anyway, while I was putting on another clean shirt, I sort of figured this was my
big chance, in a way. I figured if she was a prostitute and all, I could get in some practice
on her, in case I ever get married or anything. I worry about that stuff sometimes. I read
this book once, at the Whooton School, that had this very sophisticated, suave, sexy guy
in it. Monsieur Blanchard was his name, I can still remember. It was a lousy book, but
this Blanchard guy was pretty good. He had this big ch闁虫瓱au and all on the Riviera, in
Europe, and all he did in his spare time was beat women off with a club. He was a real
rake and all, but he knocked women out. He said, in this one part, that a woman's body is
like a violin and all, and that it takes a terrific musician to play it right. It was a very
corny book--I realize that--but I couldn't get that violin stuff out of my mind anyway. In a
way, that's why I sort of wanted to get some practice in, in case I ever get married.
Caulfield and his Magic Violin, boy. It's corny, I realize, but it isn't too corny. I wouldn't
mind being pretty good at that stuff. Half the time, if you really want to know the truth,
when I'm horsing around with a girl, I have a helluva lot of trouble just finding what I'm
looking for, for God's sake, if you know what I mean. Take this girl that I just missed
having sexual intercourse with, that I told you about. It took me about an hour to just get
her goddam brassiere off. By the time I did get it off, she was about ready to spit in my
eye.
Anyway, I kept walking around the room, waiting for this prostitute to show up. I
kept hoping she'd be good-looking. I didn't care too much, though. I sort of just wanted to
get it over with. Finally, somebody knocked on the door, and when I went to open it, I
had my suitcase right in the way and I fell over it and damn near broke my knee. I always
pick a gorgeous time to fall over a suitcase or something.
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When I opened the door, this prostitute was standing there. She had a polo coat
on, and no hat. She was sort of a blonde, but you could tell she dyed her hair. She wasn't
any old bag, though. "How do you do," I said. Suave as hell, boy.
"You the guy Maurice said?"