Jane didn't care why the room was spinning; she only wished it would stop.
"Are you all right, miss?" Jane tried to focus on the middle-aged executive whose accounts she had been processing. Her eyes managed to hang onto his tie clip: gold. She buoyed herself with that word, more solid than the shoes pinching her toes.
"I - I'm fine, yes. Thanks," she replied. "Is there anything else today, sir?" Before he had left the bank, Jane had her "Next Window" sign out. She went into the restroom and threw up.
Jack signaled her as she was heading back to the tellers' windows. "Yes, Jack?" She paused in the doorway of his office. Jack tugged at his tie.
"First, don't call me Jack at the office. Now, Jill, what happens on your own time is up to you, but don't alarm the customers." Canned speech #17, Jill silently told herself. Jack switched to a more compassionate monotone and added, "If it's really bad, you should take an early lunch." He felt very considerate.
"You're very considerate," Jane replied, "but I can hang on." Then, crisply businesslike, "Is that all, sir?" She arched one careful eyebrow.
Jack grinned. "No. Are we still on for tonight?" Jane blew him a kiss and went back to work.
They met at The Living End for drinks. Neither had eaten, but it didn't seem to matter. They sipped Curaao and smoked. They listened to a band called The State, and Jane politely agreed that the music made a deep statement about the American fascist movement.
Towards the end of a song called "Dive Bombing," Jack and Jane left for his apartment. Greenwich Village was the latest area to switch to upscale apartments, and Jack was wealthy enough to have one. Inside, he turned on the stereo; speakers the size of an upright Buick began to sing a quiet Die Gtterdmmerung.
When Jack turned around, Jane was wearing a white silk robe and not much else. She put a paper cylinder between his lips and lit it from her own. The ends of their joints glowed in Jack's darkened living room.
Jane moved to the window, and the moonlight gave Jack a beautiful view through her robe. Jane sighed. "I love this music. It's terribly alone, and proud."
Jack put his arms around her. She could feel his erection, and turned to him. As she did, she brushed the curtain and Jane saw a man through the window. Jack put their joints aside and began to remove her robe.
They began to make love, but Jane was thinking about the man. He was wearing black leather, and that made her feel good. With Jack's mouth firm on her teat, she remembered that the jacket had been fringed, and the man's blond hair looked bleached. Fucking faggot! she thought, the Village is full of them. Then, oh! that wasn't a suitcase he had in his hand. It was a guitar case. He was in a rock and roll band.
Jane put out a special effort now, kissed Jack fiercely, and brought them both to orgasm. "Sweet Jane," Jack murmured, falling back to retrieve their joints. He attributed his success to his own technique.
©1987, 1988 Michael Blakeley