something very forceful and very interrupting. Having him inside me was just an unmistakable presence that I could not identify as being either bad or good. It reminded me a bit of menstrual cramps. It was just tremendously odd.
He moaned and he thrust, and through his clenched teeth he said, “Mrs. Kellogg, I find, prefers it when I—”
But I never did find out how Mrs. Kellogg preferred her copulation, because I started kissing Dr. Kellogg again, as soon as he began talking. The kissing did help to keep him quiet, I had found. Moreover, it gave me something to do, as I was being taken. As we’ve established, I hadn’t done much kissing in my life, but I guessed pretty well at how it was done. It’s the kind of skill that you have to learn on the job, really, but I did the best that I could with it. It was a bit of a challenge to keep our mouths linked as he was pounding away at me, but my incentive was great: I really didn’t want to hear his voice again.
At the last moment, however, he got one more word in.
He pulled his face away from mine, shouted “Exquisite!” Then he arched his back, gave one more powerful shudder, and that was the end of it.
—
Afterward, he got up and went to another room, presumably to wash up. Then he came back and lay next to me for a spell. He held me
tight, saying, “Little duckling, little duckling, what a good little duckling. Don’t cry, little duckling.”
I wasn’t crying—I wasn’t anywhere near crying—but he didn’t notice.
Soon enough, he got up again and asked if he could please check the coverlet for blood, as he had forgotten to put down a sheet.
“We wouldn’t want Mrs. Kellogg seeing a stain,” he said. “I forgot myself, I’m afraid. I’m generally more careful. That suggests a certain lack of foresight on my part, which is not typically my way.”
“Oh,” I said, reaching for my handbag, grateful to have something to do. “I’ve brought a towel!”
But there was no stain. There was no blood at all. (All those horseback rides in childhood, I suppose, had already done the puncturing job for me. Thanks, Mother!) To my great relief, I didn’t even feel much pain.
“Now, Vivian,” he instructed, “you will want to avoid taking a bath for the next two days, as it could create infection. It’s quite all right for you to clean yourself, but just splash about—do not soak. If you find that you have any discharge or discomfort, Gladys or Celia can recommend a vinegar douche for you. But you’re a big strong healthy girl, and I don’t expect you to run into any difficulties. You did well here today. I’m proud of you.”
I half expected him to give me a lollipop.
As we dressed, Dr. Kellogg chatted away about the fine weather. Had I taken notice last month of the peonies in bloom in Gramercy Park? No, I told him, I hadn’t even been living in New York City as of last month. Well, he instructed, I must take notice of the peonies next year, for they are in bloom such a short while, you know, and then they are gone. (Maybe this seems like too obvious a commentary on my own “short-lasting bloom”—but let’s not give Dr. Kellogg that much credit for poetry or pathos. I think he just really liked peonies.)
“Let me show you out, my little duckling,” he said, walking me back down the stairs, and through the doily-strewn living room, toward the servants’ entrance. As we passed by the kitchen, he took an envelope off the table and handed it to me.
“A token of my appreciation,” he said.
I knew it was money, and I couldn’t bear it.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t, Harold,” I said.
“Oh, but you must.”
“No, I couldn’t,” I said. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Oh, but I insist.”
“Oh, but I mustn’t.”
My objection, I have to tell you, was not that I didn’t want to be regarded as a prostitute. (Don’t think so highly of me as all that!) It was more a matter of deeply ingrained social politeness. My parents provided an allowance for me every week, you see, which Aunt Peg
gave to me on Wednesdays, so I truly did not need Dr. Kellogg’s money. Also, some puritanical voice within me told me that I had not quite earned this money. I didn’t know much about sex, but I couldn’t imagine that I’d shown this man much of a good time. A girl who lies down on her back with her arms straight at her sides, not moving whatsoever other than to attack you with her mouth every time you speak—she can’t be much fun in the sack, right? If I were going to be paid for sex, I’d want to have done something worth paying for.
“Vivian, I demand that you take this,” he said.
“Harold, I refuse.”
“Vivian, I really must insist that you do not make a scene,” he said, frowning slightly, and pushing the envelope toward me with force— this moment constituting the closest I’d come to danger or excitement at the hands of Dr. Harold Kellogg.
“Very well,” I said, and I took the money.
(And how do you like that, my fancy ancestors? Cash for sex, and on the first run out of the gate, no less!)
“You are a lovely young girl,” he said. “And please don’t be concerned: there is still plenty of time for your breasts to fill out.”
“Thank you, Harold,” I said.
“If you drink eight ounces of buttermilk a day, it should help them to grow.”
“Thank you, I will do that,” I said, with no intention whatsoever of drinking eight ounces of buttermilk a day.
I was about to step out the door, but then I suddenly had to know.
“Harold,” I said, “may I ask what kind of doctor you are?”
It was my supposition that he was either a gynecologist or a pediatrician. I was leaning toward pediatrician. I just wanted to settle the bet in my own head.
“I’m a veterinarian, my dear girl,” he said. “Now, please send my warmest regards to Gladys and Celia, and do not forget to observe the peonies next spring!”
—
Iflew down the street, absolutely howling with laughter.
I ran back into the diner where the girls were all waiting for me, and before they could even speak, I shrieked, “A veterinarian? You sent me to a veterinarian?”
“How was it?” asked Gladys. “Did it hurt?”
“He’s a veterinarian? You said he was a doctor!”
“Dr. Kellogg is a doctor!” said Jennie. “It says so right in his name.”
“I feel as though you sent me to get spayed!”
I dove into the booth next to Celia, crashing against her warm body with relief. My own body was in a storm of hilarity. I was all trembling now, from head to toe. I felt wild and unhinged. I felt that my life had just exploded. I was overcome with excitement and arousal and revulsion and embarrassment and pride, and it was all so disorienting, but also fantastic. The aftereffect was so much more striking than the act itself had been. I could not believe what I had just done. My boldness that morning—sex with a strange man!—seemed to have sprung from someone else, but I also felt more authentic to myself than ever.
Moreover, looking around the table at the showgirls, I felt a sense of gratitude so rich that tears almost overtook me. It was so marvelous to have the girls there. My friends! My oldest friends in the world! My oldest friends in the world whom I’d met only two weeks ago—except for Jennie, whom I’d just met two days before! I loved them all so much! They had waited for me! They cared!
“But how was it?” said Gladys.
“It was fine. It was fine.”
There was a stack of cold and half-eaten pancakes in front of me from earlier that morning, and now I tore into those pancakes with a hunger that was close to violence. My hands were shaking. Dear God, I had never been so famished. My hunger had no bottom to it. I drenched the pancakes in even more syrup and shoveled more of them into my mouth.
“He never stops croaking on about his wife, though!” I said, between forkfuls.
“And how!” said Jennie. “He’s the worst for that!”
“He’s a drip,” said Gladys. “But he’s not a mean man, and that’s what matters.”
“But did it hurt?” asked Celia.
“You know something, it didn’t,” I said. “And I didn’t even need the towel!”
“You’re lucky,” said Celia. “You’re so lucky.”
“I can’t say it was fun,” I said. “But I can’t say it wasn’t fun, either. I’m just glad it’s over. I suppose there are worse ways to lose your virginity.”
“All the other ways are worse,” Jennie said. “Believe me. I’ve tried them all.”
“I’m so proud of you, Vivvie,” said Gladys. “Today you’re a woman.”
She raised her coffee cup to me in a toast, and I clinked it with my water glass. Never did an initiation ceremony feel so complete and satisfying as that moment when I was toasted by Gladys the dance captain.
“How much did he give you?” asked Jennie.
“Oh!” I said. “I’d almost forgotten!”
I reached into my purse and pulled out the envelope.
“You open it,” I said, handing it with shaky hands to Celia, who tore it right open, thumbed through the cash expertly, and announced: “Fifty dollars!”
“Fifty dollars!” shrieked Jennie. “He’s usually twenty!”
“What should we spend it on?” Gladys asked.
“We’ve got to do something special with it,” said Jennie—and I felt a rush of relief that the girls considered the money ours, not mine. It spread around the taint of misdoing, if that makes sense. It also added to the feeling of camaraderie.
“I want to go to Coney Island,” said Celia.