The Moneychangers

Next day, at First Mercantile American Bank, Juanita had called Wainwright on an internal telephone and made her report. She was careful not to identify by name either herself, Miles, or the DoubleSeven Health Club. Wainwright listened, thanked her, and that was all

The second encounter between Juanita and Miles occurred a week and a half later, on Saturday afternoon.

This time Miles had telephoned in advance and when he arrived both Juanita and Estela seemed pleased to see him. They were about to go shopping and he joined them, the three browsing through an open-air market where Juanita bought Polish sausage and cabbage. She told him, "It is for our dinner. Will you stay?"

He assured her he would, adding that he need not return to the health club until late that night, or even the following morning

While they walked, Estela said suddenly to Miles, I like you." She slipped her tiny hand into his and kept it there. Juanita, when she noticed, smiled.

Through dinner there was an easy camaraderie. Then Estela went to bed, kissing Miles good night, and when he and Juanita were alone he recited his report for Nolan Wainwright. They were seated, side by side, on the sofa bed. Turning to him when he had finished, she said, "If you wish, you may stay here tonight."

"Last time I did, you slept in there." He motioned to the bedroom.

"This time I will be here. Estela sleeps soundly. We shall not be disturbed."

He reached for Juanita and she came to him eagerly. Her lips, slightly parted, were warm, moist, and sensual, as if a foretaste of still sweeter things to come. Her tongue danced and delighted him. Holding her, he could hear her breathing quicken and felt the small, slim girl-woman body quiver with pent-up passion, responding fiercely to his own. As they drew closer and his hands began exploring, Juanita sighed deeply, savoring the waves of pleasure now, anticipating her ecstasy ahead. It had been a long time since any man had taken her. She made clear she was excited, urgent, waiting. Impatiently they opened the sofa bed.

What followed next was a disaster. Miles had wanted Juanita with his mind and he believed his body. But when the moment came in which a man must prove himself, his body failed to function as it should. Despairingly, he strained, concentrated, closed his eyes and wished, but nothing changed. What should have been a young man’s ardent, rigid sword was flaccid, ineffectual. Juanita tried to soothe and aid him. "Stop worrying, Miles darling, and be patient. Let me help, and it win happen."

They tried, and tried again. In the end, it was no use. Miles lay back, ashamed and close to tears. He knew, unhappily, that behind his impotence was the awareness of his homosexuality in prison. He had believed, and hoped, it would not inhibit him with a woman, but it had. Miles concluded miserably: Now he knew for sure what he had feared. He was no longer a man. At last, weary, unhappy, unfulfilled, they slept.

In the night Milw awoke, tossed restlessly for a while, and then got up. Juanita heard him and switched on a light beside the sofa bed. She asked, "What is it now?" "I was thinking," he said. "And couldn’t sleep." ‘thinking of what?"

It was then he told her sitting upright, his head turned partially away so as not to meet Juanita’s eyes; told her the totality of his experience in prison, beginning with the gang rape; then his "boy friend" relationship with Karl as a means of self-protection; the sharing of the big black man’s cell; the homosexuality continuing, and Miles beginning to enjoy it. He spoke of his ambivalent feelings about Karl, whose kindness and gentleness Miles still remembered with… affection?… love? Even now he wasn’t sure.

It was at that point Juanita stopped him. "No morel I have heard enough. It makes me sick." He asked her, "How do you think I feel?"

"No quiero- saber. I neither know nor care." All the horror and disgust she felt was in her voice. As soon as it was light, he dressed and left.

Two weeks later. Again a Saturday afternoon the best time, Miles had discovered, for him to slip away unnoticed from the health club. He was still tired from his nerve-straining trip to Louisville the night before last, and dispirited at his lack of progress.

He had worried, too, about whether he should go to Juanita again; wondered if-she would want to see hunt But then he decided that at least one more visit was necessary, and when he came she was matter-of-fact and businesslike, as if what had happened on the last occasion had been put behind her.

She listened to his report, then he told her of his doubts. "I’m just not finding out anything important. Okay, so I deal with Jules LaRocca and the guy who sold me those counterfeit twenties, but both are small fry. Also, when I ask LaRocca questions such as where the fake driver’s license came from he clams up tight and gets suspicious. I’ve no more idea now than when I started of any bigger people in the rackets, or what goes on beyond the DoubleSeven."

"You cannot find out everything in a month," Juanita said.

"Perhaps there isn’t anything to be found at least, not what Wainwright wants."

"Perhaps not. But if so, it is not your fault. Besides, it is possible you have discovered more than you know. There is the forged money you have given me, the license number of the car you drove…" "Which was probably stolen."

"Let Mr. Sherlock Holmes Wainwright find that out." A thought struck Juanita. "What about your airline ticket? The one they gave you to come back?" "I used it." "There is always a copy that you keep."

"Maybe I…" Miles felt in his jacket pocket; he had worn the same suit when he went to Louisville. The airline envelope was there, the ticket counterfoil inside.

Juanita took both. "Perhaps it will tell somebody something And I will get your forty dollars back that you paid for the bad money." "You’re taking good care of me." "’por qui ? It appears someone must."

Estela, who had been visiting a friend in a nearby apartment, came in. "Hullo," she said, "are you going to stay again?" "Not today," he told her. "I’ll be leaving soon." Juanita asked sharply, "Why do you need to?"

"No reason. I just thought…" "Then you will have dinner here. Estela will like it."

"Oh, good," Estela said. She asked Miles, "Will you read me a story?"

When he said he would, she brought a book and perched herself happily on his knee.

After dinner, before Estela said good night and went to bed, he read to her again. ~

"You are a kind person, Miles," Juanita said as she emerged from the bedroom, closing the door behind her. While she had been helping Estela into bed, he had risen to go, but she motioned to him, "No, stay. There is something I wish to say."

As before, they sat beside each other on the living-room sofa. Juanita spoke slowly, choosing her words.

"Last time, after you had gone, I regretted the harsh things I thought and said while you were here. One should not judge too much, yet that is what I did. I know that in prison you suffered. I have not been there, but perhaps can guess how bad it was, and how can anyone know unless they themselves were there what they might do? As to the man you spoke of, Karl, if he was kind when so much else was cruel, that is what should matter most."

Juanita stopped, considered, then went on, "For a woman, it is hard to understand how men could love each other in the way you said, and do to each other what you did. Yet I know there are women who love each other in that way, as well as men, and perhaps when all is said, love like that is better than none, better than to hate. So wipe out, please, the hurtful words I spoke, and go on remembering your Karl, admitting to yourself you loved him." She raised her eyes and looked at Miles directly. "You did love him, didn’t you?" "Yes," he said; his voice was low. "I loved him."

Juanita nodded. "Then it is better said. Perhaps now you will love other men. I do not know. I do not understand these things only that love is better, wherever it is found."

‘Thank you, Juanita." Miles saw that she was crying and found his own face wet with tears.

They stayed silent a long time listening to the Saturday evening hum of traffic and voices from the street outside. Then both began to talk as friends, closer than they had ever been before. They talked on, forgetting time, and where they were; talked far into the night, about themselves, their experiences, lessons learned, their once-held dreams, their present hopes, objectives they might yet attain. They talked until drowsiness eclipsed their voices. Then, still beside each other, holding hands, they drifted into sleep.