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| Hume Cronyn, actor |
Punch Card |
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I pointed — oh so casually — at the girl with the garter rosettes. She can't have been much older than I was. She had a pretty figure and straight blue-black hair cut in a pageboy bob. She stepped forward, took me by the hand and said, "Je m'appelle Michelle." Then she led me upstairs, her bottom undulating nicely at each step.
The room was little more than a cubicle, with a cot, washstand, a bedside table and chair. She took a clean towel from a pile on the stand, poured water from the pitcher into the basin, held out her hand and asked me for three dollars, which she tucked into the top of her stocking. I undressed, putting my clothes on the chair. She kicked off her shoes and proceeded to wash me and at the same time carry out an examination for obvious signs of venereal infection. All very clinical. She lay back on the bed, held out her arms and the whole business was completed in perhaps sixty seconds. At least I knew how the pieces fit together.
It may have taken a minute and a half the second time round, and it cost another three dollars. When Michelle was finally able to sit up, she reached for the towel, combed her hair and opened the drawer of the bedside table. From it she took a long green card and a conductor's punch. The card was already heavily perforated. She punched it twice again, then put it away. (This may sound unreal but is strictly true.) I think I managed a "Merci beaucoup" with the tip that I laid on the bed. She waved to me, saying, "Bonne chance," and I found my own way down the stairs — no longer a virgin. (Montreal, 1931)
from A Terrible Liar: A Memoir by Hume Cronyn (Key Porter Books, © 1991)
© 2000 Nerve.com, Inc.
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