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Interlude (1976)

Interlude (1976)

©1976, 2013 by Dallas Denny

Source: Denny, Dallas. (1976). Interlude. Unpublished fiction.






I tell this tale from two points of view. I had never seen Akira Kurosawa’s Rashomon.


In this case the story is true. I speculate about the first point of view; it’s my best guess about what might have been happening in the mind of the other party. The second viewpoint is mine, exactly as I remember it. I was perhaps 19 years old when the encounter took place.



By Dallas Denny


The Taxi Driver

I had just gotten off work—I drive a cab. I had been working the Greyhound station; you know, hanging around out front to catch people getting off the bus. Anyway, I had been working this place all evening—I get off around midnight—and I had been watching this broad all night. She was just sitting on a bench, like she was waiting on a bus or something, but she had been there all night, since about seven or so. She was cute, but kind of heavy. And young— eighteen or nineteen. I’ve seen worse. She had on a frilly blouse and had her hair was long, and her legs were good. But she seemed kind of shy. All night long, she just sat there, reading, not talking to anyone. Every once in a while she kind of looked around, scared-like, or went to the ladies’ room. And all night long I was checking her out.

When I was ready to get off work she as still there, so I thought maybe I would try to get some action going. I told the dispatcher I was off duty and hung around the bus station trying to get up a line to say to her. Finally, I decided to get her a Coke. I went to the snack line and got a Coke for her and one for me, but as I was going back she had gotten up. I thought she was leaving, so I walked toward her, and we nearly bumped into each other. But then I didn’t have the right words, so I said excuse myself and went over and sat down the next seat but one from where she had been sitting. And it turned out she came right back and sat right where she had been sitting. I leaned over and gave her the Coke and asked her if she needed to go somewhere. I said I would be glad to carry her in my cab, at no charge. At first she said no, hut then she said she would, and we went out and we got in the cab. She slid over to the middle of the seat, which saved me some talking her into sitting close, and put her hand on my leg, so I did likewise and we started talking as we went to her place. I was like excited, but talked about our names and where we worked—she was a waitress. I asked was she hungry and she said no, but I told her I would be mad if she didn’t eat something, so she said yes. I took her to Malone’s, ‘cause it’s open 24 hours and I knew none of the guys would still be there. We were sitting in the car, her still close, and I was waiting my chance, and when I saw it I started kissing her. She wiggled a little, but not overly much and in a little while I had her hot and kissing back and I was playing with her legs and tits and licking her ear. After a while we went in and ate and in another while we was back in the cab in front of her motel room. I wanted to go in but she said no and acted nervous. So I kissed her and told here I really liked her and showed her my dick. I wanted her to go down but you could tell she didn’t want to so I said maybe she’s a nice girl, did she want to go to a barbecue tomorrow and meet my friends at eight o’clock? She said alright and got out and went to her room. Goddamn, but I wanted that ass. I never got it, though, ‘cause I got busy and didn’t go by to get her the next night. if I had I know I would have got it.


The Girl

It was six or seven years ago, I guess. I forget where I had been, but I had caught the city bus to go downtown, and when I was ready to go back it had gotten dark, and I didn’t want to wait for the bus in the dark, so I decided to take the Greyhound home instead. The next bus didn’t run until one-thirty in the morning, but for some reason I decided to wait. I was unusually dippy that night. Whenever the cops came in I went to the restroom and most of the time went into a stall. By the time I fixed my makeup and combed my hair—I was wearing a long, dark brown fall—the police were gone. They were questioning people, usually women, so maybe I wasn’t completely silly. Chances are showing them my bus ticket would have sufficed to get them to leave me alone, but I didn’t want to take any chances. So I passed time by reading a True Stories from cover to cover, and buying a lipstick—pink, it was—from the vending machine in the ladies’ room when I found the newsstand closed and couldn’t buy another magazine.

It was getting on towards time to catch my bus, finally, and I went to check the schedule so I would be sure not to miss it. On my way I bumped into a man carrying some Coca-Colas, which I thought was strange, considering we were the only two in the place on our feet. When I came back, he was sitting near my seat, and as I came up, he said, “This is for you.” A little gauche, I thought, but nice. I took the Coke. Then this guy—he was in his late fifties or so, with a couple of days growth of grey stubble, and a belly—he was dressed like a taxi driver, which was exactly what he turned out to be—he told me he was a cab driver and said he would take me wherever I wanted to go. I said I couldn’t afford a cab, which was a mistake, because then he said it wouldn’t cost me anything, and I knew whatever objection I raised would be overspoken; I should have just said no. But he persisted, and before I knew it he was holding the door of his cab open for me to slide in the front seat. Later I realized the crafty bastard had a purpose in not letting me sit down. If I had, I don’t think I would have gone with him.

But now I find myself in the front seat of a cab, not really wanting to be there and not knowing why I had come, but knowing I had a role to play and a secret to keep and that this is the last chance to back out. But I sit tight, and when the cabbie gets in, I slide over beside him, having to sit a little crosswise because of the meter, and place my hand on his leg. As soon as I did that, I knew I had made another mistake. Oh, well. I’ll play it to the hilt; the show must go on.

We talked. I made up a name, and a life to go with it, and after such banter, we pulled into a restaurant—Malone’s. I haven’t even been back there. He insisted on buying me a meal. I knew what was expected of me in return, but was confident I could keep this clown at a distance. I started to get out of the cab and go in the restaurant.

Suddenly I’m pressed back against the seat with this guy’s body over mine and his hand up my dress and I am being kissed—a remembrance of his stubbly chin against mine and the taste of cigarette smoke in my mouth and for the first time in my life not only is a tongue in my mouth besides mine but I’m kissing a man. Probably lipstick, soft hair, and perfume for him, the lucky bastard. I would rather be kissing myself. Meanwhile I’m struggling to get away, but it’s not working and I can’t believe my struggles are becoming weaker and are now stopping and I start thinking about kissing back. We break, and when he kisses me again, I do kiss back.

After a minute we went in to eat. I don’t think I said much. After we got back in the cab and we drove back to the motel, he kissed me again, and I didn’t struggle. I just kept his hand from getting too far up my skirt and tried to keep my blouse buttoned. He rubbed my neck and remarked how soft it was. He asked to go into my room with me. I thought of my jeans, shirt, and shoes scattered who-knows-where around the room and told him no. He didn’t press, just unzipped his pants and pulled out his penis. He asked me to hold it. I held it as if it had been an earthworm or a length of fish intestine. That was about the size of it, too. It was puffy and white, like a tuber. So things ended like that. He asked me to meet his friends the next day at a barbecue. I accepted, and went into my room. He left. I checked out of my room fifteen minutes and a change of costume later.