It’s happened to me several times since, but Lenore was the first girl to dump me for another guy. It went about the same way as the later incidents. The first thing I noticed was that she had stopped contacting me, and she wouldn’t return my attempts to contact her.
The telephone was our usual method of communication. Sometimes I would run into her in the lobby or the elevator, but when it came to arranging dates the phone was the easiest way to reach each other. She would call me when she wanted an afternoon with me in the apartment, and I would call her to arrange dates outside of it.
By late September, we had been going together for close to four months, and a certain routine had set in. Usually, we would see each other four times per week. There would be a couple of sessions of sex in the apartment, a dinner or movie date somewhere in the neighborhood or nearby elsewhere in The Bronx, and on the weekends we went into Manhattan.
For the Manhattan excursions, we would take the subway down and an express bus back. Once we missed the last returning bus, and we splurged on a taxi to come back.
About twice per month, we would do something like go to a museum. We went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Whitney, the Museum of Modern Art, the Cloisters, and the Museum of Natural History. We had taken the Circle Line boat around Manhattan Island. On three occasions we had gone to cheap concerts at the Schaffer Festival in Central Park.
She had been down to my college newspaper, the offices of The Salient. I had set up the first visit so she had arrived with me for the first staff meeting of the fall semester. My colleagues had met her only once, at a college party in July. I hadn’t since seen any of them again during the summer hiatus.
On the appointed day, she dressed up in a skirt, black knee socks, and black ankles boots. I hadn’t asked anything about what she would wear that day, and her look surprised me. She walked in the door with me, and everybody, male and female, looked at her. Most of them had seen her at the party when she was wearing shorts. Perhaps they didn’t think our relationship would last or maybe I had just been on a few dates with her.
Now it was early September, and she was still around. This being 1974, not 1954, everyone knew I must be have been having a sexual relationship with her by now.
I think she enjoyed showing herself off to them. In the hallway, just before we walked in, she had lifted her skirt and flashed her panties at me. They were the cutest pair of little black lacy ones, and I could see right through them to her ass.
During the meeting, she didn’t say much but she sat there with a self-satisfied look. Her skirt was quite short, and she sat a bit back from the table. She crossed her legs, and I got a boner from looking at the creamy flesh of her thighs. I’m sure that many of the other guys, who were either looking at her or trying not to look at her, got boners too. I had an unadmirable thought. I bet they’re going to go home and masturbate thinking about her tonight. I knew I was going to as well, but unlike them, I would be nailing her for real the next day in her apartment.
Yeah, you’re all surprised, I’m sure. Last semester you probably thought I couldn’t land a girl like this or any girl at all, but I did it. Here’s the proof.
I was happy, and I had no idea how abruptly it would all end. I never found out the exact reason for the break-up, but maybe it was the very fact of the routine of it that did us in. Unlike earlier decades, when one married one’s sweetheart and then stuck with her for life, happy or not, everything about romance and sex was provisional by the 1970s. If one partner lost interest, then it was going to be over.
I wasn’t bored, but maybe Lenore secretly was. It often took years for dissatisfaction to set in, but I learned that it could happen with incredible speed. Or maybe it would happen slowly, but the other person wouldn’t know about it for a while. She was only eighteen and she had discovered the sexual power she wielded over me. Perhaps she thought she’d now go out and do better.
One week I must have called three times and Aunt Julia told me Lenore wasn’t around. It was simple enough to request a callback, and I would always get one on the same day or the day after. Now, I heard nothing.
I wasn’t that worried, and I didn’t want to make a pest of myself. Three more days went by, for a total of eight that I had no contact with Lenore. That had been the longest I had gone without ever hearing from her. I had gotten used to her, in turn, calling me at least a couple of times a week to bring me to the apartment.
On the ninth day, I called Julia again and got a promise that Lenore would be told about my request. It struck me that I was now closely keeping track of the passing time, something I had never had to do before. Usually, I would run into her in the lobby or elevator about once per week. Now that she was attending Lehman, she was on a different schedule and she didn’t wander in and out of the building as much. But I was sure I’d inevitably meet her that way.
On the sixteenth day, it happened. I was just coming up the block when I saw her come out of the building. She was holding hands with another guy.
I didn’t look at him too closely; I only noted that he was taller than I was and older, maybe in his late twenties. It was Lenore I noticed the most. She had cut her hair and gotten a feathered style on it. Her clothes seemed new; she had shiny, very tight trousers, a jacket, and black high heels. And she was wearing make-up, something I had never seen her use before.
They were walking directly towards me. Lenore looked surprised but not exactly shocked. As she approached, she put a finger to her lips in a gesture to shush me. I just stopped and let them pass. About halfway down the block, I saw him open up the door of a car for her. It was a very nice car, a BMW 2002. That was before BMWs were as common as they now are.
That evening I called and got Julia again. I said, “I’ve seen Lenore with another guy today. Tell her I’ve got to talk to her as soon as possible.”
She obviously knew what was going on, “I know, I get it. I’ll talk to her about it.” Three hours later I got a call from Lenore. I wondered if she was at home or at that guy’s place, but of course, I couldn’t ask her. She agreed to meet me outside the building the next day.
I said, “We can go to the park across the street.”
“No, we’ll just talk outside the building.”
I was there early, leaning on a lamppost. She came out almost exactly on time. The first thing I said was, “So who was that guy you were with?”
She was ready with some lines, “I’m not going to talk about it. Look, it will be much easier for you if you just accept it and move on.” She seemed calm rather than cold.
“Are you dating him?”
Now she seemed a bit impatient, “That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
There were so many things I wanted to say to her. Do you have a problem with me? Why didn’t you warn me? What has he got that I haven’t got? The fact that he was older and had that car were big clues. Instead, I said, “I can’t just accept it.”
“Well, you have to accept it.”
“You mean it’s over, just like that?”
“Yes, just like that.”
I was trying to grasp the speed and totality of this fiasco. I said something close to irrelevant. “We live here. What do we say when we run into each other?”
“Just be neighborly and say hello.”
She had left me no room to argue or maneuver. Less than four months ago I had met her in the elevator and I had invited her to have pizza with me. Then, she set out to methodically and completely bust my cherry; she blew it to smithereens, in fact. I had never actually confirmed my virginity, but she had suspected it, I guessed. She must have already decided to have an affair with me by the time we came back from that first movie date, just a couple of days after meeting me.
She had a bit of concern for me. “I know it hurts for you, but you’ll get over it.”
“Lenore, you have no idea how much it hurts.”
She was still very calm. “I’m only going to say this once. I expect you are going to be a gentleman about this. Please don’t call me or try anything else. It will be easier for both of us if you just move on.
I thought, easier for you maybe. She went on, “I have to go back upstairs now. I think you understand how it has to be.” Then she turned around, and I watched her ass swaying inside her tight jeans. I remembered watching her behind once before, on Lydig after our pizza date. This time she didn’t look back at me. She went through the lobby door and left me there.
As usual, she hadn’t wasted any time and had gotten straight to the point.
*****
For the next three days, I was depressed about my romantic misfortune. I wondered if I was technically a virgin again. My heart had been broken, obviously, but I was aware of lust too. This girl of mine, my first, had sexually satisfied me in ways that I hadn’t believed possible for the first time out.
Then the phone rang. My father said it was for me.
“Hi, Paul; this is Bernice.”
“Oh, hello Bernice.”
Bernice Weber was Lenore’s best friend from Christopher Columbus High School; she was also going to Lehman College now. I was a bit surprised because I had never had a phone conversation with her before. In fact, I had always seen her when Lenore was around too.
“I’ve heard what happened with you and Lenore. I mean, she told me herself.”
“Yeah, it really sucks.”
“Well, don’t feel bad about it. Listen, I’d like for us to get together and talk about it, you know, maybe have a few drinks or something.”
I tried to imagine what her motive for this was. My first guess was that she was acting as a spokesperson for Lenore and she was going to convey some information to me. We agreed to a time and place at a bar and grill early in the afternoon a couple of days later.
********
Bernice was the same age as Lenore. At about five-foot-five, she was shorter than her friend and more slender. She had dark-blonde hair and she wore steel-rimmed glasses. On this day, she was wearing a skirt, one of the few times I had seen her in one.
In the months I had known her, she seemed quieter and more low-key than Lenore. On that day, she seemed quite glad to see me. After we had ordered, we talked briefly about Lenore’s sudden elopement with that other guy. I thought Bernice was going to reveal Lenore’s motivations, maybe even some hidden issues she had with me.
Instead, she launched right into what was on her mind. She said, “I know you’re really down right now.”
I hadn’t had a chance to vent much yet, “Well, she just disappears and then gets with this other guy. She wouldn’t take my phone calls; I had to find her in the street two weeks later.”
“That’s now longer important. If you think about it, this opens up new opportunities, I mean to go with someone new.”
That seemed like a vague generality. Did she invite me here just to commiserate with me and make me feel better?
I said, “All right, like who?”
“Dummy, I mean me. You should be going out with me now.”
Now I was getting her game, but I had been caught off-guard. She certainly was direct and she hadn’t wasted any time. With Lenore out of the way, the deck was cleared for her to maneuver. Bernice looked very sweet and wholesome, but we almost immediately got into some erotic banter with each other. I knew that I had to quickly get off my self-pity act, but fortunately she gave me a chance to do that.
She continued, “I’ve been noticing you for a while now.” Lenore had told me it had started on the day we were introduced. “I think you have noticed me too.”
“Okay, I admit, I’ve noticed you.”
“Anything in particular that caught your attention?”
I figured that if she was going to be coy and flirt with me, I would escalate it. “Yeah, I’ve noticed your cute little behind.”
She didn’t get offended. Instead, she laughed and then smirked at me. She then escalated her side if it
“Lenore told me about the games she played with you. One of them was ‘Miss Roget, the naughty intern.’”
I remembered taking down Lenore’s black lacy panties during our spanking game and whacking her round ass as she squirmed on my lap. “She talked about that?”
“She told me about a lot of things that she did with you.” Lenore has a big mouth, I suddenly thought.
I asked her, “Did you want to be that intern?”
“Oh yes, very much so.”
Wow, so this girl is kinky too, but I supposed she hasn’t done anything about it yet. That was going to be my job, I realized. I was aware I had an erection; I could visualize Bernice fondling herself while having one of her own fantasies. That was heady stuff, and I couldn’t think about it too closely now.
At some point, I was bold enough to say, “Hey, what was Lenore’s, ah – sexual experience status when I met her?”
It took a moment for her to get my meaning, “So she didn’t talk about that with you?”
“No, but I didn’t press her the issue.”
“Well, if she didn’t tell you, then I’m not sure I know either. So what was your status at the time, as you put it?”
I knew Bernice was a virgin right now because Lenore had told me. So who is going to bust this girl’s cherry? That would obviously be me. And yet I wasn’t going to talk about myself. “Oh, it was sort of up in the air back then.” I remembered saying the exact same thing to Lenore on that first day in the pizzeria.
I got the feeling that Bernice didn’t believe me, but she didn’t challenge me. I was still curious about Lenore, so I tried one more tactic. “Lenore always seemed to know what she was talking about, that was for sure. I mean, you know, about sex.”
“I did hear a lot about you.” More lack of discretion from my ex-girlfriend. But the bigger point was that this Bernice girl had asked me out. It was not that common for a girl to make such a direct approach, I knew, and I figured I had better not blow it. Even with Lenore, I had to make the first moves, although she quickly took over how our relationship proceeded.
Somehow we got to talking about our own logistics, which was also much further than I had expected to go that day. She said, “I know you live at home and I still do too.”
“Too bad we don’t go to colleges with dorms.”
“Ah, but I have a solution. I do have a car, a 1966 Skylark.” She grinned at me. “It has four doors; it’s quite roomy inside.” Wouldn’t you really rather have a Buick? Sure, as long as the back seat is big enough.
“How did you get a car?”
“Well, I contributed something from some odd jobs I had, although my parents paid for the lion’s share of it.“ Man, this chick has it all planned out, sort of like Lenore did. Now I knew why they were friends. All I had to do was follow their agendas.
Bernice then put both of her hands on one of mine; I liked her warm touch. She said, “Look, I know you’re interested. This whole thing is just falling into place.”
I said, “As easy as rolling off a log.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“It was used in an old cartoon.”
“Now I remember it; it had talking cats.” I was impressed; she had nailed it. I didn’t mention that I had also thought of the song on the first day I met Lenore.
She said, “Anyway, you know what they used to say – about lovers actually – they’re like streetcars. There is always another one coming along to catch, assuming you need a ride,”
“I don’t see many streetcars around here.”
“They used to be on Boston Road and Bronx Park East.”
I was surprised that she knew that. “That’s right. You can still see the tracks in a couple of places.”
She said, “You don’t think I’m being too forward, do you? I’ve heard that some guys like to control it all.” She was still holding my hand.
I shrugged, “Hey, I can handle it.” I remembered Lenore running her show and I had a role to play in it. “What are we going to tell Lenore?”
She made a scoffing gesture. “Who cares? You’re free and clear now; you don’t owe her anything.”
We relaxed and talked more and had another round of beers. I guess I have a new girlfriend.
I asked a somewhat impertinent question, “I was wondering, are you Jewish?” With her last name that was possible, considering the ethnic make-up of The Bronx at that time.
“No, I’m half German and half Irish.”
I said, “So you’re another New York melting pot like I am.”
She laughed at that. “Lenore’s paternal side is interesting; they came from Quebec.”
“That’s one thing she did tell me about herself. Anyway, I thought her parents met on Cape Cod. Did she ever live in Canada?”
“No, she’s always been in the United States.” Great, I had to wait to get dumped to get even that bit of information.
I said, “I suppose she’s had folks on the continent long before ours were here.”
She said, “Did you ever see Quebec license plates? It’s in French, but it says, ‘I remember.’ ”
“I’ve seen them.” For some reason, a lot of French-Canadians liked to vacation at the Jersey shore, and they would pass through or visit the city.
She said, “I’ve been up there with my parents, twice. We went to Montreal and Quebec City. It seemed to me that they were still pissed about losing to the British.”
“Really? It’s been more than two hundred years now.”
“The losers always have long memories. It’s subtle, but they seemed rather sullen or guarded when dealing with non-French people. Or maybe it’s just the contrast with the extroverted American style.”
Again I noticed her sweet, young-looking face. I didn’t tell her how much she was drawing me in with this conversation. That must be another reason she was friends with Lenore; they are both very smart. And maybe that’s why they both had been a little to the side in the social scene at their high school.
I said, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a French-Canadian before. I never thought it would be in The Bronx.” I had a pang then about losing Lenore. You never forget your first girlfriend, especially one who so methodically and thoroughly takes your virginity in the way she had done.
Bernice brought up another topic, “You know, I could tell Lenore about us. Not that I have to. How do you feel about it?”
“I’m not sure; let me think about it for a few days.”
Then something occurred to me. “What happens if she, say, runs into us on Lydig Avenue?”
“We already talked about this. It was her decision, so her opinion doesn’t matter now.”
A little later she revealed more of her new boldness. “When you get home tonight, you’re going to think about me when you’re alone in bed, aren’t you?”
I joshed with her, “That’s a bit personal.”
“I admit, I’m going to think about you. Actually, I already have.” Then she said, “You think I’m sort of – saucy, don’t you?”
I dared say, “I don’t know what the exact word would be, but you’re beyond that.” Fortunately, she liked hearing that, and she smiled at me.
While we were there I remembered a complication I couldn’t tell Bernice about. That, of course, was Lenore’s Aunt Julia. A couple a times a month I would go to the apartment and, well, I banged her. I rationalized it by thinking that Julia had initiated it. Would you like me to seduce you, Paul? Actually, she was much more direct than Mrs. Robinson. She hadn’t even asked me, she just went ahead and grabbed me.
She wanted it more often; I had tried to set some limits with her but I was failing. Why doesn’t that lady find someone her own age and maybe even get remarried?
I foolishly thought, I can’t quite give up on her yet. Oh, well, I guess I’m going to have to somehow work around her for the moment. I was too young to understand how heedless I was being.
Now I needed a follow-up, a date right now. It was only one o’clock in the afternoon, and I had a place to go. I said, “Let’s go over to the Bronx Zoo. I haven’t been there in years.”
“That’s great; neither have I.” The front gate of the place was only a thirty-minute walk from where we were now.
We were sitting on a bench there later having cracker-jacks, I think. I felt happy, and then I remembered Lenore again. The suddenness and completeness of her departure had shocked me. It had definitively ended my complacency.
I had really just met her, but I wondered about Bernice now. She seemed so sweet and nice, and yet I felt I would have to keep closer tabs on her and not take her for granted. But how would I do that? Would I always know what she was thinking?
I was still only a sophomore at college. I had no money to speak of, and I was a liberal arts major at a public university. Already I was getting the first doubts about my future prospects. What was I going to do, switch to engineering? I supposed I could go to law school later, but the idea didn’t seem that appealing.
For the moment, all I could offer Bernice was myself. For the time being, that seemed like enough, but would that always be true? I couldn’t know what would happen with her in the longer run.
******
Three days later I got a call from Aunt Julia. I wasn’t surprised.
“I’m so sorry to hear about you and Lenore.”
“Well, you know she met this other guy.” I hoped Julia would spill the beans on exactly who this other dude was.
If she understood my intention, she evaded it, “I’m sorry, Paul, you’re learning the hard way. Girls will sometimes do that kind of thing.” I was starting to know the truth about that. They often went for the bigger, better deal if one came along. That other, older guy obviously had an established job of some kind.
It was time to bring up the brighter side, “Anyway, I do have a new girlfriend now.”
She sounded skeptical, “So where did you meet her?
“You know Bernice Weber, right?”
Her whole tone changed, “Of course, she’s such a lovely girl.” Then she lowered her voice, “You do have a way with the young ladies I see.” That was a bit embarrassing. She giggled, “But you do have a way with the older ones too.”
I noted how she had directly inserted herself into the situation. I didn’t have to wait long for her follow-up, “I’d like you to come down and share some cherry pie with me.”
I imagined one with fruit-filling and a crust, “I didn’t know you did any baking.”
“Silly, I didn’t literally mean a pie.” Now I got what she meant. She confirmed that, “I’ll wear something interesting for you, I promise.”
I knew she wasn’t kidding. Julia had quite a few sexy underthings, and also some sexy outer things, in her wardrobe. Sometimes I suspected she had bought them after her divorce in the anticipation that some new lover would arrive. That guy happened to be me.
But I was young, and if somebody was throwing around some pussy, even thirty-nine-year-old pussy, then I was going to grab it. I thought about being spiteful and telling Lenore about her aunt. Then I realized the pointlessness of that.
I only hoped that Julia knew Lenore’s schedules well and she wouldn’t walk in and catch us. But what could Lenore really do about it? Would that be the end of my time with Julia? Then I thought, Julia and I are consenting adults, we can make our own decisions.
*****
It only took a week, but Bernice and I did run into Lenore. We were walking north on White Plains Road and she was walking in the opposite direction. We all saw each other, but we kept walking towards each other. We were about two feet apart when we stopped. Bernice was not holding my hand, but now she put her right arm around my left one.
Lenore was trying to focus herself, I think. She opened her mouth slightly and I could see her moving her tongue around inside. Then she shook her head. “You two work fast pretty, I see.”
I said, “You know where we learned that, don’t you? From you!”
Then she said, “Bernice, sweetie, how are you doing?”
Bernice seemed a little unsure about the situation. “I’m doing okay, I guess.”
“I can see that. So, I bet it was you who called him?”
“Yes, it was me.”
“Well, good for you. I always thought you should be more proactive.” I wasn’t sure I liked the way Lenore was handling this. She continued, “So, if I may ask, where have you been, ah, going with him?” That seemed more than a little impertinent.
I was impressed by how boldly Bernice answered, “In my car, we go in my car. Usually after dark.”
I think that caught Lenore by surprise. She was seeing a whole new side to her friend that I already knew about. I think Bernice dug into a reserve of confidence within herself, because she continued, “Like we drive into Van Cortlandt Park, that part next to Jerome Avenue. The Allen Shandler Recreation area, that’s what it’s called.”
Lenore seemed impressed with her friend’s cleverness. It was Bernice who found the best places to park in the car at night, not me. Lenore thought about something briefly, and then she said, “I could offer you the keys to my apartment and you can use it when Julia and I aren’t there.”
I think both Bernice and I were surprised at that, but it was Bernice who spoke up, “Wow, why would you do that for us?”
Lenore shrugged, “I just like you both; isn’t that enough?”
I thought, yeah, you liked me so much that you dumped me without the slightest warning. But then I softened a bit. I knew Lenore had come out on top in this situation, and she could afford to be magnanimous. But so what, it benefits me, so I might as well accept the offer.
Yet I thought it should be Bernice, as her long-standing friend, who should do the formalities. She said, “Sure, that sounds fine with me.”
“Okay, I’ll get an extra set made up and I’ll give them to you. Anyway, I’m going to let you go now.” I unkindly thought, yeah, are you going to see Mister BMW 2002?
I knew I would still see her around – she lived downstairs from me. But we had been so close for a while and now, in a very real sense, she was gone. I briefly watched her go, and I dealt with the loss at that moment by thinking of her only in physical terms. She had been very generous in offering her body to me, but that was over now. As I watched her walk away, she seemed like just another stranger on the street.
######
Author’s note: The cartoon Paul and Bernice refer to is “Katnip Kollege,” from 1938. It was frequently on TV in the 1960s.
