in the Sky Room upstairs: nine bucks for a sandwich and soda, a not-inconsiderable fraction of what he was earning that day. The two men noshed while making small talk about children and real estate. Guy was reasonably bright, in Lewis’s estimation, but had a scope of consciousness and awareness about as wide as a cricket’s antennae. But Lewis might have been unfair. Life seemed to be working out for Guy Boyle. His kids were apparently not homicidal drug maniacs, he had his home in an inner-ring suburb, a wife he spoke of in complimentary terms. Lewis couldn’t account for why he was sitting there stirring a pot of hostility for the man.
No. He knew why. Because there was, if he was honest, something increasingly wrong with him. He needed a pill to keep from falling into mental anguish and paralyzing fear and guilt. And he had begun to hate everyone, Jay and Ramona excepted.
“You know what I mean?” asked Guy.
“Beg pardon?”
“It’s not worth the money.” Guy masticated his salad. “I have the money to spend, it’s not that. But it’s a matter of not spending it on something we don’t need. The one we have is every bit as good. Why replace it just because it’s a few years old?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Lewis said.
Did all of this start with Anna’s sickness, or did it predate those awful months? He could blame her; in fact, he
did.
But this feeling went farther back.
“I’m glad we’re having lunch today, by the way,” Guy said.
“Why?” Lewis asked. “Because you’re hungry?”
Guy shot Lewis a look, trying to tell if he was joking. Lewis let him hang there as Guy put down his fork—a sure sign he was serious.
All this responsibility Lewis felt . . . he wished it were possible to talk with someone. Guy was out of the question: too obtuse. There was his neighbor and ostensible friend Stan, but Stan’s solution to everything was of the buck-up, could-be-worse school of thought. How to explain this unraveling, this increasingly urgent need to make things right again?
“I don’t want to be a jerk, Lewis,” Guy was saying. “You know I respect you, and that I think you’re a good salesman. And, you know, since we’re about the same age, I feel like I can talk to you more directly than the younger guys.”
Lewis gripped the edge of the table and tried to breathe. His lungs felt stiff and unresponsive. A cigarette might help, but that would mean going outside and dealing with the chill.
“That woman you sold those shirts to this morning?” Guy asked. “You know the one I mean? The good-looking blonde?”
“There are plenty of good-looking women around here.”
“Now you’re just being cute,” Guy said. “You know the one I mean.”
“OK, sure,” Lewis said.
“I couldn’t help but notice you coming on to her,” said Guy.
“What?” Lewis laughed. “It was innocent. If anything, she was coming on to
me.
”
Guy probed the architecture of his teeth with his tongue. “So that’s how you saw it.”
“Of course!” Lewis said, astonished.
“She looked pretty uncomfortable by the end,” Guy said.
Lewis could not believe this conversation. That woman had been bored, obviously unfulfilled, enjoying a little harmless banter with a shirt salesman. There had been an obvious attraction between them, and Lewis had indulged in a little harmless flirting. But now, replaying it in his mind, there were blank spots. He couldn’t recall everything he had said. And he remembered touching her back at some point, down low by the tailbone. When exactly had that happened?
“She was uncomfortable,” Lewis said.
“She pretty much made a run for it,” Guy said. “At least she paid for the shirts first.”
“Because of me.”
Guy tugged at his tie. “There have been complaints,” he said.
“About
me
?”
“I want to keep you working for me.” Guy pushed his tray away. “I like you. I feel I can trust you.”
Lewis decided for the moment to say nothing.
No. He knew why. Because there was, if he was honest, something increasingly wrong with him. He needed a pill to keep from falling into mental anguish and paralyzing fear and guilt. And he had begun to hate everyone, Jay and Ramona excepted.
“You know what I mean?” asked Guy.
“Beg pardon?”
“It’s not worth the money.” Guy masticated his salad. “I have the money to spend, it’s not that. But it’s a matter of not spending it on something we don’t need. The one we have is every bit as good. Why replace it just because it’s a few years old?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Lewis said.
Did all of this start with Anna’s sickness, or did it predate those awful months? He could blame her; in fact, he
did.
But this feeling went farther back.
“I’m glad we’re having lunch today, by the way,” Guy said.
“Why?” Lewis asked. “Because you’re hungry?”
Guy shot Lewis a look, trying to tell if he was joking. Lewis let him hang there as Guy put down his fork—a sure sign he was serious.
All this responsibility Lewis felt . . . he wished it were possible to talk with someone. Guy was out of the question: too obtuse. There was his neighbor and ostensible friend Stan, but Stan’s solution to everything was of the buck-up, could-be-worse school of thought. How to explain this unraveling, this increasingly urgent need to make things right again?
“I don’t want to be a jerk, Lewis,” Guy was saying. “You know I respect you, and that I think you’re a good salesman. And, you know, since we’re about the same age, I feel like I can talk to you more directly than the younger guys.”
Lewis gripped the edge of the table and tried to breathe. His lungs felt stiff and unresponsive. A cigarette might help, but that would mean going outside and dealing with the chill.
“That woman you sold those shirts to this morning?” Guy asked. “You know the one I mean? The good-looking blonde?”
“There are plenty of good-looking women around here.”
“Now you’re just being cute,” Guy said. “You know the one I mean.”
“OK, sure,” Lewis said.
“I couldn’t help but notice you coming on to her,” said Guy.
“What?” Lewis laughed. “It was innocent. If anything, she was coming on to
me.
”
Guy probed the architecture of his teeth with his tongue. “So that’s how you saw it.”
“Of course!” Lewis said, astonished.
“She looked pretty uncomfortable by the end,” Guy said.
Lewis could not believe this conversation. That woman had been bored, obviously unfulfilled, enjoying a little harmless banter with a shirt salesman. There had been an obvious attraction between them, and Lewis had indulged in a little harmless flirting. But now, replaying it in his mind, there were blank spots. He couldn’t recall everything he had said. And he remembered touching her back at some point, down low by the tailbone. When exactly had that happened?
“She was uncomfortable,” Lewis said.
“She pretty much made a run for it,” Guy said. “At least she paid for the shirts first.”
“Because of me.”
Guy tugged at his tie. “There have been complaints,” he said.
“About
me
?”
“I want to keep you working for me.” Guy pushed his tray away. “I like you. I feel I can trust you.”
Lewis decided for the moment to say nothing.
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