bucks,â Sid said, just as Norman put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. Norman opened the door. âI wonât lose any sleep over it.â âYou probably wonât,â Sid said, sadly. âBut I will.â
11
G US WAS in her apartment, waiting for Norman, when the telephone rang. It was Richard. âI have something Iâve been meaning to tell you,â she said, twisting her long, wavy hair with her free hand, worried. âIâm getting married.â
âOh?â he asked, as if sheâd said she was taking a trip, or changing schools. âSince when?â
She was confused. âSince when am I getting married, or when am I getting married?â
âBoth.â
She told him.
âWhy didnât you tell me before?â Richard said. âJesus Christ, I feel like a goddamn idiot, Gussie.â
âI didnât know how.â
âYou apparently know how now!â
She was sitting cross-legged on the couch-bed, the white receiver at her ear, gazing dejectedly at Tweetie-Pie cleaning his feathers. (Tweetie was a bit of a dandy.)
She hadnât wanted to tell him before; she didnât want to give him upâand more than that, she didnât want to have to tell him, as she was in effect doing, that she hadnât been faithful to him. âI thought, since youâre marriedââ
âWhatâs that got to do with it?â
âIâm not sureââ
âWhatâs he do?â
âWho?â
âOh, fuck. Your fiancé.â
âYou arenât being very nice about this.â
âOh, come on, Gussie, you sound like you just ate a persimmon. I feel like a fool, thatâs all. Iâm going to miss you. I hope youâll be happy. Of course I hope youâll be happy.â
âHeâs writing his dissertation in Cultural Musicology.â
Richard broke out into laughter. âWhoop-de-do!â he cried. âWhatâs that?â
âHeâs a kind of philosophical psychologist, not with rats, but heâs not a shrink, eitherââ She knew she was being unfair to Norman, but she owed something to Richard too.
âI miss you,â he said.
She wanted to say that she missed himâthe words were already in her mouth, waiting for her to say themâbut it wouldnât have been true. Occasionally, she missed his attentions, and remembered how dynamic he looked crossing campus with his tie loose, the desperation in his eyes that dissolved into light when he saw her coming toward him. âBut youâre married,â she said again, still not knowing exactly what she meant to convey by that. It wasnât a point that had ever troubled her before.
âYou donât have to tell me Iâm married.â
âWhy donât you get a divorce?â The subject was safe, now; it had been taboo only so long as she had had an investment in it.
âBecause Elaine loves me.â
Gus chewed the ends of her hair.
âAnd you donât,â he added, a little petulantly.
âWould you get a divorce if I said I did?â
âItâs a hypothetical question now, isnât it?â
âI guessââ
âIf I said I would, would you say you did?â
âI guess it wouldnât make any difference if I did, would it?â
âNot if youâre going to get married anyway. To this whatever-he-is, some kind of culture vulture.â
âOf course,â she said, enjoying this new turn to the conversation immensely, âa person can be married and still have affairs. Take you, for instance.â
âBut you arenât me. Thereâs no similarity.â He was crooning in her ear, low and sweet, a slight abrasive edge to his voice stroking her eardrum like a wire brush sweeping softly over the snaredrum in an orchestra. âI know your type.â
âWhatâs my type?â
âYouâll think you have to
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