Augusta Played by Kelly Cherry Page A

worship him, just because he’s your husband. You’ll think he’s a reflection on your character, so he’ll have to be perfect.”
    Gus laughed. She was meant to be a star, no question about it—hearing herself talked about by other people always intoxicated her. Her face shone and her eyes kindled. The phenomenon was delicate but definite. “You’re being nasty again,” she said, pleased.
    â€œI’m owed, Gussie, owed, owed, owed.”
    â€œI don’t see why—”
    â€œBecause I love you.”
    â€œThat’s not—”
    â€œYou owe me like I owe Elaine.”
    Secretly, Gus thought that Elaine did look like the type who was always collecting on old debts. Elaine had a complexion that must have glowed with a freshly scrubbed look, once, and now looked raw, and the doe’s feet of her eyeliner ran into the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. Altogether, she wore the righteous look of someone who’s been prevailed upon to lend her heart against her better judgment. Gus used to see her in the grocery store on Tate Street in Greensboro, or at parties. Elaine stayed away from the school itself. “How is she?” Gus asked.
    â€œElaine is fine. I’m miserable.”
    â€œWhy are you miserable?”
    â€œWhy shouldn’t I be miserable? I spend half my waking hours trying to make everyone else happy.”
    It was true; an odd occupation for a man. “How is the new record coming along?” she asked. He was doing the Beethoven Eighth. You couldn’t be too miserable, Gus thought, while you were recording the Beethoven Eighth. She said as much.
    â€œYou aren’t giving up the flute, are you?” he asked, as if the possibility had just struck him. “Christ, that’s unthinkable!”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” she said. But it was something that had been bothering her.
    â€œI’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said. “I’ll get my manager to take you on whenever you’re ready. You don’t have to worry about that.”
    â€œThat’s nice of you, Richard.”
    â€œYou didn’t think I wouldn’t come through, did you? I know what’s expected of me—”
    â€œRichard!”
    â€œDon’t sound so shocked, Gussie. Things always work this way. Almost always, anyhow. It’s not so terrible. Life isn’t so terrible. Even marriage isn’t so terrible.”
    â€œI’m glad to hear Elaine is fine,” she said, primly.
    â€œElaine is fine,” he said. “Beethoven is fine. I’m fine. But I’ll tell you what gets me down. The kids complain all the time. It’s a case of nonstop wheedling. They fight a lot. Are you pregnant?”
    â€œOf course not. Should I be?”
    â€œIf I were you,” he said, “I would want to be.”
    â€œThat’s your problem. If you weren’t so good-looking, I’d think you were queer.”
    â€œFlattery will get you nowhere,” he said.
    â€œOh, gee, Richard, I really do like you—”
    â€œI know,” he said. He sounded very blue. “Everybody does.”
    Just then Gus heard Norman downstairs; he had his own keys now. The door downstairs banged, he took the steps two at a time. But now was not the moment to hang up on Richard. She did owe him something.
    â€œThat’s not what I mean,” she said, earnestly. “I care about you more than everybody else.” The second door had not made a sound, and now Norman was staring at her from across the room.
    â€œThat’s probably true,” Richard said, heavy-hearted. “Nobody else cares even that much.”
    â€œNow you’re being stupid. I’m not going to listen to this.” It would have to be Elaine who did. She had Norman to think of.
    â€œYou’re right,” he said. “I’ll call you later. Sometime. Someday. In ten years. Come disguised as a