for pointing out your logical error,” he smiled broadly, “but for defending men by attacking women. Cheap shot.”
Her face softened.
“Truce?”
She nodded.
“I’d say armistice,” he added, rising to clear the table, “except I suspect it ain’t one.”
3
A FTER ALL HER PANIC , her long-standing fear of being encroached upon, invaded, crowded, imposed upon, she could not bear it when he dressed to leave.
“Stay!, stay!” she urged. Thinking she would take half her clothes out of the tiny closet and store them in a suitcase under the bed. Thinking she would have to buy a few more glasses, perhaps some cups. Wondering how she could make room for his things in the small bathroom and deciding to buy a cardboard dresser and jam it between the sink and the tub. They’d have to buy him a bike, so the two of them could ride together on fine days.
“I can’t. There’s a room booked for me at the Randolph, there are people expecting me, probably messages. And I have an appointment early in the morning.”
You could go and check in at the Randolph, get your messages, and come back here and spend the night with me. We could set the alarm to wake us up early tomorrow morning.
No. I won’t say it. I won’t beg. He could do it if he wanted to, he’d see it if he wanted to see it. The hell with him. He wants to go? Go!
He walked from bedroom to bath, dressing, combing his hair, finding his watch and his wallet under the bed where they’d tumbled. He was all business. She might as well not have been there. She could tell that he would just as soon she weren’t there because he didn’t need her now, didn’t want her now. And he’d just as soon also not have to worry about her clinging or sulking at his departure. So, he dismissed her, although not in words. He blanked her out.
I will not say: When will I see you again? No, I will not say it. The hell with him.
She stood in the kitchen looking at the greasy frying pan, bacon fat solidified in it. The air in the small room was smoky and bacony, and she opened the window. It was chilly out, but she put her head out a little and breathed the fresh cold air. She gazed at the slate roofs, shiny in moonlight, the old chimney pots, black and homey against the blue-grey sky. She was holding her mouth severely together.
He came up behind her and put a light hand on her shoulder. “I have to go.”
She turned around. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. Her body was stiff, her lips tight. He did not seem to notice. He pulled a card out of a leather case—a business card!—and wrote Randolph Hotel on the back and laid it on the table.
“I don’t know the number there, but I’m sure it’s in the book. You can reach me there if you need me.”
Does he think I’m an idiot and can’t remember the Randolph?
He went out into the hall. She stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, rubbing her hands on her forearms. After a few minutes, he reappeared with his suitcase, wearing his raincoat. He was energetic, brisk. He seemed quite happy.
“I’ll call you,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “Don’t bother to come down. I’ll make sure the downstairs door is locked.” And left the kitchen and went out into the hall and opened her front door and went through it without looking back.
Look not behind thee, lest thou be consumed.
And the upstairs door closed behind him and she could hear his footsteps on the stairs and then the bang of the front door of the house.
She stood in the kitchen.
Then she charged out into the hall. She pulled open the upper front door and slammed it again, slammed it so hard the dishes on the kitchen shelves rattled. Then she locked it. Came back in and turned the radio up to full volume. Lucky thing Mary wasn’t home.
She looked around the kitchen at the dirty dishes on the table, dirty pans on the stove, coffeepot still half full. She lunged at the table and swept off an armful of dishes, hurling them to the floor.
“Damn! Damn!
Her face softened.
“Truce?”
She nodded.
“I’d say armistice,” he added, rising to clear the table, “except I suspect it ain’t one.”
3
A FTER ALL HER PANIC , her long-standing fear of being encroached upon, invaded, crowded, imposed upon, she could not bear it when he dressed to leave.
“Stay!, stay!” she urged. Thinking she would take half her clothes out of the tiny closet and store them in a suitcase under the bed. Thinking she would have to buy a few more glasses, perhaps some cups. Wondering how she could make room for his things in the small bathroom and deciding to buy a cardboard dresser and jam it between the sink and the tub. They’d have to buy him a bike, so the two of them could ride together on fine days.
“I can’t. There’s a room booked for me at the Randolph, there are people expecting me, probably messages. And I have an appointment early in the morning.”
You could go and check in at the Randolph, get your messages, and come back here and spend the night with me. We could set the alarm to wake us up early tomorrow morning.
No. I won’t say it. I won’t beg. He could do it if he wanted to, he’d see it if he wanted to see it. The hell with him. He wants to go? Go!
He walked from bedroom to bath, dressing, combing his hair, finding his watch and his wallet under the bed where they’d tumbled. He was all business. She might as well not have been there. She could tell that he would just as soon she weren’t there because he didn’t need her now, didn’t want her now. And he’d just as soon also not have to worry about her clinging or sulking at his departure. So, he dismissed her, although not in words. He blanked her out.
I will not say: When will I see you again? No, I will not say it. The hell with him.
She stood in the kitchen looking at the greasy frying pan, bacon fat solidified in it. The air in the small room was smoky and bacony, and she opened the window. It was chilly out, but she put her head out a little and breathed the fresh cold air. She gazed at the slate roofs, shiny in moonlight, the old chimney pots, black and homey against the blue-grey sky. She was holding her mouth severely together.
He came up behind her and put a light hand on her shoulder. “I have to go.”
She turned around. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. Her body was stiff, her lips tight. He did not seem to notice. He pulled a card out of a leather case—a business card!—and wrote Randolph Hotel on the back and laid it on the table.
“I don’t know the number there, but I’m sure it’s in the book. You can reach me there if you need me.”
Does he think I’m an idiot and can’t remember the Randolph?
He went out into the hall. She stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, rubbing her hands on her forearms. After a few minutes, he reappeared with his suitcase, wearing his raincoat. He was energetic, brisk. He seemed quite happy.
“I’ll call you,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “Don’t bother to come down. I’ll make sure the downstairs door is locked.” And left the kitchen and went out into the hall and opened her front door and went through it without looking back.
Look not behind thee, lest thou be consumed.
And the upstairs door closed behind him and she could hear his footsteps on the stairs and then the bang of the front door of the house.
She stood in the kitchen.
Then she charged out into the hall. She pulled open the upper front door and slammed it again, slammed it so hard the dishes on the kitchen shelves rattled. Then she locked it. Came back in and turned the radio up to full volume. Lucky thing Mary wasn’t home.
She looked around the kitchen at the dirty dishes on the table, dirty pans on the stove, coffeepot still half full. She lunged at the table and swept off an armful of dishes, hurling them to the floor.
“Damn! Damn!
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