stereo.
Not once in all the years we'd been friends had we used that tone with each other. Or said words that blunt. Lie-that's such an ugly word; you only say it to a close friend if you're kidding.
Eric said, "You were frightened." "I was. Scared to death. We'd had our differences, things that irritated us about each other, but we'd always smoothed them over with humor. Emma's good at getting a serious point across by making a joke-that's her style, and it works for her. She doesn't think anybody knows it, but she'll do almost anything to avoid a confrontation. Because she's afraid of anger. Especially mine, I think." I laughed. "If you can believe that." "You were both scared."
"Yes. Scared and mad and drunk." That night she tried to pacify me by saying, "Is it because you want children? You and Curtis? I could understand getting married for kids." "No," I said, "of course not. I want kids, but that's not why I'm marrying him. Emma, why are you being so. . ." Awful pause while we both looked at everything except each other. "I love Curtis. Why is that so hard to understand? Curtis is good for me." "No, he's not." She stood up, glass of warm Chardonnay in one hand, lit cigarette in the other, big maroon "28" on her chest-some Redskin's number. Emma doesn't drink that much, and she only smokes when she's with me, so this was really an incongruous pose. And . .. cute. There's no other word for it. I was dying for her to say something funny now, to erase this conversation, get us back where we'd always been. But she said, "I don't know how, but he's made you think he's good for you. Can't you see that's just his trick?" "His trick? Oh, for-"
"Oh, Rudy, you are so much stronger than he lets you believe! Would you have dropped out of school if it weren't for Curtis? No, and you'd have a real job by now, you'd have a profession." "Oh, now you don't like my job, either. Well, great, this is just wonderful." Oh, that really hurt. I was selling designer jewelry in a Georgetown boutique, and okay, it wasn't my life's work, but it was all right and I was pretty good at it. But it certainly wasn't Curtis's fault. We moved to D.C. after he graduated from law school, and-well, I just never went back to finish my art history master's. I said, "How in the world is Curtis responsible for what my job is? What do you think he did, force me to quit school?" "Yeah, that's exactly what I think. Only he did it so you didn't even know he was doing it." "Oh, that's funny. You are so full of-it, it's-" "Rudy, he's manipulative and controlling-those words were invented for Curtis Lloyd, and I don't know why you can't see it! He makes you think you're crazy, and meanwhile he's this creepy southern sociopath, like Bruce Dern when he used to play those psychotic bayou maniacs-" I threw a CD at her. It hit her on the side of the throat and made a little cut-tiny, but it bled. She went paper white. We gaped at each other, completely horrified, and both wanting the other to apologize first. If we hadn't been drinking since five o'clock in the afternoon, I know we'd have found a way out, some face-saving retreat. Oh, but we were drunk. And we were both just so tired of lying about Curtis.
Eric was staring at me as if I had two heads. "You did that? You really threw a CD?" "You can't picture it, can you?" I didn't blame him; I'm notoriously nonviolent.
"What happened? How did it end?" "I told her if she felt that way about Curtis, maybe she ought not to come to my wedding."
Eric has enormous brown eyes, like a figure in a Velázquez painting. When he opens them wide behind his steel-rimmed glasses, I know I've said something amazing.
"And she said, 'All right, if that's what you want,' and I said, 'I think it's what you want.' She said, 'Well, what do you want?' and we went around like that for a while. That's another thing Emma's good at-hiding behind questions, throwing up diversions. People who don't know her think she's really frank and open, but she's
Not once in all the years we'd been friends had we used that tone with each other. Or said words that blunt. Lie-that's such an ugly word; you only say it to a close friend if you're kidding.
Eric said, "You were frightened." "I was. Scared to death. We'd had our differences, things that irritated us about each other, but we'd always smoothed them over with humor. Emma's good at getting a serious point across by making a joke-that's her style, and it works for her. She doesn't think anybody knows it, but she'll do almost anything to avoid a confrontation. Because she's afraid of anger. Especially mine, I think." I laughed. "If you can believe that." "You were both scared."
"Yes. Scared and mad and drunk." That night she tried to pacify me by saying, "Is it because you want children? You and Curtis? I could understand getting married for kids." "No," I said, "of course not. I want kids, but that's not why I'm marrying him. Emma, why are you being so. . ." Awful pause while we both looked at everything except each other. "I love Curtis. Why is that so hard to understand? Curtis is good for me." "No, he's not." She stood up, glass of warm Chardonnay in one hand, lit cigarette in the other, big maroon "28" on her chest-some Redskin's number. Emma doesn't drink that much, and she only smokes when she's with me, so this was really an incongruous pose. And . .. cute. There's no other word for it. I was dying for her to say something funny now, to erase this conversation, get us back where we'd always been. But she said, "I don't know how, but he's made you think he's good for you. Can't you see that's just his trick?" "His trick? Oh, for-"
"Oh, Rudy, you are so much stronger than he lets you believe! Would you have dropped out of school if it weren't for Curtis? No, and you'd have a real job by now, you'd have a profession." "Oh, now you don't like my job, either. Well, great, this is just wonderful." Oh, that really hurt. I was selling designer jewelry in a Georgetown boutique, and okay, it wasn't my life's work, but it was all right and I was pretty good at it. But it certainly wasn't Curtis's fault. We moved to D.C. after he graduated from law school, and-well, I just never went back to finish my art history master's. I said, "How in the world is Curtis responsible for what my job is? What do you think he did, force me to quit school?" "Yeah, that's exactly what I think. Only he did it so you didn't even know he was doing it." "Oh, that's funny. You are so full of-it, it's-" "Rudy, he's manipulative and controlling-those words were invented for Curtis Lloyd, and I don't know why you can't see it! He makes you think you're crazy, and meanwhile he's this creepy southern sociopath, like Bruce Dern when he used to play those psychotic bayou maniacs-" I threw a CD at her. It hit her on the side of the throat and made a little cut-tiny, but it bled. She went paper white. We gaped at each other, completely horrified, and both wanting the other to apologize first. If we hadn't been drinking since five o'clock in the afternoon, I know we'd have found a way out, some face-saving retreat. Oh, but we were drunk. And we were both just so tired of lying about Curtis.
Eric was staring at me as if I had two heads. "You did that? You really threw a CD?" "You can't picture it, can you?" I didn't blame him; I'm notoriously nonviolent.
"What happened? How did it end?" "I told her if she felt that way about Curtis, maybe she ought not to come to my wedding."
Eric has enormous brown eyes, like a figure in a Velázquez painting. When he opens them wide behind his steel-rimmed glasses, I know I've said something amazing.
"And she said, 'All right, if that's what you want,' and I said, 'I think it's what you want.' She said, 'Well, what do you want?' and we went around like that for a while. That's another thing Emma's good at-hiding behind questions, throwing up diversions. People who don't know her think she's really frank and open, but she's