by myself. I don’t know how to be in the world. How can you stand me?”
“I chose you out of all the world.”
“And you keep me by shining that sincere smile on me and constantly implying that men and women are just different, and by managing to convince everybody you’re such a good guy because you made your ex-girlfriend from years ago your assistant, even after she had an affair behind your back with Hughes the second she met him, and furthermore I agree with you. She’s a very capable, nice person.”
“A one-night stand is not an ‘ex-girlfriend.’ And if we might possibly discuss something else, even though LuAnne is your favorite subject. There’s a book, a novel, by that writer who wrote that story you love about Bruns. I heard about it on NPR. In the novel, the character’s wife is crazed with the desire to have a child and hops a plane when she knows she’ll be fertile and goes to where he and a bunch of friends are gathering because an old friend unexpectedly died—”
“I still can’t believe that we had that crazy time together and went off to that house you’d rented in Marin because you probably thought you’d take some other girl there—and we found that croquet set in the garage and set it up and played a game naked when it got dark.”
“I’m quite aware of our history. We’ve now been married for nine, going on ten years. We have a wonderful son. I’m not going to apologize for the next ten years, because apologizing for the first ten has been enough, don’t you think? I was having a panic attack. All I said to you in Marin, which I still don’t think was so crazy, was that we should back off and think about the relationship for a while.”
“What would you have done if Hughes hadn’t suddenly appeared on the scene and tempted you to work for his company?”
“I wasn’t looking for a job when Hughes got in touch. Were you under the impression that I was? I was actually trying to cut down my hours and build more time into my schedule for tennis.”
“What a prig you sound like! Your tennis time! Anybody would think you were vile.”
“Vile?”
“I can’t believe what I hear sometimes. Like this is a movie of some stupid rich people’s lives. We’re really sorry the lobstermen can’t afford to live in town anymore, and it’s really too bad about all the businesses going under—or maybe the greenhouse stays open because they sell orchids, which have become the new azaleas around here—and sure, the economy is fucked. But we know all about French wines and fly first class and think about fucking tennis.”
“You, yourself, have thoughts on tennis?”
“That it would be better for me than yoga and Pilates and power walks with weights strapped on my ankles. Jesus! We’ve got to watch out.”
“Okay, you pick up those binoculars and watch out while I’m gone, and if any fashionable sports activities come this way, you hold up a hand and you say, ‘None of that here; I’m not having any kicking, or tackling, or kneeing the other guy in the balls.’ You keep the house safe, use the gun in the drawer if you have to, to keep us safe from sports, which have become terminally fashionable in your mind, I now understand.”
“What gun in what drawer?”
“I was kidding. The water pistol Hughes gave Joshua that you confiscated and keep in the kitchen drawer with the steak knives, for some reason. By the way, I was looking for an unmatched sock and opened your night table drawer and saw you had quite a bit of new La Perla. Expensive stuff!”
“You love to pretend I’m always spending money.”
“Really, sometimes you say the most ridiculous things. An aversion to tennis! It’s too crazy.”
“I don’t have an aspersion.” She blinked. Why had she said that? The same way she matter-of-factly corrected Joshua, she now corrected herself. “An aversion,” she said.
“Then call the coach tomorrow and set up a time.”
“You know I’m not going to
“I chose you out of all the world.”
“And you keep me by shining that sincere smile on me and constantly implying that men and women are just different, and by managing to convince everybody you’re such a good guy because you made your ex-girlfriend from years ago your assistant, even after she had an affair behind your back with Hughes the second she met him, and furthermore I agree with you. She’s a very capable, nice person.”
“A one-night stand is not an ‘ex-girlfriend.’ And if we might possibly discuss something else, even though LuAnne is your favorite subject. There’s a book, a novel, by that writer who wrote that story you love about Bruns. I heard about it on NPR. In the novel, the character’s wife is crazed with the desire to have a child and hops a plane when she knows she’ll be fertile and goes to where he and a bunch of friends are gathering because an old friend unexpectedly died—”
“I still can’t believe that we had that crazy time together and went off to that house you’d rented in Marin because you probably thought you’d take some other girl there—and we found that croquet set in the garage and set it up and played a game naked when it got dark.”
“I’m quite aware of our history. We’ve now been married for nine, going on ten years. We have a wonderful son. I’m not going to apologize for the next ten years, because apologizing for the first ten has been enough, don’t you think? I was having a panic attack. All I said to you in Marin, which I still don’t think was so crazy, was that we should back off and think about the relationship for a while.”
“What would you have done if Hughes hadn’t suddenly appeared on the scene and tempted you to work for his company?”
“I wasn’t looking for a job when Hughes got in touch. Were you under the impression that I was? I was actually trying to cut down my hours and build more time into my schedule for tennis.”
“What a prig you sound like! Your tennis time! Anybody would think you were vile.”
“Vile?”
“I can’t believe what I hear sometimes. Like this is a movie of some stupid rich people’s lives. We’re really sorry the lobstermen can’t afford to live in town anymore, and it’s really too bad about all the businesses going under—or maybe the greenhouse stays open because they sell orchids, which have become the new azaleas around here—and sure, the economy is fucked. But we know all about French wines and fly first class and think about fucking tennis.”
“You, yourself, have thoughts on tennis?”
“That it would be better for me than yoga and Pilates and power walks with weights strapped on my ankles. Jesus! We’ve got to watch out.”
“Okay, you pick up those binoculars and watch out while I’m gone, and if any fashionable sports activities come this way, you hold up a hand and you say, ‘None of that here; I’m not having any kicking, or tackling, or kneeing the other guy in the balls.’ You keep the house safe, use the gun in the drawer if you have to, to keep us safe from sports, which have become terminally fashionable in your mind, I now understand.”
“What gun in what drawer?”
“I was kidding. The water pistol Hughes gave Joshua that you confiscated and keep in the kitchen drawer with the steak knives, for some reason. By the way, I was looking for an unmatched sock and opened your night table drawer and saw you had quite a bit of new La Perla. Expensive stuff!”
“You love to pretend I’m always spending money.”
“Really, sometimes you say the most ridiculous things. An aversion to tennis! It’s too crazy.”
“I don’t have an aspersion.” She blinked. Why had she said that? The same way she matter-of-factly corrected Joshua, she now corrected herself. “An aversion,” she said.
“Then call the coach tomorrow and set up a time.”
“You know I’m not going to
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