“Did you ever notice that all Chinese waiters seem abrupt and surly?” Gillian said. “They really aren’t, you know. It’s just the way they speak, clipping off the words, delivering them sort of deadpan, so that everything they say sounds like an order for an execution.”
“I never noticed,” David said.
“Yes. You listen when he comes back. If he comes back. He doesn’t like the idea of our not drinking. And he thinks we’re crazy to be out in this weather.”
“He’s out in it, too, isn’t he?”
“No, he’s in the restaurant.”
“So are we.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Besides, the weather is fine compared to what we had in December.”
“I loved December,” she said.
“I read in the Times that it’ll be listed in the official records as the blizzard of ’47. How about that?”
“How about that?” Gillian said. “We can tell our children. It makes me feel like a pioneer. Now where did he disappear to? If I don’t get something to eat soon, I’ll begin throwing dishes.”
“Didn’t you have lunch?”
“No.”
“Why not? Damn you, Gilly—”
“Don’t damn me, David Regan! I had a reading.”
“What’s that got to do with having lunch?”
“I got up at ten, and I went down for the mail and found my copy of Theatre Arts and before I knew it, it was twelve o’clock. So I had some juice and coffee, dressed, and went uptown. And the reading wasn’t over until three, and then I had to rush right over to the store. So that’s why I didn’t have lunch.”
“Did you get the part?”
“No. They were looking for a blonde.”
“Can’t you bleach your hair?”
“Why should I?” She frowned. “Don’t you like my hair?”
“I love it. I thought if it meant getting a part...”
“No one suggested it. Besides, I like my hair the way it is. David, I’m getting very irritable. We’d better order quick.” She picked up the menu and said, “They have those wonderful butterfly shrimp here. Would you like to try them? The ones wrapped in bacon.”
“Good,” David said, “and some char-shu-din, all right?”
“No spareribs?”
“Sure, spareribs, too.”
“That’s two pork dishes.”
“Where does it say we can’t have two pork dishes?”
“David, we can have three if you like.”
“All right.”
“I’m sorry. I’m starving. Let’s just order, all right?” She looked at the menu again. “How about the chicken in parchment?”
“Fine.”
“And some soup. They’ve got fried-won-ton soup. Shall we try it?”
“Fine.”
“Okay, fried-won-ton soup, no egg rolls, all right? We don’t want to stuff ourselves. And some barbecued ribs, and the butterfly shrimp, and the chicken in parchment. There! That sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“You left out the char-shu-din.”
“David...”
“What?”
“I hate char-shu-din.”
“I like it,” he said.
She looked at him solemnly for a moment. “Are we having an argument?” she asked.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“I feel very bitchy.” She paused. “Please get the waiter. I’m so hungry, I feel faint. Get the waiter, please.”
He called the waiter. Gillian rested her head against the back of the booth.
“You ready to order!” the waiter said sharply.
“Yes,” David said. “We want the fried-won-ton soup and—”
“Are the won-tons good and crisp?” Gillian asked weakly.
“Yes, ver’ crisp!” the waiter shouted.
“Good.”
“And a small order of spareribs,” David said. “And the... uh...”
“Butterfly shrimp,” Gillian supplied.
“Yes, and...”
“And the chicken in parchment.” Gillian leaned forward, smiled, and said, “And the damn char-shu-din.”
David smiled back at her. “Waiter,” he said, “would you please bring some tea and noodles right away? The lady is very hungry.”
“You want fried rice!” the waiter shouted.
“Gillian?”
“Yes, all right.”
The waiter left the table and returned almost immediately with a pot of hot tea and a bowl of noodles. The tea brought the color back to Gillian’s face instantly. She drank two cups of it, and then sat munching contentedly on the noodles.
“Oh my,” she said, “that’s much better. Forgive me, David.” David was frowning. She caught his expression, and then looked at him quizzically. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“I’ll bet I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?”
“You’re leaping to the male conclusion.”
“And what’s that?”
“I was irritable and bitchy and I felt a little faint. I’m sure those must seem like classic signs to you.”
“Signs of what, Gilly?”
“Pregnancy.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking of that at all.”
“You were.” She paused. “Would the idea frighten you?”
“No.”
“Would it make you angry?”
“No.”
“But you wouldn’t love me as much if I were fat and bloated, would you?”
“I’d love you no matter how you were.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind if I were pregnant?”
“No. I wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m not,” Gillian said.
David nodded.
“That’s relieving, isn’t it?”
“I told you I wasn’t thinking that,” David answered.
“Then what were you thinking?”
“About char-shu-din. I like char-shu-din.”
“Well, we ordered it, didn’t we?”
“Yes.”
The table went silent.
“David?”
“What?”
“I went to the doctor yesterday.”
“Why?”
“To be fitted for a diaphragm.” She paused. “I thought...” She shrugged. “This tea is very good,” she said. “Did you notice about the waiter? The way everything sounds like a command?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
“What is it, David?”
“I want to leave school,” he said. “I want to get a job.”
“Well, what’s so terrible about that?”
“Why didn’t you order a drink?”
“What?” she said, surprised. “I didn’t want one, that’s why.”
“That’s not true. You didn’t order it because you knew if we both had drinks it would have added a buck and a half to the check, and you were worried about whether or not I could afford it.”
“That’s an absolutely paranoid statement, David. And besides, it wouldn’t have been anywhere near a dollar and a half.”
“A buck twenty, at least.”
“You know, we could have stayed home, for that matter. I have food in the house.”
“Well, I have to get a job.”
“All right, so get one.”
“I’m tired of this college-boy allowance. And I’m not learning anything. I’m not interested any more. I have to get a job.”
“David, if you want one, go out and get one!” she said sharply, and suddenly realized there was more to this than he was stating, sensed at once that he wasn’t truly arguing with her but with something deeper inside himself, and wondered what it was like to be someone without any real goals, her own goals had always seemed so clear to her. Perhaps their relationship changed in that fleeting instant. Perhaps, staring at him across the table while the rain lashed the plate-glass front of the restaurant, she knew that something more was expected of her as a woman, as David’s woman. The thought frightened her a little. She felt inexplicably like a stranger to him, felt she was in love with a man she did not know at all. He sat across the table from her in hooded silence, surrounded by a shell she could almost reach out to touch. She was face to face now with the question of whether or not she wished to penetrate that shell, and this was what frightened her. She felt suddenly threatened. If she opened those doors, if she truly explored this man she claimed to love, became for him more than she now was, she had the oddest feeling she would lose her own identity somewhere along the way. She suddenly wanted to run.