“Thank you,” she said.
“Cheers,” I said.
“Cheers,” she said. “Mm, just as good as the first one.”
We drank in silence for several moments.
“I’ll tell you why I called,” she said.
I waited.
“I find you very attractive,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Do you find me attractive?”
“I do.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“It would’ve been stupid, wouldn’t it?”
“What would’ve?”
“You being alone here tonight, having your dinner alone here, and me being alone having my dinner alone when instead we could be together when we find each other attractive, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Which is why I called.”
“I see.”
“Have you ever wondered how many people in the world would be together instead of alone on any given night in the universe if only they would pick up the telephone? Or if they would go up to each other on the street and say to each other, ‘Hey, I find you attractive, let’s get to know each other.’ ”
“They’d get arrested,” I said.
“Yeah, That’s the shame of it, That’s exactly what I mean. But you can’t get arrested for picking up the telephone, can you?”
“Unless you breathe heavily into it,” I said.
“That’s another thing I find attractive about you,” she said. “You have a good sense of humor. I love to laugh, don’t you love to laugh?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I also love to eat,” she said, “and I am getting hungry, really, ’cause all I had for lunch was a little salad. I get fat as a horse, my mother’s right, if I don’t watch it.” She got to her feet, put down her glass, smoothed her dress over her hips, and said, “What I’ll do, I’ll get it started, and we can just sit and drink till it heats up, okay?” She started for the kitchen. “This is a nice place you’ve got here,” she said. “Do you own it?”
“I’m renting,” I said.
“it’s nice anyway,” she said. “Where’s the light switch?”
“To your left.”
She snapped on the kitchen lights and looked around appraisingly.
“I’ll bet a woman designed this kitchen,” she said, but did not amplify. “Okay, let’s see. I guess I can heat the chicken and french fries in the same oven, and I’ll need a pot to put the veggies in. Where do you keep your pots?”
“Cabinet on the left of the stove,” I said.
“Cabinet on the left of the stove,” she said, kneeling. “Right. Did you chill some wine?”
“I think there’s a bottle in the fridge,” I said.
“White wine, right?”
“Right.”
“With chicken,” she said.
She was bustling about the kitchen now, pouring peas into a small pot from the plastic container in which she’d brought them, putting the fried chicken into a shallow pan, the potatoes into another, fiddling with the dials on the oven and the range. “Bring my drink in here, why don’t you,” she said, “so I can keep an eye on this. And come give me a kiss.”
I picked up her drink and went into the kitchen.
I handed her the drink.
“don’t forget the kiss,” she said.
I took her in my arms.
“I’m too tall, right?” she said.
“Wrong,” I said.
“This’ll be our first kiss,” she said.
“I know.”
“But it doesn’t have to be a great one, okay? Just a little smooch. We’ll save all the great ones for later, okay?”
“Okay.”
I kissed her gently.
“Nice,” she said, and smiled. “I knew I was right about you.” She sipped at the martini. “Oh, this is going to be lovely,” she said.
I listened to her, fascinated, all through dinner.
I didn’t know whether she was very stupid or very smart. Listening to her was like listening to an out-loud stream-of-consciousness monologue. She said everything that came to her mind whenever it occurred to her. She held back nothing. There was no prior censorship. Whatever was worthy of being thought was worthy of being spoken.
I had never met anyone like her in my life.
She told me that she was married when she was seventeen because she mistook her first sexual experience for love.
“Have you ever noticed,” she said, “that girls with good breasts like having them touched, whereas girls who aren’t so lucky in that department usually don’t get much of a thrill out of it? That’s because when a girl starts to develop, if she’s got good breasts they get touched — a lot, in fact. And it’s enjoyable, naturally, so you grow up liking it and it’s something that stays with you the rest of your life. Of course, he did a lot more than fool with my breasts, which is why I married him, because it was so thrilling and all.”
She told me that she was divorced by the time she was nineteen.
“Lucky thing he didn’t make me pregnant or anything, because then I wouldn’t have known what to do,” she said. “This way I was free to say, ‘Hey, listen, Charlie, this isn’t working, you know what I mean? So we’re both still young and there’s time to correct our mistake, so let’s do it, okay? let’s split.’ Actually, he wasn’t all that young, he was twenty-nine years old, ten years older than me, a cradle-snatcher, am I right? And his name wasn’t Charlie, either, That’s just an expression. His name was Abner Bramley, a real fuckin’ redneck — excuse me, I sometimes swear when I think of him — who when I told him I wanted a divorce he beat me up so bad I couldn’t walk. I told you that before, remember? I’m big, but I’m not very strong. Anyway, I couldn’t walk, literally. I crawled out of that place and I had the son of a bitch arrested — excuse me — and I filed for divorce the very next day.”
“Good,” I said.
“I wish I’da known you back then,” she said. “Do you handle divorce cases?”
“Occasionally.”
“I’da come straight to you,” she said, and smiled. “Would you have handled me?”
“I’d have handled you.”
“Mm, I’d have loved to be handled by you,” she said. “You want some more of this wine? This is really good wine. Or should we save some for later? For when we’re in bed? I love to sip wine when I’m making love, don’t you?”
I looked at her.
“I’m really too much of a bigmouth, I know,” she said. “I should learn to be more careful about what I say. I’m scaring you, right?”
“No,” I said. “And I wouldn’t call you a bigmouth.”
“No, huh? Then what would you?”
“Candid? Honest?”
“Well, That’s the best policy, isn’t it? Would you like to go to bed now, and I can clean up the dishes later?”
“If That’s what you’d like.”
“What would you like?”
“That’s what I’d like,” I said.
“Yeah, me, too,” she said, and smiled. “I’ll take off everything but my heels and panties. I’m wearing lacy green panties that match the dress.”
We were in bed together when the telephone rang.
The bedside clock read ten minutes past one.
“Shit,” Terry said.
I picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Matthew? I hope I’m not waking you.”
Susan. My former wife. Who was probably wishing she’d awakened me.
“What’s this about sending Joanna away to school?” I said.
“Oh, she told you, did she?”
“Of course she told me. I’m her father.”
“Yes,” Susan said.