“I suppose there was some denial involved,” I said. “Telling you about it would make it real.”
“I can understand that.”
“And there was something else I was afraid of.”
“What?”
“That you’ll die,” I said.
“I’m not sick or anything.”
“I know.”
“So—”
“I hate it that Jan’s dying,” I said, “and I’ll have lost something when she’s gone, but it’s the kind of thing that happens, losing people, and it’s the kind of thing life teaches you to live with. But if anything happened to you I don’t know what I would do. And it keeps being on my mind, and the only reason I don’t think about it is I won’t let myself. And sometimes when we’re in bed I’ll touch your breast and I find myself wondering if something’s growing in there, or I’ll find the scars on your middle where that bastard stabbed you and I’ll start to wonder if he did any damage that they don’t know about. It’s been a few years since I became aware of my own mortality, and that wasn’t much fun, but you adjust to it. Now what’s happening to Jan has made me aware of your mortality, and I don’t like it.”
“Silly old bear. I’m gonna live forever. Didn’t you know that?”
“You never told me.”
“I have no choice,” she said. “I’m in Al-Anon. I can’t allow myself to die so long as there’s a human being on earth that needs me. Oh, God, hold me, will you? Sweetie, I thought I was losing you.”
“Never.”
“I figured, well, she’s interesting, she’s accomplished, she’s a fucking artist and everything, she’s got to be more stimulating and admirable than somebody who spent her whole adult life fucking for a living.”
“That’s what you figured, huh?”
“Uh-huh. I figured she was the cleaner, greener maiden.”
“Shows what you know. You’re the cleaner, greener maiden.”
“Yeah?”
“No question.”
“Me, huh?”
“You.”
“So I was wrong,” she said. “I stand corrected. Listen, do you think we could go back to bed? Not to do anything. Just to, you know, be close.”
“Is that wise? We might lose control.”
“We might,” she said.
That afternoon I was standing at the living-room window. She came over and stood beside me. “It’s supposed to be colder tonight,” she said. “It might snow.”
“Be the first snow of the year, wouldn’t it?”
“Uh-huh. We could go out and walk in it or stay here and watch it. Depending on how close we want to get to the experience.”
“I was thinking of when I first used to come to this apartment. You had a better view before some of those buildings went up.”
“I know.”
“I think it’s time to move.”
“Oh?”
“There are a couple of apartments for sale in the Parc Vendôme,” I said, “and I’m sure there are others available in buildings all along West Fifty-seventh. I know you’ve always liked the one on the next block with the Art Deco lobby.”
“And the one with the plaque that says Bela Bartok used to live there.”
“Tomorrow or the day after,” I said, “I think you should start looking for a place for the two of us. And as soon as you find something you like I think we should take it.”
“Don’t you want to look with me?”
“I’d just get in the way,” I said. “I know I’ll be perfectly happy in any place you pick. Jesus, how long have I lived in a hotel room the size of a walk-in closet? I’d like to have at least one window that I can sit and look out of, and with something more interesting on the other side of it than an air shaft. And I think we probably will want a second bedroom. But outside of that I’m pretty easy to please.”
“And you want to stay in your neighborhood?”
“Well, it’s that or SoHo, if you want to be able to walk to the gallery.”
“Which gallery?”
“Your gallery,” I said. “The stretch of Fifty-seventh with all the galleries is a five-minute walk from my hotel, and I think some of those buildings have space for rent.”
“They ought to, at the rate galleries are going out of business these days. When did I decide to open a gallery?”
“You haven’t yet,” I said, “but I think you’re going to. Or am I wrong?”
She thought about it. “I think you’re probably right,” she said. “What a scary thought.”
“Another reason you’d better pick the apartment,” I said, “is you’re the one who’ll be paying for it, or most of it. I decided I’d be stupid to let that bother me.”
“You’re right. You would.”
“So I’ll try not to.”
“I’ll list this apartment with a broker,” she said. “I can do that right away. And I’ll see about raising cash on some other properties so we won’t have to wait around for this place to sell. I’ll call now and see if I can set up some appointments for tomorrow and the next day. You want to know something? All of a sudden I can’t wait to move.”
“Good.”
“We talked and talked about it, and then we stopped talking, and now—”
“Now we’re ready,” I said. I drew a breath. “When you’ve found a place, and when we’re settled into the apartment and the neighborhood, and you’ve got everything more or less the way you want it, I’d like for us to get married.”
“Just like that?”
I nodded. “Just like that.”
Chapter 26
It was the middle of January when I finally got down to Lispenard Street to pick up the plinth. I was there with Elaine during the week between Christmas and New Year’s, along with eight or ten other friends of Jan’s who’d come to celebrate the holidays. We’d had every intention of taking the plinth home with us and then forgot and left without it.
This time I made a special trip. “You look good,” she told me. “How’s the apartment? Are you in it yet?”
“The closing’s set for the first of the month.”
“That’s great. I don’t know if I told you, but I’m crazy about your lady. I hope you got her something nice for Christmas.”
“I had a police artist draw a picture of her father.”
“Why? Is he wanted for something?”
“He passed away years ago.”
“And you found somebody to copy a photograph?”
“He worked from memory,” I said. “Her memory.” I explained the process. She thought it was fascinating, but a strange Christmas present. “It was what she wanted,” I said. “It was a powerful emotional experience for her, working with the artist like that, and it came out looking good. And I, uh, gave her something else, too.”
“Oh?”
“A ring.”
“No kidding. Well, she’s terrific, Matthew. You did okay.”
“I know.”
“And so did she. I’m happy for both of you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You’re looking good.”
“Ha! I am, aren’t I? I’m thinner than I’d like to be, which is something I swear I never thought I’d hear myself say. But it’s true, isn’t it? I’m looking better.”
“Definitely.”
“Well, I’m feeling better. I’m trying a few things.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve changed my diet around,” she said, “and I’m doing this raw juice therapy, and I’m on a couple of other quack regimens I’d be embarrassed to describe to you. See, I’ve made a profound inner decision that I want to live.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Well, I don’t know that it’s going to change anything. People have been drinking carrot juice and taking high colonics for years now and I haven’t seen that many undertakers declaring bankruptcy. But I feel better. That ought to be worth something right there, wouldn’t you say?”