She said, “What do I do when he shows up?”
“That’s the question.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What do you think you’ll do?”
“I don’t really know, Peter. I don’t want to go out with him. Or I think I don’t.”
“Because it might turn serious. You really think it would?”
“I don’t know. Not serious serious, but maybe pretend serious. Whatever the lady means by that. What do you know about him?”
“He’s a writer and he lives a few miles out of town. I know what he looks like because somebody pointed him out once. But I never — wait a minute, I met him about a month ago. We were at the same table at Sully’s but he wasn’t saying much and I wasn’t listening closely anyway. I never read any of his books. He’s just a name to me on the list of Bucks County writers who make this place such a culture center. Pearl Buck and James Michener and S. J. Perelman—”
“Didn’t he move?”
“That’s right, he did. And who else? The tall skinny one who wrote three books set here with real people in them, that everybody’s still uptight about. I can’t remember his name.”
“Neither can I, but I know who you mean.”
“From what I’ve heard they almost rode him out of town on a rail. The guy I can’t think of, that is. Not Hugh Markarian. I suppose you can afford to turn him down a few more times. It sounds to me as though he’ll come back for more.”
“For a while. And not if I really put him down.”
“It sounds as if you have his combination, too.”
“I think I do. I was just enough of a bitch the other day. If I was a little bit more of a bitch he wouldn’t have been interested.”
“You really do have a bitch streak, don’t you? It’s hard for me to believe it.”
“I usually keep it on a leash.”
They each had some more wine and he said, “Linda? Mind a question? Even if it could be serious, so what?”
“I knew you were going to ask that.”
“I mean it’s not as if you were likely to freak. You’ve got yourself very much together.”
“And want to stay that way.”
“I think you’re worried about nothing.”
She put down the bottle and looked at him. She was beginning to feel the wine and she was enjoying what she felt. And there was something besides the wine, an extra presence in the room. No, it wasn’t a presence, it was an absence. Gretchen had always been present in their previous conversations and tonight she was in Philadelphia.
“Makes the heart grow fonder,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Did I say that out loud? I must have had either too much or too little of this wine. There’s only one solution.”
“Here. What were you saying?”
“Thanks. I wasn’t saying anything, but maybe Tanya was right.”
“About what?”
“About what she said.”
“I’m starting to feel like the dentist Gretchen is going to. Pulling teeth. What did Tanya say now?”
She gave him a long look. “Well, Peter,” she said, mock serious, “I don’t think I’m going to tell you Tanya’s most recent utterances. Utterance. I don’t think I’m going to tell you now.”
“Okay.”
“Later. I may tell you later.”
“Okay.”
“But I will tell you what Tanya said before.”
“Okay. Well? What did she say before?”
“There is alcohol in this wine.”
“That’s what Tanya said?”
“That’s what I said just this minute. Or last minute. What Tanya said is that a woman has certain basic needs, and once she gets used to it she can’t get along without it, and of course I’ve lived with a man and must be able to recognize my needs, and what Tanya said in so many words is I ought to get laid.”
“Oh.”
“She said when she goes without it for a couple of days, she starts climbing the walls.”
“How would she know?”
“Do you know, I almost asked her that. I wonder what she does when she has her period.”
“Shhh, they’ll hear you.”
“If that would bother Just Plain Bill over there.”
“It might if he noticed. If he noticed.”
“He might if they showed it on television.” They went into hysterical laughter again. He got hold of himself before she did. It was just so much fun to laugh life this. When she could talk she said, “Peter, are we really this funny? Or is it just the wine?”
“I think we’re really this funny.”
“She wanted to know what I did for sex. Tanya.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I don’t remember. I made a joke and explained the joke to her and then she asked me again. She’s not too good at taking a hint.”
“Neither am I.”
“Huh?”
“What did you finally tell her?”
“Oh, I get it. That wasn’t a hint. I have to be a lot soberer than this to be subtle. Where were we? What did I tell Tanya. What I told her was I didn’t do anything for sex.” She stared owlishly at him. “What I didn’t tell her was the truth.”
“Oh.”
“Just ‘Oh’?”
“If you think I’m going to ask—”
“Then I ain’t about to tell, Massa.”
“What do you do for sex?”
“Ah plays with mahself.” In her own voice she said, “I never said that before. God knows I did it before. Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Plays with yoreself.”
“Jesus.”
“Oh, I’m in a weird mood.”
“I’ll say.”
“It feels so good. The mood. So does playing with myself. Oh, I feel about six years old. I feel like Robin-Lobin. You better teach her another game, incidentally.”
“I know.”
“Because it doesn’t work with my name and it’s frustrating the piss out of her. Robin-Lobin and Peter-Leter and Gretchen-Letchen, and then along comes Linda-Linda, and what kind of big hairy deal is that?” She moved around the room in little two-steps. “This is Robshaw-Lobshaw speaking,” she announced, “and this is Truth Time! Do you play with yourself, yes or no, you have ten seconds to answer, bong.”
“Yes.”
“The man says yes! Now our next question. One hand or two?”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I know, isn’t it wonderful?” She plopped herself onto the floor, folded her legs. “Give me my bottle-lottle,” she demanded.
He hesitated.
“Come on.”
“Do you think you should have any more?”
“Well, I don’t think I should have any less. You can’t save wine, you know. Or it tastes corked or something. I’m sure you can’t save Valipo, Vapilo — I can’t say it, Peter.”
“If you can’t say it you can’t drink it.”
“Valpolicella. There. See, I’m not as drunk as I seem. When push comes to shove I make the grade. Fucking Peter, give me the fucking botttttle!”
“Shhhhh.”
“Then give me the bottle. If you give me the bottle I’ll tell you what else Tanya said. Thank you. This is good wine. See, if this was bad wine we would be getting drunk, but the bottle’s almost empty and we’re both sober. Except I am talking very loud. Now I am not talking very loud. Is that better, Peter?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You just finished the wine. You made the wine all gone. That’s what Robin says. Peter-Leter made the wine all gone.”
“You ought to drink this stuff all the time.”