Last Night Part 2

- Are you a Buddhist or something?

- No, he said. I didn't know if it wanted to go where we're going, that's all.

At Jack's they were quickly given a good table. She had come here all the time when she lived out here and was making movies, she said.

- I've seen all of them, Keck said.

- Well, you should have. They were good. But you were a little kid. How old are you?

- Forty-three.

- Forty-three. Not bad, she said.

- I won't ask you.

- Don't be cra.s.s, she warned.

- Whatever it is, you don't look it. You look about thirty.

- Thank you.

- I mean, it's astonis.h.i.+ng.

- Don't let it be too astonis.h.i.+ng.

What was her accent, was it English or just languid upper-cla.s.s? It was different in those days, she was saying. That was when there were geniuses, great directors, Huston, Billy Wilder, Hitch. You learned a lot from them.

- You know why? she said. Because they had actually lived, they just didn't grow up on movies. They'd been in the war.

- Hitchc.o.c.k?

- Huston, Ford.

- How did you and Nick meet? Keck asked.

- He saw a photo of me, she said.

- Is that the truth?

- In a white bathing suit. No, somebody made that up. They make up all kinds of things. We met at a party at the Bistro. I was eighteen. He asked me to dance. Somehow I lost an earring and was looking for it. He'd find it, he said, call him the next day. Well, you can imagine, he was one of the G.o.d kings, it was pretty heady stuff. Anyway, I called. He said to come to his house.

Keck could see it, eighteen and more or less innocent, everything still ahead of her. If she took off her clothes you would never forget it.

- So, you did.

- When I got there, she said, he had a bottle of champagne and the bed turned down.

- So that was it?

- Not quite, she said.

- What happened?

- I told him, thanks, just the earring, please.

- That's the truth?

- Look, he was forty-five, I was eighteen. I mean, let's see what's going on. Let's not raise the curtain so fast.

- The curtain?

- You know what I mean. He'd been quite the ladies' man. I took care of that, she said.

She looked at him with knowing eyes.

- You men get all excited by young girls. You think they're some kind of erotic toy. You haven't met a real woman, that's the difference.

- The difference.

Her nostrils flared.

- With a real woman, the buck stops here, she said.

- I don't know what that means.

- You don't, eh? I think you do.

After a while, she said, - So, where is your wife this evening?

- Vancouver. She's visiting her sister.

- All the way up in Vancouver.

- Yeah.

- That's a long way from here. You know one of the things I've learned? she said.

- No, what?

- One never has the human company one longs for. Something else is always offered.

Perhaps it was a line from a play.

- Like me, you mean?

- No, sweetheart, not like you. At least I don't think so.

He felt uneasy. What's wrong, are you afraid of something? she was going to say. No, why? You're acting afraid.

There was a knot in his stomach. What is it, your wife? she was going to ask. Oh, yes, I forgot, the wife. There's always the wife.

Deborah had gone to the ladies' room.

- h.e.l.lo, Teddy? Keck said. He was talking on his cell phone. I just thought I'd call you.

- Where are you? What's happened? Is the dog all right?

- Yeah, the dog's OK. We're at a restaurant.

- Well, it's a little late . . .

- Don't you even budge. I'm taking care of it. I'll handle it.

- Is she behaving?

- This woman? Let me tell you something: it's even worse if she likes you.

- What do you mean?

- I can't talk anymore, I see her coming back. You're lucky you're not here.

TEDDY, having hung up the phone, sat by herself. The vodka had left her with a pleasant feeling and the disinclination to wonder where the two of them were. The chair was comfortable. The garden, through the French doors, was dark. She was not thinking of anything in particular. She looked around at the familiar furniture, the flowers, the lamplight. She found herself, for some reason, thinking about her life, a thing she did not do often. She had a nice house, not large but perfect for her. You could even, from a place on the lawn, see a bit of the ocean. There was a maid's room and a guest room, the closet in the latter filled with her clothes. She had difficulty throwing things away and there were clothes for any occasion, though the occasion may have been long past. Still, she did not like to think of beautifully made things in the trash. But there was no one to give them to, the maid had no use for them, there was no one who would even wear them.

The years of her marriage, looking back, had been good ones. Myron Hirsch had left her with more than enough to take care of herself, and the success she had had was on top of that. For a woman of few talents-was that true? perhaps she was shortchanging herself-she had done pretty well. She was remembering how it had started. She remembered the beer bottles rolling around in the back of the car when she was fifteen and he was making love to her every morning and she did not know if she was beginning life or throwing it away, but she loved him and would never forget.

My Lord You.

THERE WERE CRUMPLED NAPKINS on the table,wine-gla.s.ses still with dark remnant in them, coffee stains, and plates with bits of hardened Brie. Beyond the bluish windows the garden lay motionless beneath the birdsong of summer morning. Daylight had come. It had been a success except for one thing: Brennan.

They had sat around first, drinking in the twilight, and then gone inside. The kitchen had a large round table, fire-place, and shelves with ingredients of every kind. Deems was well known as a cook. So was his somewhat unknowable girlfriend, Irene, who had a mysterious smile though they never cooked together. That night it was Deems's turn. He served caviar, brought out in a white jar such as makeup comes in, to be eaten from small silver spoons.

- The only way, Deems muttered in profile. He seldom looked at anyone. Antique silver spoons, Ardis heard him mistakenly say in his low voice, as if it might not have been noticed.

She was noticing everything, however. Though they had known Deems for a while, she and her husband had never been to the house. In the dining room, when they all went in to dinner, she took in the pictures, books, and shelves of objects including one of perfect, gleaming sh.e.l.ls. It was foreign in a way, like anyone else's house, but half-familiar.

There'd been some mix-up about the seating that Irene tried vainly to adjust amid the conversation before the meal began. Outside, darkness had come, deep and green. The men were talking about camps they had gone to as boys in piny Maine and about Soros, the financier. Far more interesting was a comment Ardis heard Irene make, in what context she did not know, - I think there's such a thing as sleeping with one man too many.

- Did you say "such a thing" or "no such thing"? she heard herself ask.

Irene merely smiled. I must ask her later, Ardis thought. The food was excellent. There was cold soup, duck, and a salad of young vegetables. The coffee had been served and Ardis was distractedly playing with melted wax from the candles when a voice burst out loudly behind her, - I'm late. Who's this? Are these the beautiful people?

It was a drunken man in a jacket and dirty white trousers with blood on them, which had come from nicking his lip while shaving two hours before. His hair was damp, his face arrogant. It was the face of a Regency duke, intimidating, spoiled. The irrational flickered from him.

- Do you have anything to drink here? What is this, wine? Very sorry I'm late. I've just had seven cognacs and said good-bye to my wife. Deems, you know what that's like. You're my only friend, do you know that? The only one.

- There's some dinner in there, if you like, Deems said, gesturing toward the kitchen.

- No dinner. I've had dinner. I'll just have something to drink. Deems, you're my friend, but I'll tell you something, you'll become my enemy. You know what Oscar Wilde said- my favorite writer, my favorite in all the world. Anyone can choose his friends, but only the wise man can choose his enemies.

He was staring intently at Deems. It was like the grip of a madman, a kind of fury. His mouth had an expression of determination. When he went into the kitchen they could hear him among the bottles. He returned with a dangerous gla.s.sful and looked around boldly.

- Where is Beatrice? Deems asked.

- Who?

- Beatrice, your wife.

- Gone, Brennan said.

He searched for a chair.

- To visit her father? Irene asked.

- What makes you think that? Brennan said menacingly. To Ardis's alarm he sat down next to her.

- He's been in the hospital, hasn't he?

- Who knows where he's been, Brennan said darkly. He's a swine. Lucre, gain. He's a slum owner, a criminal. I would hang him myself. In the fas.h.i.+on of Gomez, the dictator, whose daughters are probably wealthy women.

He discovered Ardis and said to her, as if imitating someone, perhaps someone he a.s.sumed her to be, - 'N 'at funny? 'N 'at wonderful?

To her relief he turned away.

- I'm their only hope, he said to Irene. I'm living on their money and it's ruinous, the end of me. He held out his gla.s.s and asked mildly, Can I have just a tiny bit of ice? I adore my wife. To Ardis he confided, Do you know how we met? Unimaginable. She was walking by on the beach. I was unprepared. I saw the ventral, then the dorsal, I imagined the rest. Bang! We came together like planets. Endless fornication. Sometimes I just lie silent and observe her. The black panther lies under his rose-tree, he recited. J'ai eu pitie des autres . . .

He stared at her.

- What is that? she asked tentatively.

- . . . but that the child walk in peace in her basilica, he intoned.

- Is it Wilde?

- You can't guess? Pound. The sole genius of the century. No, not the sole. I am another: a drunk, a failure, and a great genius. Who are you? he said. Another little housewife?

She felt the blood leave her face and stood to busy herself clearing the table. His hand was on her arm.

- Don't go. I know who you are, another priceless woman meant to languish. Beautiful figure, he said as she managed to free herself, pretty shoes.

As she carried some plates into the kitchen she could hear him saying, - Don't go to many of these parties. Not invited.

- Can't imagine why, someone murmured.