Now, standing in the ladies room of the Inn at New Baltimore, Marlee runs the tip of her little finger along the soft glossed edge of her lips, and smacks them together. “God,” she murmurs. “Help me.” This surprises her. She smiles again, just with her mouth, shakes her head, turns, and leaves the room.
At their table, her husband sips red wine.
“Good?” she says, taking her seat.
“Excellent.”
At her place, there’s a glass of ice water. She takes a drink of it. “Pretty ordinary water.”
“Are you going to start that again? You know, you’re a piker. I think that’s what I’ve decided about you.”
She says, “Oh? And what else have you decided?”
“I’m kidding.”
“That’s what I was doing.”
“Well, don’t kid about the prices anymore. It’s getting tiresome.”
They say nothing for a moment.
“Go on, decide what you want,” he says. “Money’s no object.”
At the bottom of the wine list, there’s a brandy priced at $145 a glass. This catches her eye. “Did you see—Jesus, Ted. Have you really looked at this?”
He straightens, and indicates with a gesture that he wants her to be still. The waiter has entered the room, and is bantering in low tones with the gray-haired man.
“I wonder if that’s somebody famous,” Marlee says. “A politician, maybe.”
“I don’t know him.”
“No,” she says, definitely. “Oh, well I guess that means he can’t be anybody important.”
“What’re you doing,” Ted says. “Do you want to fight?”
“What did I say?”
“Just keep your voice down.”
“Have you really looked at the wine list?” she says.
“Keep it down.”
“Look at it,” she says.
He does. He’s staring at it.
“For a glass,” she says. “One glass.”
“I saw it.”
She puts the wine list down. He clears his throat, settles deeper in his chair. He seems content with the silence.
“I’ve bought cars for less than that.”
“Oh, leave it alone,” he says. “Can’t you?”
“Is Tillie playing a trick on you?”
He’s folding and unfolding his hands. “Let’s just change the subject, please. This is supposed to be a celebration. I can afford the evening, for Christ’s sake.”
“But it bothers you, and I’m telling you that you don’t have to go to the trouble. Not for me. I’m not the one with the expensive taste.” She smiles at him, but he won’t return her look. The skin along his cheekbones is a violet color—it’s what happens to his complexion when he gets angry. “You’re not mad at me because of that, are you? I’m not trying to tease you now, I’m serious.”
“Let’s just quit talking about the prices. The evening’s a celebration. We’re celebrating, remember?”
“I know, but you don’t have to. I don’t expect it.”
He sits back and looks at her. “Do you want to say something else?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on, Marlee. Say it—whatever it is. This isn’t about the prices.”
“I honestly haven’t got the slightest idea what you mean,” she says.
“Well, fine then,” he says with a look of painful forbearance. “Maybe we can at last leave the subject of how much everything costs.”
The waiter comes to the table again and asks what the lady would like to drink. On an impulse, Marlee picks up the wine list and points to the brandy. “This,” she says. “A double, please.”
The waiter looks at Ted.
“Do you have a problem?” Marlee says.
“That isn’t normally served as a double, madam.”
“Nevertheless, that’s how I want it.”
“Bring her what she wants,” Ted says evenly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Waiter,” she says, stopping the man as he’s moving away, “I need more water, too. This water is not fresh.”
The waiter looks at her husband again.
“Am I speaking too fast?” Marlee says. “Do you speak English? Is this something you need my husband to explain?”
He retrieves the glass of water and goes.
After a pause, Ted says, “Happy now?”
She’s trying not to cry. She looks at the fading light in the windows and holds everything back, while he simply stares at her. “Well?” he says.
The waiter comes back through with the new glass of water and the brandy. He sets the water down, then stands swirling the brandy in its snifter, holding it up to the dim light and saying something about how it was bottled during the time of Napoleon. It’s a set speech, and he says it with an edge of resentment. Marlee sips the water as he talks, and when he puts the snifter down she picks it up and takes a large gulp. The heavy aroma of it nearly chokes her, and it burns all the way down. She sits there holding the drink, trying to breathe, while both men watch her.
“Are you ready to order?” Ted asks.
She wipes her mouth. “Why don’t you order for me, darling.” She smiles at him.
He turns to the waiter and orders. She isn’t even listening. She sips the brandy and looks at the other couple, who are eating some appetizer and seem unaware of each other. Two men are waiting at the entrance. They appear curious. She makes a little promise to herself to watch their faces when they first get their menus.
The waiter starts to move off with Ted’s order.
“Excuse me,” Marlee says to him.
He pauses, turns with the reluctance of someone caught.
She holds up the snifter. “Bring me another one of these.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ted says. “You’ve made your point.”
She pouts at him; she can’t help herself. “I like it,” she tells him. “And anyway I thought you said money was no object.”
“This is ridiculous,” he says. “I want you to stop this right now.”
The waiter has gone on, and now he seats the two men, who look at their menus without the slightest sign of surprise or consternation. She wonders if they have seen the note about the cover charge. “Yoo-hoo,” she says to them.
They turn their heads.
“Look at the bottom of the menu.” She sips the brandy.
“For God’s sake,” Ted mutters.
The men smile at her and nod. Then they’re talking to each other again.
“Do you want to go?” Ted says.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asks. “I bet if I was Tillie you’d think I was charming.”
“Just hold it down—can you do that? Besides, Tillie—” He stops.
“Besides Tillie what?”
“Nothing.”
“I’d like to know what you were going to say.”
“Tillie’s—Tillie,” he says. “Understand? I don’t want you to be Tillie.”
“You were going to say Tillie can get away with it whereas I can’t.”
“No,” he says. “Not exactly.”
“Oh boy, Ted. You’re such a terrible liar.”
The waiter brings two plates and sets them down. Marlee looks at hers—very moist-looking mozzarella cheese soaked in olive oil, arranged with slices of tomato and sprigs of parsley. “Where’s my other brandy?” she says, feeling that she’s forced to pursue it now, for the sake of her pride, even her self-respect.
“Whatever the lady wants,” Ted says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“A double,” Marlee says. “Don’t forget.”
The waiter moves off. Ted’s watching her. She sips the brandy. It goes down quite smoothly. “Quite a spectacle, I guess.”
He says nothing.
“Don’t you wish Tillie was here?”
He stands. “Come on. Maybe I can get them to cancel the dinner.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He seems about to d
o something emphatic, then slowly sits down, holding one hand to his head.
Marlee says, “Poor Teddy.” She means to chide him, but then she finds herself feeling sorry for him, for his discomfort.
The waiter brings the brandy and sets it down.
“Thank you,” she says, and finishes the one she’s holding. “It’s amazing how much easier it goes down when you’ve had a little of it.”
The waiter gives her the faintest nod, walking away.
Ted sits there with his hands to his head. She watches him for a moment, sipping the second glass of brandy.
“I’m sorry,” she tells him, and means it.
He begins to eat, concentrating on his food, without apparent enjoyment.
“You know they figured out how to make brandy by accident,” she says.
He’s silent.
“I used to work in a liquor store, so I know.” She sips again, crosses one leg over the other, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve been around a little too, you know. I’ve worked some different jobs. I know some things. They boiled the wine. Burned wine, brandywine. See? They were trying to avoid a tax on it. They didn’t know what the result would be. It was a complete accident.”
He only shakes his head.
“Imagine their surprise.”
Nothing.
She takes another drink. “What I wonder, though—if it’s that good—you just wonder how come nobody else drank it in all that time. How it could’ve survived the—the wars and things. As you know, history was my subject in college. I didn’t finish of course. I met the handsome, and distinguished lecturer and got married. I fell in love.”
He glances at her but then looks down, continues eating.
“Am I embarrassing you?”
“Please,” he mutters.
After a pause, she says, “Is it good?”
His hands come down to the table edge again.
“The cheese. It looks kind of wet.”
“Why don’t you try it for yourself,” he says. “Or is that too much to ask?”
“Come on, Ted. You said money was no object.” She sips the brandy, watching him eat. There’s a fastidiousness about the way he’s doing it, almost a fussiness. It makes her want to tease him. She knows this is not the thing to do, yet can’t stop herself, can’t let things freeze this way, with him brooding and angry. “Teddy,” she says.
Without looking at her, he indicates her appetizer. “Eat,” he says. “They’ll be bringing the dinner soon.”
“Don’t be mad,” she says. “And stop talking to me like I’m your child.”
He makes a sound like a cough. “I’ll tell you, Marlee—I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?”
He goes on eating.
“Teddy?” A little tremor of uneasiness flies through her, even as the brandy makes her feel limp and sleepy-eyed.
“I’m just not built for this kind of messiness,” he says. “I don’t know anymore.”
“Come on,” she tells him, sitting forward. “I just wanted you to relax with me.”
He says nothing.
“Hey,” she says.
He sits there chewing, not looking at her.
“Teddy?”
“I’m beginning to wonder if I have the energy for it all the time,” he says. “Marlee, you don’t realize all the demands—the—all the things you require from a person—I don’t know if I can keep it up.”
“I don’t require anything,” she says, too loud.
“Okay,” he says, leaning toward her. “Just please shut up now.”
The waiter comes in with more bread. Marlee’s still holding the snifter, sitting with her legs crossed. The brandy is swimming in her head.
“Thank you,” Ted says to the waiter, as though he’s alone.
“It’s our anniversary,” Marlee says.
“Congratulations,” says the waiter, without the slightest inflection. He looks at Ted.
“Aren’t you going to wish us a happy anniversary?” Marlee says.
“Happy anniversary.” says the waiter.
“Thank you.”
He crosses the room. Ted keeps his attention on the food.
“I’ll pay for the drinks,” Marlee tells him. “I’ll take out a loan.”
He doesn’t respond.
There’s another couple now, and the two men are watching—they’re staring at her. She smiles at them. “It’s our anniversary,” she says, indicating Ted. She turns to the new couple, still indicating her husband. “Wedding anniversary,” she says to them. “One year. We’ve had a lovely time. We’ve traveled around together and gone to so many wonderful parties. I’ve hardly had a minute to breathe or think.” Her own garrulousness appalls her. When she faces Ted again, she sees that he’s actually smiling at the others, keeping up the appearance of a man who’s happy with his wife.
But their attention draws away, and his smile, his look of pleasure, disappears.
She holds her glass of brandy toward him. “A toast.” The room seems to tilt.
“Are you going to eat?” he says.
“A toast,” she murmurs. “We have to clink glasses.” She feels herself straining to charm him, trying for the note that will make him appreciate her again.
He shakes his head, eating the last of the cheese.
“You’re wrong,” she tells him. “And you’ve been wrong all the time. The whole year. You and Tillie and everybody else, too. I know what Time is, Teddy. I’ve always known.”
He sets the plate aside and puts the napkin to his lips.
“And I’m not fearless, either.”
“You’ll agree,” he says coldly, “that this is not the place to discuss it.”
“I’m telling you the truth. The absolute truth. I know what fear is all the way. And I’m feeling kind of lost now, you know? How can you say—how can you say I’ve—I watch you with Tillie, and all your friends and acquaintances, and I don’t have any part in it and there’s nowhere I can go, and how can you say I require anything? I thought this was just about tonight, Ted.”
“Please,” he says. “Can we talk about it later? Don’t start crying now.”
“I’m not crying,” she tells him, fighting back tears. “Do you hear the way you talk to me?”
“Just eat and stop this,” he says. “And then I won’t have to talk to you that way.”
For several moments they are silent. She watches him eat. The music seems to be slightly louder, and the others are all talking. The big man laughs, then coughs.
“Look,” Marlee says. “I was just being silly, okay? I didn’t want it to get serious. I thought it was—we were—I thought we were having a problem about Tillie recommending this ridiculous place. I mean I didn’t know we were talking about the whole marriage.”
He’s using the bread to wipe up the olive oil from the plate. It’s as though he hasn’t even heard her.
“You said it was a celebration, for God’s sake.”
“That’s enough,” he tells her. “Will you please let it alone.”
She waits. Nothing in his face changes. “It was just that I was young,” she says. “Wasn’t it. That was really the only thing.”
He’s silent again.
“That’s all you saw in me.”
“Oh, please,” he says.
Abruptly she stands. “Excuse me. I’ll wait out in the car.”
“Marlee—” he says. But she walks away from him, forges past the waiter, and heads down the long hallway with the pictures of dead presidents of the United States. The brandy she’s drunk causes her to stumble into a chair, and her gait is very unsteady, but she keeps on, feeling the need to hurry. When she reaches the end of the hallway she turns and sees that the waiter is standing in the door, from where she has just come, wiping his pale hands on a white towel. He stares coldly at her, then faces the other way, as if consciously giving her his back. As he moves out of view, it’s as though he
’s dismissing her forever from this very specific world, where people drink two-hundred-year-old brandy, and men with money marry younger women.
She makes her way outside, across the quiet parking lot to the car. It’s cooler, and there’s a chilly breeze blowing out of the north. The moon is bright on the still bare branches of the trees. She leans against the car hood and tries to breathe, still fighting back tears. The door on her side is locked. She works her way around to his side, and that door is open.
There’s nothing moving anywhere in the sprawl of shadows and shrubs at the entrance to the restaurant.
She gets in behind the wheel of the car and pulls the door shut. All the sounds around her are her own: she puts both hands on the wheel and holds it tight, shivering, sniffling, watching the entrance. Nothing stirs. She thinks of Tillie, out in the world, somewhere under this very moon, living her interesting and glamorous life with all its happy choices and all the long friendships and associations, and then she wonders what Ted will say or do when he comes from the restaurant. Briefly, it’s as if she’s anticipating what punishment he might dole out. Realizing this, she slides over to her own side of the car, the passenger side, which is in a well of moonlight.
Certainly he’ll be able to see her shape in the car as soon as he steps out from the shadow of the building.
Hurriedly, almost frantically, she wipes her eyes with the palms of her hands, then takes a handkerchief out of her purse and begins trying to get the mascara off her cheeks. Her heart races; there’s a sharp stitch in her side. She takes a deep breath, and then another, and then she touches the handkerchief to her lips, puts it away, arranging herself, smoothing the folds of her dress over her knees, running her hands through her hair, trying to achieve a perfectly dignified demeanor—which, for the moment, is all she can do, sitting here alone, frightened, at the start of a change she hadn’t seen coming—assuming the look, she hopes, of someone who has been slighted, whose sensibilities have been wounded, and to whom an apology is due.
FATALITY
Shortly after her marriage to Delbert Chase, the Kaufman’s daughter and only child broke off all contact with them. The newlyweds lived on the other side of town, on Delany Street, above some retired farmer’s garage, and Frank Kaufman, driving by in the mornings on his way to work at the real estate office, would see their new Ford parked out in front. It was a demo: Delbert had landed a job selling cars at Tom Nixx New & Used Cars.
The Stories of Richard Bausch Page 12
