Best Friends by Thomas Berger Page A

You’re not drunk, are you? That wasn’t why you looked like that in the parking lot?”
    â€œThis is the first alcohol I’ve had all day. I’m feeling it already, on an empty stomach.” He lowered the empty glass. “What would you like to eat? There are some places I can call for edible take-out. Say, the veal chop and wild mushrooms from the Maison or white truffle pasta from San Pietro.”
    â€œI’ve never eaten that kind of stuff,” Suzanne said. “It would be lost on me. I probably couldn’t hold it down.” She poured herself a stiff portion of Maker’s Mark. “I’m not playing poor little poor girl, believe me, but I can’t afford expensive food, and while my friend of recent memory could, he spent it all on his wife and kids.” She swallowed some bourbon. “As he should have, let it be said! I’m no enemy of society.” She drank some more. “I’d settle for some crackers and cheese, though I guess what you would have is Brie.”
    He went to the fridge and peered within. “How about Gorgonzola?”
    â€œIs that full of blue veins? I see enough of those when I take a shower.”
    â€œCashew butter?”
    â€œIs that like peanut butter only with cashews? Where in the hell would you get something like that?”
    â€œMy brother-in-law,” said Roy. “Somebody gave it to him, and he thought I might eat it. I haven’t. That was months ago. It might be rancid by now. I’m going to toss it one of these days.”
    She was at his side, looking into the almost vacant refrigerator, holding her glass. “You eat every meal out? That must run into money.”
    He pointed to the condiment-laden shelves in the door. “I live on whole-grain mustard, cornichons, and pepperoncini.”
    â€œYou’re rich, aren’t you?” asked Suzanne. “According to your friend.” She appeared to be more curious than resentful.
    Of course this question had been directed to him before, in one way or another, usually unspoken. It always seemed rude, but he was aware that many of those to whom it was of interest, if sober, intended no insult.
    â€œI’ve had a small business for seven years,” he said after another sip from the glass he had returned to. “It’s consistently been in the red, even when I pay myself no salary.”
    â€œThat’s what I mean,” Suzanne said. “That’s all I mean. If that’s the case, then you’ve got other income. I couldn’t go without a salary for seven days.”
    Sam’s gratuitous contribution was festering under Roy’s skin, but he would not reflect aloud on his friend, except to say, “He shouldn’t go around giving people the wrong impression.”
    She shrugged. “I’m not criticizing you.” She refreshed her glass from the bottle and sat down again. “Mr. Grandy himself seems to do well. He’s got some wife.”
    Roy was prepared to take offense. Fortunately he did not, for before he could ask aggressively, “What do you mean?” Suzanne said, “What a classy lady. I guess I should hate somebody like her, but I have too much awe for real quality.”
    Roy was now drunk enough so that he had to be careful of his speech, especially the pronunciation of names with sibilants. “I’m glad to hear you say that, because Kristin’s father started out as a driver for a trucking company, and her mother was a waitress at the lunch counter across the street.”
    â€œYou’ve just stripped me of every excuse for being a clod,” Suzanne said with mock chagrin. “Except I did get moved around a lot as a kid. My dad’s a career army officer, and my mother got a B.A. and once published a children’s book.”
    â€œPositively lace-curtain,” said Roy. “I should go on to say that by the time Kristin grew up, though, her father had