Best Friends by Thomas Berger Page B

his own trucking business. He and her mother drove twin white Cadillacs.”
    â€œOh.” She inspected his face, eye by eye. “You’re making that up.”
    â€œOf course not.”
    She displayed a triumphant if slightly blurry grin. “My mother never published a book. She used to talk about writing one about army kids, the way they see the world.” She emptied what was left in the glass, then swallowed some air, making a deliberate process of it, raising her eyebrows when it was over. Roy realized they were cosmetically darkened, else they would probably have been pale as the lashes she forgot to color. The freckles were subdued on her cheeks, perhaps by makeup, but more prominent across her small nose. He liked her more and more, but if anything, desired her less.
    â€œIf I don’t get out of here now, I’ll be in no condition to drive.” Yet she made no move to go, sitting there at his table in her white nylon outfit.
    â€œIt’s already too late for that,” said Roy. “What you need is food.”
    â€œI have to go to the toilet.” She stood up, more staunchly than he had expected.
    â€œFirst door on the right.” He curved his finger to suggest the turn. As soon as she was gone he felt worse than he would have if he had faced the evening alone. He wished he had never imposed himself upon her.
    When Suzanne returned, he apologized.
    â€œFor what? I’m having a great time.”
    â€œYou’re being ironic.”
    â€œReally, I’m not. I might be exaggerating a little…. But I wouldn’t want to be anyplace else.” She took his hand. “I just wish I could help.”
    He related the salient events of the last twenty-four hours, omitting only Sam’s unprecedented turning on him, which, though not involving loss of life, had left a disabling wound.
    When he had finished, Suzanne took his hand again. “Come on, Roy. At least I can hold you.” She led him along the hall to the right bedroom, though she had never been here before and there was a choice.
    The answering machine was blinking redly. He disconnected it and the telephone before taking off his clothes. She was already in bed when he turned. Of her body he saw only her very white shoulders, and that was just as well, because he did not want her. Her flesh was warmer than expected when he lay down and she rolled against him. Now that he was here, he wanted to hold and not be held.
    â€¦He understood that he had fallen asleep only when he awoke at three-thirty. The bedside lamps were still burning and Suzanne was asleep in his arms. Had they done anything? It was unlikely. He had never been so drunk as to lose that sort of memory. He visited and returned from the bathroom without waking her. He turned off the lamps and slept till the digital clock on the dresser registered, in big red numerals, seven-thirty a.m.
    The place beside him was empty and not even warm. He could not find her anywhere throughout the apartment. Finally he penetrated far enough into the kitchen to see the note, held down and obscured by its saucepan anchor:
    Roy—
    Had to get to work. Thanks for the drinks. I’m sorry I disappointed you by not wanting anything to eat. We live in different worlds. I do hope your fortunes take a turn for the better. You are a good guy.
    S.
    PS: Unless you tell me it’s okay, I won’t say anything to your friend.
    Roy discovered he was naked except for slip-on sandals and repaired to the bathroom lest it be one of the days the cleaning woman was due; he could never remember which. But she had standing orders, when arriving early, not to open any door firmly closed.
    After dressing, he reconnected the answering machine, which resumed its frenetic blinking, and the telephone, which immediately rang. He answered and heard the voice of his lawyer, Seymour Alt.
    â€œI’m due in court and can’t enjoy a leisurely conversation. I won’t