"You know, Paris told me you had all the charm of boiled meat but I didn't realize he was attempting to be kind."
I hoped Gunther would reply in the same snippy vein. Some good old-fashioned bitchiness would have been a welcome relief from his exterminating Druid routine. But he just stared at us and, taking a Swiss army knife from his pocket, began to clean his fingernails.
"Paris," he said at length, "loved me very deeply. If he said such things it had to have been because someone poisoned his mind against me. Who do you suppose could have done that?"
"Hard to say. New York is full of discerning critics."
"When we fought he told me about phone calls he received. Calls from men who claimed they'd tricked with me. But in the year I spent with Paris I was not unfaithful once. How do you explain those calls?"
"I don't have to explain anything, you Nazi trollop! Come on, Philip!" Gilbert said, rising. "I think we've heard enough nonsense for one day!"
"Nonsense, is it, Mr. Selwyn? You steal from me the one man I have ever cared about, you strip away his innocence and trust, and then you discard him the moment you find some rich pig woman who wants to buy your pretty simpering face."
"Hold on there, asshole!" said Gilbert in a manly voice. "You're talking about the woman I love!" Then it must have occurred to him he was talking about Moira because he burst into uncontrollable high-pitched giggles.
"It's all a great joke to you, isn't it?"
"It's not!" said Gilbert, clutching his sides.
"The pain you inflict, the lives you destroy-"
"Oh, shut up!" snapped Gilbert, his giggle fit over. "You just don't want to admit your big romance fizzled because your boyfriend was sick to death of you long before he ever met me."
"I loathe you."
"Yadda, yadda, yadda. Let's go, Philip."
"I'd like to fix that pretty face of yours. I'd like to take this knife and write his name across your cheeks."
"And they'd still look better than yours, volcano puss!"
"Gilbert, the museum's gonna close soon."
"What? Philip, you're not intimidated by this creep, are you?"
"No--but he's not threatening me."
"Don't be so certain of that. I'm sure whatever Mr. Selwyn did he was not without accomplices. You're his best friend, so I assume-"
"Don't assume anything! I don't know what he did and I didn't help him do it. So just leave me out of this."
"You seem nervous, Mr. Cavanaugh. Perhaps because-"
"Gil-bert!" I bellowed and began walking away.
"I'm coming, okay?"
He followed a few steps then turned back to Gunther and in a wicked impression of his accent said, "Undjoo, you wotten kwout herr-dwessah! You keep your dee-stunz or I vill be forz to do sumtink I vill wee-gwet!"
Gunther smiled for the first time. A sharp rigor mortis grin that made my flesh creep.
"But Mr. Selwyn, you've already done so much you'll regret."
The smile clicked shut and, turning sharply away, he strode off across the Great Lawn.
I wasted no time in confiding to Gilbert my concern over this new menace. I felt it unwise to underestimate either the sincerity of his desire for vengeance or his ability to act on it. As such, he should be either avoided or mollified-calling attention to his complexion was not the way to do this.
Gilbert blithely dismissed these concerns. He said Paris had told him plenty about Gunther and among the things he'd confided was that Gunther was all bark and no bite, a "paper tiger." I replied that I'd seen his fangs at close range and they hadn't looked like origami to me.
I dropped Gilbert off at God's Country and as I walked home up Broadway I noticed the Thalia was playing The Godfather, parts I and II. I nearly whimpered with fear, certain that this was God's way of letting me know I was a greedy shmuck destined to perish for his sins in a Mafia bloodbath. Silly of me, I know, but during periods of great anxiety, which is to say always, I'm highly sensitive to signs and omens. I can interpret virtually anything that crosses my field of
I hoped Gunther would reply in the same snippy vein. Some good old-fashioned bitchiness would have been a welcome relief from his exterminating Druid routine. But he just stared at us and, taking a Swiss army knife from his pocket, began to clean his fingernails.
"Paris," he said at length, "loved me very deeply. If he said such things it had to have been because someone poisoned his mind against me. Who do you suppose could have done that?"
"Hard to say. New York is full of discerning critics."
"When we fought he told me about phone calls he received. Calls from men who claimed they'd tricked with me. But in the year I spent with Paris I was not unfaithful once. How do you explain those calls?"
"I don't have to explain anything, you Nazi trollop! Come on, Philip!" Gilbert said, rising. "I think we've heard enough nonsense for one day!"
"Nonsense, is it, Mr. Selwyn? You steal from me the one man I have ever cared about, you strip away his innocence and trust, and then you discard him the moment you find some rich pig woman who wants to buy your pretty simpering face."
"Hold on there, asshole!" said Gilbert in a manly voice. "You're talking about the woman I love!" Then it must have occurred to him he was talking about Moira because he burst into uncontrollable high-pitched giggles.
"It's all a great joke to you, isn't it?"
"It's not!" said Gilbert, clutching his sides.
"The pain you inflict, the lives you destroy-"
"Oh, shut up!" snapped Gilbert, his giggle fit over. "You just don't want to admit your big romance fizzled because your boyfriend was sick to death of you long before he ever met me."
"I loathe you."
"Yadda, yadda, yadda. Let's go, Philip."
"I'd like to fix that pretty face of yours. I'd like to take this knife and write his name across your cheeks."
"And they'd still look better than yours, volcano puss!"
"Gilbert, the museum's gonna close soon."
"What? Philip, you're not intimidated by this creep, are you?"
"No--but he's not threatening me."
"Don't be so certain of that. I'm sure whatever Mr. Selwyn did he was not without accomplices. You're his best friend, so I assume-"
"Don't assume anything! I don't know what he did and I didn't help him do it. So just leave me out of this."
"You seem nervous, Mr. Cavanaugh. Perhaps because-"
"Gil-bert!" I bellowed and began walking away.
"I'm coming, okay?"
He followed a few steps then turned back to Gunther and in a wicked impression of his accent said, "Undjoo, you wotten kwout herr-dwessah! You keep your dee-stunz or I vill be forz to do sumtink I vill wee-gwet!"
Gunther smiled for the first time. A sharp rigor mortis grin that made my flesh creep.
"But Mr. Selwyn, you've already done so much you'll regret."
The smile clicked shut and, turning sharply away, he strode off across the Great Lawn.
I wasted no time in confiding to Gilbert my concern over this new menace. I felt it unwise to underestimate either the sincerity of his desire for vengeance or his ability to act on it. As such, he should be either avoided or mollified-calling attention to his complexion was not the way to do this.
Gilbert blithely dismissed these concerns. He said Paris had told him plenty about Gunther and among the things he'd confided was that Gunther was all bark and no bite, a "paper tiger." I replied that I'd seen his fangs at close range and they hadn't looked like origami to me.
I dropped Gilbert off at God's Country and as I walked home up Broadway I noticed the Thalia was playing The Godfather, parts I and II. I nearly whimpered with fear, certain that this was God's way of letting me know I was a greedy shmuck destined to perish for his sins in a Mafia bloodbath. Silly of me, I know, but during periods of great anxiety, which is to say always, I'm highly sensitive to signs and omens. I can interpret virtually anything that crosses my field of
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