Menage by Alix Kates Shulman Page B

than exhilarated. “Then why do you let him stay?” she challenged.
    â€œHe has nowhere else to go. Besides, he’s exciting to have around. And lovable, in his own peculiar way.”
    â€œWill we get to meet him on Friday? Or is he going to stay home and babysit for you?”
    Heather snorted. She was not about to invite him to join them, knowing he’d turn her down. Even less could she ask him to babysit. He barely acknowledged the children’s existence. No, she would call one of her regular sitters—passing over the high school nymphets on her list in favor of a widow from the village.
    Mack, however, oblivious to the possibility of rejection, invited Zoltan to join them on Friday,suggesting that a break from work would do him good. But after a flurry of phone calls, Zoltan told Heather that on Friday, thanks anyway, he’d be dining with friends in Soho. He asked if he could hitch a ride into the city with her and find his own way back on Sunday.
    â€œOn Sunday! You’re spending the whole weekend in New York? Where will you stay?”
    He instantly regretted having spoken. He was spending the weekend at the home of Rebecca Shaffer and her husband. Though they had stayed in touch ever since MacDowell, he had not seen Rebecca since moving east. He was indebted to her for the boost in his standing that came with her essay and the reissue of his first book. But he certainly did not have to explain himself to Heather, who would probably burn with jealousy. His left eyebrow shot up. “I’m not sure you’re permitted to ask me that.”
    His reprimand was in jest, delivered in his usual flirtatious style; all the same, Heather felt rebuffed. Sometimes he spoke to her as an intimate, inviting every confidence, but the next moment he could assume an icy hauteur, treating her like an inferior. Was that what he’d done to Maja? In absentia Maja was rapidly gaining Heather’s sympathy. BetweenZoltan’s volatility and Mack’s disappearances what chance at dignity had the poor woman had?
    On Friday, after eagerly anticipating their long drive alone into the city together, Heather was disappointed to find Zoltan in his overcourteous, icy mode, beginning the moment he entered the car. All across New Jersey their conversation was strained, with long patches of silence replacing their habitual playful banter. They spoke briefly about the color of the leaves along the highway, the environmental virtues of her hybrid car, the weather, but not a word about his weekend plans, which loudly lay between them unmentioned and unmentionable. Finally, as they were about to enter the Lincoln Tunnel, Heather couldn’t take any more. “You’ve been awfully quiet today. Is something wrong, Zoltan?”
    â€œNo, no, it is nothing. I am most grateful that you are driving me in your Toyota Prius. It’s New Jersey traffic—too crowded and slow.”
    Heather rolled her eyes. The traffic was as impersonal a topic as the weather.
    When he asked her to drop him off at the Times Square subway station, she said, “That’s not necessary. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” But he insisted that Times Square was “exactly where I want to go.”
    â€œBut Zoltan, you don’t know the subways and I’m willing to drive you.”
    â€œNo thank you. I do know the subways. I taught one semester at the New School, remember? Yes I need you, my darling, but not for
everything
.”
    â€œFine! Our restaurant is in Hell’s Kitchen. I’ll park the car and you can go wherever you please.”
    As they left the garage, she had the feeling that he thought she planned to spy on him. Unfair! He was the one deceiving her and she was catching the blame. No kiss on the hand tonight, not even a wave, just a short, curt bow and good-bye. By the time they parted she was close to tears.

 
    14         MACK, BARBARA, AND ABE