that?”
“She’s very willful, which is an understatement, if you know what I mean. She hates anyone probing into her life. But I’m interested, and it’s not just jealousy. I’ve never known her to have a lasting intimate relationship with anyone.”
“What about you?”
“Yes,” George said, sinking back in his chair, “that’s a very good question.” George was slurring his words. “I’m afraid it includes me. I tried for four years to break through her shell.”
“I’m sorry,” Whitney said. “That must be difficult. I applaud your persistence.”
“It’s not been easy.”
“Let’s go outside,” said Whitney suddenly. “It’s such a beautiful evening.” She stood up and walked out to join Berman and Pia.
For a few minutes George stayed where he was, now convinced that in all likelihood, Berman was probably sleeping with both Pia and Whitney Jones. He then berated himself for saying what he had to Whitney. Even without alcohol, George knew that social adeptness was not one of his strong points. Asking Whitney the question he had was exactly the kind of weak behavior Pia had tried to shake out of him, if not explicitly, then by example. George helped himself to some more wine and then headed outside to join the others. He was now plainly dizzy and had to move slower than normal, running his hand along the furniture to maintain his balance.
Outside, Berman was still showing off his telescope and had turned off the lights in the living room to help the viewing. Joining in, George found he was impressed again, in spite of himself. He had never seen the rings of Saturn, which were clearly visible. After viewing several more celestial objects, including a distant, sprial-shaped galaxy, George went and stood next to Pia. The alcohol had not only loosened his tongue but made him more demonstrative and even possessive.
“This has been lovely, really, but maybe we should head home,” George said out of the blue. He daringly slipped his arm around Pia’s waist. He was surprised when she didn’t make an effort to elude his grasp as she usually did. If Berman noticed, he didn’t give it away. Whitney on the other hand gave him a discreet thumbs-up.
“The evening is still young,” Berman said, hearing George’s comment.
“It is getting late,” agreed Pia. As far as she was concerned, they had already been there too long. “And I have a lot to do, as you know, Mr. Berman.”
“Zachary. My name is Zachary, or Zach.”
“Okay. Zachary. Thank you for a lovely dinner. And, Miss Jones, thank you, too.”
“Of course. Our pleasure.”
George stayed rooted to his spot next to Pia until she pulled away and headed for the door with Whitney. Berman waited for George, who was taking his time navigating the step up from the deck into the house and crossing the darkened living room.
“Will we be seeing you again?” Berman asked.
“You never know,” George said flippantly.
At the door, George gave Whitney a kiss on the cheek, and she said she was pleased to have met him. George shook hands with Berman and took Pia’s arm as they descended the stone stairs, pretending he was helping her. When they got to the car, both he and Pia looked back up at the house. Berman and Jones were standing at the door, waving.
“That was an odd evening and an odd couple,” said George. He climbed into the car and fell into the seat, leaning back against the headrest. He exhaled noisily as if he were exhausted.
“Are you drunk?” said Pia.
“Oh, absolutely. That was the only way I was going to get through the evening.”
“You were very . . .”
“. . . drunk, is what I was. Am. C’mon, Pia, we’re sitting in the car again. Let’s get out of here.”
11.
EN ROUTE TO PIA’S APARTMENT, BOULDER, COLORADO
MONDAY, APRIL 22, 2013, 10:45 P.M.
At first George kept quiet in the car. He felt very full, of food and wine, and the motion of the car was doing unpleasant things to his stomach. He put
“She’s very willful, which is an understatement, if you know what I mean. She hates anyone probing into her life. But I’m interested, and it’s not just jealousy. I’ve never known her to have a lasting intimate relationship with anyone.”
“What about you?”
“Yes,” George said, sinking back in his chair, “that’s a very good question.” George was slurring his words. “I’m afraid it includes me. I tried for four years to break through her shell.”
“I’m sorry,” Whitney said. “That must be difficult. I applaud your persistence.”
“It’s not been easy.”
“Let’s go outside,” said Whitney suddenly. “It’s such a beautiful evening.” She stood up and walked out to join Berman and Pia.
For a few minutes George stayed where he was, now convinced that in all likelihood, Berman was probably sleeping with both Pia and Whitney Jones. He then berated himself for saying what he had to Whitney. Even without alcohol, George knew that social adeptness was not one of his strong points. Asking Whitney the question he had was exactly the kind of weak behavior Pia had tried to shake out of him, if not explicitly, then by example. George helped himself to some more wine and then headed outside to join the others. He was now plainly dizzy and had to move slower than normal, running his hand along the furniture to maintain his balance.
Outside, Berman was still showing off his telescope and had turned off the lights in the living room to help the viewing. Joining in, George found he was impressed again, in spite of himself. He had never seen the rings of Saturn, which were clearly visible. After viewing several more celestial objects, including a distant, sprial-shaped galaxy, George went and stood next to Pia. The alcohol had not only loosened his tongue but made him more demonstrative and even possessive.
“This has been lovely, really, but maybe we should head home,” George said out of the blue. He daringly slipped his arm around Pia’s waist. He was surprised when she didn’t make an effort to elude his grasp as she usually did. If Berman noticed, he didn’t give it away. Whitney on the other hand gave him a discreet thumbs-up.
“The evening is still young,” Berman said, hearing George’s comment.
“It is getting late,” agreed Pia. As far as she was concerned, they had already been there too long. “And I have a lot to do, as you know, Mr. Berman.”
“Zachary. My name is Zachary, or Zach.”
“Okay. Zachary. Thank you for a lovely dinner. And, Miss Jones, thank you, too.”
“Of course. Our pleasure.”
George stayed rooted to his spot next to Pia until she pulled away and headed for the door with Whitney. Berman waited for George, who was taking his time navigating the step up from the deck into the house and crossing the darkened living room.
“Will we be seeing you again?” Berman asked.
“You never know,” George said flippantly.
At the door, George gave Whitney a kiss on the cheek, and she said she was pleased to have met him. George shook hands with Berman and took Pia’s arm as they descended the stone stairs, pretending he was helping her. When they got to the car, both he and Pia looked back up at the house. Berman and Jones were standing at the door, waving.
“That was an odd evening and an odd couple,” said George. He climbed into the car and fell into the seat, leaning back against the headrest. He exhaled noisily as if he were exhausted.
“Are you drunk?” said Pia.
“Oh, absolutely. That was the only way I was going to get through the evening.”
“You were very . . .”
“. . . drunk, is what I was. Am. C’mon, Pia, we’re sitting in the car again. Let’s get out of here.”
11.
EN ROUTE TO PIA’S APARTMENT, BOULDER, COLORADO
MONDAY, APRIL 22, 2013, 10:45 P.M.
At first George kept quiet in the car. He felt very full, of food and wine, and the motion of the car was doing unpleasant things to his stomach. He put
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