Starting Over by Dan Wakefield Page B

paper.”
    â€œWell, I was just trying to be helpful.”
    â€œI know,” Potter said, trying to control his temper. He kissed her on the nose. “The thing is, you’re supposed to just relax .”
    She shrugged, and went to the living room.
    Potter went busily about his preparations, but couldn’t help being a little annoyed that Marilyn wasn’t sitting back and reading the Sunday paper. She just smoked a cigarette and looked out the window, and occasionally paced around the room, like she was nervous.
    Potter tried to concentrate on the omelettes. He was just doing cheese this time, nothing too fancy or outrageous. Just plain cheese omelettes, and a very nice chablis.
    They ate in the living room, on the coffee table. Potter played a Vivaldi record. The sound of order, tradition. Sunlight streamed in the room, as if Potter had ordered it. He felt expansive.
    â€œHow’s that for an omelette?” Potter asked.
    â€œOh—it’s fine. Just fine. Really it is,” she said in an unconvincing abstract voice.
    Potter wondered if he’d put too much Tabasco into the mix.
    He swigged from his glass of chablis, and tried to concentrate again on his own omelette. It seemed quite fine to him, but you never knew about other people’s taste; some people simply liked things bland. A little too much Tabasco could put them off entirely.
    Marilyn picked her way through about a third of her omelette, then put down her fork. There were tears in her eyes. Jesus. Potter knew he hadn’t put that much Tabasco into the thing.
    â€œWhat is it?” he asked.
    She shook her head. “Nothing.”
    Potter took a deep breath, and exhaled very slowly. Trying for calm. He lit a cigarette. Marilyn wadded her paper napkin and dabbed at her eyes.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said.
    â€œBut why?” he asked gently. “Why are you sorry? Why are you sad? Isn’t everything OK?”
    â€œYes,” she sniffed. “It’s fine.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo—I don’t know. I guess that’s it.”
    â€œThat everything’s fine?”
    â€œYes—I mean—no. It’s that it has to end, sooner or later. Sooner or later it won’t be fine. It’ll be lousy, and it’ll end.”
    â€œWell, I guess everything has to end,” Potter said. “But Marilyn. For godsake. Why spoil the beginning by thinking about the end?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said. “I don’t mean to.”
    They sat for a long time, while the music played on, and then finally it stopped and the needle slipped onto the black interior circle of the record, scratching.
    Potter had to make himself lift off the arm of the player.
    Marilyn blew her nose, and forced a smile. “I’m sorry,” she said.
    â€œIt’s OK, really it is.”
    â€œNo, it’s my fault for thinking that way.”
    â€œGoddamn it, will you just forget about it!”
    â€œYou don’t have to yell at me!”
    Potter closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. “I’m sorry,” he said.
    â€œIt’s OK. I’m sorry too.”
    â€œOK,” he said.
    â€œOK,” she said.
    Potter decided that instead of meeting Marilyn after her Existentialism class Wednesday night, it might do both of them good if he just went out on his own, and he arranged to have a beer with Gafferty. The beer became many beers.
    â€œWhy is it,” Potter asked, “that a man and a woman can’t just get along?”
    â€œTrouble in paradise, eh?”
    In the first flush of his affair with Marilyn, Potter had told Gafferty he had found just the woman he was looking for.
    â€œNothing big, yet. Just the old warning signs.”
    â€œAh, well. Maybe it’ll all blow over. I’ve ridden out many a storm myself.”
    â€œJesus, I guess so. That must really be rough. I mean, with nine kids, you can’t just walk out.”
    â€œOh,