"If not, we can invite him for a simple dinner at our
house."
"And I just happen to be there?" I pulled at a
head of lettuce, tearing it apart with my bare hands. I imagined a simple meal
at Rose's, with her Spode china, fine crystal and monogrammed silverware
resting on her grandmother's lace tablecloths. Although they never commented on
my supermarket stemware, bought in packages of six in cardboard cartons with
handles, Rose and Frank didn't have it in them to entertain casually.
"We'll tell him ahead of time. People do this all the
time, Gloria."
Rose emphasized the word people. It was clear that she meant
the large group of normal, romantically active adults, of which I was not a
member.
"It'll be so obvious," I said, surprised that I
didn't just say no.
"Well, what if it is? We're all adults. He can refuse
and nothing's lost."
"Except my face and my dignity. No, I don't think
so."
I pictured myself in Matt's office the day after he told
Frank he wasn't interested in a romantic foursome. I didn't like the picture.
"I'm sorry I mentioned him," I said. "We're
working together. That's all."
"Right."
Rose sighed and picked up a paring knife with her right hand
and a cucumber with her left. She waved the cucumber in my direction.
"I know this isn't just about Al's memory," she
said. "You're smarter than that."
"I'm too old," I said, in a voice so weak I was
amazed that Rose heard me. The beige tiles of my kitchen counter seemed to turn
to a liquid, like very weak tea, blurring my vision so that I lost focus, and
Rose's voice seemed to come from far away.
"I'm going to forget you said that. I'm also going to
wait until this case is over, since you have to work with Matt. Then we'll get
serious."
I recovered my poise, such as it is, and watched as Rose
scored the skin of the cucumber, then put it on the cutting board and sliced it
at an angle until she had a neat row of identical oval pieces with ridged
edges. She didn't speak for several minutes, her jaw set, her small oval face a
study in concentration. I'd seen it before. She'd gone into her long-range
planning mode.
We called down to Frank and invited him up for lunch.
"Not a word," I said to Rose.
She put her index finger on her bright red lower lip and
shook her head. As a promise that gave me confidence, the gesture fell short.
Frank came into the room and gave us each a kiss.
"Smells good," he said. "And I think you'll be happy with how
your friend looks, Gloria." I wondered how long it had taken him to be
able to speak of food and corpses in the same breath.
Frank removed
his dark brown suit jacket and hung it in the hall closet with great care.
"The Bensens just arrived to view Eric and they seem satisfied."
"Are they still down there," I asked, relieved to
have the conversation on a new track, away from my social life.
"Yes," Frank said, "Eric's parents and his
wife are having some private time now. Then we'll talk about tonight's
program."
Frank's voice was like a soft hymn by a church organist. He
rolled up his starched white shirtsleeves as if he were folding an altar cloth
at Saint Anthony's, and filled his plate from the small buffet Rose and I had
laid out on my counter.
From the amount of food I'd seen Frank consume at various
meals together, it wasn't clear to me how he kept his short frame looking firm
and trim. As far as I knew the only physical activity he engaged in was golf,
and I always thought of that as more of a networking activity than a bodybuilding
sport. Unlike Frank, I could see every calorie I consumed, easily identifiable
on my body. In fact, my baby fat was still intact.
"So, tomorrow night, are you ready to dance your shoes
off?" he asked me.
Rose looked at me and showed me her palms in an attitude of
helplessness.
"We've had a change of plans," she said to Frank.
"I'll tell you later."
Frank didn't pursue the topic, and I envied the way
long-term partners in life and in work communicated without
house."
"And I just happen to be there?" I pulled at a
head of lettuce, tearing it apart with my bare hands. I imagined a simple meal
at Rose's, with her Spode china, fine crystal and monogrammed silverware
resting on her grandmother's lace tablecloths. Although they never commented on
my supermarket stemware, bought in packages of six in cardboard cartons with
handles, Rose and Frank didn't have it in them to entertain casually.
"We'll tell him ahead of time. People do this all the
time, Gloria."
Rose emphasized the word people. It was clear that she meant
the large group of normal, romantically active adults, of which I was not a
member.
"It'll be so obvious," I said, surprised that I
didn't just say no.
"Well, what if it is? We're all adults. He can refuse
and nothing's lost."
"Except my face and my dignity. No, I don't think
so."
I pictured myself in Matt's office the day after he told
Frank he wasn't interested in a romantic foursome. I didn't like the picture.
"I'm sorry I mentioned him," I said. "We're
working together. That's all."
"Right."
Rose sighed and picked up a paring knife with her right hand
and a cucumber with her left. She waved the cucumber in my direction.
"I know this isn't just about Al's memory," she
said. "You're smarter than that."
"I'm too old," I said, in a voice so weak I was
amazed that Rose heard me. The beige tiles of my kitchen counter seemed to turn
to a liquid, like very weak tea, blurring my vision so that I lost focus, and
Rose's voice seemed to come from far away.
"I'm going to forget you said that. I'm also going to
wait until this case is over, since you have to work with Matt. Then we'll get
serious."
I recovered my poise, such as it is, and watched as Rose
scored the skin of the cucumber, then put it on the cutting board and sliced it
at an angle until she had a neat row of identical oval pieces with ridged
edges. She didn't speak for several minutes, her jaw set, her small oval face a
study in concentration. I'd seen it before. She'd gone into her long-range
planning mode.
We called down to Frank and invited him up for lunch.
"Not a word," I said to Rose.
She put her index finger on her bright red lower lip and
shook her head. As a promise that gave me confidence, the gesture fell short.
Frank came into the room and gave us each a kiss.
"Smells good," he said. "And I think you'll be happy with how
your friend looks, Gloria." I wondered how long it had taken him to be
able to speak of food and corpses in the same breath.
Frank removed
his dark brown suit jacket and hung it in the hall closet with great care.
"The Bensens just arrived to view Eric and they seem satisfied."
"Are they still down there," I asked, relieved to
have the conversation on a new track, away from my social life.
"Yes," Frank said, "Eric's parents and his
wife are having some private time now. Then we'll talk about tonight's
program."
Frank's voice was like a soft hymn by a church organist. He
rolled up his starched white shirtsleeves as if he were folding an altar cloth
at Saint Anthony's, and filled his plate from the small buffet Rose and I had
laid out on my counter.
From the amount of food I'd seen Frank consume at various
meals together, it wasn't clear to me how he kept his short frame looking firm
and trim. As far as I knew the only physical activity he engaged in was golf,
and I always thought of that as more of a networking activity than a bodybuilding
sport. Unlike Frank, I could see every calorie I consumed, easily identifiable
on my body. In fact, my baby fat was still intact.
"So, tomorrow night, are you ready to dance your shoes
off?" he asked me.
Rose looked at me and showed me her palms in an attitude of
helplessness.
"We've had a change of plans," she said to Frank.
"I'll tell you later."
Frank didn't pursue the topic, and I envied the way
long-term partners in life and in work communicated without
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