Listening to Billie (26 page)

“Well, there’s always the stewardess,” Harry said.

The stewardess movie was one that they had half drunkenly—or sometimes when they were high—invented over the years: the girl with a man in every port, in Rome and Athens and Paris and Amsterdam. They had cast and recast it many times, and it was at least fairly funny every time.

But now Eliza had a new idea. “What about Daria?” she asked.

“Daria?”

“I think she’s a kind of heroine.”

“Maybe.” Harry frowned, not really listening to this idea.

“And you could have beautiful shots of Daria and Reed in Amsterdam.”

“Really? Did that happen?”

“Yes, I think so. He told me, and then I began to think, Once they were there at the same time. In any case, it’s where they met.”

Harry took this in, or tried to. “The poor bastard,” he finally said. “But how fantastic they must have looked together.”

“Yes,
exactly.
” And behind her eyes Eliza was seeing just that scene: Daria and Reed in Amsterdam, on a terrace that overlooked a dark canal. Lights dancing in the water.

A small wind had come up, just enough to deepen the ripples in the lake, to ruffle the birch leaves in the clumps of trees on the drying lawn. And with a curious premonition of loss Eliza turned to look at the house: the long low-lying structure so settled onto its land, among the dark familiar trees. The long porch, old wicker chairs and suspended swing.

After this winter here, Eliza thought (she knew) that Josephine would decide that, finally, it was time to sell the place. And Smith would agree; he would advise her sensibly. Daria will say that she doesn’t want to own the house—as I will, Eliza thought.

For a moment against those thoughts she closed her eyes, and in the dark space behind her vision she saw, or suddenly felt, an urgency of words, a kaleidoscope that stopped to form a pattern. Words, her own work. But stronger, somehow enlarged.

When she opened her eyes and turned to Harry, she was smiling, almost breathless from an excitement in her chest. But she only said, “I’ll be glad to get back.”

“Me, too. It’s time for me to do some work.” And then he said, “Shall we make a bargain? Both work our heads off this fall and if it goes well, if I can feel a hit coming, we’ll go to Mexico. Ixtapanejo in January?”

“Well, okay, if mine goes well, too.” But she was not thinking about Ixtapanejo, or, really, about Harry.

Rather solemnly they shook hands, before they kissed.

And then Eliza said, “How odd: I’ve just remembered—today’s my birthday.”

“
Well.
”

Well.