Living Room (22 page)

Shirley wondered if she could maneuver through the tables, out the door, vanish.

Al seemed particularly handsome this evening; Mary glowed. Her friends. She imagined them naked and intertwined, frozen still. They would not be still, they would be moving, Al plunging, Mary’s legs raised and wrapped, an impossible image to sustain.

Nevertheless, they had somehow made love, and not just once or twice. And why not still? Weren’t they, despite what Al had said?

“You’re unusually quiet,” said Mary.

The chatter from nearby tables was suddenly audible, the clatter of a busboy somewhere, a captain’s unctuous tones inquiring about someone’s interest in the
spécialité.
Their drinks had arrived.

“She’s in a trance,” said Mary to Al. “It must be love. Are you going to say anything?” This to Shirley.

Al said, “Skoal,” and raised his glass. Mary raised her glass. Shirley kept her hands in her lap.

“Teetotalling?” asked Mary. “You?”

“No,” said Shirley, touching the stem of her glass. She raised it. “To the bride and groom.”

Mary’s face masked over instantly.

“You’ve come,” said Shirley, “to ask for Al’s hand in marriage.”

It was Al’s laugh that enabled Mary to utter sounds. “I’m not staying for dinner. I just thought…”

It was Al turning his head away that stopped her sentence. Both women looked. Al had turned to hold up a flagging hand to Jack, waving him to join them. Jack was thanking the captain, hurrying over, nodded around, pulled the chair back, sat, puffed as if out of breath, said, “Dr. Wood, back from the hospital and off duty at last!” He took a sip of Mary’s drink, nodded to the waiter and said, “The same.” Then to his friends, “Does group drinking lead to group sex?”

“Shirley could tell you a funny story about Bermuda,” said Al.

Jack looked at Shirley. “She doesn’t look in the mood to tell funny stories about anywhere.” Silence. “What’s up, Shirley,” he continued, “you’re so quiet I can hear it with my eyes closed.”

Al said, “Dr. Wood, in your professional opinion, is she still breathing?”

She could leave quietly without a word, like a lady. She could describe for them the images rattling in her mind. She could invite Jack to sneak up to a nearby hotel, book a room without luggage in hand, sinfully complete the circle, that would tell them if she was breathing, whether she was still alive. She examined their faces: had the circle been completed without her?

Why don’t I have myself a headache and go home, she thought.

“We had a cadaver today,” said Jack, “which was really something. Died of cardiac arrest, but when we went to examine the body, it had an incision along the side”—he pointed to the place on himself—“where none of us had ever seen an incision, I mean you can’t get to anything vital on the inside that way.”

“Surgeons have been known to perform useless operations,” said Shirley.

“She talks,” said Mary.

“Well,” said Jack, “but if you’re doing a useless, why not cover your tracks and do it some place familiar?”

“The wonders of medicine,” said Al, as the captain presented menus.

“Oh, we’re not staying for dinner,” said Jack, “just those two. We’ll have one more drink and then they can order. Shirley, we are here to invite you…”

How did her father feel about Mrs. Bialek’s late husband? Did he wonder about their sex? Did Mrs. Bialek wonder about Hartman and his wife? Was it a natural curiosity?

“She’s not listening,” said Jack,

“Of course I am,” said Shirley.

“Next Friday,” said Jack, “is not only the thirteenth…”

“It’s your birthday,” said Mary, “and we’d like to give you a birthday celebration. Our place, seven p.m., and that is my sole message for today.”

Maybe the three of them ought to get together and celebrate my birthday without me.

“I may be in Detroit or Dearborn,” said Shirley.

“Nonsense,” said Al. “Ford doesn’t work on Friday night or weekends. If you have to be there for the day, take a late-afternoon flight back. I’ll pick you up at La Guardia.”

“I haven’t celebrated a birthday in several years.”

“Then it’s about time,” said Jack. “Done.”

He was on his feet, face flushed from fast drinking, taking Mary by the arm, bussing Shirley on the cheek
(
Come now,
Shirley thought,
if Al can fuck Mary you can do better than that
),
pumped Al’s hand, and hurried their goodbyes, saying over his shoulder to Al, “I think the nonworking member of this fraternity ought to pick up the check for all this, it’s only fair,” and they were out and away.

*

During dinner, Shirley wondered if Al intended coming back with her to the apartment. Or inviting her out of town to his—impossible with tomorrow’s meeting pending. Or neither.

“You seem tight as a drum,” he said.

“Drumhead,” she corrected.

When the time came, he hailed a cab and gave the driver her address. For a split second, she thought he wasn’t getting into the cab, just sending her home.

Had she imagined Bermuda? He got into the cab.

In the annals of intercourse, after the first time the door stayed open, but her instincts told her
not with Al.
She had always been indifferent to people whose lives were on display, but her imaginings about the secret life of Al Chunin made her yearn for a little less unknown.

“Talk,” she said to him in the taxi.

“You’re a fine one. You’ve been giving us the silent treatment, first Jack and Mary and me, then me.”

“Talk,” she pleaded, as the taxi turned a corner, moving her awkwardly toward him, and only her stiffened straight arm between them keeping her from touching him.

“About anything in particular?” Al asked.

For the rest of the ride, not a word was spoken.

When they arrived at her house, Al stood beside the cabman’s lowered window, paying. Shirley, her
eyes wandering, saw a man
leaning against the hood of a car across the street. He seemed to look away when he saw her. Was she repulsive? Was he being polite? Why was the man wearing a hat, it was too damn hot for anyone to wear a hat?

The taxi roared off from between them and the man with the hat across the street. Perhaps she should go over and ask him why he was wearing a hat? In New York one didn’t do that, ever.

“I’ll go up, if you’re going up,” said Al.

Upstairs, she kicked her shoes off.

Al thought,
we’re doing things symbolically this evening.
He untied his shoes, sat to take them off, saw shoeless Shirley staring down at the street.

“The man with the hat,” she said, “is still standing there.” She came over to Al, still sitting on the sofa. “I want to ask a real favor. I want you to do something for me. Please?”

She wants to know about Mary and me,
thought Al.

“Tomorrow’s
Times
is out now, could you run down to the corner and pick up a copy?”

“Sure.” He put his shoes back on and tied them. “Anything special?”

“Maybe.”

“Right back,” he said.

From the window she watched Al leave the building, look left and right, decide left, and stalk in his angular stride in that direction. The man with the hat was watching him. Shirley turned off the living-room light. When she got back to the window, the hat-man was gone.

Everyone is paranoid,
she thought.

In the darkness, she continued to watch until she saw Al returning from the corner newsstand, flipping the pages of the paper to see if he could discover what she had sent him for. When Al turned into the building, the hat-man came into view and resumed his post across the street.

Shirley opened the door so Al didn’t have to ring.

“Not a damn thing in here,” said Al. “You’ve got the light off. Is that a hint for me to leave or stay?”

Shirley took the paper from him, put it aside and motioned him to follow her into the bedroom.

“Invitation?” he asked, but she shook her head, motioned him over to the bedroom window, from which the street could be seen. She pointed to the hat down below.

“That man followed you to the newsstand and back.”

“You serious?”

“I saw it.”

“Paranoid.”

“If you didn’t stay here for the night, what would you do?”

“Pick up a lady of the streets and—”

“Stop joking.”

“I’d drive back home.”

“Where’s your car?”

“Not too far. I found a space closer to here than to the restaurant, thought it would make sense to take a cab to and from the restaurant, there’s just nowhere in midtown.”

“Go to your car. See if he follows you.”

“And?”

“Drive. See if he follows you in a car or a cab.”

“And lose a good parking space?”

“Please, this is important.”

“This is crazy.”

“I hope so. Just drive a few blocks. Stop at a phone booth and call me. Careful what you say, there may be a tap on the line.”

Al stood still.

“Let’s just test this. Then come back.”

“For how long?”

“For the night, if you want to.”

“I accept. Any further instructions?”

She told him what she had in mind.

He saluted, as if
they were
playing a
military
game.

She watched the man with the hat follow Al until they were both out of sight. It seemed a long time until the phone rang. “Well, it turns out—”

She interrupted. “I was right.”

After a moment’s pause, he said, “Jesus, this is an outrage!”

“Good night.” She hung up, hoped he would remember what they had prearranged.

Twenty minutes later the service buzzer rang in the kitchen. Mike, the night watchman, was on duty.

“Mike, I hope you don’t mind if I asked the gentleman to use the service entrance?”

“Miss Hartman, I mind my own business. Let him up?”

“Yes, please.”

She let Al in.

“You can take your shoes off again now.”

“Why would anyone follow
me
?”

“Maybe because of me,” said Shirley.

“Pot? Hard drugs? White slavery?”

“Maybe normal American business ethics,” said Shirley.

“I feel hopelessly naive,” said Al.

“All I can do is speculate.” Shirley went over the drape at the side of the living-room window. “You didn’t shake him,” she said.

“Shirley, what’s that guy doing down there?”

“It’s an office problem. I suspect that tail may be hired by someone I work with.”

“That’s insane! Why would they risk antagonizing you?”

“The only thing they won’t risk is losing the Ford account, and to keep it they’ve got to keep me moving around the country.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s not very rational. I’m part of the campaign. They could be checking up.”

“Checking what?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You shouldn’t put up with this kind of thing for a minute.”

She came over close to him. She could give him an erection.

“Shirley, there’s someone out there checking on what you do and you don’t care?”

“Of course I care.”

“You can’t just ignore it.”

She put her arms around him. “Al, please? Let’s forget that man. I’ll deal with it in the morning. Sit here,” she patted the sofa, “I’ll fix drinks.”

When she brought him his drink, she realized how fidgety he was. “What’s troubling you?”

“Your civil liberties. It’s as if we were doing something illegal.”

She took his free hand. “Technically, I suppose we are.” She could tell him what a son of a bitch Marvin Goodkin could be. Or was it Arthur? He wouldn’t, would he?

“What are you thinking?” Al asked.

“Of buying a pincushion in the shape of Marvin Goodkin.”

“Who’s he?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Al put down his drink and went over to the window. The man was still there. “You could call the police,” he said.

Shirley laughed. “And tell them there’s a man standing in the street?”

“He followed me.”

“They’d think we were both crazy.”

“I’m not,” said Al. He was tying his shoes.

“Don’t go,” she said.

“It wouldn’t work with an overseer down there. I’ve got enough on my mind.”

“Like what?” She had to keep him.

“Another time.”

“Please.”