“Don’t need one.”
“It’s important. I don’t want you running around in a towel or your undershorts.”
“Ah, if you only knew.”
“What?”
“Nothing sinister — really, thank you. You have a robe that’ll fit and won’t itch?”
“And ambisexual. I’ll get it.” Starts for the bathroom, stops. “What were you saying ‘if I only knew’?”
“Nothing. Just something about underpants. That the robe was a good suggestion. But don’t worry, because nothing’s wrong with my underpants or their environs or any idea connected to them in any way.”
“It still doesn’t sound right.”
“I don’t have any on. There you go. I used them to wipe my behind earlier tonight because the john I was in — it was in a bar but I only went there for coffee, to sober up, to dry off — was all out of paper.”
“Are those pants in your pocket now?”
“I flushed them down — their toilet, not yours.”
“Okay.” Goes past the bathroom into another room. What’d she think when she saw the tears and he mentioned his environs and then his behind? That he never should’ve brought any of it up? That for the sake of good manners and taste, etcet. He didn’t see how she looked when he cried because at that moment he looked away, quickly got rid of the tears. He was being honestly emotional she could think — a virtue? fault? folly? — or dishonest, trying to suck her in with his tears, or trying to affect or impress with his directness and frankness about his environs and behind, or just still a little drunk, which might scare her. If he were she he’d think at least What is it with this guy? He shoots the rest of the drink down. But her concern, papa who compares Slavic vodkas, soap, clean commode, woman with a river view, bobby pins and simple ring, obvious smarts from the start, affectionate to revered way people spoke about her, spryness, hair, just this pretty glass, puts it on the table — why didn’t he ask how her evening went after Diana’s? He can be clever but never learned to hold back enough or know when soon is soon enough or — jumps. Something at his feet. Cat, same one it seems from the photograph, a light bluish white, yanking one of its front nails with its teeth, saying Who are you? in Siamese, settling down inches away, pulling all its paws in and staring at him.
“So, Sammy found you. He must have been under the couch. Are you allergic to cats?”
“Why, am I acting like it? I like them, but takes me a while to be over-friendly.” Bends down to pet it. Cat hisses, hand retracts.
“First put your finger out and let him smell it. They like to get to know you slowly, and one big hand coming down on them too fast can be hair-raising.”
Squats, puts out his finger. Cat sniffs it, licks it, sits up and bumps his head several times on Dan’s palm, he pets it and looks up.
“Now you’re pals.” Hands him a bathrobe. “Nothing else I can think of — you?” Shakes his head and stands. “You need another blanket or any toilet articles, in the linen closet opposite the bathroom. Feel free in the kitchen. Stove burners are automatic, if you want to use one, and oven you need a match, which are on top of the cupboard to the stove’s right. Are you a big drinker?”
“Not at all. Why, my remarks?”
“For a while I didn’t know what I was getting into with you, pre- and post-phone. Some of the things you said — they might be amusing or right for some people, and maybe any other time in my life or hour of the night I might respond more favorably to them, so what am I saying?”
“No, you’re right. Fact is I was thinking the same thing before you said it. That I might’ve sounded too fancifully bizarre — I’m being euphemistic here so you don’t think too unfavorably of me. Or am I now doing the same thing? — but too soon saying these things and maybe for any time.”
“Well, let’s not get down on yourself too hard. Just have a good shower and snack and a pleasant sleep. If you like Mandelbrot — do you know what it is?” He nods. “Some of my mother’s homemade ones are in a coffee can in the refrigerator. I’ll probably be up earlier than you but I’ll patter around. I don’t think Sammy will get out of my room, but if he does and ends up on your bed, don’t be alarmed — he doesn’t scratch. I’ve no shades on any of my windows, so if it gets very bright out it might wake you. Any idea what the weather report is for tomorrow?”
“No, and go ahead and wake me. Do everything you’d normally do if I wasn’t here. All I want is a few hours sleep. Also, and I know it’s a little late in the conversation for this, but you never said how your evening went after you left Diana’s. The wedding reception?”
“I didn’t. Thought I had. Anyway, you probably still want to talk and I don’t. If you want to chat later in the morning and I don’t feel too rushed to get busy with my work, we can do so over coffee.”
“Fine. Do you have to use the bathroom, because I’m going to be in there a while.”
“Give me a minute and then it’s yours. Oh, one more thing and then you’ll be set. Around five or five-thirty a man might yell ‘Mike’ from the park side of the drive a few times and possibly startle you. Either he’s crazy and doesn’t have a dog or he does have one and it runs away from him and gets lost every other day. Otherwise, have a good night.”
“Goodnight.”
She’s dreamed. How old is she in it? — that’s always the first thing she asks about her dreams. Same age she is today. She and Dan were on a beach. It seemed like the same beach she rents a cottage on every summer for one or two months, lots of pebbles and shells and huge smooth tocks sticking out of the sand or the water near shore. Then it seemed like Coney Island, a gray colored sand but without people or wire trashcans or lifeguard highchairs on it, and no pebbles, shells or rocks. The sky was clear, weather was mild and the sun was setting in the East. He was in bathing trunks and a tank top, she in a light sleeveless cotton dress, more like a young girl’s dress with blue forget-me-nots all over it and a big bow at the waist in back. She have one like it as a girl? Doesn’t recall. They were holding hands. The Boardwalk and Parachute were behind them — still no other people — and she pointed to the Parachute and said “I once got stuck at the top of it for half an hour when there was a fire in the gear box thirty feet above me and it scared me so much I couldn’t speak for a week and could never go on an amusement park ride again, not even the merry-go-round or one of those dumb bumping cars I used to love.” All that happened. She also couldn’t get into an elevator for months or on a plane till about ten years ago and even today when she drives a car over a high bridge her pulse speeds up. He said “Don’t look at it then,” not that sympathetically; “let’s just count birds.” They turned back to the water. Both were barefoot and her feet were sinking into the muddy sand, making her shorter and then much shorter than he. She held a finger out to point at birds and he held a pen and pad in his free hand. A bird flew past. She said “There’s one — a tern. How many are we up to now?” He said “One,” and let go of her hand to write the number in the pad. She said “It seems we’ve been here much too long for just one tern.” “There’s a second bird,” he said; “quick, what is it?” “A sandpiper, but they usually travel in twos or schools.” “Prides,” he said. “Plagues,” she said, “or maybe not. I can be very morbid, so you better watch out for me.” He said “I’ll do more than that; a gaggle of mores. I’ll look out for you, look after you, look forward to you, look into you, look up to you, but I’ll never look down my nose or look through you, or so I say.” “Never mind,” she said, “but tell me: why are we counting birds?” “We were asked to for the betterment of our environment, yours, mine and the child’s.” “Never mind, and look; there’s a third one — a murmuration bird,” and she took his pen and wrote the number and name in his pad. He hugged her, she didn’t resist. He said something like “Stabilize your mouth, I’m going to navigate you,” she opened her mouth wide and moved her head closer to his. He kissed her neck and fiddled with her dress bow and shoulder strap. She said “Will you get your hands and lips off me? I don’t know you and I do mind.” He let go, held his hands out to her in a strangulation pose. She backed away and he dropped to his knees, put his face to the hole her feet had made and screamed the most horrified scream and she thought he’d just found his child dead in its crib, and woke up.