When they had met in front of the restaurant, they looked at one another curiously, and then they smiled. Each was satisfied with the looks of the other. The years had not, as yet, aged them, nor written any signs of damage on their faces. Then, smiling and shaking his hand, Annabelle said:
“The least you could do is to give an old friend a chaste kiss.”
“Of course, darling, but it must be chaste. I’m a married man, you know.”
He kissed the cheek she held up to him. They went inside. He was greeted as a regular customer by the head waiter. They were ushered to a chair in a corner.
“This is a rather pleasant place,” he said. “I like it and come here often.”
“Yes, it is. Is it a haunt of newspapermen?”
“Well, a few come here.” He looked around. “I don’t see any here today.”
She was smiling.
“Were you surprised when I wrote you that note?”
“Yes, but it was a happy surprise. And you’re a bigger surprise than your note was. You look so young and charming.”
“Thank you, Arthur, you always were a darling, even if you didn’t know it.”
“Now that we have, as old friends, exchanged compliments, let’s have a drink to celebrate. What’ll you have?”
She looked at the wine card which the waiter had set before them, couldn’t make up her mind, looked at it a second time and, after he had ordered a dry martini for himself, she also chose a dry martini.
“Now,” Arthur said, leaning across the table, “tell me, Annabelle, are you as happy as you look?”
She hesitated a moment. Then she said:
“Yes.”
However, her reply was not convincing, and Arthur mentally took note of this.
“I was saying, I was thinking of our college days, and naturally I remembered you.”
“How kind of you,” he said.
“Arthur, we were good friends, weren’t we?”
“Yes, we were. We liked one another, rather.”
“Arthur,” she said, smiling broadly, “you didn’t know then how attractive you were. Girls liked you much more than you thought. You were so studious and quiet.”
“I was shy.”
“That was what made you so attractive.”
“If I had only known,” he said with a mock sigh.
“What would you have done?”
“Taken advantage of my shyness.”
“You’ve changed. You’re sophisticated and successful now.”
“Well, I’ve lived so many years, and gotten on. I guess I can say that I haven’t done badly.”
“Done badly? How modest. Why, you’re an outstanding newspaperman, aren’t you?”
“I’m in a good spot.”
“It makes me feel proud, because I knew you when.”
The waiter brought them their drinks, and then they ordered. Arthur next lifted his glass, and said:
“What’ll I toast. You? To you, Annabelle, and may you go on looking as young and happy as you do.”
“Thank you, Arthur. Let’s drink to us... We’re old friends, aren’t we?”
“To us.”
They drank.
5
They enjoyed lunch, and talked easily. She didn’t know what had happened to a number of their old friends, but she told him all that she knew and he did the same. They reminisced about college, about classes, dances, dates, talks, humorous incidents they recalled. It was very pleasant. Annabelle had three more drinks, which, she told him several times, was more than her usual quota. She was doing this because after all, it was a vacation for her. Then, she smiled, and added that, when she thought about it, Arthur was one of her oldest friends.
Arthur had a few drinks. He was comfortable, content and flattered by Annabelle’s friendliness. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Luncheons like this were one of the pleasures of life. And this one was a charming surprise. He and Annabelle slipped right into their old rapport.
They lunched and talked for two hours. But then Arthur had to leave. He promised to phone her at her hotel.
He phoned her a day later. He was free and alone for the evening. His wife was having a group of women friends over for bridge and he usually stayed out on such nights. He detested bridge.
They went to dinner, and walked about New York talking. At ten-thirty, she said that she was tired of walking, and they had a drink. They were some distance from her hotel, and took a cab. He put his arm around her. She turned her face up to him. He kissed her, and she was responsive. They hugged and kissed until they reached the front of her hotel. Then, she got panicky.
“I’ll come up with you,” he said.
“Please, no, not tonight, Arthur.”
“Why? It’s been so pleasant. I always liked you.”
“And I always liked you.”
“Well, dearest, why not...”
But he kissed her goodnight, and left disappointed.
6
That had been a Friday night. He didn’t see her again until lunch on Monday. In the meantime, he had determined that they would have an affair. His two meetings with Annabelle, and the kissing in the taxicab had brought to his mind that fact that he was more bored with his home life and his wife than he realized. And also, he began to think that he had always been much more fond of Annabelle than he had realized. He began even to imagine that, back in his college days, he had been in love with her, and that, if he had only known this and not been so shy, she might have been the girl he married.
He kept thinking of her. He had been disappointed when she had left him on Friday night and dashed into the hotel, and then he had been uncomfortable and had felt frustrated. He had immediately begun imagining what he would do the next time that he met her.
This had happened to him before. But it seemed that he was more stricken this time than on such other occasions. It might be, he reasoned with himself, that Annabelle represented to him something that he had not been able to fulfill and gratify in his youth, and that he needed now to make up for this lack. He was inclined to think that this was why he was so unexpectedly taken with her and why the time until he would next see her seemed to him to be so long and so empty.
All of the next day, he was restless. He couldn’t concentrate on the book he was reading. He was bored with his children. He half-listened to his wife. He wanted to see Annabelle. In the afternoon, he went out, phoned her hotel, and was disappointed to learn that she was out. He went to a movie so that he would not keep thinking of her.
He came out of the movie feeling foolish. Walking home, he told himself that he was a damned fool, and that this was merely a passing itch and infatuation. He was rather quiet during dinner, thinking of Annabelle. They had guests in after dinner, and it took him some time and three drinks to get warmed up and to forget Annabelle for a while.
When he got up on Sunday morning he told himself what the hell, if things were going to end in a general catastrophe, as the papers told him, he might as well see her again.
On Sunday morning, he always took his two girls out for a walk. He enjoyed it and, for them, it was a very big occasion.
Joan, the oldest, was eight, and Patsy was five. Joan was more outgoing, had dark hair, and a pretty little round face. Patsy was light-haired, thin, and somewhat tense. They clambered up on his lap, almost upsetting his coffee, and preventing him from reading his paper.
“Daddy, get ready,” Joan said in a commanding voice.
“Daddy, get ready,” Patsy said in imitation of her older sister.
“Let Daddy have his breakfast,” he said.
“No!” Joan said positively.
Her sister imitated Joan.
Arthur smiled. But he wished that, this morning, he didn’t have to take them out. And then, he wondered what Annabelle had been like when she had been five, and eight...