Well, hi there, calls Kimberly. What a surprise!
I hope you don't mind my dropping in like this-
Don't be silly. Not at all.
Kimberly leans in to bestow air kisses on either side of Trudy's face. She is a well-coiffed blond in her midthirties, her porcelain complexion and china-blue eyes so making her resemble a doll that Trudy fancies she can hear the click of lids when Kimberly blinks. She does so now, rapidly: click click click. But it is a mistake to underestimate the brain beneath that fashionably tousled hair; it is, Trudy knows from the post-divorce division of property, as relentless and practical as an adding machine.
Roger's in the wine cellar, Kimberly says. Some mix-up with the Merlot delivery… But you know how that goes.
She winks, twinkling.
So I thought I'd keep you company until he comes up. Can I offer you a drink?
Please, says Trudy.
The pair cross the hall to the bar, a dark-paneled little room whose draperies exhale the breath of decades' worth of cigars. Trudy settles onto a stool and watches in the leaded mirror while the younger woman sets out glasses. If not for the twenty-year gap in age, Trudy and Kimberly might be mistaken for sisters.
Red or white? Kimberly asks. Oh, silly me, did you want something stronger? A vodka tonic, or a Scotch-
Red's great, thanks, Trudy says.
She samples the Bordeaux Kimberly pours for her. Chateau Souverain, an excellent vineyard, a vintage year. Unlike most restaurateurs, Roger has not hired a sommelier, preferring to select his wines himself. His taste has not slipped.
Kimberly fills Trudy's glass to within a half inch of the brim and prepares her own drink, a Perrier with lime. She glances at the mirror and scrapes the lacquered nails of thumb and forefinger over the corners of her mouth to remove any crumbs of dried lipstick collected there. Then she comes around the bar to perch on the stool nearest Trudy.
So, she says, crossing her legs to exhibit a thoroughbred's thighs encased in glittery hose. How are you?
Trudy nods, glancing at the haunches while taking a long swallow of her wine. Maybe it wasn't such a bright idea to come here.
I'm fine, she says. Busy as always. You know.
Oh, I sure do. This time of year, it's crazy, isn't it?
Kimberly sighs deeply and pulls at the wisps of her bangs. I could just yank it all out, she says, laughing. You know, Trudy, I was just thinking about you the other day.
You were?
I sure was. Thinking how I envy you. You single gals have all the fun. No family to cook for-Roger's whole family coming for Christmas, even that ancient aunt, can you believe it? And no grouchy old bear of a husband to put up with… So tell me, since I have to live through you. Any new men in your life?
Not really, Trudy says.
Kimberly pouts and leans closer, providing Trudy with a view of the admirable and freckled cleavage nestled in the salmon satin of her blouse.
Oh, now, she says. It's not nice to keep all the good stuff to yourself. There must be somebody.
She smiles expectantly at Trudy, who gulps her wine.
Well…, she says, thinking of Thomas.
I knew it! You couldn't fool me for a second with that poker face. I could tell by just looking at you!
Kimberly gives Trudy's arm a playful just-between-us-girls tap. So who is he, she says.
Oh, it's nothing serious, says Trudy. We just met, really.
There you go again, not playing fair. Come on, tell me. Tell me all about him.
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Trudy is saved by Roger choosing this moment to make his entrance. She gives him a huge smile. She hasn't been so happy to see him since their wedding day.
Whoopsie! Kimberly says brightly and zips the air near her lips.
Roger strides to Trudy and kisses her on both cheeks, the rasp of his mustache raising its usual prickle on the nape of her neck.
I should have known I'd find you two ladies in the bar, he says.
Kimberly vacates her stool and Roger slides onto it.
I'll have a glass of whatever she's having, hon, he says to his wife. Thanks.
Then he turns back to Trudy and slaps his knees.
So! he says. This is an unexpected pleasure. How long has it been?
I don't know, says Trudy. Too long?
I think we saw her about eight months ago, hon, says Kimberly from behind the bar. Remember, when we ran into each other at Lunds?
Oh, that's right… Well, that's still too long. Roger smiles at Trudy. You look great, though.
So do you, Trudy tells him, although this is something of a lie. Like his restaurant, Roger is both as familiar to Trudy as her own skin and subtly, disconcertingly changed. He is still a big fellow-the female servers, their ranks once including Kimberly, ever prone to remarking this, to squeezing his biceps and cooing over Roger's resemblance to the Brawny paper towel man-but now his center of gravity has shifted from his chest to the spare tire around his waist. His face, in the past a healthy pink leading Trudy to tease him that he looked as though he were made of marzipan, is now the red that signifies high blood pressure. And there is more than the suggestion of a double chin.
I see business is good, Trudy can't help saying.
Roger gives her a look and sips his wine.
Can't complain, thanks, he replies, and swabs his mustache on the sleeve of his chef's whites. So! How's the teaching? How, as they say, are kids these days?
Apathetic as tree sloths, says Trudy. But one can always hope that something one says is penetrating the ether.
Oh, I'm sure it is… And what else is going on? Any ventures outside the academic realm?
Not really, says Trudy. I am doing a research project that's of personal interest, but I got funding through the university, so I guess you'd consider that academic.
Well, that depends. What's it about?
Trudy takes a larger gulp of Bordeaux than intended and spills some of it. She licks the side of her hand.
Germans, she says. I'm interviewing Germans of my mother's generation. To see how they're dealing with what they did during the war.
Really, says Roger.
Yes, well, it's still very much in the beginning stages. I just came from my first interview, in fact. And it was… difficult. But I thought it would be interesting-I mean, necessary-to hear about the war from live sources. There's not much documentation of the German reaction, especially straight from the horse as it were, and it'll be invaluable to the study of this time period to add-
Well, here's where I leave you two, Kimberly interrupts. Trudy, super to see you again. Give me a call and we'll do lunch, okay? So we can talk about-you know. What we were talking about before this big lug came in.
She drops a kiss on Roger's hair, sends Trudy a final wink, and leaves.
Trudy glances at the antique railway clock over the bar.
I should probably let you go too, she says.
No, that's all right, replies Roger. I still have a few minutes, assuming there're no brush fires in the kitchen… So. Difficult, you said. In what way?