“The question is, why didn’t you tell me about all this? The taxes, and the lawsuit. Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do, my darling. I just didn’t want you to worry, that’s all. I didn’t want you to get the suspicions in your mind that you have right now. This is what I’ve been trying to avoid.”
“By lying to me.”
“I didn’t lie to you, sweetheart, I just didn’t tell you every last single bit of the truth. And that’s only because I’m so in love with you.”
“Then why did you go to bed with Art?”
(Stunned silence. But stunned.)
“I’m sorry, Betty, I don’t think I can go on like this.”
“Buh-Bart—”
“It’s too late to deny it. Art told me everything, he told me... details, he told me things he couldn’t have known if it wasn’t true.”
“Um. Bart, dear.”
“The taxes, and then the lawsuit, and then this.”
“Darling. Bart, please listen to me for a minute.”
“You have to meet Dede at Bonwit’s.”
“Bart, I’ve been wrong. Yes, that did happen, what you said, what Art said. But I swear it wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t look so much like you.”
“Oh, Betty, for—”
“It’s true, darling, dearest. But oh, when we got to bed, I regretted it. He isn’t a bit like you, he doesn’t know how to make a woman feel like a woman. Not the way you do.”
“You mean I’m better, huh?”
“Darling, let’s start over again, brand new. We can still make it, I know we can.”
“I’m sorry, Betty.”
“Bart, what are you going to do?”
“I have to be by myself for a while, I have to think things out.”
“Oh, my darling, it kills me to have hurt you this way.”
“I’ll... I’ll call you in a day or two.”
“Yes, Bart. Bart?”
“Yes?”
“Always remember, dearest, I do love you.”
(Pregnant silence.)
“Bart? Darling?”
“I’ll call you in a day or two.”
Buzz.
“Yes?”
“A Mrs. Ralph Minck on the line.”
“Tell her I’ve joined the Trappist monks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lo?”
“Feeney?”
“Yeah?”
“This is your landlord speaking.”
“Oh, hi, Art, how ya dune?”
“Next Monday is Labor Day, Feeney.”
“Oh yeah. I’ll be outa here by then, don’t worry. I’m packin’ already.”
“You’ll be returning to Cornell, Feeney?”
“Yeah, man.”
“That’s wonderful. Feeney, do you know a bar in Ithaca named O’Hanahee’s?”
“That’s a dive, man, that’s no place to hang out.”
“Good, you know the place. Feeney, two of the regular patrons of O’Hanahee’s are old friends of mine from union-busting days. They’re called Brock Lujenko and Big Horse Tumwatt. You ever meet those fellas, Feeney?”
“They don’t sound like the crowd I hang out with, man.”
“Feeney, I was in the apartment last week. You were out.”
“Oh, yeah? I guess it was kinda messy.”
“It looked as though Laurel and Hardy had just left.”
“Hee hee.”
“The point is, Feeney, you’re going to clean it up.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
“Spotless. Immaculate. Exactly as delivered to you.”
“Certainly, man.”
“Because otherwise, sometime during the fall semester, you will meet my old friends Brock Lujenko and Big Horse Tumwatt.”
“Oh. Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll be moving in Tuesday.”
“It’ll be clean, man. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“I’m not worried. Believe me, Feeney, in the ebb and flow of life you are the least of my worries.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Buzz.
“Hah?”
“Miss Linda Ann Margolies.”
“In person?”
“On the phone.”
“Ah. Tell her... No, never mind, I’ll talk to her.”
“Mm hm.”
Click. “Miss Margolies?”
“How quickly they forget,”
“Eh?”
“If you recall, I believe we were naked on your office floor at the time, I said, ‘Call me Linda,’ and you said—”
“‘Call me irresponsible.’ It all comes back to me. How are you, Linda?”
“My shoulder blades are healing up just fine. And how are you, Irresponsible?”
“Exactly.”
“Who’s on first.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, what I’m calling about—”
“Sorry, miss, I gave at the office.”
“Yes, I remember. And you remember my thesis.”
“Is that what that was? You remember my pickle, don’t you?”
“It’s a dilly.”
“No, Linda. We don’t descend to material like that.”
“The hell we don’t. I want to send you my thesis.”
“I’m not sure it’ll fit on a card.”
“Listen, Eerie, things are—”
“Listen what?”
“Eerie. That’s short for Irresponsible.”
“I’d rather you called me Sibyl.”
“Fine with me. Listen, Sibyl, what I want is—”
“I’m not sure I came out ahead on that one.”
“What I want, Jack, is for you to read my thesis and tell me what you think of it.”
“I think it’s the cuddliest, furriest little thesis I ever—”
“Sibyl.”
“Right. I’d love to read your thesis, I really would, but I can’t promise when. I’ve got a lot, uh, going on right now.”
“That’s okay, I have a month before it’s due.”
“Then send it along.”
“You may not like the title.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“Comedy: The Coward’s Response to Aggression.”
“Well, it’s hard to tell without the music.”
“It’s a tango.”
“So send me two copies.”
“Oh, God.”
“He’s a dilly.”
“Yours was worse.”
“No, it wasn’t. What did the cannibal give his sweetheart for Valentine’s Day?”
“A box of farmers’ fannies.”
“Did you hear about the guy who parted his hair from ear to ear?”
“He thought it was wonderful till somebody whispered in his nose.”
“Linda, is there no rotten joke you don’t know?”
“There are three of them, in fact.”
“Whi— Oh, no, you don’t. Good-bye, Linda.”
“Almost gotcha. Almost gotcha.”
“Gloria, I’ve—”
“Hold on a minute, till I finish typing.”
“Letter to your mother?”
“Company business. Tax form for the state.”
“Don’t show it to me!”
“I wasn’t going to show it to you.”
“Just sign my name and send it to them.”
“There’s a check should go with it.”
“So enclose a letter saying, ‘Please find check.’”
“Do I enclose a check?”
“Don’t waste time with silly questions. I have a car waiting. Type, type.”
Clackety clackety clackety clackety — zzzzip
“Okay, now what?”
“First of all, here’s your paycheck.”
“How come? It’s only Wednesday.”
“You’ll notice it’s postdated. So is this bonus check, in honor of Labor Day.”
“A hundred — You don’t think I’d try to cash this, do you?”
“Faith and patience, that’s what you need. Now, this is a check and deposit slip for the Wonderful Folks account, which I’d like you to deposit for me.”