About Schmidt - Louis Begley [53]
Voice 2: It may be that she is drawn to me more than I think. I make her laugh. That’s always important. With a respectable old guy like me, she doesn’t need to ask herself whether I have AIDS or whatever else she can catch from some character like the one with goo on his head and rings in his ear; I am unlikely to be violent. To her generation, sex is no big deal. So why not fuck me in my nice clean bed? Under that T-shirt with “O’Henry’s” written on it, probably a lavender bra. Breasts neat and hard like burial mounds. Tiny waist. Stomach. A narrow stretch of black fur. She’s ready, soaking through her tights. When those are peeled off, legs of an antelope. No polish on her toenails; feet sore, perhaps a little swollen, she stands on them all day. That’s where I start, kissing the soles of her feet and then the toes, working my way to the thighs, which she keeps closed at first, and then, as I reach the furry place, she opens, pushing at my face. Insistent, raucous cooing: Wait for me, take me, now!
Voice of Experience: You are too serious or too stuffy (you choose) for a one-night stand with Carrie, and what else could it be? If she likes you, it’s because you seem gallant. Don’t step out of that role and play the fool. Give her a little Christmas present—a pin or a nice scarf—and have fun at the restaurant when you want to get away from canned tuna.
Monday, 12/9/91
The weekend is over; therefore, just as one might expect, I am back in perfect health.
Since they were arriving on Friday in time for dinner, I got Mrs. Wolff to wait on table and wash the dishes. What will happen when she retires? No one else here will serve a meal that starts after nine. The idea of Charlotte and Renata making a fuss about how I must move to the living room with Jon and Myron while they clean up was intolerable. Mrs. W. agreed to help with Saturday night dinner and Sunday lunch as well. Saturday lunch was a meal I thought we could have in the kitchen, with a free-for-all at the sink afterward. In the same spirit of keeping cooperative efforts to a minimum, I did the shopping for the entire weekend. I made a beef stew for the first evening, so I could feed them as soon as they were ready. Champagne and oysters on the half shell, which I picked up just as the fish shop was closing, to start. For Saturday and Sunday, I got stuff I was sure Charlotte could cook; she might think that was what she ought to be doing. Flowers in the corner guest room, flowers in Charlotte and Jon’s bedroom, French soap in all bathrooms, linen hand towels in profusion unmatched since the end of Martha’s reign, lights ablaze throughout the house. It looked quite grand; I could imagine Renata deciding I can put on a show even if I have lived an emotionally deprived life. What the hell, it’s only time and money.
Queasy moment, when I recognized that sort of excitement that goes with being ready and waiting for guests who matter—how else can I characterize the Riker visit?—and thought of Mary. I was doing all the things that she taught me or that we had learned together. We had been a good couple. People would tell us that, and also, with tiresome frequency, that we looked so well together, as though someone had entered us in a dog show they were judging—but it really was true.
Thanks to Mrs. W. I could stay out of the kitchen and concentrate on making martinis for Myron in the silver shaker I hardly ever use because it leaks. Never mind: I wrapped yet another starched hand towel around it. When I offered Myron an olive, he commented on my having rinsed and dried them, thereby rising once again in my esteem. For my part, I noticed that Charlotte was drinking soda water and was pale as a sheet, with tiny lines beginning to show at the corners of her eyes, and that Jon got himself a Diet Coke from the fridge and had put on weight. In the corner of the Chesterfield sofa, wrapped in a gray jersey dress and a russet shawl, her Indian warrior profile turned toward the fire, Dr. Renata looked like a million dollars. I put the stool on which I like to sit next to Charlotte