About Schmidt - Louis Begley [72]
You mind if I put my feet on the coffee table? she asked. It sure feels good to get off them. You just going to stand there?
She continued to wiggle her toes while he poured her more tea. Definitely, the sofa was to be avoided. He moved one of the spare dining room chairs over to the coffee table where he could sit facing her, with his back to the fire.
I’ll tell you why I came even if you’re not curious. It’s because I acted sore this evening. Did you notice?
Certainly. Was there a reason for it?
The way you came in. You didn’t care about seeing me. Like you didn’t greet me. Just hello, here I am, bring me a drink. You could have given me a hug or told me what it was like where you were. But there was nothing. Like I was a machine. Or a waitress in a drive-in. You hurt my feelings.
I am terribly sorry. If you want to know, I thought you were treating me coldly—from the moment I saw you! Usually, you say something friendly, and come over to chat, but this evening you didn’t. That’s why I didn’t try to tell you about my trip. I figured you didn’t want to be bothered.
Am I supposed to believe that?
It’s the truth. Don’t you know I’m your friend? I wrote postcards to you. I left a Christmas present for you.
She interrupted. Yeah, you took it over to the restaurant on my day off!
I am sorry. That was stupid of me. It was my last day in Bridgehampton and I didn’t know where to find you.
You could have asked at the restaurant!
I didn’t think you would like that.
Why? I’m not ashamed of you. You’re ashamed of me! You didn’t write your name on the package. I figured out why you put your postcards in envelopes. It was so that nobody would know you were writing to me.
Carrie, I used envelopes because that’s more private and friendly. Also, it gives one more room to write.
All I know is you don’t want anybody to think you like me.
She emptied her cup. As though she were withdrawing from the world, she drew her legs under her on the sofa and looked at him cheerlessly.
I don’t want to embarrass you, that’s all. It seems to me that a beautiful, young girl like you would hate to have people tease her on account of an old man.
If you liked me, you would let me worry about that.
Can’t you tell that I like you quite a lot? Why else would I go to O’Henry’s so often? It’s not for the cuisine.
Should he leave his chair and sit down on the sofa, keeping prudently to the corner? Repeat with Carrie the dumb show of the hour or more he had spent holding hands with Renata? Attempt a more daring scene? They could, for instance, look at photographs of the Grand Canyon. There was no reason why the book he had used with Corinne wouldn’t be on the same bookshelf, in its old place. It occurred to him, simultaneously, that ruses were unnecessary, that he wasn’t sure he wanted to succeed, and that his breath must be awful. He stood up, poked aimlessly at the fire, and added a log.
Hey, Schmidtie, you really mean it?
Was it possible to fall in love with a girl’s voice?
She moved like a cat. The unforeseen embrace—she got up on her toes to reach his mouth and held him by both ears—and the weight of her body caught Schmidt off guard. He steadied himself, put his arms around her, and very tentatively stroked the back of her head. It was miraculous that the hair, indeed the head, he had studied so attentively, and in such secret, should be so available. He ventured to touch her tiny, tightly formed ears. When she ended the kiss she ran her tongue over his hand and then remained pressed against him, her head quiet and obedient in the hollow of his chest.
After a while, she whispered, You want to sit down on the couch?
She grabbed his erection and squeezed hard.
He’s nice. Too bad that’s all you’re getting tonight.
But on the sofa—Let’s sit quietly side by side, I want you to talk to me, she told him—she took hold of him again right away, while rebuffing, with her free hand, the caress Schmidt attempted, in part, at least, out of the feeling that he should reciprocate.
I said, no