Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [39]
—The new GSA rules are making things pretty tough, he says, trying to shift the conversation.
—There are ways around rules, I say. —Are you sure you want the camera on? I ask my mother.
—We can erase it later, Allison says.
—Isn’t that what Nixon said? I ask.
Uber looks like he doesn’t know whether it’s okay to laugh or not, and coughs into his hand in a choking kind of way. At least he’s aware of history. Allison excuses us and guides me into the foyer, one hand tight around my arm.
—Lyn, please. Tommy . . .
—Tommy wouldn’t have let him in the house.
—You’re wrong. Tommy would have done whatever was required.
—Whatever you required, I mumble but I guess it’s loud enough for her to hear.
—You’re wearing me thin. Just get to know him a little.
—I’m supposed to sit here and listen to him talk about how much he loved Tommy?
—As soon as he’s gone I’ll take Thad to the park so you can rest.
—You get that there’s no way I’m marrying this guy, right?
Then I follow Allison back to the living room and take a seat on the piano bench, at the opposite end of the room from Uber, so I’m just past the point where the camera can record me. Allison has popped the piano lid for dramatic effect today. I often wonder why we have a grand piano when no one plays it, though sometimes Thad sits on the bench and goes into a state some might call improvisation. I begin to think Uber is an improvisation of Allison’s.
—I’ll get some refreshments, Allison says, looking terrifically awkward as she heads toward the kitchen.
When I get up, Uber says, —I brought something for you.
He reaches for the bag.
—No thanks, I say.
Uber swallows that large nut in his throat. We sit without talking for what seems like five minutes.
—A friend of mine deals in antiquities, he says, and holds the bag out to me.
—Roman, probably, I say.
—Yes. Your mother told me . . .
Allison pops her head around the entrance with a tray full of ice cream treats in small dishes.
—Uber? I have vanilla and chocolate.
—Actually, nothing for me right now, he says. —Maybe later?
She looks pleased with this response. I guess because it implies he’ll be around for a while.
—Lyn?
I shake my head.
—I’m going up to check on your brother, she says.
Uber remembers the train car and jumps up and hands it to Allison, who says, —Thad will be delighted.
I watch her ascend the staircase with the tray, the train car rolling back and forth between the dishes.
Uber removes a leather case from the bag. Unlatching the clasp, he lifts the lid. There’s a crown of thorns cushioned in velvet. I don’t want to show too much interest but I do move a few feet in his direction. Most of the thorns have been broken off on the outside, and wire has been laced through to hold it together. As I get closer, I see that there are marks that might be insect damage, certainly moisture has taken its toll. It’s quite beautiful, though I doubt anything like this could hold up that long. Tommy would have liked it. He collected birds’ nests as a boy.
—I can’t accept it.
—You don’t have to decide now, he says, looking a little fragile at the corners of his mouth.
—I’ve decided, I say, returning to my seat. —That’s the way I am. When there’s a decision to be made.
We both sit quietly for a few more awkward minutes. I don’t check to see if he’s looking at me on the monitor. I’m not. I’m not doing that.
—I was thinking of going skeet shooting tomorrow, he says.
I’d laugh but I don’t know if he’s saying this straight up, and honestly, I don’t care.
—Maybe you’d like to come?
Allison must have told him I used to shoot with my sixth father, Diesel.
—You just don’t get it, do you? I say, poised to leave.
—This morning, Uber starts to say, —there were pictures of you and me on