Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [63]
I had no idea really. But I was trying to think of something, some way for Tommy to get his nobility back. Tommy stood there for a long time, his knife poised, slit halfway into a tomato, the juice and seeds on his cutting board and fingers.
—There’s a lot to consider, he said vaguely, ready to drop the subject.
He was nervous about the match—I finally got that. This whole business about time, his sudden obsession with civilization, he was trying to distract himself from thinking about the fight with Uber. I got a pencil out of the drawer and after I put a fine point on it, I wrote on the grocery list: Vegetarian foods ONLY for Tommy while in training.
—We’ll tell Allison your trainer wants you eating this supercharged Indian diet. We’ll buy lots of cilantro and chutney and chickpeas, I said.
Then he seemed to relax a little and lit up a cigarette.
—Thanks for getting it, he said.
I laughed.
—What? he asked.
—After your next fight, you and Allison should retreat to Paris. Maybe there’s less Kali Yuga going on in Paris these days. And, I understand they’ve banned smoking in their restaurants.
Tommy smirked, took a last drag on his cigarette, and put it out. I brought the salad over to the breakfast nook with two smaller bowls. There we could look out at Allison’s orange poppies and white irises. While I shook up the dressing, he asked if I was doing any secret dating, if I had a new boyfriend. He understood that it’s necessary, with Allison, to go underground if the guy isn’t Glad culture.
I sat down across from him and opened my napkin.
—Did she ask you to spy?
—Well . . . yeah, he said, stabbing a strip of red bell pepper. —But you know she’ll never get anything off me.
I didn’t want to go into the whole thing about Giancarlo. I said, —I think I just need to be alone for a while. I’m trying to sort some things out, you know?
—Such as?
—You really want to hear this?
—I really do.
I drizzled dressing over the salad, tossed it, and filled our bowls. Then I sat there so long, my fork in midair, he probably thought I had become a living statue.
—You’re not going to like it, I said.
—That’s okay.
—You know, neo-Glad culture is your life. It’s Allison’s. It’s what you do. And I’d die if I lost the people I love, but I . . . I think Joe Byers won’t talk to anyone because he can’t live with himself. Or the rest of us, for that matter. And I’d like to be able to live with myself before I get old like him.
Tommy just nodded, like he got it. Then we both got pretty quiet. I think that’s as far as he could take it—and I honestly don’t think he minded my trying to express the things he couldn’t or wouldn’t.
A couple of months ago Mark and I saw Hamlet on TV, an old one. And I kept wondering why Hamlet was pushing Ophelia so hard to go mad. And then I realized he had to get her to hold his madness for him, because as much as he needed to go stark raving lunatic, he had to keep one foot in the game in order to exact revenge. I sometimes wonder who Allison is holding for. But I didn’t say anything about this to Tommy. I might have eventually if he had lived.
Tommy and I ate our salads and looked out at the garden because it really is a place of tranquility. When we were done, I went upstairs to see what Thad was up to and Tommy and I just kind of went about our day and neither of us brought the subject up again. That was just two weeks before he fought Uber.
CHAPTER
23
Benefit matches are held at night and that’s when you see the best advertising. People come just to watch the way the ads glow above the stadium, every fifth image about the contentments of the Glad life. They look more and more like they’ve been ripped off from Marine recruitment ads.
Uber gets full use of the emperor’s box for a couple of months now that he’s champ. He asked if I’d be willing to use the box tonight in his honor in that overly polite way he has with me. There’s red silk drapery on all sides except the one facing center stage and the couches are Roman style. Grapes—you get those if you tell the waiter that’s