Rules of Civility - Amor Towles [110]
—I’m fine.
She began filling her own glass but stopped halfway. She looked disappointed with the gin, as if it weren’t translucent enough.
—Every time I drink before five, she said, I remember why I don’t.
I stood up.
—Thanks for the drink, Anne.
She didn’t protest. She followed me to the door. But when she shook my hand at the threshold, she held it for a moment longer than is normally polite.
—Keep in mind what I’ve said, Katey. About the understanding that we could reach.
—Anne . . .
—I know. You don’t know where he is. But something tells me you’re going to hear from him before I do.
She let go and I turned toward the elevator. Its doors were open and the elevator boy briefly met my eye. It was the same friendly young man who had elevated me and the unnewlyweds back in June.
—Kate.
—Yes? I asked, turning back.
—Most people have more needs than wants. That’s why they live the lives they do. But the world is run by those whose wants outstrip their needs.
I mulled this over for a moment. It led me to one conclusion:
—You’re very good with the closing remark, Anne.
—Yes, she said. It’s one of my specialties.
Then she softly shut the door.
When I left the Plaza, again the doorman nodded to me without signaling a cab. Conceding the point, I began walking down Sixth Avenue. In no mood to go home, I slipped into a Marlene Dietrich picture at the Ambassador. The picture was an hour under way, so I watched the second half and then stayed for the first. Like most movies, things looked dire at the midpoint and were happily resolved at the end. Watching it my way made it seem a little truer to life.
Outside the theater I hailed a cab in order to teach the doorman a lesson, retroactively. As we drove downtown, I debated what I should get drunk on once I was home. Red wine? White wine? Whiskey? Gin? Like people in the world of Mason Tate, they each had their virtues and vices. Maybe I’d leave it to chance. Maybe I’d blindfold myself, spin around, and pin the tail on the bottle. Just the thought of such a game lifted my spirits. But when I got out of the cab at Eleventh Street, who should appear but Theodore Grey. He emerged from a doorway like a fugitive. Except that he was wearing a clean white shirt and a peacoat that had never set eyes on the sea.
As a quick aside, let me observe that in moments of high emotion—whether they’re triggered by anger or envy, humiliation or resentment—if the next thing you’re going to say makes you feel better, then it’s probably the wrong thing to say. This is one of the finer maxims that I’ve discovered in life. And you can have it, since it’s been of no use to me.
—Hello, Teddy.
—Katey, I need to talk to you.
—I’m late for a date.
He winced.
—Can’t you give me five minutes?
—All right. Shoot.
He looked around the street.
—Isn’t there a place where we can sit down?
I took him to the coffee shop on the corner of Twelfth and Second. The place was one hundred feet long and ten feet wide. A cop at the counter was building the Empire State Building out of sugar cubes and two Italian boys sat at the back eating steak and eggs. We took the booth near the front. When the waitress asked if we were ready to order, Tinker looked up as if he didn’t understand the question.
—Why don’t you bring us coffee, I said.
The waitress rolled her eyes.
Tinker watched her walk away. Then he dragged his gaze back to me as if it took an act of will. He had a satisfying grayness to the skin and rings under the eyes as if he hadn’t been sleeping or eating well. It made his clothes look borrowed, which in a way, I suppose they were.
—I want to explain, he said.
—What’s to explain?
—You’ve got every reason to be angry.
—I’m not angry.
—But I didn’t seek out my situation with Anne.
First Anne wants to explain her situation with Tinker. Now Tinker wants to explain his situation with Anne. I guess there are two sides to every story. And, as usual, they were both excuses.
—I’ve got a great little anecdote for you, I said, interrupting him. You’ll think it’s a hoot. But before I