The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing - Melissa Bank [22]
I nodded to him across the room, and as he came toward me, I saw that his hair had turned white.
"What're you drinking?" he asked me.
"Scotch and soda," I said.
A moment later, he returned and handed me a glass of milk. "Somebody has to take care of you," he said, and disappeared.
My friend from H—— left. I stood by myself, trying to appear captivated, until only a few people remained.
Archie came up to me. He took my elbow and said, "Let's get you something to eat."
I assumed he knew who I was, but when I mentioned my aunt, he said, "I'll be damned."
Over supper, I asked him about K——, where he was the editorial director. He didn't want to talk about that.
He told me my aunt was the most beautiful woman alive, even at eighty. He touched my chin, and moved my head from side to side, studying my profiles. He smiled and said, "No resemblance at all."
—•—
I met Archie at a French restaurant for supper before the theater. After the waiter had taken our order, I mentioned that my boyfriend, Jamie, was probably in Paris right now. Jamie had been in Europe for a month, trying to figure out what to do with his life—which was what he was doing with his life.
"Who is this Jamie person?" Archie asked.
"I told you," I said, and picked a crayon out of the glass and began doodling on the paper tablecloth.
"Does he make you happy?"
"Sure," I said.
He told me I didn't know what real happiness was. "You have to shrink yourself to fit into this little life with him."
I put my crayon down. "You don't know what you're talking about."
He told me I was made for something bigger. He said, "You're old enough to know better."
I said, "Don't you think you're a little old for me?"
"No," he said. Our drinks came and he downed his club soda in one long gulp, his Adam's apple rising and falling. He put money and the theater tickets on the table and stood. He said, "I think you're too young for me." Then he walked out.
—•—
He didn't apologize, or even mention it, when he called to invite me over for dinner.
He lived in a brownstone in the West Village, two whole floors to himself. I asked for a tour. Every room reminded me of a study—dark, heavy wood and leather, a little shabby, books and manuscripts everywhere.
Only his study was uncluttered. It was plain, just an ancient typewriter on a mahogany desk.
I followed him down the hall. "Guest room," he said, and I peered in. There was a breakfront full of boxing trophies—silver and gold statuettes with their little dukes up.
Two doors down, he said, "I assume you'd prefer to skip the master bedroom."
"Correct," I said.
He said, "Excuse me," opened the door and pretended to speak to someone inside. "I'll be up soon, darling," he said. He paused as though listening to a response. "Don't be silly," he said. "I'm just feeding a hungry child."
In the kitchen, he cut up a lime and apologized for not having wine to offer me.
I was noticing all the doodads on his windowsill—a ceramic rhino, a marble egg, a souvenir glass ball of snowy Nebraska. They were like the presents I'd given Jamie, and I was wondering who'd given Archie his, when he said, "I don't keep any alcohol in the house."
He handed me a glass of seltzer. " I haven't had a drink for two years," he said.
I almost said, You must be pretty thirsty, when I saw how he was looking at me, and he looked at me like that for a long time to let me know the importance of his words.
—•—
At Caffè Vivaldi, Archie asked me if I knew Dante's definition of hell.
I sipped my cappuccino. "Give me a minute," I said.
"Proximity without intimacy," he said.
"Listen, Dante." I was going to remind him about Jamie, but instead I said, "I just don't feel that way about you."
He said, "Spare me the juvenalia."
—•—
Archie and I were having dinner at a restaurant in Mid-town when the publicist of H—— came over to our table. "Hello all," she said.
Afterward, I said, "Now everyone's going to think we're having an affair."
"Well," Archie said, "we fooled them."
—•—
For my birthday,