The Trouble With Eden - Lawrence Block [65]
“Up yours.”
“Yeah, I was just thinking that. Did you?”
“Which? No, I never told Robin not to put anything up her anywhere. No, I never thought about us. No, I never thought it would be like this either, if that’s what you’re asking me to say, but then I didn’t think about it at all.”
“I did, and you know what I thought? Well, first of all I thought it would never happen in the first place, so it was sheer fantasy.”
“Right.”
“And then I thought it would be horribly awkward. You know what I thought? I thought it would be silly. Silly Linda and silly Peter pretending to fuck. Pretending. That’s exactly what I thought. I thought it would be the two of us pretending to be two other people fucking.”
“That’s very far-out.”
“You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“But it wasn’t like that.”
“No.”
“Are you glad or sorry?”
“That it happened? I don’t know. Both.”
“I’m more glad than sorry. I think. It was something that was going to happen sooner or later. I never knew that before, but it’s true. And if it had to happen it couldn’t happen to a nicer evening. I’m not drunk anymore. I wasn’t as drunk as I acted. I don’t mean it was an act. I thought I was that drunk but I wasn’t really. Or I was drunk but it wasn’t just wine. I was drunk on us. Or on you and me. Do you know what I’m saying, because I don’t know if I do or not.”
“I think so. You’re saying that you … oh, the hell with it. I know what you mean. The hell with it.”
“Right, the hell with it. God, I’m so glad we can still laugh together. I couldn’t live if I forgot how to laugh. It keeps you going. It wasn’t being horny. I wasn’t horny, Peter, I swear I wasn’t. I didn’t have an urge to get laid. I haven’t had an honest-to-God urge to get laid since January, as a matter of fact. Are you gonna say it or am I? I guess I am. One, we won’t do this again, and two, we can still be friends. God, talk about clichés. Just go ahead and talk about clichés.”
“We won’t do it again because we don’t have to now.”
“Jesus.”
“What?”
“I do ninety-nine percent of the talking and you make ninety-nine percent of the sense. Peter? We’ll never tell anyone.”
“God knows I won’t.”
“I mean ever. No matter who we marry or where we move to or what we wind up doing. It will always be something that nobody knows about. It’s so beautiful I want to cry. I’m picturing two old people who made love once a million years ago and never told anyone and neither of them ever forgot it. Don’t ever forget me, Peter.”
“Linda.”
“No. No, I’m all right. Do you want to sleep with me? I mean sleep. You can if you want to. No, because of Robin.”
“If she wakes up and nobody’s there—”
“I know. And we wouldn’t just sleep. I can’t talk anymore.”
“I’ll go.”
“I want you to go but I don’t want you to go. I’m glad about us. I’m going to say something once and I’ll never say it again.”
“Let me. I love you, Linda.”
“Oh, I love you.”
II
The Edge of Thought
Here’s a gray afternoon, bleak as to freeze
The edge of thought like a hacksaw. Chinese
Die in the news, this wind on them
Cold as a garden ….
—JOSEPHINE MILES
NINE
Tannhauser’s was located on the western bank of the Delaware three miles south of New Hope. A large Colonial mansion had been converted into a restaurant, with the entire eastern wall replaced by a picture window. The results of this renovation were much to the advantage of Trude Hofmeister’s patrons, who were afforded a panoramic view of the river. The view was better from the inside; across the river, New Jersey residents called Tannhauser’s “that abortion.”
Born in Bavaria two weeks to the day before Sarajevo, Trude grew up with a passion for hearty food and equally hearty music. She moved to Vienna when her schooling was completed and at the time of the Anschluss had indulged both appetites generously. A mezzosoprano, she appeared regularly in Wagnerian opera at the Vienna State Opera House. Her affection for Wagner was matched by her enthusiasm for Viennese cuisine, and her figure more than conformed to the standard for her