Happy New Year, Herbie and other stories
- Автор: Хантер Эван
- Год: 1963
- Язык: английский
- Год: Simon and Schuster
- Жанр: Современная русская и зарубежная проза
Электронная книга - «Happy New Year, Herbie and other stories». Краткое содержание книги:
“You should,” he said. “You should look often. You’re prettier now, you know.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“You cut your hair, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful this way. Your eyes are greener, too. And your mouth is prettier. Golly, you’re a tonic, Lois.”
“You’re looking well, too, Bobby,” she said.
“Am I? Been slaving like a coolie. We’ve got several new accounts, and most of them have been dumped on my head. Is this place all right?”
She looked up. She did not recognize the cocktail lounge.
“Yes,” she said, “this is fine. Provided we can get fast service. Are they quick?”
“Never been here in my life,” he told her.
“Bobby,” she said, feeling it suddenly necessary to clarify her own somewhat confused thoughts, “this is just a drink. Between old friends. You understand that, don’t you?”
He seemed surprised and then embarrassed. “Sure, sure. Hey, look. If you think...”
“I just wanted to make it clear. I can’t go through all that again.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” he said, his voice suddenly aloof.
“I... I just wanted to... to make it clear,” she said feebly.
“Let’s have our drink, shall we? I wouldn’t dream of having you miss your train. We mustn’t keep Tom waiting, must we?”
There was cruelty in his voice now, and she recognized the cruelty as something out of the past, a boyishly malicious streak which had been part of his character and which had served to make him more exciting somehow. Her panicky reaction surprised her. She found herself afraid of having incurred his displeasure, found herself desperately longing to be back in his good graces. Wordlessly they entered the lounge. Efficiently and coldly he signaled for the headwaiter and then allowed Lois to precede him to the small table in the corner.
“You look like an ogre when you frown,” she said lightly.
“Thank you.”
“I expect you to storm a medieval castle or something.”
He could not resist the word picture, as she knew he would not. He grinned and then said, “Why is it I can’t stay angry with you for any appreciable length of time?”
She laughed, and he reached across the table suddenly, capturing her hand.
Gently, she drew it back. “If we’re going to have that drink...”
“A martini,” he said, “or has it changed? A bit of lemon rind. Am I right?”
“It’s still the same.”
“You’ve forgotten what I drink,” he said teasingly.
“You know I’ll never forget, Bobby.”
“I’m testing you.”
“Please.”
“You don’t remember.”
“I do. Haig and Haig with—” She caught herself. “Oh, please, Bobby. Of course I remember.”
His eyes went suddenly solemn. “Do you know what I feel like doing right now?”
“What?” she asked.
“Kissing you.”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Yes.”
“Bobby...”
She knew he would kiss her. She knew with infuriating certainty that he was capable of tossing caution completely to the winds, of spreading panic to every part of her body by exercising a sudden whim. Like the time he’d driven her to the beach on a crowded Saturday. She had protested all the way, but he’d insisted he wanted to see her with the salt wind in her hair, and he’d dragged her onto the boardwalk while she trembled with the knowledge that a thousand unseen neighbors’ eyes could be watching her. And now he leaned over the table just as the waiter approached to take their order, and his lips touched her mouth gently, and she did not resist his kiss. She closed her eyes, bewildered by the reawakening of a response she had thought dead long ago.
The waiter cleared his throat.
“A dry martini, lemon rind,” Bobby said, looking up, unembarrassed. “Haig and Haig with Seven-Up.”
“Seven-Up, sir?”
“Yes. And hurry, could you? My wife has an appointment.”
A look of pain darted onto her face. The waiter padded away, and Bobby said, “Forgive me. Cover up has become a habit, I guess.”
“Yes.” She could still feel his kiss on her mouth. She fought now to keep her eyes off his face, but she could not wrench them away.
“Are you really in town shopping?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course I am!”
“I thought perhaps...” He shrugged.
“That’s not very flattering, Bobby.”
“Forgive me,” he said, and then, as though the words had been waiting in secret ambush, he quickly asked, “Are you happy, Lois?”
“Yes. Yes, I am,” she said without hesitation. She studied her hands on the table top. Her engagement ring and wedding band caught the blue lights of the ceiling, trapping them.
“Really happy?”
Really happy? she thought. Yes, she supposed she was really happy. She had not been happy for a long time after Bobby had ended it, but after a while she had fallen back into the routine of things. It had been difficult at first, until she began to appreciate the... the peace, she supposed. There was no more plotting to do, no more petty deceits, no more major lies. Her life lacked the old frantic adventure she had known with him, but there was a gentle current of warmth to it, and she was at last grateful for the way things had worked out. Grateful and happy. She had been happy today, shopping for Tom’s sweater. She had been happy walking among the tulips. And now Bobby was back in her life, and she wondered about happiness now, wondered if she were really happy.
To him she said, “Yes, of course. Tom’s business is doing remarkably well, and the children are beginning to grow up and... I’ve been very busy. Meg is getting to be a regular little lady, Bobby. Worried about clothes and... and even about boys. She came home yesterday with a tube of lipstick, and she wanted to know...”
Lois stopped.
He was not listening to her. His eyes were on her, but his ears were deaf to her words. She should have remembered. The life she spoke of was not his own. Her children, her home did not interest him. She felt momentary disappointment, and she wondered abruptly what common ground for conversation they would have now that they were no longer lovers.
“Tom the same?” he asked.
“How do you mean?”
“Solid Tom?”
“He’s good,” she said, coming to his defense, remembering how often she had come to Tom’s defense even when the love she shared with Bobby had been all-consuming. “He loves me.”
“Does the phone still ring?” he asked, dismissing Tom.
“The girls,” she said, smiling, half shrugging.
“Do you miss my calls?”
“No,” she said quickly.
“I miss calling you,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Don’t,” he told her. “It’s the truth.”
The waiter brought their drinks and then left them. Bobby lifted his glass.
“Here’s to all sorts of,” he said.
“I made that toast on New Year’s Eve,” she said. “I was a little high. I suppose I was thinking of you. I lifted my glass and said, ‘Here’s to all sorts of,’ and Tom said, ‘All sorts of what?’ I didn’t know what to answer because I’d never really asked you just what you meant. So I said, ‘All sorts of happiness.’ Was that all right?”
“That filled the bill very nicely.”
“Thank you,” she said. She raised her glass. “Here’s to all sorts of.”
They drank.
“Strong,” she said.
“You’re getting old. I can remember when you used to put away six of those without batting an eyelid.”
“That was in my green and salad days.”
“Those were good days,” he said.
“Were they? I wonder. It was like being in deep hypnosis. I don’t remember which life was the real life in those days, the one with Tom or the one with you.”