anything about a job?” I ask Bradley.
“I haven’t been looking, really,” he says. “You know.”
Milo frowns at him. “Your choice, Bradley,” he says. “I didn’t ask you to follow me to California. You can stay here.”
“No,” Bradley says. “You’ve hardly made me feel welcome.”
“Should we have some champagne—all four of us—and you can get back to your bourbons later?” Milo says cheerfully.
We don’t answer him, but he gets up anyway and goes tothe kitchen. “Where have you hidden the tulip-shaped glasses, Bradley?” he calls out after a while.
“They should be in the cabinet on the far left,” Bradley says.
“You’re going with him?” I say to Bradley. “To San Francisco?”
He shrugs, and won’t look at me. “I’m not quite sure I’m wanted,” he says quietly.
The cork pops in the kitchen. I look at Bradley, but he won’t look up. His new hairdo makes him look older. I remember that when Milo left me I went to the hairdresser the same week and had bangs cut. The next week, I went to a therapist who told me it was no good trying to hide from myself. The week after that, I did dance exercises with Martine Cooper, and the week after that the therapist told me not to dance if I wasn’t interested in dancing.
“I’m not going to act like this is a funeral,” Milo says, coming in with the glasses. “Louise, come in here and have champagne! We have something to have a toast about.”
Louise comes into the living room suspiciously. She is so used to being refused even a sip of wine from my glass or her father’s that she no longer even asks. “How come I’m in on this?” she asks.
“We’re going to drink a toast to me,” Milo says.
Three of the four glasses are clustered on the table in front of the sofa. Milo’s glass is raised. Louise looks at me, to see what I’m going to say. Milo raises his glass even higher, Bradley reaches for a glass. Louise picks up a glass. I lean forward and take the last one.
“This is a toast to me,” Milo says, “because I am going to be going to San Francisco.”
It was not a very good or informative toast. Bradley and I sip from our glasses. Louise puts her glass down hard and bursts into tears, knocking the glass over. The champagnespills onto the cover of a big art book about the Unicorn Tapestries. She runs into the bedroom and slams the door.
Milo looks furious. “Everybody lets me know just what my insufficiencies are, don’t they?” he says. “Nobody minds expressing himself. We have it all right out in the open.”
“He’s criticizing me,” Bradley murmurs, his head still bowed. “It’s because I was offered a job here in the city and I didn’t automatically refuse it.”
I turn to Milo. “Go say something to Louise, Milo,” I say. “Do you think that’s what somebody who isn’t brokenhearted sounds like?”
He glares at me and stomps into the bedroom, and I can hear him talking to Louise reassuringly. “It doesn’t mean you’ll
never
see me,” he says. “You can fly there, I’ll come here. It’s not going to be that different.”
“You lied!” Louise screams. “You said we were going to brunch.”
“We are. We are. I can’t very well take us to brunch before Sunday, can I?”
“You didn’t say you were going to San Francisco. What
is
San Francisco, anyway?”
“I just said so. I bought us a bottle of champagne. You can come out as soon as I get settled. You’re going to like it there.”
Louise is sobbing. She has told him the truth and she knows it’s futile to go on.
By the next morning, Louise acts the way I acted—as if everything were just the same. She looks calm, but her face is small and pale. She looks very young. We walk into the restaurant and sit at the table Milo has reserved. Bradley pulls out a chair for me, and Milo pulls out a chair for Louise, locking his finger with hers for a second, raising her arm above her head, as if she were about to take a
“I haven’t been looking, really,” he says. “You know.”
Milo frowns at him. “Your choice, Bradley,” he says. “I didn’t ask you to follow me to California. You can stay here.”
“No,” Bradley says. “You’ve hardly made me feel welcome.”
“Should we have some champagne—all four of us—and you can get back to your bourbons later?” Milo says cheerfully.
We don’t answer him, but he gets up anyway and goes tothe kitchen. “Where have you hidden the tulip-shaped glasses, Bradley?” he calls out after a while.
“They should be in the cabinet on the far left,” Bradley says.
“You’re going with him?” I say to Bradley. “To San Francisco?”
He shrugs, and won’t look at me. “I’m not quite sure I’m wanted,” he says quietly.
The cork pops in the kitchen. I look at Bradley, but he won’t look up. His new hairdo makes him look older. I remember that when Milo left me I went to the hairdresser the same week and had bangs cut. The next week, I went to a therapist who told me it was no good trying to hide from myself. The week after that, I did dance exercises with Martine Cooper, and the week after that the therapist told me not to dance if I wasn’t interested in dancing.
“I’m not going to act like this is a funeral,” Milo says, coming in with the glasses. “Louise, come in here and have champagne! We have something to have a toast about.”
Louise comes into the living room suspiciously. She is so used to being refused even a sip of wine from my glass or her father’s that she no longer even asks. “How come I’m in on this?” she asks.
“We’re going to drink a toast to me,” Milo says.
Three of the four glasses are clustered on the table in front of the sofa. Milo’s glass is raised. Louise looks at me, to see what I’m going to say. Milo raises his glass even higher, Bradley reaches for a glass. Louise picks up a glass. I lean forward and take the last one.
“This is a toast to me,” Milo says, “because I am going to be going to San Francisco.”
It was not a very good or informative toast. Bradley and I sip from our glasses. Louise puts her glass down hard and bursts into tears, knocking the glass over. The champagnespills onto the cover of a big art book about the Unicorn Tapestries. She runs into the bedroom and slams the door.
Milo looks furious. “Everybody lets me know just what my insufficiencies are, don’t they?” he says. “Nobody minds expressing himself. We have it all right out in the open.”
“He’s criticizing me,” Bradley murmurs, his head still bowed. “It’s because I was offered a job here in the city and I didn’t automatically refuse it.”
I turn to Milo. “Go say something to Louise, Milo,” I say. “Do you think that’s what somebody who isn’t brokenhearted sounds like?”
He glares at me and stomps into the bedroom, and I can hear him talking to Louise reassuringly. “It doesn’t mean you’ll
never
see me,” he says. “You can fly there, I’ll come here. It’s not going to be that different.”
“You lied!” Louise screams. “You said we were going to brunch.”
“We are. We are. I can’t very well take us to brunch before Sunday, can I?”
“You didn’t say you were going to San Francisco. What
is
San Francisco, anyway?”
“I just said so. I bought us a bottle of champagne. You can come out as soon as I get settled. You’re going to like it there.”
Louise is sobbing. She has told him the truth and she knows it’s futile to go on.
By the next morning, Louise acts the way I acted—as if everything were just the same. She looks calm, but her face is small and pale. She looks very young. We walk into the restaurant and sit at the table Milo has reserved. Bradley pulls out a chair for me, and Milo pulls out a chair for Louise, locking his finger with hers for a second, raising her arm above her head, as if she were about to take a
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