not sleeping, onto the empty spot beside Miranda, who sleeps against the wall, in shadow. The first time I saw Miranda was in a hotel in Florida. She was coming out of her room with a folding beach chair. She asked me to hold it while she answered the telephone, which was ringing in her room. I stood in the corridor and held the chair for what seemed to be a very long time. I could hear Miranda talking in her room, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying.
Miranda wakes up. She turns over, into the moonlight, and looks up at me. “What are you doing?” she says, sleepily. “Why aren’t you in bed? Are you crying?”
I realize I am still crying a little. Miranda sits up in bed, very beautiful, the light pale on her face. “Why are you crying?” she asks.
I don’t know what to say. The wind blows and the bedroom seems to shake. I can hardly speak. “Where is Dog?” I finally say. “What did you do with Dog?”
“Dog?” says Miranda. “What dog?” She leans forward, across the bed, toward me.
THE CAFE HYSTERIA
A FEW DAYS BEFORE C HRISTMAS I come home from work to find my friend David sitting on the little red velvet banquette in my mirrored lobby.
“Hi, Lillian,” he says.
“Hi,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
David stands up and kisses me. “Just hanging out,” he says. “No. I came to give you this.” He hands me a Christmas present: a tiny gift-wrapped box.
“This is for me?” I ask.
“No,” David says. “It’s for your mother.”
“Come on up,” I say.
We get in the elevator along with a woman in a fur coat. When she gets off on the fourth floor David says, “Merry Christmas.” She doesn’t answer him.
“You have a very unfriendly building. I said ‘Merry Christmas’ to everyone who came in your lobby while I was waiting. Only about three people answered me.”
My apartment is pretty clean except for a half-eaten cinnamon Pop-Tart on the coffee table. While David hangs up his coat I hide it under a Time magazine.
David sits on the couch. “I think I’m a little drunk,” he says. “We had our office Christmas party today. It was awful.”
“Do you want some wine? Or a drink?”
“I better not,” David says. “But I will. Just some wine. Or a beer. Do you have a beer?”
“No,” I say.
“Then wine.”
I go into the kitchen. David follows with the present. “Open this,” he says. “I’ll get the wine.”
I exchange the corkscrew for the present. “Since when do you give me Christmas presents?”
“I don’t know,” David says. “Since now. Open it.”
I open the present. David watches me, a glass of wine in either hand. Inside the box is a thin silver ring set with five small rubies. It’s an old ring; I’ve seen it before. When Loren married David, his mother gave her three of them. There was one with diamonds and one with sapphires. She wore all three of them stacked on one of her long fingers. Loren and David are divorced now. Loren is, I suppose, my best friend.
“Isn’t this Loren’s?” I ask.
“No,” David says. “Not anymore.”
“But why are you giving it to me? You should give it back to your mother. Or save it for Kate.”
“There are others. Kate can have the others. I wanted you to have this one.”
“Why?” I ask.
David puts the glasses of wine down on the table. “I don’t know,” he says. “I feel bad. I mean, I know how you feel.”
“About what?”
“Me,” David says.
I put the lid on the box and hand it to David. “Here,” I say. “I’m sorry but I can’t accept it.”
“Why can’t you accept it?”
“I don’t want it,” I say. “You shouldn’t have given it to me.” I drink some of my wine.
David opens the box and looks at the ring. He touches it with his finger. “You don’t understand,” he says. “It’s no big deal. It’s just a token. Of affection. I want you to have it. It’s important to me that you do. Please?”
He holds out the box. I sip my wine. I decide
Miranda wakes up. She turns over, into the moonlight, and looks up at me. “What are you doing?” she says, sleepily. “Why aren’t you in bed? Are you crying?”
I realize I am still crying a little. Miranda sits up in bed, very beautiful, the light pale on her face. “Why are you crying?” she asks.
I don’t know what to say. The wind blows and the bedroom seems to shake. I can hardly speak. “Where is Dog?” I finally say. “What did you do with Dog?”
“Dog?” says Miranda. “What dog?” She leans forward, across the bed, toward me.
THE CAFE HYSTERIA
A FEW DAYS BEFORE C HRISTMAS I come home from work to find my friend David sitting on the little red velvet banquette in my mirrored lobby.
“Hi, Lillian,” he says.
“Hi,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
David stands up and kisses me. “Just hanging out,” he says. “No. I came to give you this.” He hands me a Christmas present: a tiny gift-wrapped box.
“This is for me?” I ask.
“No,” David says. “It’s for your mother.”
“Come on up,” I say.
We get in the elevator along with a woman in a fur coat. When she gets off on the fourth floor David says, “Merry Christmas.” She doesn’t answer him.
“You have a very unfriendly building. I said ‘Merry Christmas’ to everyone who came in your lobby while I was waiting. Only about three people answered me.”
My apartment is pretty clean except for a half-eaten cinnamon Pop-Tart on the coffee table. While David hangs up his coat I hide it under a Time magazine.
David sits on the couch. “I think I’m a little drunk,” he says. “We had our office Christmas party today. It was awful.”
“Do you want some wine? Or a drink?”
“I better not,” David says. “But I will. Just some wine. Or a beer. Do you have a beer?”
“No,” I say.
“Then wine.”
I go into the kitchen. David follows with the present. “Open this,” he says. “I’ll get the wine.”
I exchange the corkscrew for the present. “Since when do you give me Christmas presents?”
“I don’t know,” David says. “Since now. Open it.”
I open the present. David watches me, a glass of wine in either hand. Inside the box is a thin silver ring set with five small rubies. It’s an old ring; I’ve seen it before. When Loren married David, his mother gave her three of them. There was one with diamonds and one with sapphires. She wore all three of them stacked on one of her long fingers. Loren and David are divorced now. Loren is, I suppose, my best friend.
“Isn’t this Loren’s?” I ask.
“No,” David says. “Not anymore.”
“But why are you giving it to me? You should give it back to your mother. Or save it for Kate.”
“There are others. Kate can have the others. I wanted you to have this one.”
“Why?” I ask.
David puts the glasses of wine down on the table. “I don’t know,” he says. “I feel bad. I mean, I know how you feel.”
“About what?”
“Me,” David says.
I put the lid on the box and hand it to David. “Here,” I say. “I’m sorry but I can’t accept it.”
“Why can’t you accept it?”
“I don’t want it,” I say. “You shouldn’t have given it to me.” I drink some of my wine.
David opens the box and looks at the ring. He touches it with his finger. “You don’t understand,” he says. “It’s no big deal. It’s just a token. Of affection. I want you to have it. It’s important to me that you do. Please?”
He holds out the box. I sip my wine. I decide
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