Violet.
“Hi, sweetie. Going my way?”
I shake my head at Heidi, pat her half of the bed. “It’s been a while.”
“I know. Hectic out here. We had mudslides two weeks ago. You probably heard.”
“The place is all right?”
“More or less. A couple of new trees in the backyard, but the rest of it missed me somehow. Anyway, I’m sitting here listening to those Dinah Washington records and it made me think about you.”
Heidi looks inquiringly at me from the foot of the bed. Her arms hang like pale siphons.
“I always hated the arrangements. All those violins.”
Heidi mouths: I’m going. I pull her down next to me.
“But so romantic.” And there’s that Violet laugh, like water over cool rocks. “I always see a penthouse with the moon shining in.”
“Who is it?” Heidi whispers.
“Actually, this isn’t the best time for—”
“You’re put out with me, my long silence. Is that it?”
Heidi blows smoke in my eyes, flicks my nipple.
“I’m a little pressed right now, that’s all I meant.”
“Hurry, hurry. All right, good for you. I’ll give you the hard news and let you get on with whatever it is.”
“Don’t sulk. Please.”
“I’m not. Just shifting gears. I thought you might like to know a friend of mine has offered me a job in Virginia. He’s team leader on a dig starting up next month in Surrey. Seventeenth-century village, underwritten by the Ford Foundation, I can be their physical anthropologist if I want.”
“Real auspicious, Violet. Have you decided?”
“Violet?” Heidi’s tipped off now, pokes me hard. “Who’s Violet?”
“I can get a six-month leave of absence and…Is there someone with you?”
“In fact, yes.”
“You must be in bed. My God, where else could you be in a motel room?”
“Look, Violet…”
“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed. You were incapable when I knew you.”
I’m wondering about this “friend” of hers. Probably an ursine type, pipe and corduroys, always under control, collects Elizabethan limericks. But not above exacting a favor in return for one of his own. I don’t like him.
Violet is tracing the mandatory ambivalences, teasing herself, while Heidi tugs on the phone cord.
I say: “Go ahead, talk to her.”
Heidi freezes up once she’s got the receiver. I can make out Violet’s voice, flat and clipped like a taxi dispatcher, but no words.
“I didn’t know,” Heidi says finally. She marches to the bathroom. Wham goes the door.
“What the hell did you say to her?”
“I can’t imagine. It was all perfectly neutral, factual. Is she upset?”
I sense Violet’s lecture-hall personality emerging. Maybe I can still head it off. “So you’re soaking up some Dinah, huh?” And I sing the last verse of “That Old Feeling.”
“I’ll miss you, Violet. Over there in Virginia with your relic brushes.”
“No need. They have telephones there.”
“But the geography is different, the mileage. You won’t be nearby anymore. Means nothing in practical terms, but that feeling, I don’t know, it always seemed important.”
Violet breathing into the mouthpiece is like a light rain on fallen leaves.
“You’re awfully sweet,” she says. “I should come and see you on my way across. I think I will. But go on now, you have to take care of your friend.”
Click.
I have neglected to tell you how beautiful Violet is. She knows it, too. No wonder her students kept calling at all hours. There is no excess in her face, no one element that dominates. Everything about her is smooth and light. Touching her skin had the delicacy of floating. And I remember her walking away from me one afternoon along a row of Lombardy poplars; she was tall and streamlined, like the trees, and her fox-red hair coiled around her head in the wind. “You don’t need me, you need an entourage,” I said. She kept on, but her stride shortened.
I open the bathroom door and Heidi’s hands come up over her breasts. Indignation has
“Hi, sweetie. Going my way?”
I shake my head at Heidi, pat her half of the bed. “It’s been a while.”
“I know. Hectic out here. We had mudslides two weeks ago. You probably heard.”
“The place is all right?”
“More or less. A couple of new trees in the backyard, but the rest of it missed me somehow. Anyway, I’m sitting here listening to those Dinah Washington records and it made me think about you.”
Heidi looks inquiringly at me from the foot of the bed. Her arms hang like pale siphons.
“I always hated the arrangements. All those violins.”
Heidi mouths: I’m going. I pull her down next to me.
“But so romantic.” And there’s that Violet laugh, like water over cool rocks. “I always see a penthouse with the moon shining in.”
“Who is it?” Heidi whispers.
“Actually, this isn’t the best time for—”
“You’re put out with me, my long silence. Is that it?”
Heidi blows smoke in my eyes, flicks my nipple.
“I’m a little pressed right now, that’s all I meant.”
“Hurry, hurry. All right, good for you. I’ll give you the hard news and let you get on with whatever it is.”
“Don’t sulk. Please.”
“I’m not. Just shifting gears. I thought you might like to know a friend of mine has offered me a job in Virginia. He’s team leader on a dig starting up next month in Surrey. Seventeenth-century village, underwritten by the Ford Foundation, I can be their physical anthropologist if I want.”
“Real auspicious, Violet. Have you decided?”
“Violet?” Heidi’s tipped off now, pokes me hard. “Who’s Violet?”
“I can get a six-month leave of absence and…Is there someone with you?”
“In fact, yes.”
“You must be in bed. My God, where else could you be in a motel room?”
“Look, Violet…”
“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed. You were incapable when I knew you.”
I’m wondering about this “friend” of hers. Probably an ursine type, pipe and corduroys, always under control, collects Elizabethan limericks. But not above exacting a favor in return for one of his own. I don’t like him.
Violet is tracing the mandatory ambivalences, teasing herself, while Heidi tugs on the phone cord.
I say: “Go ahead, talk to her.”
Heidi freezes up once she’s got the receiver. I can make out Violet’s voice, flat and clipped like a taxi dispatcher, but no words.
“I didn’t know,” Heidi says finally. She marches to the bathroom. Wham goes the door.
“What the hell did you say to her?”
“I can’t imagine. It was all perfectly neutral, factual. Is she upset?”
I sense Violet’s lecture-hall personality emerging. Maybe I can still head it off. “So you’re soaking up some Dinah, huh?” And I sing the last verse of “That Old Feeling.”
“I’ll miss you, Violet. Over there in Virginia with your relic brushes.”
“No need. They have telephones there.”
“But the geography is different, the mileage. You won’t be nearby anymore. Means nothing in practical terms, but that feeling, I don’t know, it always seemed important.”
Violet breathing into the mouthpiece is like a light rain on fallen leaves.
“You’re awfully sweet,” she says. “I should come and see you on my way across. I think I will. But go on now, you have to take care of your friend.”
Click.
I have neglected to tell you how beautiful Violet is. She knows it, too. No wonder her students kept calling at all hours. There is no excess in her face, no one element that dominates. Everything about her is smooth and light. Touching her skin had the delicacy of floating. And I remember her walking away from me one afternoon along a row of Lombardy poplars; she was tall and streamlined, like the trees, and her fox-red hair coiled around her head in the wind. “You don’t need me, you need an entourage,” I said. She kept on, but her stride shortened.
I open the bathroom door and Heidi’s hands come up over her breasts. Indignation has
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