Read Online What Was Mine: & Other Stories by Ann Beattie - Free Book Online
Authors: Ann Beattie
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looked at the shadows on her desk and felt like a person lost in the forest.
If she thought that, she never said it.
Did she confide in Charlie?
To some extent. She and Charlie palled around together before she became involved with Andrew. Afterwards, too, a little. She was always consulted when he needed to buy a new tie.
Did Charlie go to the wedding?
There was no wedding. It was a civil ceremony.
Where did they go on their honeymoon?
Paris. He always wanted to see Paris.
But his wife went to Paris.
That was just coincidence, and besides, she wasn’t there at the same time. By then she was his ex-wife. Jeanette never knew that his wife had been to Paris.
What things did he not know?
That she once lost two hundred dollars in a cab. That she did a self-examination of her breasts twice a day. She hid her dislike of the dog, which they had gotten at his insistence, from the pound. The dog was a chewer.
When an image of Andrew came to mind, what was it?
Andrew at forty, when she first met him. She felt sorry that he had a mole on his cheekbone, but later came to love it. Sometimes, after his death, the mole would fill the whole world of her dream. At least that is what she thought it was—a gray mass like a mountain, seen from the distance, then closer and closer until it became amorphous and she was awake, gripping the sheet. It was a nightmare, obviously, not a dream. Though she called it a dream.
Who is Berry McKenn?
A woman he had a brief flirtation with. Nothing of importance.
Why do storytellers start to tell one story and then tell another?
Life is a speeding train. Storytellers get derailed too.
What did Andrew see when he conjured up Jeanette?
Her green eyes. That startled look, as if the eyes had a life of their own, and were surprised to be bracketing so long a nose.
What else is there to say about their life together?
There is something of an anecdote about the watercooler. It disappeared once, and it was noticeably absent, as if someone had removed a geyser. The surprise on people’s faces when they stared at the empty corner of the corridor was really quite astonishing. Jeanette went to meet Andrew there the day the repairman took it away. They made it a point, several times a day, to meet there as if by accident. One of the other girls who worked there—thinking Charlie was her friend, which he certainly was not: he was Jeanette’s friend—had seen the watercooler being removed, and she whispered slyly to Charlie that it would be amusing when Jeanette strolled away from her desk, and Andrew left his office moments later with great purpose in his step and holding his blue pottery mug, because they would be standing in an empty corridor, with their prop gone and their cover blown.
What did Charlie say?
Jeanette asked him that too, when he reported the conversation. “They’re in love,” he said. “You might not want to think it, but a little thing like that isn’t going to be a setback at all.” He felt quite triumphant about taking a stand, though there’s room for skepticism, of course. What people say is one thing, and what they later report they have said is another.
M y wife, Marie, has decided to give a party—a catered party—and invite old friends and also some new people and the neighbors on the left, the ones we speak to. Just before the caterer arrives there’s a telephone call from Molly Vandergrift, to say that her daughter’s temperature is a hundred and two, and that she and her husband won’t be able to come, after all. I can see my wife’s disappointment as she consoles Molly. And then, a few seconds after the call, Molly’s husband’s car peels out of the drive. My thought, when I hear a car streaking off, is always that a person is leaving home. My wife’s explanation is more practical: he’s going to get medicine.
My wife herself has left home two times in the three years we’ve been reconciled. Once she left in a rage, and another time she extended
If she thought that, she never said it.
Did she confide in Charlie?
To some extent. She and Charlie palled around together before she became involved with Andrew. Afterwards, too, a little. She was always consulted when he needed to buy a new tie.
Did Charlie go to the wedding?
There was no wedding. It was a civil ceremony.
Where did they go on their honeymoon?
Paris. He always wanted to see Paris.
But his wife went to Paris.
That was just coincidence, and besides, she wasn’t there at the same time. By then she was his ex-wife. Jeanette never knew that his wife had been to Paris.
What things did he not know?
That she once lost two hundred dollars in a cab. That she did a self-examination of her breasts twice a day. She hid her dislike of the dog, which they had gotten at his insistence, from the pound. The dog was a chewer.
When an image of Andrew came to mind, what was it?
Andrew at forty, when she first met him. She felt sorry that he had a mole on his cheekbone, but later came to love it. Sometimes, after his death, the mole would fill the whole world of her dream. At least that is what she thought it was—a gray mass like a mountain, seen from the distance, then closer and closer until it became amorphous and she was awake, gripping the sheet. It was a nightmare, obviously, not a dream. Though she called it a dream.
Who is Berry McKenn?
A woman he had a brief flirtation with. Nothing of importance.
Why do storytellers start to tell one story and then tell another?
Life is a speeding train. Storytellers get derailed too.
What did Andrew see when he conjured up Jeanette?
Her green eyes. That startled look, as if the eyes had a life of their own, and were surprised to be bracketing so long a nose.
What else is there to say about their life together?
There is something of an anecdote about the watercooler. It disappeared once, and it was noticeably absent, as if someone had removed a geyser. The surprise on people’s faces when they stared at the empty corner of the corridor was really quite astonishing. Jeanette went to meet Andrew there the day the repairman took it away. They made it a point, several times a day, to meet there as if by accident. One of the other girls who worked there—thinking Charlie was her friend, which he certainly was not: he was Jeanette’s friend—had seen the watercooler being removed, and she whispered slyly to Charlie that it would be amusing when Jeanette strolled away from her desk, and Andrew left his office moments later with great purpose in his step and holding his blue pottery mug, because they would be standing in an empty corridor, with their prop gone and their cover blown.
What did Charlie say?
Jeanette asked him that too, when he reported the conversation. “They’re in love,” he said. “You might not want to think it, but a little thing like that isn’t going to be a setback at all.” He felt quite triumphant about taking a stand, though there’s room for skepticism, of course. What people say is one thing, and what they later report they have said is another.
M y wife, Marie, has decided to give a party—a catered party—and invite old friends and also some new people and the neighbors on the left, the ones we speak to. Just before the caterer arrives there’s a telephone call from Molly Vandergrift, to say that her daughter’s temperature is a hundred and two, and that she and her husband won’t be able to come, after all. I can see my wife’s disappointment as she consoles Molly. And then, a few seconds after the call, Molly’s husband’s car peels out of the drive. My thought, when I hear a car streaking off, is always that a person is leaving home. My wife’s explanation is more practical: he’s going to get medicine.
My wife herself has left home two times in the three years we’ve been reconciled. Once she left in a rage, and another time she extended
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