Call Me a Cab

34

The final forty minutes with the Chasens were the strangest of all. Never for a second did their characterizations slip, did their play-acting lapse; what had happened had not happened, nothing had changed, there were no clouds in their sky, there was nothing but frivolousness and nonchalance. They were merely amused by one another, and not terribly involved together emotionally at all.

Our job was to agree with this view, to play along, and we did it to the hilt. We were probably brighter and more bubbly in that final bar, Katharine and I, than we’d been all evening. The strain was severe, but if Laura and Boyd could take it, by God, so would we.

Laura, in that last bar, wrote their names and address and phone number on the backs of two beer-label coasters, writing in a clear tiny firm hand with black ink, then presenting one coaster to each of us as though they were door prizes. I promised faithfully to get in touch on my return trip, and I wondered if I would. Katharine promised just as faithfully to call if and when her work ever brought her back to this part of the world.

I don’t know if they realized how difficult we found it to go on playing the game, but they put up only token resistance when we refused a second drink in that last bar and insisted we absolutely had to return to the motel. Still as cheerful as ever, they drove us to the Holiday Inn, where as we got out Boyd said, “I want to thank you both for helping me protect my wife from her baser impulses. You can see it isn’t easy.”

“Our pleasure,” I assured him.

“Boyd won’t be content,” Laura said comfortably, “until I’m walled up in a convent somewhere. Thank you both for bringing a little color into my tragic life.”

The Rolls drove off, and we stood in the parking lot to wave after it until it turned onto the highway and the red taillights disappeared. Then our hands lowered to our sides. “Good God,” Katharine said.

I didn’t feel like saying anything at all. We went up to our rooms and Katharine stopped at her door, saying, “Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Do you know what’s the most terrible thing of all?” she asked.

I had walked on, toward my own room. I looked back. “What?”

“They love each other,” she said.