Call Me a Cab

49

It did. The bar was tricked up to look like a monastery’s wine cellar, but fortunately the only light in the joint came from stubby candles on the tables, so we couldn’t see most of the décor. Katharine had used up her decision-making powers for today, and couldn’t even think about what sort of drink she might want, so I ordered Bloody Marys for two. “It’s food,” I explained to her, and when they arrived they were even more food than I’d anticipated; being California Bloody Marys, they’d arrived complete with a long stalk of celery each, for a swizzle stick.

We munched and drank in companionable silence for a while and then I said, “What do you do now?”

She shrugged; she wasn’t anxious about anything anymore. “Go back to New York. Get caught up on that pile of work waiting for me. Live my life.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Just as a point of information,” I said, “would you consider marrying me?”

She stared at me. “You?”

“Just a hypothetical question,” I assured her.

“Now, don’t you start,” she said, pointing her celery at me. “Barry was Mister Right, and if I said no to him, why would I say yes to you? You’re the worst offer I’ve had since the Tupperware boy.”

“Aw, I’m not that bad.”

“At least he was going to graduate school.”

“Anyway,” I said, “it was just to get it straight, clear the air, have no misunderstandings, give us something to go forward from. I tell you what, I’ll quit the cab, I’ll be your chauffeur.”

“I don’t need a car in New York,” she said.

“Oh. Okay. Then I’ll be your younger brother.”

She stared at me in the candlelight. “What do you mean, brother? What do you mean, younger?”

“I want to hang out with you,” I explained. “I’m just trying to work out the relationship.”

“We can discuss it,” she said, “on the way back.”

The discussion continues.