Happy New Year, Herbie and other stories

Alive Again

She met him suddenly and quite without warning, and she was certain afterward that her face went pale in that first shocking moment of rediscovery.

She had crossed over from Saks, lured by the riotous display of tulips in the Rockefeller Center Promenade, walking with a lively step, feeling rather gay. There was a mild breeze and it caught at her pale blond hair, and she could feel its warm embrace at the nape of her neck. She grinned at the tulips, and then she turned her face toward the huge gold statue of Prometheus at the end of the promenade, her eyes reflecting for a moment the dazzling cascade of water, the colorful backdrop of flags fluttering on the early-afternoon breeze.

And then she saw him, and her eyes tightened into sharp, painful focus on his face, and she felt suddenly weak.

She would have turned and ducked into one of the shops. Her first impulse was to run blindly away from him. She did, indeed, start to turn, and then his voice reached for her and her feet went curiously leaden, and she felt with sick panic the reminiscent quickening of her heartbeat.

“Lois?” There was honest surprise in his voice, and then quick conviction. “Lois!”

She turned, feigning slow recognition. He was walking toward her rapidly, walking with the same angular lope she remembered, his head slightly tilted as it had always been, as if he were listening for some unexpected sound.

“Why, Bobby,” she said. “How are you?”

He seemed ready to gather her into his arms. His hands moved toward her unconsciously, and then drew back suddenly, as if remembering they had no place to go.

“Golly, this is a surprise,” he said. “What are you doing in town?”

“Shopping,” she said, smiling.

“Did you buy anything?” he asked. His mouth was smiling its old secretly amused smile, the smile of a privately shared joke.

“Yes,” she said. “A present for... for Tom. His birthday is next week.”

“And the package?” he asked, still smiling.

“I had it sent.”

“Oh,” he said, and she thought she detected disappointment in his voice, disappointment at discovering this was a real shopping trip and not one of the sham excursions he had helped plot in the past.

“Are you finished for the day?” he asked.

“I have to catch a train,” she said.

“Not even time for a quick drink?”

“I have to catch a train,” she said, weakening. “Meg isn’t feeling too well.”

“Meg?” he asked. His brown eyes showed puzzlement. “Oh, yes, yes. Meg is the oldest one, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“How is everything? The family?” He paused. “Tom?”

“Fine, thank you. Everything’s fine.”

“Lois, haven’t you time for a drink? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

“I really have to catch a train,” she said.

“Oh.” He made a futile gesture with one hand, and then he smiled forlornly. She recognized the smile, and she thought: Why should I run from him? Aren’t there things I should know? Shouldn’t I ask for explanations?

“Perhaps just one,” she said. “But it really will have to be quick.”

“Good!” He took her elbow and wheeled her around, and as she turned she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, surprisingly awake again to the pressure of his fingers on her arm, his nearness.

“How... how’s everything at home?” she asked, unconsciously falling into step with him, quickening her pace.

“Fine,” he said.

“And...”

“Jeanine? She’s fine,” he answered. “In the pink. Gee! it’s good to see you, Lois.”

He saw the sudden frown on her face and quickly asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said tightly.

“You were frowning.”

“Was I?”

“Yes. Your nose still wrinkles when you frown, did you know that?”

“I hadn’t looked lately,” she answered. Suddenly she wanted this to be done. Suddenly she felt as if she were in grave danger. She wanted to have the drink, and catch the train, and get back home where she belonged.

“You should,” he said. “You should look often. You’re prettier now, you know.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“You cut your hair, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful this way. Your eyes are greener, too. And your mouth is prettier. Golly, you’re a tonic, Lois.”

“You’re looking well, too, Bobby,” she said.

“Am I? Been slaving like a coolie. We’ve got several new accounts, and most of them have been dumped on my head. Is this place all right?”

She looked up. She did not recognize the cocktail lounge.

“Yes,” she said, “this is fine. Provided we can get fast service. Are they quick?”

“Never been here in my life,” he told her.

“Bobby,” she said, feeling it suddenly necessary to clarify her own somewhat confused thoughts, “this is just a drink. Between old friends. You understand that, don’t you?”

He seemed surprised and then embarrassed. “Sure, sure. Hey, look. If you think...”

“I just wanted to make it clear. I can’t go through all that again.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said, his voice suddenly aloof.

“I... I just wanted to... to make it clear,” she said feebly.

“Let’s have our drink, shall we? I wouldn’t dream of having you miss your train. We mustn’t keep Tom waiting, must we?”

There was cruelty in his voice now, and she recognized the cruelty as something out of the past, a boyishly malicious streak which had been part of his character and which had served to make him more exciting somehow. Her panicky reaction surprised her. She found herself afraid of having incurred his displeasure, found herself desperately longing to be back in his good graces. Wordlessly they entered the lounge. Efficiently and coldly he signaled for the headwaiter and then allowed Lois to precede him to the small table in the corner.

“You look like an ogre when you frown,” she said lightly.

“Thank you.”

“I expect you to storm a medieval castle or something.”

He could not resist the word picture, as she knew he would not. He grinned and then said, “Why is it I can’t stay angry with you for any appreciable length of time?”

She laughed, and he reached across the table suddenly, capturing her hand.

Gently, she drew it back. “If we’re going to have that drink...”

“A martini,” he said, “or has it changed? A bit of lemon rind. Am I right?”

“It’s still the same.”

“You’ve forgotten what I drink,” he said teasingly.

“You know I’ll never forget, Bobby.”

“I’m testing you.”

“Please.”

“You don’t remember.”

“I do. Haig and Haig with—” She caught herself. “Oh, please, Bobby. Of course I remember.”

His eyes went suddenly solemn. “Do you know what I feel like doing right now?”

“What?” she asked.

“Kissing you.”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Yes.”

“Bobby...”

She knew he would kiss her. She knew with infuriating certainty that he was capable of tossing caution completely to the winds, of spreading panic to every part of her body by exercising a sudden whim. Like the time he’d driven her to the beach on a crowded Saturday. She had protested all the way, but he’d insisted he wanted to see her with the salt wind in her hair, and he’d dragged her onto the boardwalk while she trembled with the knowledge that a thousand unseen neighbors’ eyes could be watching her. And now he leaned over the table just as the waiter approached to take their order, and his lips touched her mouth gently, and she did not resist his kiss. She closed her eyes, bewildered by the reawakening of a response she had thought dead long ago.

The waiter cleared his throat.

“A dry martini, lemon rind,” Bobby said, looking up, unembarrassed. “Haig and Haig with Seven-Up.”

“Seven-Up, sir?”

“Yes. And hurry, could you? My wife has an appointment.”

A look of pain darted onto her face. The waiter padded away, and Bobby said, “Forgive me. Cover up has become a habit, I guess.”

“Yes.” She could still feel his kiss on her mouth. She fought now to keep her eyes off his face, but she could not wrench them away.

“Are you really in town shopping?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course I am!”

“I thought perhaps...” He shrugged.

“That’s not very flattering, Bobby.”

“Forgive me,” he said, and then, as though the words had been waiting in secret ambush, he quickly asked, “Are you happy, Lois?”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” she said without hesitation. She studied her hands on the table top. Her engagement ring and wedding band caught the blue lights of the ceiling, trapping them.

“Really happy?”

Really happy? she thought. Yes, she supposed she was really happy. She had not been happy for a long time after Bobby had ended it, but after a while she had fallen back into the routine of things. It had been difficult at first, until she began to appreciate the... the peace, she supposed. There was no more plotting to do, no more petty deceits, no more major lies. Her life lacked the old frantic adventure she had known with him, but there was a gentle current of warmth to it, and she was at last grateful for the way things had worked out. Grateful and happy. She had been happy today, shopping for Tom’s sweater. She had been happy walking among the tulips. And now Bobby was back in her life, and she wondered about happiness now, wondered if she were really happy.

To him she said, “Yes, of course. Tom’s business is doing remarkably well, and the children are beginning to grow up and... I’ve been very busy. Meg is getting to be a regular little lady, Bobby. Worried about clothes and... and even about boys. She came home yesterday with a tube of lipstick, and she wanted to know...”

Lois stopped.

He was not listening to her. His eyes were on her, but his ears were deaf to her words. She should have remembered. The life she spoke of was not his own. Her children, her home did not interest him. She felt momentary disappointment, and she wondered abruptly what common ground for conversation they would have now that they were no longer lovers.

“Tom the same?” he asked.

“How do you mean?”

“Solid Tom?”

“He’s good,” she said, coming to his defense, remembering how often she had come to Tom’s defense even when the love she shared with Bobby had been all-consuming. “He loves me.”

“Does the phone still ring?” he asked, dismissing Tom.

“The girls,” she said, smiling, half shrugging.

“Do you miss my calls?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“I miss calling you,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t,” he told her. “It’s the truth.”

The waiter brought their drinks and then left them. Bobby lifted his glass.

“Here’s to all sorts of,” he said.

“I made that toast on New Year’s Eve,” she said. “I was a little high. I suppose I was thinking of you. I lifted my glass and said, ‘Here’s to all sorts of,’ and Tom said, ‘All sorts of what?’ I didn’t know what to answer because I’d never really asked you just what you meant. So I said, ‘All sorts of happiness.’ Was that all right?”

“That filled the bill very nicely.”

“Thank you,” she said. She raised her glass. “Here’s to all sorts of.”

They drank.

“Strong,” she said.

“You’re getting old. I can remember when you used to put away six of those without batting an eyelid.”

“That was in my green and salad days.”

“Those were good days,” he said.

“Were they? I wonder. It was like being in deep hypnosis. I don’t remember which life was the real life in those days, the one with Tom or the one with you.”

“The one with me,” he said flatly.

“I suppose.”

“Do you really have to catch a train?”

“Yes.”

“What time?”

“Well...”

“I’d like to make love to you,” he said.

“Bobby, don’t...”

“I’d like to very much.”

“Please.”

“Have I insulted you?”

“No.”

“You always seemed insulted by the fact that I desired you. You should have been flattered.”

“I was.”

“I always felt as if I were violating you. I imagine that was part of your appeal.”

“And I always felt like something of a whore and, strange as it may sound, I think that was part of your appeal.” She laughed and sipped at her martini. “I suppose every woman has to feel like a whore at one time or another in her life.” She looked at the open mouth of the glass. “This really is quite strong.”

“You really are quite lovely,” he said seriously.

The conversation stopped. He looked at her, and she returned his solemn gaze. He smiled abruptly.

“So, what else is new?” he asked.

“Oh, you know,” she said, “little things.”

“Like what?”

“We bought a station wagon.”

“Oh. Have you learned to drive?”

“Yes.” She grinned. “It would make things easier now, wouldn’t it? Meeting you, I mean. My knowing how to drive.”

“Immeasurably,” he said, returning her grin. “Have another drink, won’t you?”

“No, no, I really can’t.”

“Are you afraid of me?” He tweaked an imaginary mustache.

“Yes,” she said.

“Really?” He seemed surprised. “What on earth for?”

“You hurt me. I can’t be hurt again. It took me a long time to get over the way you hurt me.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I think you did want to. I sat by the phone after you’d hung up, and I tried to keep from crying, but I couldn’t. I—” She shook her head. “What difference does it make?”

“It was better that way,” he said. “If I’d seen you, I’d never have been able to end it.”

“Why did you suddenly feel compelled to end it?” she asked. “I thought we—”

“We were getting too involved. I was beginning to think of you too often.”

“I thought of you every minute, from the first day we met.”

“Well...”

“Every minute,” she repeated. “You were burned into my mind. I went around in a cloud, and the cloud was you, the things you said, the touch of your hands, the way you...” She hesitated. “I... I never stopped thinking of you. I was never alive except when I was with you. One night I... I put a loaf of bread into the garbage pail instead of the breadbox. Isn’t that silly? And he said, ‘What’s the matter with you?’ And I couldn’t answer him. I wanted to scream, ‘Bobby is the matter with me!’ ” She paused. “And now you tell me you were getting too involved. I was hopelessly involved the moment I laid eyes on you. I never stopped being involved.”

“Women love... differently from men,” he said lamely.

“Do they?” She studied his solemn face. “You killed me when you left, Bobby. I was utterly dead. It took me a long while to become alive again.”

“I was stupid, I suppose. It’s just... if I’d only met you ten years earlier. If—”

“If,” she said.

“I was stupid,” he said again. “I should never have let you get away from me.”

She looked at her watch. “I have a train to catch,” she said.

“Lois!” He caught her hand. She felt the electric warmth of his fingers, and suddenly she was trembling.

“Bobby, I... I must go. He expects me.”

“No,” he said. “Listen to me. I want you. I still want you.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Please, no, no...”

“I love you, Lois. I didn’t realize just how much until I saw you again.”

“Bobby...”

“Tell me the truth! Were you really alive again? Were you really alive until you saw me again this afternoon, until we met?”

“No,” she admitted. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t really alive.”

“I won’t let you get away this time. This time I’ll keep you forever.”

“Keep?” she asked. “Forever?” And the words together had a hollow, futile ring to them. She raised her eyes to meet his. He smiled tentatively.

“We’re together again, darling,” he said. “Don’t you see?”

“And where... where does it lead this time?”

“Does it have to lead some place?” he asked. “Hell, we’ll let it lead wherever it wants to. How’s that? Anywhere! Everywhere!”

She watched the excitement on his face, and she said nothing.

“I’ve got the car in town,” he said, beginning to plot already. “It’ll take me a minute to get it. You can call him at the office, can’t you? Tell him you’ve been delayed. I’ll have you home by seven, the latest. You can call him, can’t you?”

“You know I can call him,” she said.

“What’ll you tell him? The trains? They were always good. A delay in Penn Station. How’s that?”

She studied him across the table, studied the immature mouth, and the glowing eyes, and the eager forward tilt of his body, studied all the things she had loved, all the things she had carried inside her, buried deep in her memory since the night he’d called to end it. She studied him, and she realized of course that he’d been absolutely right, she hadn’t been alive again, not really alive again until this meeting with him this afternoon. And it seemed to her now that this meeting had been a necessary thing, a part of the plot they’d once shared, something without which she would never have known really complete happiness ever again.

She sighed heavily and pushed back her chair, lifting her purse from the table.

“There’s a phone at the end of the bar,” he said, smiling.

“I saw it when we came in,” she answered.

“Hurry,” he said, his smile widening.

“No,” she answered.

“What?”

“I have a train to catch, Bobby. Thank you for everything.”

“What? But... but you admitted... you admitted you were alive again. You said—”

“I am,” she answered, and then, seeing his puzzlement, she touched his face gently and said, “Bobby, Bobby. Thank you, Bobby.”

She turned and left him at the table, and she heard the hollow click of her high heels as she walked out of the lounge and into the street.

The wind had grown stronger.

It made her eyes tear, but only until she grew accustomed to it.