Someone to Watch Over Me

by Richard Bausch

  Indeed, she has trouble saying much of anything that draws the same sort of animation and attention from him. And for all his wide associations compared to hers, she’s not exactly without experience. She’s been on her own from her twelfth year, when her mother died (she never knew her father, who was lost in Vietnam). She spent her teens moving among the various members of her mother’s family. The last stop had been with the family of her great-uncle, a sales-man who traveled a lot. On car trips he sometimes took Marlee with him. She saw much of the Pacific Northwest that way, riding along in an ancient black Ford—the salesman’s favorite possession, a classic, with a jumpseat and a running board and a horn that actually went ah-oo-gah. He was a devout Christian, but tended to drink more than he should, and on one occasion, in a fleabag motel north of Portland, he got fresh with her—that was how he put it when he tried apologizing the following morning, blaming the alcohol, and wishing himself dead. Marlee forgave him—it was just a kiss, after all—and yet she’d understood, almost as it was happening, that the time had come for her to move on. He was more than glad to pay for everything, including a year at the University of Illinois, where she had wanted to go since the afternoon she saw images of the campus in one of those promotional films during the halftime of a college football game.

  Sometimes she believes that in her husband’s mind her history only begins with the day he entered the café where she worked in Champaign, the summer before last—a distinguished visiting lecturer in history, who noticed that his waitress had been to his lecture. “You have a sparkle in your eyes,” he said. “Diamonds. You’re rich.”

  “I waitress for the sheer joy of it,” she told him, smiling. “Surely you can come up with a better line than that.”

  His own history includes Tillie. That woman whose extravagance and audacity he talks about as people remark on the escapades of a screen star: Tillie has traveled the world, speaks several languages. She was married to a sheik (the third husband). She was once rumored to be the reason a certain senator spent a night in jail for driving under the influence. She spent the weekend of her fiftieth birthday deep-sea diving off the Great Barrier Reef in Australia. And her first husband had watched her through the years, a basically timid man for all his courtly charm and his good looks—keeping to his orderly life, remaining single, doing his teaching and giving his lectures, spending his years in the universities, and all the while attending to the adventures of an ex-wife like a man waiting for something to change….

  Now, standing in the ladies room of the Inn at New Baltimore, Marlee runs the tip of her little finger along the soft glossed edge of her lips, and smacks them together. “God,” she murmurs. “Help me.” This surprises her. She smiles again, just with her mouth, shakes her head, turns, and leaves the room.

  At their table, her husband sips red wine.

  “Good?” she says, taking her seat.

  “Excellent.”

  At her place, there’s a glass of ice water. She takes a drink of it. “Pretty ordinary water.”

  “Are you going to start that again? You know, you’re a piker. I think that’s what I’ve decided about you.”

  She says, “Oh? And what else have you decided?”

  “I’m kidding.”

  “That’s what I was doing.”

  “Well, don’t kid about the prices anymore. It’s getting tiresome.”

  They say nothing for a moment.

  “Go on, decide what you want,” he says. “Money’s no object.”

  At the bottom of the wine list, there’s a brandy priced at $145 a glass. This catches her eye. “Did you see—Jesus, Ted. Have you really looked at this?”

  He straightens, and indicates with a gesture that he wants her to be still. The waiter has entered the room, and is bantering in low tones with the gray-haired man.

  “I wonder if that’s somebody famous,” Marlee says. “A politician, maybe.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “No,” she says, definitely. “Oh, well I guess that means he can’t be anybody important.”

  “What’re you doing,” Ted says. “Do you want to fight?”

  “What did I say?”

  “Just keep your voice down.”

  “Have you really looked at the wine list?” she says.

  “Keep it down.”

  “Look at it,” she says.

  He does. He’s staring at it.

  “For a glass,” she says. “One glass.”

  “I saw it.”

  She puts the wine list down. He clears his throat, settles deeper in his chair. He seems content with the silence.

  “I’ve bought cars for less than that.”

  “Oh, leave it alone,” he says. “Can’t you?”

  “Is Tillie playing a trick on you?”

  He’s folding and unfolding his hands. “Let’s just change the subject, please. This is supposed to be a celebration. I can afford the evening, for Christ’s sake.”

  “But it bothers you, and I’m telling you that you don’t have to go to the trouble. Not for me. I’m not the one with the expensive taste.” She smiles at him, but he won’t return her look. The skin along his cheekbones is a violet color—it’s what happens to his complexion when he gets angry. “You’re not mad at me because of that, are you? I’m not trying to tease you now, I’m serious.”

  “Let’s just quit talking about the prices. The evening’s a celebration. We’re celebrating, remember?”

  “I know, but you don’t have to. I don’t expect it.”

  He sits back and looks at her. “Do you want to say something else?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, come on, Marlee. Say it—whatever it is. This isn’t about the prices.”

  “I honestly haven’t got the slightest idea what you mean,” she says.

  “Well, fine then,” he says with a look of painful forbearance. “Maybe we can at last leave the subject of how much everything costs.”

  The waiter comes to the table again and asks what the lady would like to drink. On an impulse, Marlee picks up the wine list and points to the brandy. “This,” she says. “A double, please.”

  The waiter looks at Ted.

  “Do you have a problem?” Marlee says.

  “That isn’t normally served as a double, madam.”

  “Nevertheless, that’s how I want it.”

  “Bring her what she wants,” Ted says evenly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Waiter,” she says, stopping the man as he’s moving away, “I need more water, too. This water is not fresh.”

  The waiter looks at her husband again.

  “Am I speaking too fast?” Marlee says. “Do you speak English? Is this something you need my husband to explain?”

  He retrieves the glass of water and goes.

  After a pause, Ted says, “Happy now?”

  She’s trying not to cry. She looks at the fading light in the windows and holds everything back, while he simply stares at her.

  “Well?” he says.

  The waiter comes back through with the new glass of water and the brandy. He sets the water down, then stands swirling the brandy in its snifter, holding it up to the dim light and saying something about how it was bottled during the time of Napoleon. It’s a set speech, and he says it with an edge of resentment. Marlee sips the water as he talks, and when he puts the snifter down she picks it up and takes a large gulp. The heavy aroma of it nearly chokes her, and it burns all the way down. She sits there holding the drink, trying to breathe, while both men watch her.

  “Are you ready to order?” Ted asks.

  She wipes her mouth. “Why don’t you order for me, darling.” She smiles at him.

  He turns to the waiter and orders. She isn’t even listening. She sips the brandy and looks at the other couple, who are eating some appetizer and seem unaware of each other. Two men are waiting at the entrance. They appear curious. She makes a little promise to herself to watch their faces when they first get t
heir menus.

  The waiter starts to move off with Ted’s order.

  “Excuse me,” Marlee says to him.

  He pauses, turns with the reluctance of someone caught.

  She holds up the snifter. “Bring me another one of these.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Ted says. “You’ve made your point.”

  She pouts at him; she can’t help herself. “I like it,” she tells him. “And anyway I thought you said money was no object.”

  “This is ridiculous,” he says. “I want you to stop this right now.”

  The waiter has gone on, and now he seats the two men, who look at their menus without the slightest sign of surprise or consternation. She wonders if they have seen the note about the cover charge. “Yoo-hoo,” she says to them.

  They turn their heads.

  “Look at the bottom of the menu.” She sips the brandy.

  “For God’s sake,” Ted mutters.

  The men smile at her and nod. Then they’re talking to each other again.

  “Do you want to go?” Ted says.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asks. “I bet if I was Tillie you’d think I was charming.”

  “Just hold it down—can you do that? Besides, Tillie—” He stops.

  “Besides Tillie what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’d like to know what you were going to say.”

  “Tillie’s—Tillie,” he says. “Understand? I don’t want you to be Tillie.”

  “You were going to say Tillie can get away with it whereas I can’t.”

  “No,” he says. “Not exactly.”

  “Oh boy, Ted. You’re such a terrible liar.”

  The waiter brings two plates and sets them down. Marlee looks at hers—very moist-looking mozzarella cheese soaked in olive oil, arranged with slices of tomato and sprigs of parsley. “Where’s my other brandy?” she says, feeling that she’s forced to pursue it now, for the sake of her pride, even her self-respect.

  “Whatever the lady wants,” Ted says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “A double,” Marlee says. “Don’t forget.”

  The waiter moves off. Ted’s watching her. She sips the brandy. It goes down quite smoothly. “Quite a spectacle, I guess.”

  He says nothing.

  “Don’t you wish Tillie was here?”

  He stands. “Come on. Maybe I can get them to cancel the dinner.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He seems about to do something emphatic, then slowly sits down, holding one hand to his head.

  Marlee says, “Poor Teddy.” She means to chide him, but then she finds herself feeling sorry for him, for his discomfort.

  The waiter brings the brandy and sets it down.

  “Thank you,” she says, and finishes the one she’s holding. “It’s amazing how much easier it goes down when you’ve had a little of it.”

  The waiter gives her the faintest nod, walking away.

  Ted sits there with his hands to his head. She watches him for a moment, sipping the second glass of brandy.

  “I’m sorry,” she tells him, and means it.

  He begins to eat, concentrating on his food, without apparent enjoyment.

  “You know they figured out how to make brandy by accident,” she says.

  He’s silent.

  “I used to work in a liquor store, so I know.” She sips again, crosses one leg over the other, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve been around a little too, you know. I’ve worked some different jobs. I know some things. They boiled the wine. Burned wine, brandywine. See? They were trying to avoid a tax on it. They didn’t know what the result would be. It was a complete accident.”

  He only shakes his head.

  “Imagine their surprise.”

  Nothing.

  She takes another drink. “What I wonder, though—if it’s that good—you just wonder how come nobody else drank it in all that time. How it could’ve survived the—the wars and things. As you know, history was my subject in college. I didn’t finish of course. I met the handsome, and distinguished lecturer and got married. I fell in love.”

  He glances at her but then looks down, continues eating.

  “Am I embarrassing you?”

  “Please,” he mutters.

  After a pause, she says, “Is it good?”

  His hands come down to the table edge again.

  “The cheese. It looks kind of wet.”

  “Why don’t you try it for yourself,” he says. “Or is that too much to ask?”

  “Come on, Ted. You said money was no object.” She sips the brandy, watching him eat. There’s a fastidiousness about the way he’s doing it, almost a fussiness. It makes her want to tease him. She knows this is not the thing to do, yet can’t stop herself, can’t let things freeze this way, with him brooding and angry. “Teddy,” she says.

  Without looking at her, he indicates her appetizer. “Eat,” he says. “They’ll be bringing the dinner soon.”

  “Don’t be mad,” she says. “And stop talking to me like I’m your child.”

  He makes a sound like a cough. “I’ll tell you, Marlee—I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this sort of thing.”

  “What sort of thing?”

  He goes on eating.

  “Teddy?” A little tremor of uneasiness flies through her, even as the brandy makes her feel limp and sleepy-eyed.

  “I’m just not built for this kind of messiness,” he says. “I don’t know anymore.”

  “Come on,” she tells him, sitting forward. “I just wanted you to relax with me.”

  He says nothing.

  “Hey,” she says.

  He sits there chewing, not looking at her.

  “Teddy?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if I have the energy for it all the time,” he says. “Marlee, you don’t realize all the demands—the—all the things you require from a person—I don’t know if I can keep it up.”

  “I don’t require anything,” she says, too loud.

  “OK,” he says, leaning toward her. “Just please shut up now.”

  The waiter comes in with more bread. Marlee’s still holding the snifter, sitting with her legs crossed. The brandy is swimming in her head.

  “Thank you,” Ted says to the waiter, as though he’s alone.

  “It’s our anniversary,” Marlee says.

  “Congratulations,” says the waiter, without the slightest inflection. He looks at Ted.

  “Aren’t you going to wish us a happy anniversary?” Marlee says.

  “Happy anniversary,” says the waiter.

  “Thank you.”

  He crosses the room. Ted keeps his attention on the food.

  “I’ll pay for the drinks,” Marlee tells him. “I’ll take out a loan.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  There’s another couple now, and the two men are watching—they’re staring at her. She smiles at them. “It’s our anniversary,” she says, indicating Ted. She turns to the new couple, still indicating her husband. “Wedding anniversary,” she says to them. “One year. We’ve had a lovely time. We’ve traveled around together and gone to so many wonderful parties. I’ve hardly had a minute to breathe or think.” Her own garrulousness appalls her. When she faces Ted again, she sees that he’s actually smiling at the others, keeping up the appearance of a man who’s happy with his wife.

  But their attention draws away, and his smile, his look of pleasure, disappears.

  She holds her glass of brandy toward him. “A toast.” The room seems to tilt.

  “Are you going to eat?” he says.

  “A toast,” she murmurs. “We have to clink glasses.” She feels herself straining to charm him, trying for the note that will make him appreciate her again.

  He shakes his head, eating the last of the cheese.

  “You’re wrong,” she tells him. “And you’ve been wrong all the time. The whole year. You and Tillie and everybody else,
too. I know what Time is, Teddy. I’ve always known.”

  He sets the plate aside and puts the napkin to his lips.

  “And I’m not fearless, either.”

  “You’ll agree,” he says coldly, “that this is not the place to discuss it.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. The absolute truth. I know what fear is all the way. And I’m feeling kind of lost now, you know? How can you say—how can you say I’ve—I watch you with Tillie, and all your friends and acquaintances, and I don’t have any part in it and there’s nowhere I can go, and how can you say I require anything? I thought this was just about tonight, Ted.”

  “Please,” he says. “Can we talk about it later? Don’t start crying now.”

  “I’m not crying,” she tells him, fighting back tears. “Do you hear the way you talk to me?”

  “Just eat and stop this,” he says. “And then I won’t have to talk to you that way.”

  For several moments they are silent. She watches him eat. The music seems to be slightly louder, and the others are all talking. The big man laughs, then coughs.

  “Look,” Marlee says. “I was just being silly, OK? I didn’t want it to get serious. I thought it was—we were—I thought we were having a problem about Tillie recommending this ridiculous place. I mean I didn’t know we were talking about the whole marriage.”