“What’re you doing?” she murmured. “Haven’t you heard anything?”
“Listen,” he told her. “Be quiet. I want you to see something.”
“Gabriel.”
“Wait,” he said, hearing the tremor in his own voice. “Damn it, Eva. Please. Just one minute. It’ll be on here in a minute. One minute, OK? What’s one goddamn minute?” He kept turning the channels, none of which were news—it was all cartoons and net-work morning shows. “Where is it,” he said. “Where the hell is it.”
“Gabriel, stop this,” said his wife. “You’re scaring me.”
“Scaring you?” he said. “Scaring you? Wait a minute. Just look what it shows. I promise you it’ll make you glad.”
“Look, it can’t make any difference,” she said, beginning to cry.
“You wait,” he told her. “It made all the difference.”
“No, look—stop—”
He stood, and took her by the arms above the elbow. It seemed so terribly wrong of her to take this away from him, too. “Look,” he said. “I want you to see this, Eva. I want you to see who you married. I want you to know who provides for you and your goddamn hero brother.” When he realized that he was shaking her, holding too tight, he let go, and she sat on the bed, crying, her hands clasped oddly at her neck.
“I can’t—” she got out. “Gabriel—”
“Eva,” he said. “I didn’t mean—look, I’m sorry. Hey, I’m—I’m the good guy, honey. Really. You won’t believe it.”
“OK,” she said, nodding quickly. He saw fear in her eyes.
“I just hoped you’d get to see this one thing,” he said, sitting next to her, wanting to fix this somehow, this new trouble. But then he saw how far away from him she had gone. He felt abruptly quite wrong, almost ridiculous. It came to him that he was going to have to go on being who he was. He stood, and the ache in his bones made him wince. He turned the television off. She was still sniffling, sitting there watching him.
“What?” she said. It was almost a challenge.
He couldn’t find the breath to answer her. He reached over and touched her shoulder, very gently so that she would know that whatever she might say or do, she had nothing to fear from him.
THE VOICES FROM THE OTHER ROOM
Happy?
Mmm.
That was lovely.
…
Wasn’t that lovely?
Sweet.
So sweet.
…
I’ve been so miserable.
…
Are you warm?
I’m toasty.
Love me?
What do you think?
It was good for you?
You were nice.
Nice?
…
Just nice?
Nice is wonderful, Larry. It’s more than good, for instance. You’re always so insecure about it. Why is that?
I’m not insecure. I just like to know I gave you pleasure.
You did.
That’s all I wanted to know.
…
I mean it’s a simple thing.
OK.
Ellen?
What.
Nothing.
No, tell me.
Well—if it was wonderful, why didn’t you say wonderful?
Is this a test?
OK, you’re right. I’m sorry. I wish we could get together more often. I’ve been so miserable. You have no idea.
I think I have an idea.
I don’t mean you haven’t suffered too.
Good thing.
Yeah, but I can’t help it—I feel so guilty about Janice and the boys. I’m afraid they’ll see the unhappiness in my face over the dinner table. I wish I could find a way to tell her and get the whole thing settled.
…
I just wish I could see you more than once a week.
Larry, don’t.
I know you’re busy.
Oh, God.
I guess I made it sound like this is a lunch date or something, I’m sorry. I’m such a wreck.
Oh, Larry, why do you have to pick at everything like that?
I said I was sorry.
Well, let’s just be quiet awhile, OK? Please?
I’m sorry.
…
You comfy?
I think I just said I was.
OK.
Look, really, why don’t we just drift a little now. I’m sleepy. I don’t feel like talking.
It seems you never feel like talking anymore.
What would be the point?
That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think?
We just keep going over the same ground, don’t we? We always come back to the same things. You talk about how miserable you are, and then you worry about Janice and the boys, and I talk about how my life, which I can hardly bear, is so busy.
Are you trying to tell me something?
God, I don’t think so.
Well, really, Ellen.
I’m not blaming anybody. I want to sleep a little, OK?
OK.
…
But I know I won’t sleep.
You sound determined.
I just know myself.
…
Ellen?
What?
Nothing.
What?
It’s silly.
I expect nothing less. Tell me.
You wanted to sleep.
Just say it, Larry.
…
Will you just say it?
It’s—well—it’s just that OK is OK, and wonderful is wonderful, and nice is nice. They all mean different things.
…
I told you it was silly.
What sort of reassurance are you looking for here? I thought it was nice. I thought it was wonderful. I’m here, exactly as I have been every Friday for the last two months. Nothing has changed. All right?
…
You’re such a worrier.
I’m sorry.
…
But was it nice or wonderful?
Lord. Pick one. You were that.
You’re pretty glib about it, don’t you think?
Really?
OK, never mind.
Look, what is this?
I was just asking. Nice is not wonderful.
Is this a grammar lesson?
I’m just saying a true thing, that’s all.
God! You were wonderful. Great. Terrific. Magnificent. And glorious. The fucking earth moved.
…
OK?
…
Don’t tell me I hurt your feelings now.
…
Come on. Is his iddy-biddy feelings hurt?
Don’t do that. It tickles.
This?
Cut it out, Ellen.
I’m tickling you. It’s supposed to tickle.
Well don’t. I’m not in the mood.
All right.
And don’t be mad.
I’m not mad.
Sorry.
…
Whole thing’s silly.
Whatever you say, Mr. Man.
There’s no need to take an attitude.
…
Ellen?
Darling, I think it’s a little late to be worrying about whether or not we’ve been OK in bed, isn’t it?
Oh, so now I was just OK.
My God!
It’s never too late to worry about a thing like that.
Oh, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t mean it that way. Light me a cigarette.
What way did you mean it?
Light me a cigarette, would you?
…
Boy, this is some afterglow we’ve got here.
I can’t help it.
…
Ellen?
What?
Do you ever think of him when we’re—together like this?
Stop it, Larry.
I told you I can’t help it.
You’re being ridiculous.
&nbs
p; …
I can’t believe you’d bring him up that way.
You do think about him, then.
This isn’t a movie, Larry.
No, I know.
…
Why’d you say this isn’t a movie—what’s that supposed to mean?
I don’t know. Forget it.
You think I’m being overly dramatic.
…
That’s natural enough, isn’t it? Under the circumstances?
You know, I really don’t want to talk about it.
Well, I’ll tell you something. I can’t get him out of my head.
You? You think about him?
Of course I do.
While we’re—when we’re—
All the time. Sure.
God.
…
Light me a cigarette, would you?
You mean you don’t think of him? He never enters your mind?
He never enters my mind. I have trouble remembering him while he’s speaking to me.
And you don’t—compare?
Compare what?
Nothing.
Oh, for Christ’s sake, Larry.
Don’t be mad.
Look, I don’t think about him. OK?
He used to tell me things. In those first years you were married.
What things?
Forget it.
Jesus Christ, what are you talking about? What things? What things did he tell you?
Never mind about it, OK? It’s nothing.
If it’s nothing, why can’t you tell me about it?
Don’t get up.
I want a cigarette.
I’ll get you one.
…
There.
Now tell me what fucking things he talked to you about, Larry.
Well—well he’s my brother. Men talk about their sexual—about sex. You know.
You mean he would tell you what we did? Oh, boy! Give me an example.
Look, I’m sorry I brought it up.
No—come on now. I want to know. You tell me.
Don’t cry.
I’m not crying, goddamn you. Tell me.
He—well, he—he said you did oral things, and that you were excitable.
Excitable.
That you—you’d cry out.
Oh, Jesus God. Oh, boy. This is funny. This is classic.
…
Larry?
I know.
You’re really an asshole, you know that?
OK, OK. I’m sorry. It was a long time ago. It was boys talking.
Well, but—now—let me see if I can get this straight. Now, I’m not living up to your fantasies, based on what Joe told you about me. Is that it?
No. Christ—you make it sound—
But you are. You’re thinking of what Joe told you, right?
I don’t know.
If that isn’t men for you.
Now don’t start on all that crap. There’s nothing to extrapolate from the fact that my brother told me a few things a long time ago.
Yeah, well maybe Joe was lying. Did that ever occur to you? Maybe I wouldn’t be here with you now if Joe was half as good as he must’ve said he was.
You mean that’s the only reason we—you and I—
Boy, is this ever a fun conversation.
…
Tell me what I’m apparently lacking according to the legends you’ve heard.
Stop it, Ellen. I just wanted to be sure I was giving you as much pleasure as—hell, never mind.
No, this is interesting. You want to know if I think you’re as good. Right?
I wanted to be sure I was giving you pleasure. Is that such a terrible thing?
And there was no thought of gratifying your male ego?
Please don’t hand me that feminist shit. Not now.
Well, isn’t that it?
No, that is not it.
You couldn’t tell from what we just did that I was getting pleasure out of it?
OK.
This whole thing bothers you more than it does me, right?
Well, he’s my brother, after all.
He never deigned to remind himself of that fact, why should you?
Because he is my brother.
When was the last time he played that role with you?
This isn’t about roles or role-playing, OK? This is blood.
…
No, don’t, Ellen. Stay, please.
When was the last time he had anything to do with you, besides ordering you around and berating you for the fact that you don’t make a hundred seventy thousand dollars a year setting up contracts for corporate giants?
…
Remember when I got interested in astronomy, and he bought me the telescope and we started looking at the stars, making calculations and charting the heavenly bodies in flight? Remember that?
I guess.
I was looking through the thing one night, and it came to me that the distances between those stars, that was like the distances I felt between him and me. And it didn’t have anything to do with sex. The sex was fine, then. Back then. At least I thought it was fine.
Fine. Not nice or wonderful?
Jesus, you’re beginning to sound pathetic.
It was a joke, Ellen. Can’t you take a joke?
I wasn’t joking. I was trying to tell you something.
…
If this was a movie, I think I’d be trying to get you to kill him or something. Make it look like an accident.
Good Lord.
Why not? It happens all the time. We could play Hamlet.
…
The classic love triangle.
Stop this.
Hey, Larry. It’s just talk, right? I’m babbling on because I’m so happy.
Why’d you marry him, anyway?
I loved him.
You thought you loved him.
No, goddamn you—I did love him.
OK, I’m sorry.
…
Can you forgive me?
I don’t know what kind of person you think I am.
It’s just that all this is so strange for me. And I can’t keep from thinking about him.
You mean you can’t stop thinking about what he told you about me in bed.
I wish I hadn’t mentioned that. I’m not talking about that now. That isn’t all we talked about.
You told him about all your adventures with Janice.
Stop it, Ellen.
Well, tell me. Give me an example of whatever else you talked about.
I don’t know. When I was in Texas that time, and he came through on one of his trips. You and he had been married the year before, I think. He was so—glad. He told me stuff you guys were doing together. Places you went. He even had pictures. You looked so happy in the pictures.
I was happy.
…
We’ve been married ten years. What do you think? It’s all been torture?
…
Jesus, Larry.
Well, I feel bad for him.
He’s happy. He’s got his work. His travels, his pals. His life is organized about the way he likes it. You know what he said to me on our last anniversary? He said he wasn’t sure he was as heterosexual as other men. Imagine that.
What the hell was he talking about?
He doesn’t feel drawn to me that way. He hasn’t touched me in months, OK? Do you want me to be as graphic about all this as he was back when we were twenty-five years old and I believed that what happened between us was private?
No, don’t—come on. I’m sorry. Don’t cry.
I’m not crying.
…
Anyway, this doesn’t really have anything to do with him.
I wish we could stop talking about him.
You’re the one who brought him up, Larry.
Don’t be mad. Come on, please.
Well, for Christ’s sake, can’t you just enjoy something for what it is, without tearing it all to pieces? You know what you are?
You’re morbid.
I’m scared.
…
I am. I’m scared.
Scared of what? Joe? He’s in another time zone, remember? He won’t be home for another week.
I think I’m scared of you.
…
It’s like I’m on the outside of you some way. Like there’s walls I can’t see through. I don’t know what effect I have on you. Or if I really mean anything to you.
Do you want me to simper and tell you how I can’t live without you?
…
Well?
I don’t know what I want. It’s like you’re a drug, and I can’t get enough of you. But I get the feeling sometimes—I can’t express it exactly—like—well, like you could do without me very easily.
…
I do. I get that feeling.
Poor Larry.
I can’t help it.
And now you expect me to reassure you about that, too.
There’s nothing wrong with saying you love someone.
And that’s what you want?
Never mind.
No, really. We started with you worrying about whether or not you were as sexy as Joe—or whether or not I found you as sexy as Joe.
Let’s just forget it, OK?
Are you afraid of what my answer might be?
I thought you had answered it.
…
Look, why did you want to get involved in the first place?
I think it just happened, didn’t it, Larry?
…
Didn’t it?
That’s the way it felt.
Then why question it now?
You said you looked through the telescope and saw the distances between the stars—
Are we going to talk about this all night?
Well, why haven’t you divorced him?
I might. Someday I might.
But why not now?
Do you want me to?
Do you want to?
Where would I go?
You could come to me.
I’m here now.
But we could get married, Ellen.
Oh, please. Can we change the subject? Can we talk about all this later? Surely you can see that this is not the time.
You don’t believe me?
…
It would be terrible to leave Janice and the boys. But I think I would. If I could have you. I really think I would.
You do. You think you would.
…
Well, would you or wouldn’t you?
I said I think I would.
You’re hilarious. Truly a stitch, you know it?
I believe that I would.
Ah, an article of faith.
There’s no reason to be sarcastic, Ellen.
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