Читать книгу Romantic Trapezoid - Victor L. Cahn - Страница 3

She was three hours late. On a scorching July afternoon, she was three hours late.

Then again, in Dave’s mind she was always three hours late.

Several times he had cautioned her. “You remember what I tell my students.”

“No, I don’t,” she’d reply. “What do you tell them?” Then her brow would purse in mock concentration.

“That I start classes on time. That when we make an appointment, I expect them to be on time.”

“You’re so forceful.”

“I have to be. Otherwise they’d take advantage.”

“You must be the most forceful professor in the whole Department.”

“Possibly.”

“Maybe the entire University.”

“I doubt that—”

“Certainly the cutest.”

“Melissa . . .”

“How can I resist such brute energy?”

Her irony was so disarming that Dave usually abandoned his point. Sometimes he’d try to insist that his concerns warranted more respect, but then she’d lay her legs across his, slip her arm through his, and rest her head near his, and before long the admonition lost its urgency.

They had met nine months earlier at a party in the Manhattan loft of Arnold Holman, one of Dave’s former students and now a playwright with substantial Off-Off-Broadway credits. Melissa was not the most classically beautiful woman in that room full of actresses and models, but to Dave she was the most striking: tall and trim, with dark eyes and straight black hair that fell over her shoulders. Her outfit, too, was smashing: a turquoise blouse, a black skirt, black stockings, and black stiletto boots, topped by a black velvet cloche. Studying her from across the room, Dave decided that she “glowed with puckish sensuality.” He was pondering how to draw her away from a circle of revelers that included Arnold himself, when their host waved him over.

“Dave Mattes, everybody: New Jersey’s leading expert on film, and the man who taught me more about movies than I’ve ever needed to know.”

“Hi, Dave,” said the chorus.

“Hello.”

“We were talking about Lawrence Tierney, Dave, and I told them you were the authority.”

Tierney remains an iconic figure from film noir, one of Dave’s specialities, but on this occasion he resisted the impulse to overwhelm his listeners with a disquisition. Instead he simply supplemented gaps in their discussion, directing most of his comments toward Melissa, whose eyes, he believed, focused on him. “And Tierney was just as dangerous off screen as on. Had all sorts of scrapes with the law.”

As his audience drew closer, Arnold interrupted. “I’ve heard about that. He was a bad drinker, wasn’t he?”

“Indeed.”

“Then he fell out of sight.”

“In so many words.”

“Didn’t he make a comeback in Reservoir Dogs?”

“Hm-mm. But only after shooting an episode of ‘Seinfeld.’”

“‘Seinfeld’! You’re kidding!”

“Nope. He played Elaine’s father.”

“Hey, I remember that show! The one with the suede jacket.”

“That’s it. And apparently he terrified the cast. Even stole a knife from the set.”

This trivia turned the conversation to “The Simpsons” and “South Park,” popular specimens of what Dave considered an inferior medium. Thus he drifted aside to focus on Melissa.

To his surprise, she drifted with him, and presently he found himself sitting next to her on a couch, listening to a voice that was seductively deep.

“I could see you knew a lot more.”

“About Tierney?”

“About a lot of things.” She tucked one leg under her, and placed a hand on his wrist. “Tell me now.”

“You’re sure you want me to start?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m tough to turn off.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

Dave smiled. “Okay, but don’t forget: you asked.”

“Believe me, I won’t.”

With a boyish shrug, Dave expounded a bit on cinematography in the 1940’s, then returned to the subject at hand. “But, as I said, the most fascinating thing about Tierney was how his screen roles blended into his life.”

She grinned. “This sounds dishy.” As she pressed the top of his wrist, her thumb squeezed gently from underneath.

Leaning forward, Dave heard his own voice drop lasciviously: “Oh, he was a wild man.” Suddenly he sensed himself on the verge of repetition. “Forgive me. I’m talking too much.”

“Not at all.”

“You’re very kind, but it’s an occupational hazard.”

“I could listen to you all night.” He felt her body slide toward his.

After a few more private moments, the pair offered apologies to Arnold, and departed for a late snack.

By Thanksgiving, Dave was spending every weekend in Melissa’s Soho apartment. He’d arrive Thursday afternoon to treat her to dinner and a narrative about his week, including both compelling moments from the classroom and morsels of faculty sniping. At first Dave hesitated to relate these matters, which had been dismissed by one date as “piddling,” and disdained more subtly by several others. Melissa, however, soon learned the names and quirks of his colleagues, and thereafter overflowed with queries.

“What did Ferguson say?”

“He kept his mouth shut.”

“But he’ll support your motion, right?”

“Only if it gives him less work.”

“I thought he cares about the students.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“He lied about reading that woman’s paper. He lied about the memo. And he lied about speaking to the Dean. Why should I expect the truth this time?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I still have the votes to ram it through.”

“You are amazing.”

Even Dave would not have characterized himself with so extravagant a word, but he still appreciated it.

As he related such drama, his passions occasionally crested, but the touch of Melissa’s hand always soothed him. When he became truly overwrought, she’d slip off her shoes, and wrap her legs around his, and thereafter nothing else seemed of import.

After Dave had related his stories, Melissa reciprocated with news of her own: interviews she had conducted or articles she was writing. Dave enjoyed these accounts about prominent figures in finance, politics, or entertainment, but only after he had exhausted his own tales.

Melissa never objected to the order of recitation.

After a movie or show, they’d return to her place and dive into bed, where Melissa’s participation was nothing short of volcanic. Other women might claim to be aroused, but their mood could be extinguished by as minor an intrusion as a phone message, a street noise, or a news bulletin. Once Melissa proclaimed her readiness, however, she brooked no distractions, and thereafter participated with more exuberance than any other woman he had known.

Unlike Margot, who refused foreplay until he remade his bed with clean linen.

Or Camilla, who prohibited relations unless an athletic competition was running in the background.

Or Wendy, who forbade contact unless the refrigerator was stocked with popsicles to prevent her overheating.

Melissa, however, was forever amenable.

Whatever contortion he proposed, she attempted.

Whatever gimmick he conceived, she embraced.

Whatever awkwardness he experienced, she assuaged.

After one memorable night, she labeled him “Houdini.” Thereafter in preparation for each visit, he researched assiduously, and such study always paid off.

By winter break, weekly infusions of Melissa became insufficient, and he craved a constant fix.

He wanted to watch her apply makeup and brush her hair. He wanted to approve her outfits, including the omnipresent hats she drew from a collection that contained something whimsical for all occasions. He wanted her to share his simple but elegant culinary treats, then join him to wash and dry the dishes. He wanted to accompany her as she laundered clothes in the basement, conveyed apparel to the dry cleaner, and shopped for supplies. He wanted to watch her traipse about the apartment in her underwear. Or nothing at all. He wanted to savor her every word and gesture.

At night, he wanted to love each centimeter of her body, then fall asleep with his arm wrapped around her, and wake up with hers wrapped around him.

He wanted her to share his triumphs, and he wanted to exalt in hers. He wanted to tell her his dreams, and he wanted to hear hers.

Thus during the first week of January, he had tried to impel matters. “Would you mind if I left some of my stuff here?”

“Are you kidding? I’d love it!”

By the time he arrived the next week, she had emptied half a closet and a full dresser drawer. In the former he hung shirts, jackets, and trousers, while the latter became the repository for underwear, socks, and less formal garb. She had also cleared two shelves in her medicine cabinet, where he stored a shaver, cologne, toothpaste, floss, mouthwash, combs, and various creams and pills.

From that moment on, he hoped that she would eventually seek his presence full-time, and, indeed, her level of comfort seemed to rise.

Whatever commercial establishment they visited, she smoothed dealings with salespeople and clerks, alleviating his pique over any inefficiency. At restaurants, she ensured that no matter the hour or capacity, the maitre d’ would find a suitable table. At two professional conferences, she applauded his presentations, all the while attracting hungry stares from his colleagues. At more popular fare, such as plays, movies, concerts, and exhibits, she listened to his evaluations, then contributed provocative opinions of her own.

In sum, their life together sparkled.

Except for one increasingly vexing source of worry.

Like a precious volume on library reserve, she was often overdue. True, she always had an excuse. Sometimes one of her articles required a last-minute rewrite, or occasionally a printer demanded that she review proofs. The most frequent reason involved an interview subject who suddenly became available.

Yet no matter how outlandish any explanation might initially seem, Dave eventually believed every word.

Lateness, however, was only part of the difficulty. Another was that every narrative involved a man for whom she provided support.

Never a woman. Always a man.

In fact, many different men.

Equally unsettling, when circumstances required him to remain on campus overtime, she never protested: “Don’t worry! I have plenty to keep me busy!” And when he showed up late with apologies, she swept them aside: “Forget it! I met the most incredible man. And we had a fantastic time!”

Such generosity was comforting, yet irksome. What was she doing?

The question was foolish. He knew exactly what she was doing.

Well, not exactly, nor with whom she was doing it. But he understood that whenever he and Melissa were apart, including half of every week, her time was filled by other companions.

She never willingly furnished details of these experiences. Yet his questioning revealed that she and her chums visited places (such as a gun club) and pursued activities (such as bungee jumping) that Dave could not abide. Even more unnerving, most of these men followed professions that could be categorized as more glamorous than his. Thus Dave heard about Roy, plastic surgeon for the stars. And Aubrey, auctioneer for the elite. And Dexter, broker for the well-heeled.

Most painful, too many of these episodes left her giddy, and too many partners left her glowing.

The inescapable truth was that no matter how much she claimed to bask in Dave’s presence, she basked with comparable joy in the presence of at least several others.

How well can we know anyone? “Ah, sweet mystery of life,” as Nelson Eddy had sung to Jeannette McDonald.

The ultimate frustration was that Melissa seemed oblivious to his agitation. Perhaps she knew that she could always allay his doubts, that all she need offer was a hug and a kiss, and his anxiety would dissipate.

During January, they shared their first extended vacation, this to St. Maarten, where along a deserted beach they sunned, swam, and strolled. Romantic fluff, to be sure, but memorable romantic fluff.

The highlight of the holiday was a riotous afternoon when Melissa urged him to try snorkeling in the pure waters off the island. Unfortunately he became so tangled in his tanks and tubes that she had fallen over laughing, while Dave, too, could not help guffawing. At that moment of semi-awareness, he recognized that he would never meet anyone whose spirit of fun was so irresistible.

More than ever, he wanted to marry her.

“Ever think about taking a larger apartment?” he asked.

“When I can afford it.”

“The two of us could afford it right now.”

“Aren’t you comfortable?”

“Well . . .”

“Because I certainly am.”

“But if we pooled our incomes . . . ?”

“Yes?”

“And took a lease together . . .”

“Yes?”

“That is, if we signed up as a team—”

“It sounds great, but why bother?”

If she understood his implication, she never indicated as much. Indeed, even after one more extended trip over spring break, and two additional weekend excursions, none of his hints moved her.

Thus during final exams he had evaluated his life, and at that moment he had acknowledged that he was nearly forty, professionally secure, and ready to settle down. The next step occurred during Memorial Day weekend, as they dawdled over a lobster dinner on the tip of Cape Cod, when he broached the subject brazenly.

“Where do you figure we’ll be in five years?” he asked.

“Who knows?” she sighed. “Happy, I hope.”

“Do you ever plan more specifically?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“All the time.”

“Really?”

“Really. I even think about marriage. Do you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

For the rest of the weekend and through the next month, she resisted all speculation about making their arrangement full-time and permanent.

Today, however, he was determined.

Amidst the heavy heat of a Manhattan summer, he was ready to state his case. Unfortunately, as if to drive him over the edge, she was late once more, and as usual he was left to wonder whose company she was sharing. Was it Brendan, the real estate honcho? Or Marcel, the record promoter? Perhaps Tad, the tennis pro. Even more annoying, despite the air conditioning inside her apartment, hot blasts from outside seemed to envelope him, and under his sports shirt, sweat dripped down his arms.

The time was 4:40. She had promised to be home by one.

As Dave’s impatience grew, so did his resolve. He decided that as soon as she entered, even before dinner, he would present an ultimatum to the effect that he loved her, that they were meant to be together, and that further delay was unacceptable.

Yet how could he express these sentiments without resorting to repellent melodrama? How could he communicate that marriage would not crush her spirit but elevate it; that her flitting about with Lou or Jack or Biff (she actually knew someone named “Biff”) would eventually leave her not euphoric, but empty?

He had no idea.

At four-forty-seven, he was about to turn on the television to check the stock report, when he heard the elevator door, then the familiar click of her heels before they touched the corridor carpet.

At that sound, he was seized by an impulse, and without regard for consequences, he yielded to it.

He scurried to the bedroom closet, removed his suitcase, brought it to the dining room table, and laid it open. Then he approached the dresser drawer that held some of his apparel.

He heard the front door unlock.

He did not look up, but selected a pair of shorts that he carried to the suitcase.

“Hiya!” came her familiar lilt.

“Hello.”

From the corner of his eye he noted that she carried packages of clothing that she dropped on a living room table. He also observed that she wore the stunning combination of a short skirt, a tank top, and heels.

“Can you get the key from the door?” she asked.

“Of course.”

He walked to her, kissed her (and felt the customary tang of her response), withdrew the key, closed the door, lay the key next to her with an ostentatious “pling,” and returned to the dresser.

“This city was a madhouse!” she said.

“Was it?”

She kicked off her shoes, and began to open the boxes.

Dave’s instinct was to help, but instead he selected another pair of shorts that he folded inside the suitcase.

“Maybe it was the heat,” she continued. “But everybody was rushing and shoving. Bring me a glass of water, will you?”

“Right away.”

He paced nonchalantly to the refrigerator, poured a tall glass of Evian, and took it to her.

“Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Fighting the urge to embrace her, Dave returned to the suitcase and refolded his shorts.

“Hmmm! I needed that!” She exhaled and lay back against the couch until at last she noticed his activity. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

She sat up. “Yes, you are. You’re packing.”

Dave looked down. “Apparently I am.”

“What for?” She walked to him. “What’s all this about?”

The crucial moment had arrived. “I don’t know,” said Dave. “It just seemed like the thing to do.”

Melissa stared at him. “I don’t understand. Does this mean you’re leaving?”

“Well . . .”

“Are you?”

Dave gathered himself. “I guess so.”

To maintain momentum, and to avoid further queries, he retrieved the rest of his shorts, and placed them in the suitcase.

“But why?”

“Lots of reasons.”

“Like what?”

“No need to bother with them.”

“Yes, there is. I mean, you’re making a big move. Don’t I deserve an explanation?”

“I suppose.” He paused.

Her eyes opened wide. “Well?”

“Well . . .” What should he say? To delineate specifics would sound petty. Better to act as though he were burdened by a pervasive, yet indefinable melancholy.

Instead, Melissa filled the silence. “If it’s about my being late . . .”

“That’s only part of it—”

“Because I’m sorry, but traffic was murder.”

“Of course it was.”

“And I came all the way from fifty-ninth street!”

Sensing that she was off-balance, Dave stood still and smoothed the small pile he had created.

Meanwhile she persisted. “If you want me to explain—”

“Don’t bother.”

“Then I‘m sorry, but I don’t understand what’s happening!”

For a moment Dave weighed the intonation of her voice, which seemed to have acquired the hint of a quiver. Seeking to maintain his advantage, he turned to her. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Not exactly.”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting?”

“A while, I suppose.”

“And do you have any idea how often this happens?”

“More than it should?”

“Every week.”

“Then why don’t you come later?”

“Because every week you promise that you’ll be on time, and every week you leave me sitting like a fool.”

“What can I say? Things happen.”

“Couldn’t you at least call me?”

“You don’t carry a cell.”

Dave pointed to a living room end table. “I believe that’s a phone right there.”

“But I didn’t know you were here.”

“I told you I’d be here.”

“You might have been late.”

“Have I ever been late?”

“No.”

“Well?”

She twirled on one toe and extended her lower lip. “I don’t know. I just hate to see you angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

Dave sighed with dramatic dejection. “I suppose the time has simply come.”

“Time for what?”

“Time for me to leave.”

As Melissa searched for words, Dave sensed that she was suffering one of her rare bouts of befuddlement. Finally she spoke. “Could I just tell you that—”

“Don’t, please.”

“Can’t I explain—”

“No excuses.”

“I just want to say that—”

“Hey!” Dave sliced the air with a horizontal chop. “Enough!” Then, to soften the blow, “It’s okay. Really.” He paused. “We’ll still see each other.”

He turned to the dresser and withdrew more underwear.

“Wow,” said Melissa. “I don’t know what to do.”

Dave walked back to the suitcase, and laid down his T-shirts. “You don’t have to do anything. We’ll be fine.”

She drew close to him, sipped sensually, then brought the glass to his lips. “You might feel better if we talked it out.”

Dave smiled. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“You won’t let me say anything?” said Melissa.

“You can say anything you like,” said Dave, repacking a t-shirt. Then he stopped and looked at her. “Although I’d like to hear one thing in particular.”

“Name it.”

“Who were you with?”

“Today?”

“Today.”

“I was trying on clothes.”

“Who were you with?”

“They had a sale.”

“Who was it?”

“And I lost track of time. Before I knew it—”

“Who was it?”

“Then traffic jammed up—”

“Who . . . was there?”

Melissa turned away. “No one.” She sipped. “Sort of.”

“WHO . . . was there?”

She turned to him. “All right. Mickey was there.”

“I knew it!” Then Dave strode to the dresser.

“But only to help pick things out.” Melissa followed him. “That’s his business. And he is not the reason I was late!”

“It’s all right!”

“We’re just friends.”

“I understand!”

Dave brought his socks to the table.

Melissa moved silently next to him, still sipping. When at last she spoke, her voice wavered. “Does this mean we’re splitting up?”

“In one sense. But as I said, we’ll still see each other.”

At that moment, Dave felt in command, even when Melissa leaned against the table, sipped, and licked her lips. “Hmmm!”

Dave had anticipated a more emotional response. Nonetheless, he sought to retain his leverage. “There’s no need to make a scene.”

“I know.” With those words, her voice steadied. She walked to the kitchen, refilled her glass, and padded back next to him. “Any idea where you’re going?”

Her combination of perfume and perspiration was nearly overpowering. “My house,” he said.

“Of course.” She sipped. “Although I hate to see you lose your place in the city.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Anywhere else you can stay?”

“No. But you know me. I’m a homebody at heart.” He reasoned that a hint about settling down couldn’t hurt.

In response, however, she merely mused.

What was she thinking, Dave wondered. How much did she care? Was she unnerved? Frustrated? Relieved? He couldn’t read her.

Even more confounding, how did he expect Melissa to respond to his packing? For that matter, how did he want her to respond? Agree to abandon her career? Relinquish all other friendships? Swear fidelity? Propose marriage?

Finally she spoke. “Can I say just one thing?”

“Of course.”

“Whatever happens, I want you to know that you’re always welcome here.”

What did she mean?

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

“I understand, but I want you to know that—”

“I’ll be fine.”

She meandered next to him. “The door is always open—”

“I said I’ll be—”

“But just in case—”

“Please! Don’t worry about me.”

He patted her hand and held it. Melissa kissed his index finger, then walked dejectedly to the sofa and sat. She moved some of her packages to create a space for her legs, which she stretched across the table.

Dave could not help staring at those impossibly long limbs that extended from under that impossibly short skirt. She touched her forehead with the cold glass, leaned back, and sighed.

“Are you as hot as I am?”

Under normal circumstances, Dave would have interpreted this line as an irresistible invitation. Today, though, he responded blandly. “It is a bit humid.”

“A bit? My God, I’d give anything for a swim.”

Dave removed some shirts from the closet.

“Are you really leaving in this heat?” she said.

“That’s the plan.” He folded the sleeves of one turtleneck, and placed it meticulously in the suitcase.

“Well . . . as long as you’ve thought everything out.”

“I have.”

No, he hadn’t.

She sipped again. How could she make a single glass last so long? “You know what I was thinking on the way home?”

“No.”

“Remember two weeks ago when it was hot like this?”

Dave said nothing.

“Remember?”

“Hm-mm.”

“And I lay down on the bed naked. Remember?”

“Yes.”

Against his will, the image blazed across his mind. He envisioned the glorious arch of her back and the slope of that perfect bottom . . .

“Then you massaged me with an ice cube. One little cube. You covered every inch of me. At least that’s what it felt like.” She let the thought pervade his consciousness. “I’ll never forget it. Will you?”

Dave swallowed. “No.”

Melissa flexed her legs and toes. “I’m glad. I’m also glad that we’ll always have our memories. Like that week in Mexico, exploring ancient ruins. Performing primitive mating rituals.”

Dave refused to look at her.

“Remember how happy we were when your book came out? I even memorized that line from the Quarterly review: ‘An incisive, graceful critique of a filmmaker too often neglected.’”

“You forgot ‘pellucid,’” said Dave. “‘Incisive, pellucid, and graceful.’”

He frowned at his own susceptibility and resumed packing.

“And how can I forget last March?” she continued. “When we headed out to UCLA for that symposium. You took on three of those pygmies nipping at your heels and swatted them away like flies.”

“Your metaphors are tangled.”

“Let’s just say that I felt shivers all over.” She paused. “And that night in the hotel . . . I felt shivers again.”

Dave stopped packing and looked at her.

She opened her eyes wide. “I don’t think there’s anything as arousing as a first-rate mind in action.”

This statement demanded response, so he moved behind her and spoke firmly. “I think you find plenty that’s arousing. Which is why I am leaving in a few minutes.”

As soon as he uttered those words, he recognized that he didn’t want to leave. But what choice did he have? At least if he had the gumption to carry out this threat, and if she missed him as he hoped she would, she’d have no choice but to ask him back.

Maybe.

On the other hand, if she didn’t miss him, or didn’t miss him enough, then she wouldn’t ask him.

On the third hand, if she didn’t miss him, then she would never marry him anyway, unless she was overcome by an urge that she had never manifested.

On yet another hand, if she did miss him, but didn’t feel obliged to call him, then . . . he couldn’t say.

Unable to coordinate more hands, Dave wandered back to his suitcase.

Melissa interrupted his ruminations. “What about our concert tickets? The Prague Philharmonic’s all Dvořák program? With the Cello Concerto.”

“We can still go.”

“But it won’t be the same. After it’s over, you’ll go your way. And I’ll have to come back here all by myself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And what about the beach house next month? Is that out, too?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

He still didn’t want to lose that special engagement.

Melissa’s voice dropped. “Does that mean no more jello and whipped cream when we . . . you know.”

This suggestion tapped something inside him, and for the first time he responded with irritation. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding a suitable partner for that particular amusement.”

She sat up. “Is that what this is all about? A few friends?” “That’s part of it.”

“But who could possibly follow you?”

At this protestation, Dave ceased controlling himself. “Listen, you’ve got enough . . . I mean, there are guys . . . don’t tell me—”

“I think you’re misreading the situation.”

“Misreading—me? Listen, I’ve heard about so many men . . . do you have any idea . . . I . . . what about that construction worker?”

Melissa stood. “Harry? Good-natured, goofy Harry?”

“I only know him as ‘Harry.’”

“C’mon! He’s a just a big, friendly bear—”

“Don’t kid me.”

“Who happens to share my love of hockey.”

“And that’s all?”

“I don’t know what you imagine is happening—”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t!”

Dave laughed with mild bitterness. “Then tell me about that medical technician! What about him?”

“Waldo? Little Waldo? Sweet, harmless little Waldo—”

“You spent a whole day and night in his lab!”

“I had a deadline! And that article on enzyme research turned out to be one of the best things I’ve ever done!”

“Hey!”

Bereft of arguments, Dave resorted to chopping the air, but this time he did so with more violence, and his passion took Melissa aback.

After a few seconds, she moved right next to him. “Isn’t there anything I can do to keep you here?”

Dave stared at her. “I think you know exactly what you can do. In fact, it’s something we can do together.”

“You’d better tell me.”

At last his moment had arrived.

“All right. I’ll tell you. You sit, and I’ll tell you as clearly as I can.”

“Good.”

She sat on the sofa, and he settled next to her. As they looked at each other, her eyes opened wide, offering nothing but trust.

Dave studied her skin: so soft, so pure. And those luscious lips. And that perfect nose, with just the slightest upward turn . . .

How could he leave such a woman?

“I’ve been hinting about this for a long time, but I gather I have to put it all right on the line. Just so there’s no confusion, no uncertainty. All right?”

“Go for it.”

Was she laughing? Maybe.

He took her hand, and she took his. Another trace of ridicule.

“I am ready for a commitment.” He enunciated clearly. “A permanent, 100%, lifetime commitment. Between you and me. Legal and binding, with a two-ring ceremony. Where you toss the bouquet, and everybody else throws rice, and we return the gifts. That’s what I want. The works. The whole shebang. The complete fairy tale.”

As he paused, her eyes, still wide, remained focused on him.

“Now,” he continued, “if you don’t want that, I understand. But that’s what I want. That’s what I need. I also need an answer, and I’ll accept whatever you say without questions.”

He paused for his peroration. “In short, and in conclusion, I am proposing marriage. I am ready for us to build a life together. Are you?”

As he looked directly at her, she returned his gaze.

“No.”

Dave stared. “Why not?”

“You said no questions.”

“Fine!” Dave pushed himself up and strode to the suitcase. “That’s it. I know what to do.” He rearranged some clothes.

Melissa followed him. “But don’t you see? My career is just taking off.”

“I understand.”

“Three articles this month. With more to follow.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“I’m really breaking through!”

Dave turned to her. “And if you’re married to me, all that breaking through will stop?”

“It won’t be the same.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have to be free to leave at a moment’s notice.”

“And if you’re married, you won’t be free?”

“It won’t be the same!”

“Fine.” He retrieved the last of his clothes from the closet. “I am now declaring you free. Unshackled. Unchained. You may go wherever the winds blow you—”

“Don’t you see—”

“Because I am leaving!”

“Dave—”

“With no hard feelings—”

“Dave—”

“And no regrets.”

“Dave—”

“Because you and I have different plans—”

“Wait a minute!”

Dave breathed deeply. “Yes?”

“I quoted you the other day.”

Dave turned to her. “When?”

“Someone at the office said something about cinematography, and I walked right up and announced that the two men who did more to develop that art were Greg Toland and James Wong Howe. Shut ’em right up.”

“Terrific.”

“I gave you credit, too,” said Melissa. “Told them all about you. Even said you might win a fellowship to teach in Boston next year.”

Dave permitted himself a playful smile. “Forget ‘might.’”

“Huh?”

He paused dramatically. “I got it.”

“The fellowship?”

“Hm-mm.”

“You didn’t tell me!”

“It was my surprise for the night.”

“Oh, Dave. I am so proud of you!” As she leaped and hugged him, Dave instinctively hugged back. Then she kissed him, and he was lost in her lips.

A second later, she broke away. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

With a slump of her shoulders, Melissa walked away. “I always figured we’d take on Boston together.”

“You’d come with me?”

“For a little while.”

“You never said anything.”

“That was my surprise. But now . . .” She bowed her head.

Dave hurried to her. “All they want is one course a semester. We can go back and forth to New York.”

She took his hand. “It sounds great.” Then she dropped it. “But now . . . it’s not a good idea.”

“Why?”

Dave was surprised to hear himself pleading.

“You’re leaving today, and that’s it. This is the last time we should talk about your work. Or mine. The last time we should even think about anything involving the two of us . . .” As her voice trailed off, she walked away. Dave followed. “But this doesn’t have to be the last time.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t—”

“We have to break it off.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the best way.”

“But—”

“We have to end it right now.”

“I don’t want to be heartless—”

“And neither do I.”

“I mean, we still have feelings for each other—”

“And we always will.”

She turned directly to him, and took his face in her hands. She drew closer, shut her eyes, and put her lips right next to his. He could feel her breath, the panting that seemed to be more intense than ever.

Then she broke away. “But this way there are no recriminations. No painful good-byes—”

“Wait a minute!”

She turned to him. “Promise me just one thing.”

“Anything.”

“That we won’t argue about splitting up our things.”

This request was not the one Dave expected. “We’ll work everything out. I give you my word.”

“Because so many couples fight about that.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t want to be like them.”

“We won’t. I promise.”

“Thank you.” She sighed. “It’s all mine, right?”

“Huh?”

”Everything we have is mine.”

Dave stared. “It is?”

“Well, isn’t it?”

She walked to the kitchen, and Dave followed.

“I thought I’d take what I came with,” he said.

“If you want.”

“I mean, my clothes and things.”

“Of course.” She poured a fresh glass of water.

“Plus the books and CDs I bought.”

“That’s fair.” She sipped the water. “Which books and CDs?”

Dave struggled to maintain equilibrium. He understood that had no desire to leave, but somehow he had blundered, or been maneuvered, into choosing what trivial possessions he was about to take on this undesirable excursion. “Some film material, I suppose. And the Mahler symphonies . . .”

“Anything.”

“Thank you.”

“Except the Mahler symphonies.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve become very attached to them.”

“You said they put you to sleep.”

“Not recently.” Melissa began to stroll. “They’re very beautiful.”

Dave trailed awkwardly. “I’ve been telling you that—”

“And they’ll always remind me of you.”

She put her hand to his cheek. He was about to take that hand in his when she walked away. “And about the rent,” she said.

This shift threw Dave further off kilter. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay my share for the next month.”

“I was going to tell you to skip it.”

“No, no. Tell me how much, and I’ll give you a check before I leave.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“Whatever amount you say.”

“Ten-fifty-seven fifty.”

Dave swallowed. “I thought it was nine-eighty-some-thing.”

“Fuel’s going up.”

“I heard it was going down.”

“Not what the doorman told me.”

“How does he know—”

“Dave, those guys know everything!” Melissa stretched out on the sofa. “They talk to the super and the owner. And by the way, there is one guy who’ll be sorry to see you go.”

“Who?”

“Joe.”

“Joe who?”

“Joe the doorman! He loves to talk movies with you. Used to be an actor, you know.”

“So he’s told me. And told me. And told me—”

“Always reminds me how lucky I am to have you around. Of course, I didn’t need anyone to say that—”

“I know. Another in your ever-expanding circle of admirers.”

“He’s helpful, that’s all. Whenever I need the sink repaired or the toilet unplugged, he’s the one I call.”

Dave sat on the couch. “Could we please talk about us?”

“What’s there to say? I’ll miss you.”