Last Night Read Online Free

was a blue neon sign from which the first letter—F— was gone; it had been gone for years. Inside it was noisy and dark.
    — Is Frank here? Deborah asked the waiter.
    — Just a minute, he said. I’ll go and see.
    Some heads had turned when she walked past the bar, her insolent walk and then seeing who she was. After a few minutes a young man in a shirt without a tie came back to where they were sitting.
    — You were asking for Frank? he said, recognizing them but politely not showing it. Frank isn’t here anymore.
    — What happened? Deborah said.
    — He sold the place.
    — When was that?
    — A year and a half ago.
    Deborah nodded.
    — You ought to change the name or something, she said, so you don’t fool people.
    — Well, it’s always been the name of the place. We have the same menu, the same chef, he explained cordially.
    — Good for you, she said. Then to Keck, Let’s go.
    — Did I say something wrong? the new owner asked.
    — Probably, she said.
    TEDDY HAD CALLED and cancelled the reservation. She wondered about the dog. She hadn’t bothered to remember its name. It had lain in its bed on the set, head on paws, watching. Teddy had had a dog for years, an English pug named Ava, all wrinkled velvet with bulging eyes and a comic nature. Deaf and nearly blind at the end, unable to walk, she was carried into the garden four or five times a day where she stood on trembling legs and looked up at Teddy helplessly with chalky, unseeing eyes. At last there was nothing that could be done and Teddy drove her to the vet for the last time. She carried her in, tears running down her cheeks. The vet pretended not to notice. He greeted the old dog instead.
    — Hello, princess, he said gently.
    With one of the small ivory spoons Teddy put some caviar on a piece of toast and ate it. She went into the kitchen for the chopped egg and brought it into the living room. She decided to have some vodka as well. There was a bottle of it in the freezer.
    With the egg and a squeeze of lemon she served herself more caviar. There was far too much of it to even think of eating; she would bring it to the set the next day, she decided. There were only two more weeks of shooting. Perhaps she would take a short vacation afterward. She might go down to Baja where some friends were going. She had been to Baja when she was sixteen. You were able to drink in Mexico and do anything, although by that time they were often in separate beds. They had twin beds in the apartment on Venice Boulevard and also that summer in Malibu in a house rented from an actor who had gone on location for six weeks. There was a leafy passageway that led to the beach. She didn’t wear a bikini that summer, she was too embarrassed to, she remembered. She had a one-piece black bathing suit, the same one every day, and an abortion that fall.
    THERE WAS A MOTH on the windshield as they headed back. They were going forty miles an hour; its wings were quivering in what must have been a titanic wind as it resisted being borne into the night. Still, stubbornly, it clung, like gray ash but thick and trembling.
    — What are you doing? she said.
    Keck had pulled over and stopped. He reached out and pushed the moth a little. Abruptly it flew into the darkness.
    — Are you a Buddhist or something?
    — No, he said. I didn’t know if it wanted to go where we’re going, that’s all.
    At Jack’s they were quickly given a good table. She had come here all the time when she lived out here and was making movies, she said.
    — I’ve seen all of them, Keck said.
    — Well, you should have. They were good. But you were a little kid. How old are you?
    — Forty-three.
    — Forty-three. Not bad, she said.
    — I won’t ask you.
    — Don’t be crass, she warned.
    — Whatever it is, you don’t look it. You look about thirty.
    — Thank you.
    — I mean, it’s astonishing.
    — Don’t let it be too astonishing.
    What was her accent, was it English or just languid upper-class?