Last Night Read Online Free Page B

no use for them, there was no one who would even wear them.
    The years of her marriage, looking back, had been good ones. Myron Hirsch had left her with more than enough to take care of herself, and the success she had had was on top of that. For a woman of few talents—was that true? perhaps she was shortchanging herself—she had done pretty well. She was remembering how it had started. She remembered the beer bottles rolling around in the back of the car when she was fifteen and he was making love to her every morning and she did not know if she was beginning life or throwing it away, but she loved him and would never forget.

My Lord You
     
    THERE WERE CRUMPLED NAPKINS on the table,wine-glasses still with dark remnant in them, coffee stains, and plates with bits of hardened Brie. Beyond the bluish windows the garden lay motionless beneath the birdsong of summer morning. Daylight had come. It had been a success except for one thing: Brennan.
    They had sat around first, drinking in the twilight, and then gone inside. The kitchen had a large round table, fire-place, and shelves with ingredients of every kind. Deems was well known as a cook. So was his somewhat unknowable girlfriend, Irene, who had a mysterious smile though they never cooked together. That night it was Deems’s turn. He served caviar, brought out in a white jar such as makeup comes in, to be eaten from small silver spoons.
    — The only way, Deems muttered in profile. He seldom looked at anyone. Antique silver spoons, Ardis heard him mistakenly say in his low voice, as if it might not have been noticed.
    She was noticing everything, however. Though they had known Deems for a while, she and her husband had never been to the house. In the dining room, when they all went in to dinner, she took in the pictures, books, and shelves of objects including one of perfect, gleaming shells. It was foreign in a way, like anyone else’s house, but half-familiar.
    There’d been some mix-up about the seating that Irene tried vainly to adjust amid the conversation before the meal began. Outside, darkness had come, deep and green. The men were talking about camps they had gone to as boys in piny Maine and about Soros, the financier. Far more interesting was a comment Ardis heard Irene make, in what context she did not know,
    — I think there’s such a thing as sleeping with one man too many.
    — Did you say “such a thing” or “no such thing”? she heard herself ask.
    Irene merely smiled. I must ask her later, Ardis thought. The food was excellent. There was cold soup, duck, and a salad of young vegetables. The coffee had been served and Ardis was distractedly playing with melted wax from the candles when a voice burst out loudly behind her,
    — I’m late. Who’s this? Are these the beautiful people?
    It was a drunken man in a jacket and dirty white trousers with blood on them, which had come from nicking his lip while shaving two hours before. His hair was damp, his face arrogant. It was the face of a Regency duke, intimidating, spoiled. The irrational flickered from him.
    — Do you have anything to drink here? What is this, wine? Very sorry I’m late. I’ve just had seven cognacs and said good-bye to my wife. Deems, you know what that’s like. You’re my only friend, do you know that? The only one.
    — There’s some dinner in there, if you like, Deems said, gesturing toward the kitchen.
    — No dinner. I’ve had dinner. I’ll just have something to drink. Deems, you’re my friend, but I’ll tell you something, you’ll become my enemy. You know what Oscar Wilde said— my favorite writer, my favorite in all the world. Anyone can choose his friends, but only the wise man can choose his enemies.
    He was staring intently at Deems. It was like the grip of a madman, a kind of fury. His mouth had an expression of determination. When he went into the kitchen they could hear him among the bottles. He returned with a dangerous glassful and looked around