A Singular Man Part 2

Some terrifying physical specimens around that wrestling room."

"Gee tell me about them Mr. Smith. I love hearing about these big tarzans, that's the way my brother's built, the one who gets his picture on the social page, he goes right out under the arms, you'd swear he had no stomach at all. Shape of a V. At home in our kitchen he'd come in without a st.i.tch on and open up the ice box, take out the milk and drink a whole quart in one gulp. His body is really magnificent. Our parents brought us up letting us look at each other. I think that's the way it ought to be. He lifts weights. You should see him. And throws that thing they have at races, that round ball. But Mr. Smith aren't you afraid of being killed by one of these guys."

"I can take care of myself."

"Cut the kidding Mr. Smith one of these guys could break you in half, I'd be careful if I were you. You're just not built."

"Miss Tomson, this is a club for sportsmen and gentle-men."

"I don't know, Mr. Smith, you just seem too frondlike for that kind of thing. I just don't see it, you grappling with one of these tarzans, not one like my brother anyway, he's really beautiful. Even big as he is, he moves like he was a panther."

"I'm sure he does, Miss Tomson."

"Hey come on Mr. Smith, I hurt your feelings didn't I. Come on now, I did."

"On on o."

"I have, I know when I have. But you're just not one of these big apes. I mean you're no weakie Mr, Smith, you've got things they haven't got."

"What Miss Tomson."

"Well. Maybe you're not mentally weak, maybe that's what I'm saying. Like you're gentle. Got nice hands. You show consideration. Those things are something, Mr. Smith. I just could never, but never, you know see you stark at the ice box under a bottle of milk, that would be just, it would be just -"

"I think dinner's served, Miss Tomson."

"See there I go, can't control my mouth. How did we get on this anyway."

"I believe you asked me how the sport went."

"O yesh."

Miss Tomson in black. She wore green this afternoon. And she's wearing flat shoes for my sake. Makes me half an inch taller. She stands up straight and walks swinging her hips. Those two handy melons wandering around under the backside of her skirt. As she flashes her head back and catches my globes glued.

"You think I'm walking like I was compromised, Mr. Smith."

"I don't quite get you, Miss Tomson."

"You know, Mr. Smith."

"I don't Miss Tomson, why are you shaking your head."

"Because Mr. Smith you're one of the most innocent guys. Ha ha, I think. Can't you see I'm walking as if I'm looking for it."

"For what."

"For it. Don't force me to say it because I will."

"Please, Miss Tomson. I don't mind myself but there's Matilda."

"Don't think she's not looking for it either."

"Miss Tomson, do you like asparagus."

Miss Tomson tall, sat at the other end of the maple, Smith's favorite tree. George reaching out to push aside the thriving ferns which Matilda had placed squarely between the diners so they couldn't see each other. The asparagus comes in. Laid out cooked and dead on the moss green plates. Naturally I reached for my napkin and let it fall over my thigh. Miss Tomson spreading hers across her lap. She's looking and waiting. For the asparagus. Can't possibly take it lankly with the fingers until she does. Surely she'll use the knife on them. Not make a move till I see. She's going for the fork. Isn't there some rule don't use a fork when a knife will do. Goodness, she's after b.u.t.ter.

"Matilda, the b.u.t.ter, please."

"Sure. If that's what you want."

A simple thing like the b.u.t.ter. Deal with it with careless nonchalance. Pretend I'm waiting for b.u.t.ter too. If I pick up this piece of asparagi and she cuts hers with a fork. Just wait and see. Adjust napkin. And reach for the bread. No. Offer some.

"Miss Tomson, let me cut you bread. White or brown."

"That brown looks good Mr. Smith."

"Of course, brown. Ah, here's the b.u.t.ter. Thank you Matilda."

Good appet.i.te has Miss Tomson. And a forceful chewer.

"Mr, Smith, you don't mind my gobbling this."

"Of course not, Miss Tomson, I intend to gobble myself. Much healthier that way."

"Say Mr. Smith, you really go in for this health."

"Taken an interest in a certain robustness, Miss Tom-son."

"Sure, but why kill yourself."

"I'm not killing myself. A little exercise to keep my figure."

"After thirty you can't go back. What's a little pot. Real cute. I like it. No kidding. Why don't you try a corset."

"Miss Tomson, will you have your omelette runny in the middle."

"Yesh, please."

"Matilda, both soft in the middle please."

"If that's the way you want it. You better get that wine while I'm cooking. I got my hands here full. Never enough time for nothing."

Miss Tomson leaning across the table. She c.o.c.ks her head towards the kitchen, whispering.

"Mr. Smith, she distinctly dislikes me. Why don't you some evening come to my apartment. I've got a typewriter there."

"That's kind, Miss Tomson, but I wouldn't think of such an imposition. You've got your own personal life to lead. I'm already imposing myself too much on your free time."

"What free time. I go home now, mess around, listen to music, make some clothes. I do nothing."

"Some nice young man will be around."

"That's a laugh. My brother he likes to come around, crowds the apartment out with celebrities. Bunch of stuffy stuck up deads. I told him to stop bringing them around, that I just wasn't interested. They all have to do the talking. I used to be crazy for that kind of crowd. And one day living in the nest, everybody showing up for tennis. You know, seeing them standing in the hall, a really healthy bunch of looking people. You know and just like that, I took a look at this crowd. Just stood and listened, you know, Mr. Smith, I was hearing them for the first time. And same day I'm standing on the court with my racket, resting when I get this poke in the back through the fence. It's a guy pa.s.sing on the street. I turn around, I'm going to say who the f.u.c.k, sony about that, but who the, and he hands me a piece of paper. It's my first sight of the poetic curiosity. There's a poem on the paper and his address on the back. Hey, am I talking like mad. Must be the wine."

"Miss Tomson I'm most interested to hear you talking."

"You're not kidding."

"Certainly not."

"I was crazy then, you know. Going up with that gold key to the nest, the elevator crammed with presents I'm buying with this guy's money. OS OS the roof garden socking tennis b.a.l.l.s mad laughing, bounce them on the underprivileged, help keep them down. I said everybody get a load of this, some guy's handed me a note with a poem. I started to read it. I stopped right in the middle. I thought Christ, this guy might have meant this and the words are nice and they were about me too, that's why I stopped I guess. I went all moody. Threw a few real crazy tantrums. Turned on all the water in the nest till it was pouring right down the elevator shaft. I was thinking what's this kind of life, what good is it. It was pretty good. But I was selling myself for peanuts. Funny isn't it, there I got all interested in the real things, you know deep things and the poetic curiosity all the while is interested in the free meal ticket and big time living up in the nest. Boy." the roof garden socking tennis b.a.l.l.s mad laughing, bounce them on the underprivileged, help keep them down. I said everybody get a load of this, some guy's handed me a note with a poem. I started to read it. I stopped right in the middle. I thought Christ, this guy might have meant this and the words are nice and they were about me too, that's why I stopped I guess. I went all moody. Threw a few real crazy tantrums. Turned on all the water in the nest till it was pouring right down the elevator shaft. I was thinking what's this kind of life, what good is it. It was pretty good. But I was selling myself for peanuts. Funny isn't it, there I got all interested in the real things, you know deep things and the poetic curiosity all the while is interested in the free meal ticket and big time living up in the nest. Boy."

There was a tear in Miss Tomson's eye.

"Miss Tomson, please don't say any more. Have a little sip of wine. Good mouthful of omelette too."

"You know Mr. Smith, I do you injustice you don't deserve. You're a nice guy."

"Fresh pineapple. Or apricots."

"Sure. Love some."

"Matilda, the apricots."

Smith reaching to light the candles, scented and rumoured to be aphrodiziac. Out the window in the sky over the rooftops was a twilight of twinkling turned to a blaze of black and gold.

"Mr. Smith, you know what."

"What Miss Tomson."

"You're a strange guy. Why some debutante didn't nab you I don't know. Weren't they swarming over you."

"I regret to say, Miss Tomson, they weren't."

Matilda brought on the raw pineapple all sugar soaked, and a gla.s.s bowl full of delightful apricots. Miss Tomson and Mr. Smith eating from a knee in front of the fire. Cosier that way. Miss Tomson undoing a gigantic buckle to let it out a notch. Patting the tiny rotundity.

"I'm getting a pot too. I need more padding on me. I could use more right here."

"You're all right there, Miss Tomson."

"How do you know these are reaL"

"Come come, Miss Tomson."

"Ha ha, almost caught you guessing though, didn't I Mr. Smith, come on admit it."

"For a moment perhaps."

"Mr. Smith, you give me laughs. Your face the day I brought Goliath to the office. Were you white."

"Brandy, MissTomson."

"This stuff made of apricots, Mr. Smith."

"Fermented."

"I could get stinko."

"Shall we have some strong coffee."

"I keep forgetting I'm here to do some work. Come on, let's work. Get the letters out. I'm really all set. Let's spread them all out next to each other. I got choice replies to all of them. Dear Buster, they're holding a big sale somewhere down town, full of kite bargains. You are invited. How's that Mr. Smith. You don't go for that one. Now this guy JJJ. how could he be aware of the nature of your business when I don't even know. Takes an opportunity to give a warning, why not Dear Jack, beat it or we'll give you a hot poker up the roosel. Sorry Mr. Smith, but I mean why doesn't he just come out with it. Ha ha, he might really give you a scare."

"Have more brandy, Miss Tomson."

"Sure. Funny in your house like this I feel relaxed. Mr. Smith I don't want to pry but why hasn't a guy like you got a wife and kids. It's none of my business, forget I asked."

Faintly from the street scraggly children's voices singing a yule song. Miss Tomson going to the window.

"Hey come here Mr. Smith look at this, isn't that sweet, group of urchins, they're singing. How do you get this window open."

"I'm afraid it's sealed."

"I'd throw the kids some money. Poor things singing out there all alone in the cold. n.o.body I guess even listening. Can't we do something for them. Maybe I could run down there with a platter of stuff. Let's do that."

"Miss Tomson, I'd rather you didn't."

"Hey why."

"You'll get chilled."

"Not me. I'm as healthy as they make them. I go walking barefoot right out the lobby of my building."

"I still rather you didn't."

"What's got into you Mr. Smith. You mean you don't want me to give those poor kids sustenance. Is that what you're telling me."

"Miss Tomson, please, you're misunderstanding me."

"I wonder if I am. Then why shouldn't I. Look how cold and hungry they look down there. If I were a kid I'd wish someone would come out of a rich place like this and give me something, even though it was only food"

"I've got my reasons."

"I guess you have, Mr. Smith. But they're a mystery to me. If I had some kids and they were out singing I'd like to know someone was going to react. I've got my pad if you want to dictate."

"Miss Tomson, O.K., Matilda will give you some cold chicken from the kitchen. Take it down to them."

"No, it's all right."

"Now please do."