"Come and get it!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smalls Paulette)

CHAPTER TWO

The restaurant was on First Avenue, midtown, right on the corner. As if fixing it in his sights, the cabdriver aimed the taxi at its wide glass doors. With a squeal of acceleration, which signaled the light had changed from red to green, Doug was thrust back against the grimy vinyl seat. The cab leaped forward like a springing animal, darting out ahead of the heavy noontime traffic. In a straight diagonal line which took them from one side of First Avenue to the other, the driver brought his cab to a sudden, bone crunching standstill, directly in front of the restaurant.

Turning casually, the thick-faced driver grinned at Doug through the thick plastic partition which separated the front and rear of the cab.

"Buck eighty-five."

Doug exhaled tightly, but forced himself not to say anything. Be thankful you got here in one piece, he advised himself. From his wallet he took two one dollar bills, three dimes from the aide pocket of his jacket. He paid the driver, then slid across the seat toward the door. Before he reached it, the door swung open. Through the window he could see the uniform of the doorman from the restaurant.

"Thank you," Doug muttered, climbing from the taxi. He wondered if he was supposed to tip the doorman.

The early summer sun was exceptionally bright, and it made Doug squint. A wave of heat swelled up from the sidewalk, engulfing him.

The doorman turned, smiling vacantly, and nodded to a man and woman. They were standing just inside the restaurant, framed behind its large glass doors. Pushing open one of the doors, the man held it open for the woman as she followed him out. A long cool finger of air-conditioned air sliced through the humidity. Dressed in what was obviously expensive summer weight clothing, the couple smiled appreciatively at Doug, end then hurried past him, heading for his vacated cab. Over his shoulder, Doug could hear the doorman say: "Have a good day, Sir." He turned to see the man hand the doorman a dollar tip.

Guess that answers my question, he thought, hurrying. He pushed open the thick glass door and entered the restaurant.

Inside it was cool and dimly lit, and very, very crowded. He was aware of the murmur of muted voices and of clinking glasses. Filling in the background was a soft, almost colorless music. The stirring aroma of food reminded him that he was hungry, and that annoyed him. Squinting his eyes further, he looked for Val.

The restaurant was divided into two sections, and across the far wall on his left was a bar. It was solidly packed with mostly men and Doug was certain that if Val was there, she'd stand out. Nevertheless, he checked carefully, rust to be certain. NO Val.

The dining area was on the left, two steps down from the bar, very properly roped off behind heavy elegant drapery. At the base of the stairs, just to the left of a sea of men and women sitting at countless rows of tables, stood the maitre d'hotel. Doug headed for him, gazing across the faces of the eating people.

"I'm supposed to meet my wife for lunch."

"Your name, Sir?"

"Barstow…"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Barstow. Your wife told me to expect you. Let's see… she's sitting at…" – he consulted his floor plan – "… table twenty-three."

Doug looked for her. "If you could just point the way…"

"I'll have someone take you."

He called over a waiter, handed him a menu, and instructed him to take Doug to Val's table. Doug shook the maitre d'hotel's hand, slipping him two dollars for his effort. He followed the waiter through a twisting maze until they came to table twenty-three. Val was sitting there alone, reading the menu. In her right hand, her fingers wrapped around the tapered stem of her glass, was a half-consumed Manhattan.

"You're late," Val said, without looking up from the menu. "As usual."

"I didn't even know I was supposed to be here until twenty minutes ago. I was in meetings all morning."

"Would you care for a cocktail before your meal, Sir?" the waiter asked.

"A martini. Very dry."

"Madam?"

"What? Oh." Val looked up from her menu. "Just a second." She drained her drink, then handed the glass to the waiter. The menu consumed her interest again. "I'll have another, please."

"What is this all about?" Doug asked once the waiter had gone after their drinks. "Why are we meeting here?"

"For lunch, darling. For lunch."

"I know that," he snapped, a little too loudly. He lowered his voice quickly, looking around self-consciously at the people nearby. "Why are we having lunch?"

"So that we can talk – like civilized human beings, without ripping out each other's throat. We could hardly do that in this crowd could we?" Val turned the page in her menu, reading it as she spoke. "I guess we're going to be forced to rationally discuss things."

"Why here? It's so damned expensive."

"How typical," Val said, glancing up lust long enough to cast him a withering glare. "You're always so economical when it comes to my pleasures. Pretend I'm a business client, darling, and this is a business lunch. You could even pick up the tab and write it off as an expense. Make believe I'm not only just your wife."

Doug opened his mouth, looked around, and snapped off the end of a bread stick.

Behind the menu, Val smiled. "Aren't you going to look at your menu?"

"I know what I want to eat."

Val sighed. "Yes, I know; the same meal you always order. You've no sense of adventure, that's what's wrong with you. You're so predictable, rigid."

"I know what I like. Why shouldn't I have what I enjoy most?"

The waiter arrived with their drinks, distributing them with a fluid grace.

"Are you ready to order yet; Sir?"

"I am. But…" Doug glanced over at Val.

"I'll be a few more minutes."

"My wife likes to read the entire menu before ordering," Doug explained, his voice tight with frustration. He shook his head. "No, we're not quite ready yet. Thank you."

"It really bothers you, doesn't it," Val said, after the waiter had gone. She did not bother to look at her husband, but continued to read the menu. "The fact that I read over the entire menu before ordering really bothers you."

"It takes so damn long!" he protested, realizing how feeble the explanation seemed verbalized. For some reason he couldn't stand it when she did that. It just pissed him off. "It's annoying."

Although he couldn't read her passive expression, there was a quiver of tension in her carefully controlled voice.

"Well, unlike you, I enjoy experimenting with life and trying new things. I especially like to experiment with new foods. Whenever I have the opportunity to try something new, something exotic, I'm going to take it. And if that means reading through every menu I get before I order, then that's what I'm going to do. And if you don't like it, darling… well, that's just too bad."

Doug sipped his martini, refusing to let himself be drawn into another argument. The best way to handle it was to swallow his retort and, finally break the circular chain of bickering which would inevitably lead them directly into confrontation. This was certainly not the place for that, nor was it the day. He had a full afternoon of work ahead of him, and he would need a sound, clear head for that. He gulped his drink, his fingertips turning white as he gripped the glass.

"Are you ready to order?" he asked when Val finally placed the menu down at the side of their table.

"Yes. I'll have fish, I think."

Doug caught the waiter's attention, and they placed their orders. Doug ordered his usual: filet mignon, rare. He also ordered a second drink.

"Are you ready to talk now?" he asked.

"I think so," Valerie said, smiling, looking lovely in her shimmery green silken dress. "Are you ready to listen?"

Doug was instantly on the defensive. "Oh, is that how it's supposed to be? You do the talking and I do the listening?"

"Yes, that's exactly how it's going to be this time," Val said, her voice soft, yet quite forceful. Despite his objections, it commanded his attention. "This time I'm going to tell you how it's going to be, and what we're going to do. And if you don't like it, you're free to divorce me. We're heading in that direction anyhow. One of us has got to try and do something to stop it."

The realization sobered Doug. "Have things gotten that bad, Val? Are we really talking about divorce?"

She nodded her head. Her voice was sad and resigned. "I can't stand fighting any more, Doug. That's all we do. It's like living in a war zone, always tense, always on the defensive, waiting for the next assault." She shook her head. "I can't take it any longer. It's wearing me out until all I want to do is escape… get away from it. I can't live like this anymore. Thins are either going to change… or I'm leaving."

"This is not a bluff, is it? You're serious."

"Absolutely serious."

Doug exhaled. "All right, I'll listen."

Now that she had his attention, Val felt suddenly nervous, knowing as she did what she must say next. As always, when she was under pressure, the craving for a cigarette, the need to have something to do with her hands, was impossible to resist, and she felt betrayed when she realized she had already opened her purse and was rummaging through it. Defiantly she pulled out a fresh pack, opened it, and fumbled with the tightly packed cigarettes until she pulled one out, holding it by the tips of her fingernails. She put it in her mouth, and Doug lit it. Silence hung heavily between them. She exhaled.

"We have to get a separation," Val said.

"No."

"Doug…"

"Absolutely no," he affirmed, his voice rising.

The slow, silent movement of Val's eyes, glancing at the various people sitting at nearby tables, was enough to silence Doug's protests. She crushed out her cigarette with a grinding twist of her fingers.

"A separation, Doug," she said, the note of finality ringing loud and clear in her tone. "A trial one, as I'm trying to suggest, or a permanent one. At this point, that's the only choice you have to make."

He shook his head, dazed. "But I love you!"

"That's irrelevant. It's just as irrelevant as my telling you that I love you. So what? We still can't get along. Love has nothing to do with this."

"But Valerie…"

"You're not going to change my mind, so don't even try. I know what I must do. I've thought this out very carefully." While she spoke, her fingers moved restlessly across the table, arranging and rearranging the silverware. "If you would only let me tell you…"

"I'm sorry. Go ahead; I won't interrupt again."

"A separation," she continued, "in the form of separate vacations. Instead of us both going away together next month, we'll take separate vacations. I'll go somewhere by myself – Florida, maybe – and you can go wherever you want. No questions asked."

Doug looked up, and for a moment their eyes locked. A shiver went through him as he understood the full implications of Val's statement.

"Actually," Val said, her voice hedging nervously, "it will probably be very good for us… healthy for our marriage. We've been married six years, Doug – six years. It's about time that we've had a little break from each other."

"If you say so."

Val nodded firmly. "It will give us a chance to be completely on our own; give us the chance to think and work out our problems. It will help us to decide, Doug… decide if we want to stay married. What do you think?"

Doug shrugged helplessly. "Does it matter?"

Before Val had a chance to respond, the waiter reappeared with their food. They ate in silence.