The Evening Star (60 page)

“She only asked you to be polite—besides, she might be a good cook,” Theo pointed out.

“If she asked me to be polite, how come she ain’t polite enough to cook what I want to eat?” Vassily asked.

“Shut up about the veal française, maybe she’ll cook it next time,” Theo said, wondering if it would be correct to bring flowers.

“If there is a next time,” Vassily said. “The woman’s had time to sober up. Once she gets a good look at you sober she might decide you ain’t so cute.”

Theo ignored his brother. He was still thinking about the flowers. He thought he might bring a few, correct or not.

“I hope she has French wine,” Vassily said.

10

The Greeks arrived promptly at eight, wearing black coats and smelling not so faintly of attar of roses, thanks to a Balkan cologne they both saved for fancy occasions.

Rosie met them at the door wearing a dramatic black eye patch over her developing shiner. Aurora remembered just in time that she had an eye patch among her memorabilia. Except for a few faint memories it was all that remained of a fling with a skinny professor who taught briefly at Bryn Mawr before dying young. His name was Justin, and he had been more refined than ardent, she remembered.

Still, she had kept the eye patch for a very long time, and now it had finally come in handy.

The only unhandy part was that Rosie seemed to depend unduly on the eye that the eye patch covered. She had difficulty seeing chairs, or even walls, and bumped into several on her way to greet their guests. Her bumpings were partly due to the eye patch and partly due to nerves. At the last minute Aurora had decided to press her into service as Vassily’s date, a role that made Rosie more than a little uncomfortable.

“What if Willie shows up while we’re eating and sees me with another man?” Rosie asked. “What kind of slut is he going to think I am if I wouldn’t even wait one day before dating somebody?”

“He’ll probably think you were a victim of my whim, which is in fact the case,” Aurora said. “Besides, it would not be wise for you to live your life—or, rather,
not
live it—because of Willie or what he might think, if he can think,” she added, heading upstairs to dress.

“It might not be wise to get involved with no Greek either—and I mean either one of us,” Rosie said. She had never been to Greece, but she had followed a number of stories about Greek politics on CNN and she was not entirely sure that she liked what she saw.

“Who said involved, it’s just one dinner,” Aurora pointed out from the stairs.

She had been in the process of putting the finishing touches on herself when the Greeks drove up. They arrived in a rattly white pickup that looked as if it might be held together with chewing gum. From the safety of her window nook, she watched them disembark. Theo held a small bouquet of flowers. If they were impressed with her house, or with the neighborhood, or with anything at all, they didn’t show it. While she watched, they trudged slowly up her sidewalk. From what she could tell of their demeanor, they might have been delivering themselves up to be pallbearers.

“Rosie, they’re here, give them drinks and make conversation,” she commanded from the head of the stairs, before returning to her dressing table, where she sank unexpectedly, just at the least opportune of moments, into an almost paralyzing depression. Her body, heavy enough in its own right, seemed to grow heavier, and she felt an ache—a hopeless ache—for Jerry. Theo and Vassily, the new men who were supposed to make her stop wanting Jerry—to make him vanish from her consciousness—had had, merely by arriving, the opposite effect. Instead of missing him less, she seemed only to exist to miss him; instead of vanishing from her consciousness,
he suddenly filled it. Instead of ceasing to want him, all she could think of was that she wanted to see him, be with him, touch him.

The feeling came over her so strongly that for a time all she could do was sit with her newly made up face in her hands, waiting for the feeling to pass. Along with the old need, and the knowledge of need, came a certain anger with herself. His house had been open to her, still. All the possibilities—loving him, having him—had been open to her, still. Yet, instead of fighting when she had caught the first whiff of Patsy, if it had been Patsy, she had run. It had not been her way to give up easily, and yet this time she had fled—if only she had stayed instead. Jerry would have stepped out of the shower soon. She could have confronted him, asked him questions, fought with him, grabbed him. She might have wrested him back then and there. But she hadn’t, and why? The worm in the rose, the parasite that weakened her, sapping her impulse to fight, what was it but age? The affliction that had caused her to hesitate at the beginning also caused her to flee at the end—when, in all likelihood, there had not needed to be an end.

She had more force than Patsy—she knew she had. And yet she had immediately ceded Patsy the victory, for no better reason than that Patsy was younger. She had meekly accepted her own impotence at the very moment when she ought to have asserted her potency.

“Hon, they’re here, ain’t you coming down?” the eye-patched Rosie suddenly asked from her doorway.

“Yes, certainly, this is a farce,” Aurora said, jumping up. She had guests—social duties. She couldn’t simply sit and feel hopeless.

Five minutes later she got herself downstairs to find that Rosie, scared of the living room, had taken the Greeks into the kitchen to give them drinks. The smell of lamb from the oven mingled with the smell of attar of roses from the Greeks.

“Why this black, is this a funeral?” Aurora asked, feeling the material of Theo’s coat.

“He thought it might be formal,” Theo said, nodding at Vassily.

“Yeah, but now that I’m here I’m feeling no pain,” Vassily reported.

“He oughtn’t to be, he drinks vodka like some people drink orange juice,” Rosie volunteered. Indeed, she was somewhat stunned by Vassily’s thirst for vodka. She had offered it casually, and before she could turn around he had drunk half a bottle, which made her nervous about her hostessing abilities. What if Aurora came down from dressing to find both of her guest stone drunk? Theo, noticing the wine Aurora had chosen for their meal, had asked suavely if he could have a little of it for starters.

“I’m a man of the grape,” he said. “Vas, he likes the grain.”

“Gets you there quicker,” Vassily commented.

“Gets you there quicker if drunk is where you’re headed,” Theo remarked.

Rosie was so nervous that she felt drunk might be where she was headed, too, so she drank a little vodka with Vassily. Theo opened a bottle of wine and smoothly consumed half of it while they were sitting around the kitchen, adjusting to one another and waiting for Aurora. In her nervousness Rosie had even considered bolting back upstairs and suggesting that Aurora hurry—she didn’t feel she was up to handling foreign guests, solo, too much longer. On the other hand, hurrying Aurora almost always backfired. Fortunately Aurora floated downstairs just as Rosie was approaching panic.

“I see Theo’s been clearing his throat with a little wine,” Aurora said. “Perhaps I should clear my throat the same way.”

Theo immediately rose and poured her a glass.

“Vassily’s never been in this neighborhood,” he remarked. “Me neither, till I met you.”

“Well, you’re men of the sea, the wine-dark sea,” Aurora said. “I wouldn’t expect to find you this far inland except in a good cause, such as cheering me up.”

“Vas needs to cheer himself up,” Theo said. “He’s been in the dumps lately.”

“Yeah, I’m getting divorced,” Vassily said. “I hate my wife.”

It seemed to Rosie that Vassily looked at her significantly as he said it. She had been hoping no one would look at her significantly until she straightened out her situation with Willie—if she had a situation with Willie. Unsettled by what seemed to be a significant look, she gulped a little more vodka.

“Rosie, I see you’re being a brilliant hostess—our guests look as happy as Greeks can look,” Aurora said. “This seems a perfect occasion for a little role reversal—you continue being the hostess and I’ll attempt to function as the scullery maid. If I get in over my head, Theo can help me. He has the look of a man who’s had experience with scullery maids.”

“Okay, fine,” Rosie said. She had no idea what that meant she was supposed to do.

“It’s cooling off—why don’t you take our guests out on the patio?” Aurora suggested. “The scullery maid will be along in a bit with some
fruits de mer.
”

“Shrimp, I bet,” Vassily said, as he got up and followed Rosie and Theo out.

“Shrimp, among other delicacies,” Aurora said, noting that Vassily was now looking significantly at her. “And then we’ll have some excellent lamb.”

It proved, indeed, to be excellent lamb. The brothers Petrakis consumed it in satisfying quantities—satisfying both to them and to the cook—while Rosie, animated by uncertainty and drink, chattered with the two of them about the one subject they found they had in common: Shreveport, Louisiana, where, it turned out, the brothers had once had what Vassily described as “business interests.” Rosie’s hometown, Bossier City, was just across the river. The fact that she and the two Greeks had spent time in the same place made Rosie feel much closer to them than she had expected to. She drank a good deal of vodka and then a glass or two of wine and ceased to worry too much about Vassily’s significant looks.

Indeed, even by the time the lamb was served, Rosie had
begun to feel that it was the best dinner party Aurora had ever had. Amazingly, Aurora had meant what she said about the role reversal. Rosie actually found herself leading the conversation, for once. It might have been only geographical reminiscences on the order of which store was on what corner in the Shreveport-Bossier City area, but she was the woman doing most of the talking. Aurora was up and down, serving; when she was down she was pleasant, but not especially talkative.

“Usually she does all the talking at these dinner parties,” Rosie confided to Theo at a moment when Aurora was out of the room. “I don’t know what hit her tonight.”

“Nothing’s hit me—when one is lucky enough to have a Greek chorus, one should shut up and let it chorus,” Aurora said, popping back in just in time to overhear the remark.

In fact, something
had
hit her: a fatigue of the spirit; a sense that she was on a treadmill and that the treadmill was slowing down. She could not quite get her brights to click on, or her partying spirit to kick in. She did her best, but her best on this occasion was far beneath her normal best. Of course her guests had never seen her at her normal best, and they munched their lamb and drank their wine contentedly, unaware of what they were missing.

“I must say you’re a laconic chorus, as choruses go,” Aurora commented, as she and Rosie were seeing the Greeks to their pickup.

“It’s your fault,” Theo said. “There was so much to eat we didn’t get time to talk.”

“I like this neighborhood,” Vassily said, looking around at the well-kept lawns. “It’s nice, you know. It ain’t dusty.”

“Anyway, you was quiet yourself,” Theo said, eying Aurora closely. “I guess you’re still upset about that jerk that jilted you.”

“I am, a bit,” Aurora admitted. “How shrewd of you to notice.”

“It’s plain as day,” Theo said. “You’re here, only you ain’t. Vas gets that way when he’s depressed about his girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Aurora said. “I thought it was his wife he’s depressed about.”

“Naw, he ain’t depressed about Angela, he just wants to kill her,” Theo said.

“I see,” Aurora said.

“You’d see for sure if you met Angela, she’s a terrorist,” Theo said.

Rosie and Vassily had wandered off down the sidewalk, indulging in yet more reminiscences of Shreveport while Vassily admired the neighborhood’s houses.

“I’m sure Vassily can hold his own, even with a terrorist,” Aurora said. “I’m not so sure about you, though.” She put her arm lightly over his shoulder as she said it.

“No, I’m fine,” Theo said. “I’m just fine.”

“Well, you look like a soft touch to me,” Aurora said. “Tell me about your heartbreaks.”

Theo considered. Aurora took her arm off his shoulder and walked over to the pickup. She thought she might examine it while Theo gave some thought to his heartbreaks. She kicked a rear tire once or twice to see if it was solid, and found that it was.

“The worst was my second wife, she was German,” Theo said. “Then there was Becky, but I shouldn’t have never got involved with her, she was too young for me—she liked to kick up her heels and dance all night, which is okay if you’re young, but I wasn’t.”

Aurora was silent, watching him across the sidewalk. Their pickup smelled like a sea creature.

“I’m afraid that was the problem with my jerk,” she said. “He was young and I’m not—although in this case I was the one who wanted to kick up my heels. He didn’t seem to want to do much of anything.”

“A deadhead,” Theo said. “These kids you see nowadays, they don’t have no energy. It’s like they don’t know how to live.”

“Well, at least I know that much,” Aurora said. “I think I know how to live.

“I guess the real problem is that I don’t know how to
stop
living,” she added. “Most people would be relieved if I’d just stop, but I don’t want to stop.” She felt, for a moment, undone by the accuracy of her own insight.

“Even when I was younger, they wanted me to stop—twenty years ago they were wanting me to stop,” she said, almost tearful.

“Why should you stop? You’re beautiful!” Theo said. He could hear sadness in Aurora’s voice and felt like rushing to her. But then, just as love was about to overwhelm him, his brother and Rosie wandered back up the sidewalk.

“I like the area,” Vassily said. “Soon as I get rich, this is where I’m moving.”

“Your pickup smells like a rolling fish,” Aurora said, hastily struggling up from her sinking spell. “Why’s that?”

“Because we haul fish in it when we ain’t got nothing else to do,” Vassily said.

Theo had a hard time choking down his sense of overwhelming love for Aurora. For the millionth time in his life he was reminded that his brother had no sense of timing, and no sensitivity to what was going on around him. He could have taken Rosie on a little longer walk—five minutes more—but here he was, back, and before Theo could find a way to say anything nice to Aurora, courtesies had been exchanged, the evening ended, and he was driving back across Houston with Vassily, who was fairly drunk and happy as a lark.