Ann Beattie - Chilly Scenes of Winter

“I don’t think Rod Stewart is dead,” Charles says.

Sam doesn’t say anything. He is staring at a girl across the room. Charles orders a pitcher of beer for them.

“Hey, hey, get it while you can,” Sam says.

“Looks like reading those trash book didn’t do you any good,” Charles says.

“It did. You don’t see me getting up, do you?”

“Maybe you should go over. Don’t listen to me. I’m just being witty,” Charles says.

“To tell you the truth, I’d rather have my dog back than that girl,” Sam says.

“Forget the dog. Stop talking about her.”

The dog, sitting down, rolling over, shaking hands for a beef bone …

“ ’Atta way, Maria!” a drunk shouts at the speakers. It is the same man.

“That clown was here when I came for a drink with Pete.”

“He’s always here.”

“He looks like he’s in bad shape.”

“I heard that he was a sociology professor.”

“You’re kidding.”

“That’s what I heard.”

Sam turns around and stares at the checked tablecloth. The pitcher of beer is put down in the middle of the table.

“Good centerpiece,” Sam says.

“Amy Vanderbilt would think so.”

“She doesn’t think shit any more,” Sam says.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

“That Elise was really a dummy.”

“She wasn’t even very good-looking,” Charles says.

“She wasn’t,” Sam agrees. “I should have kept my fifteen. Then I could contribute to the beer fund.”

“I’ve got plenty of money.”

“That was a subtle hint, in case you’d forgotten I was broke.”

“I didn’t forget”

“Did you forget that you asked me to come live at your place?”

“Of course not How drunk do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to check.”

“You ought to do it, Sam. I don’t think we’d get on each other’s nerves.”

“I couldn’t do that. It’s nice of you, though.”

“Think about it,” Charles says.

“I’ll think about it,” Sam says.

“Oooooh, Mama,” the drunk shouts. “Maria!”

“He’s no sociology professor,” Charles says.

“I’ll ask him,” Sam says. Sam gets up. Charles stares straight ahead, in case there is a fight. He doesn’t want to get involved. If only Sam hadn’t gotten up so quickly, he could have dissuaded him.

“He is,” Sam says, sitting down again.

“You really asked him? What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Yeah.’ ”

“Jesus,” Charles says.

Charles pours another glass of beer.

“Then what did you say? You didn’t just ask and then walk away, did you?”

“I said, ‘You’re not giving a graduate course this semester, are you?’ And he said he wasn’t”

“What if he had been?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “I would have thought of something.”

Clever Sam, the drinking fountain handle twisted off … Sam pours another glass of beer. “I wish I was back in college,” he says.

“Yeah,” Charles says.

“But I don’t think I’d want to go to college now,” Sam says. “With these people, I mean. They look just like they’d go to a prom.”

Charles fills his half-empty beer glass.

“You want to hear something sad?” Charles says.

“Do I?”

“It’s not that sad. It’s just something I read. You know Jacques Cousteau?”

“Sure. You think just because I’m not in law school I’m an ignoramus?”

“I think you’re very intelligent That’s why I wish you could be a lawyer.”

“I don’t have any goddamn money. Or motivation.”

“Jacques Cousteau had this dolphin he was working with …”

“If the goddamn dolphin died, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“It didn’t die. The dolphin liked Cousteau and all the attention he gave her so much that she always had her head out of the water, and she got sunburned.”

Sam laughs. “That’s not depressing,” he says.

“I think it is.”

“It’s not as depressing as some things I could think of.”

“Such as my unrequited love for Laura?”

“I was thinking more selfishly.”

“I’m paying for the beer. Think charitably.”

“Well, I wish she liked you.”

“She does like me. She might even love me. She just won’t leave her husband.”

“We’ve been through this before.”

“Be charitable, goddamn it. I love her.”

“Yeah. She was nice.”

“I know she was nice. Why did her husband have to meet her before I did?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “I don’t know, either. She says she doesn’t know.”

“Maybe you can shame her into leaving him or something.”

“I doubt it”

“I don’t know. I never have anything intelligent to say on the subject.”

“I just like to talk about her. I’m a masochist. Susan says I am. Do you think I am?”

“I don’t want to insult you. You’re my best friend.”

“You do think so, then?”

“I guess you are.”

“Maybe I am. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“Mama Maria, ooh la la,” the man hollers.

The waiter brings another pitcher of beer.

“You know what you could do for me?” Charles says.

“What?” Sam says, picking up the pitcher.

“You could just drive me past her house.”

“What good would that do?”

“I want to see if the lights are off.”

“You’ll make yourself miserable.”

“Come on, Sam.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Then we’ll go over to your apartment and get as much of your stuff as we can haul and bring the stuff to my place.”

“No, no. I can’t move in with you. But thanks.”

“What’s the real reason you won’t move in?”

“I just wouldn’t feel right about it. It’s your house.”

“You can pay half the bills. That would still be a hell of a lot less than the rent you pay.”

“Jesus, I can’t do that. You mean just move out of my apartment?”

“Yeah. Then if you find another cheaper place to move, go ahead and move. Meanwhile you’d be out of there.”

“I don’t know,” Sam says.

“Anyway, there’s a gas leak in your apartment.”

“Everybody who’s got a gas stove has a smell like that.”

“That’s because they leak.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“You’re not able to fight with me.”

“I wouldn’t want to anyway.”

“Come on, finish this beer with me and we’ll get moving.”

“What if you’re just drunk and you wake up in the morning and I’ve moved into your house?”

“I asked you at dinner. I wasn’t drunk at dinner, Sam.” Sam bends his fingers, cracks his knuckles. “Well?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says.

“You could save some money. You could look around and find some better place to live. You’re not going to give them twenty-five bucks more a month for that place that’s poisoning you, are you?”

“Let me finish this beer,” Sam says.

“Will you at least drive me past Laura’s?”

“Yeah. It seems maudlin to me, but if that’s what you want.”

“Maria Muldaur!” the man hollers.

Charles smiles. If Sam had said no, he was going to have Sam drop him off and drive his own car. He doesn’t want Laura to look out her window and see his car, though. He doesn’t want her to think he’s harassing her. She doesn’t know Sam’s car. Not that she’ll be awake.

“Maybe I could move in temporarily,” Sam says. “Until I get another job.”

Charles nods.

“That’ll surprise the landlord,” Sam says.

“Yeah. Just move out on him.”

“It’ll be strange not going home and riding in the elevator,” Sam says.