Ann Beattie - Chilly Scenes of Winter

“What do you think?” Sam says.

“I wasn’t rude, was I? Did I say something rude?”

“You made it plain who you liked, let’s say that.”

Oh no. Poor Betty.

“What am I going to do? I can’t just let her run off like that”

He wants to let her run off. He wants never to see her again. Or anybody but Laura. Anybody else is a waste of time.

“I think it’s pretty obvious what you can do,” he says.

“Okay. I’m going to get out of the car for a minute.”

He walks slowly toward the building. His car idling sounds very loud. He doesn’t feel well. He pulls the door handle. The doors are locked. He pulls harder. They are locked. There is a list of names outside underneath glass, but they’re only last names. What is Betty’s last name? He never did know her last name. He has to get Betty so … so what? So he can apologize. It wouldn’t do any good to apologize. She would be polite. If she isn’t up there crying. Why did she run? How did she get away so fast? Did she even say what floor she lived on? He leans against the building, looks through the darkness back to the street where his car is. Sam is getting pretty tired of all this. He is likely to lose his only friend. He will have to get himself together and go over to Sam’s and help him pack books and move clothes. He straightens up and begins to walk. The trees to either side of him might as well be a firing squad.

Laura’s number is waiting for him when he gets back from lunch. He went to work over an hour early, thinking that for some reason Betty might get there early, too, and he would have Laura’s phone number sooner. Betty did not show up early, or at all. When he saw the memo (it did not have his name on it, and there was no explanation — only the number and Betty’s name) he was relieved that Betty was feeling well enough to come to work, and in a burst of sympathy before he called Laura (and to give himself a little more time to think) he walked down to the typing pool. Three women were there, but Betty was still not at her desk. He asked one of the women. She said that Betty had called in sick, but there had been a message for him. She asked the woman typing at the next desk if she hadn’t taken the message. Yes, and left it on his desk. “Thank you,” he said. He was bothering them. “Do any of you know Betty’s number?” The same woman who took the message knew Betty’s number. She opened her bottom desk drawer and took out a huge purse, a lavender purse, and found a little book inside with Betty’s number. “Thank you,” he said again, and went back to his office. He dialed Betty. There was no answer. He hung up and tried again. Still nothing. He put on the earphones and listened to a song. He went out for a drink. He came back to the desk and ran his hand over the pile of reports. It is just not the right moment to call Laura. He is worried about Betty, and he is sore from lifting cartons of books, and his lunch was horrible, and he’s sure that when she picks up the phone he will blurt that he loves her and plead with her to let him run over immediately. He has already told Sam he won’t be home for dinner. He opens a box of Steel City paper clips and examines one (“Doctor Dan wants to know who shot that paper clip. Come on … which one of you?”). How could she have moved without telling him? He picks up the phone again, then puts it down. No sense in calling and sounding annoyed. Best to treat it casually: “I hear you moved.” Shit. Why didn’t she call him; what’s that supposed to mean? He picks up one of the reports and begins making notations. He finishes the report and leans back in the chair. It is an orange chair with upholstery that looks and feels like burlap. He is reluctant to say that it is burlap, however, because he doesn’t want to think that he is sitting on burlap. That’s what they bag potatoes in. He puts his head back and stares at the sun, mid-point in the window. He is tired; last night after cleaning out Sam’s apartment he tried to sleep, but he kept thinking that the next day he’d get Laura’s number and he couldn’t sleep. Then the dog started walking around, jingling its collar. Sam finally got up to take the collar off, and the dog thought that it was a game and ducked its head (Charles eventually got up to help) and sprinted from the room. Then he was wide awake, and worrying about the way he had treated Betty and wondering if it was true that Pamela Smith left with her brother. What if some maniac had a knife on her and made her write it? He should have looked to see if there was a hidden message. How could she just leave like that? How could Laura? Why isn’t he calling?

What is your favorite meal? he asks himself.

Lasagna .

What is your favorite day?

Friday .

What is your favorite sport?

Skiing . (He chuckles.)

He begins again, trying to be honest, no tricks, just honesty. It is a game Susan taught him years ago that she said would help him fall asleep. She did not use the word “game,” but that’s what it is.

What is your favorite meal?

Lasagna, Chili .

Just one.

Lasagna .

Who is your best friend? Sam .

What is your favorite country? America .

Who was your favorite President? Kennedy .

Whom do you idolize? Nobody .

What was the best year of your life?

The year I met Laura .

What was the happiest month of your life?

Same .

Hour?

Same .

Then why aren’t you calling?

Fear .

Why are you fearful? Don’t know .

You do know.

Too many reasons to go into .

Go into one of them.

Afraid I’ll be overcome and will sound too desperate, blow the whole thing .

What if you blow the whole thing?

Don’t know .

You do know.

The end .

Sam would ask the same questions, prodding him. He would give the same answers. The game is not relaxing him at all; it’s not divorced from life, it is life. He closes his eyes and tries to count sheep. What do sheep look like? (“And now she says the picture on the piano is her husband.…”) Sheep have curly hair and little ears. In a pasture. Green grass. They bleat. He can’t see them, though.

What do you see?

A fruit stand .

That makes no sense.

I know .

What kind of fruit?

Apples, pears, bananas, peaches, grapes, and lettuce . No, not lettuce. Melon .

Do you want to eat the fruit?

No .

Want to buy it?

No.

Explain. Can’t .

Can.

Can’t .

He is feeling very uncertain. If he doesn’t call now, he will be in a worse state of mind when he does call. The phone rings. It is his boss. He has found his pen. It was on the windowsill, behind the Venetian blind. Charles tells him that it is wonderful that the pen has been found. “I’ll be having a small get-together soon, and will let you and your wife know.” His boss says that that is splendid. Why did he say that to his boss? Because he is making nervous conversation, hoping his boss does not sense that he’s goofing off. He congratulates his boss again. His voice is so insincere that it cracks. His boss chuckles. Spirits are high.

This is just not the right phone to call from. There is nothing pleasant about the phone or the surroundings. He puts on his coat and walks down the corridor to the elevator. He rides to the ground floor, walks past the blind man’s stand, out the doors. He runs across the highway to the shopping center. He goes into the Safeway and gets a brown bag and fills it with fruit He checks his wallet. Fruit could not possibly cost more than thirty-eight dollars. He throws in another pear, a bunch of grapes.