Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

“What do you have there?” because I’d got him out of a lobby chair where he’d been reading a book.

“Socialism in South America. Maybe not for you, but I’m interested in economics, history, politics, those kinds of relations — international — and know nothing about it in South America, or not as much as I do in other places. How’s Lynn?”

“Fine.”

“I’ll see her, but tell her welcome back. Cool for this time of year, right?”

“I felt it upstairs. Had to shut some of the windows. I love it like this, breeze blowing directly into the apartment off the river and such.”

There’ll be plenty more warm and even hot days left. It’s only starting September. You get hot days in October.”

“Not always, but we probably will. See you, Frank. You’ve been very nice.”

“Hey, thank you; you too. I love talking to nice people who know books, and this building’s loaded with them.”

I wave, he does, and I leave.

When I’m walking to the subway and thinking about what happened upstairs, I start to smile. I don’t know why. Then I think it could be because I’m not feeling hopeless, depressed or upset. Women breaking up with me has happened so many times the last twenty-plus years and every time it happened with someone I really liked I got tremendously depressed and upset, and this time I’m not. What does that mean? That I didn’t love her as much as I thought I did or I feel some relief over the breakup and something inside is telling me that and therefore not to overdramatize the situation and get depressed and upset? No, I loved her a lot and wanted the relationship to go on but I guess I got upset one last time that last time with Diana and that was the last time I can get upset over something like that. Maybe. That after reacting the same way so many times it would just seem stupid to act that way again. Maybe. Probably this feeling won’t last, though. We’ll see, I hope it does.

I go into the subway station at a Hundred-sixteenth, buy a magazine from the newsstand on the platform, get on the downtown local and start reading an article on one of my favorite contemporary writers — one of the few I even like — an Austrian, who died of TB just last year. A few stations pass before I realize I haven’t thought of Lynn since I started the article. That’s a first. And it’s not so much the article, which is stiffly written and full of literary jargon and has no new information about the writer or any original ideas. Before, after a breakup like this, the woman was on my mind all the time for at least a couple of days and of course I’d be constantly morose and also angry. But I don’t have those feelings now. I feel pretty good, in fact. I go back to the article, which gets interesting at the end of it because of the writer’s last tragic years.

I get off at Seventy-second and some guy standing at the station’s entrance says “Got a quarter? I’m very hungry.” He looks like he does need food and I give him some change and he says Thanks,” and I say “You’re welcome, and take it easy,” and he says “I’ll try.” Giving a panhandler change and a brief pep talk aren’t things I would have done right after one of the previous breakups. Those times I would have felt more sorry for myself than I would for him and I’m sure I would have scooted right by. No, I don’t feel too bad.

“Michael,” someone says when I’m walking home, and I turn around and it’s Annette. She used to go with my friend Ben. I say hello and we shake hands and I say “So how’s it going? What’ve you been up to these days?” and she says “Nothing much, or same thing. My meditation and spiritual retreats and my work. Seen Ben?”

“Not for two months. Been away. But we wrote and phoned. He’s doing fine. Likes his new job.”

“Good for him. He was broke, last I heard. He’s still not drinking too much, I hope.”

“No, he cut out drinking and smoking, both cigarettes and dope.”

“He must be seeing someone. It can’t be just the job.”

“He is.”

“He’s in love?”

“You really want to know?”

“What do I care? All right, I care a little, but that’s been over a long time. Nah. Don’t tell me about him. I don’t care that much and it’ll get back to him besides, not that I’d care if it did. He’s totally out of my life, and good things have been happening to me too since I turned him loose. My play — the one I’ve been trying to sell for years? Not an easy one to peddle — a modern restoration comedy — but I found a backer. Good theater too, on West Fifteenth Street. We go into rehearsals next month.”

That’s terrific.”

“Better than terrific. It’s Godsend-great. ‘Eat your heart out, Benny boy, with your dismal satires,’ I want to say, ‘and while at it, kill your liver.’ And they’re interested in — it’s a consortium of wealthy producers — the play I just finished. I’m on a roll that I hope never stops. How’s Lynn?”

“She’s fine. Filling in for someone at Princeton the next two years, so doing quite well. And publications in important journals in her field. She’s on a roll too.”

“Good for her. So, still together.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not going so well, then, huh? Too bad. You were crazy about her and it seemed the same for her to you. You don’t seem too disturbed by it, so it’s probably been awhile. Both Ben and I thought you two were the most perfect couple alive. We saw marriage, kids, side-by-side burial plots.”

“We were, we are. Whatever the tense. She had doubts, though.”

“Why, if she loves you? Money? Sex? Another guy?”

“Don’t ask me. Anyway, you seem fine and you look good and I’m glad things are going so well for you. I gotta run, if you don’t mind. Something at home.”

“I’ll send you an announcement of the play’s opening. Lynn too. I’ll get her address from the phone book. If it’s a problem, you can come on different nights.” She puts out her cheek, I kiss it, and she goes into the street to hail a cab and I go into a candy store to buy today’s Times . I’ll do the rest of my shopping later.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk about Lynn, I think, heading up my block, but that I thought Annette was getting too nosy. Because who is she to me? When she was seeing Ben, I didn’t even much like her. She always talked about herself and what she was doing and never asked what you were doing and she dumped on him all the time, paid some of his bills when he was short and then badmouthed him about it in front of people and also for dressing so sloppily and drinking too much and thinking he has talent as a playwright, and other things. “Why do you stay with her?” I asked him once, something I probably shouldn’t have, and he said The sex is good, and she’s lively.” God knows what she thought of me and my writing, and she no doubt thought I got the better of the deal when it came to Lynn. I feel, though, that if I bumped into someone now I actually liked and knew pretty well I’d even volunteer to speak about my breakup with Lynn today and say that for some odd reason it’s not hurting one bit and also that I’ve no idea why she did it. It wasn’t the sex, she didn’t have another guy, and it can’t be that she thinks I can only be devoted to my writing. So what was it? Maybe the money. That I didn’t make enough, she didn’t think I ever would, hard as I tried, and that frightened her when she thought of settling down with me, and did us in. It could be that. Or that and things I’m not seeing. That she’s 32 and wants to have children and doesn’t want to waste her time in a fruitless relationship. Anyway, can’t be changed.

I get home and while I’m putting away my things, I think suppose she calls? It’s possible; she did say she still loves me. So she could call to see how I’m taking it, worried that I’m not too despondent, that sort of thing. If she did, what would I say? I’d say, in the nicest way, that I’m okay, don’t worry, but to keep it that way it’s better for me That she doesn’t call again. I wouldn’t tell her I’ve barely thought of her since I left her apartment, or pined for her even once. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings. I don’t want to get even with her. That I’m taking it so well is enough for me. But she probably won’t call. Almost definitely she won’t. She’d know better. She’d think that calling me would be giving me some hope we could resume our relationship and maybe even eventually get married, and so on, and she wouldn’t want me to think that. No, she’s definitely not going to call.