Alison Lurie - Last Resort

“Down from where?”

Jacko pointed toward the ceiling.

“So he was sure he was going to heaven.” Lee took a breath. Indoors, the scent of the hothouse flowers, especially the lilies, was almost oppressive.

“Yeah. You know Tommy. Always the optimist, right to the end.”

“So Dennis is supposed to enjoy food and drink and music,” Lee said. “But not sex.” She moved the carnations aside and started on some ivory roses with dark red, thorn-studded stems.

“Oh no. Sex too. Tommy told Dennis he had until Easter to get laid.”

Lee laughed. “He was a sweet guy, you know, Tommy, even if he had a lot of dumb political opinions. Most people might not want to think about how their partner was going to go on screwing after they were dead.”

“Yeah,” Jacko said after a pause. He wiped a curl of thick, dark hair out of his eyes.

“You think Dennis will meet the deadline?” Lee asked, setting aside a battered but elegant silver coffeepot full of white roses.

Jacko raised his shoulders, dropped them. “Who can say? He’s such a romantic. Always wants to be ‘in love.’” He crooked the fingers of both hands, placing imaginary quote marks around the phrase. “Wants to ‘really know someone deeply.’”

“That makes it harder,” Lee agreed, contemplating a rose so thick and perfect that it seemed to be shaped of white suede.

“I don’t get it, you know,” Jacko said. “The way people have to clutter up sex. When I see somebody I think is hot, it can ruin everything to know too much about him.”

“I know what you mean,” Lee said. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve lost interest when I found out some really attractive woman was a right-wing Republican, or believed in previous lives.”

“Right. You want them to stay strangers. The best thing is if I don’t know where somebody comes from or even what his last name is. Just that he’s strong and beautiful and sexy, like those flowers.” He gestured at the tall copper vase of lilies with their almost pulsating golden stamens.

“But there has to be more to it than that,” Lee said, frowning.

“Not for me. What I really like is, I look at some guy, he looks back, that’s it. Fast and hard. The first time is always the best. Then if I don’t get away soon enough, he starts to tell me how he has migraine headaches or he was unhappy at work that day. I want to say, Look, would you please shut-up? You’re ruining everything. Only if I do, the guy will either get hurt feelings or try to kill me. So I hang around awhile to be polite, and he starts explaining how he grew up in New Jersey and didn’t get on with his father, or how he’s training to be a computer programmer, or he has a terrier named Oscar with a flea problem, whatever.”

“But hell, that’s part of the fun.” Smiling, Lee began to add lacy maidenhair ferns to the roses. “It is for me anyhow. Getting to know somebody, who she really is and where she comes from, feeling more and more comfortable with her, knowing she’ll be around awhile, that’s all part of it. Don’t you ever want that?”

“You’re like my mother, you want me to meet a nice man,” Jacko said, smiling. “My trouble is, I’ve met too many nice men. The better I know somebody, the less he excites me. Pretty soon he isn’t a great fuck anymore, he’s just some guy I know.”

“Yeah, but—”

“The last thing I want anyhow is a permanent live-in relationship; that’d be like prison. You don’t want it either, or you’d have one by now.”

“It’s not as easy as all that,” Lee said. “Not if you’re stuck with love.” A troubled expression appeared on her face.

Jenny Walker loved her, she was almost sure of that. What she feared was that Jenny loved her only as a friend. When they met Jenny smiled with pleasure. Lee could hug her then, even kiss her quickly, and Jenny would reciprocate, but no more. Sometimes when they were together, sitting close, leaning over the loom or a book or a pot of lime marmalade, Lee couldn’t help touching Jenny as if by accident. Jenny never startled or drew back; usually she smiled, but also she never moved nearer.

A dozen times Lee had psyched herself up to make a serious move, and then chickened out. What if she shocked Jenny, drove her away? Then it would all be over, and she would have nothing. Jenny would never sit in this kitchen again, looking so slim and beautiful, never stand next to her at the stove, laughing as they made pumpkin soup and licked each other’s fingers.

“So how’s it going with Mrs. Walker?” Jacko asked, demonstrating again his intermittent ability to read minds.

“Okay,” Lee answered repressively.

“You mean you still haven’t leveled with her.”

Lee shrugged and said nothing. Jacko was silent too; he sat there slowly stroking Marlene, causing her to purr even louder and blink her pale-green eyes. But Lee knew what he was thinking: he was thinking, if love is so great, how come it’s making you miserable? I’m not miserable, she told herself. Whenever I see Jenny I’m wonderfully happy.

“I don’t get it,” Jacko said. “I mean, hell. The way she’s over here all the time. And the way she looks at you. I bet she’s just waiting for you to make a move.”

Again, Lee said nothing, but she could not prevent the expression that came over her face. To conceal it, she looked away from Jacko toward the mass of creamy roses, the darkest of them almost the same shade as the skin on Jenny’s neck when she lifted her hair.

“Well, I better get on home,” he said finally. “See how Mumsie’s holding up.”

“Isn’t she well?”

“She was fine when I left. But she’s been having lunch with Aunt Myra; that’s enough to get anyone down.” He laughed shortly. “You want to know something? Now that Myra knows I’m sick, she won’t touch me. Won’t even shake my hand, in case she should catch something.”

“That’s disgusting. Stupid, too.”

“I had this sudden idea yesterday to grab Myra’s hand like I was going to kiss it, except then I’d bite it, really give her a scare. Only I’d probably get blood poisoning, she’s so mean.”

Lee laughed.

“Y’know, it’s weird, having this disease. It’s like I’m carrying a concealed weapon. Been carrying it for years, probably, only I didn’t know it. Didn’t want to find out.”

“Uh-huh.” Lee frowned.

“The thing is, at first you tell yourself, it’s not true, it’s just something they have in Haiti. You think, it can’t happen to me, I’m so young, so beautiful, so healthy and strong—But all the time I was sort of walking around in my sleep, killing people without knowing it, like some zombie in an old horror flick.”

“But you don’t know that,” Lee insisted. “You don’t know that you gave it to anybody.”

“No. But the odds are pretty damn good I gave it to somebody, just like somebody gave it to me. Sometimes I get really down. I tell myself, for a few years you were a murderer. You’ll burn in hell.” He laughed uneasily.

“Not if you’re sincerely repentant,” Lee said. “Isn’t that the rule for Christians?”

“I don’t know,” Jacko said. “Even now, when I think of some of the fantastic times I’ve had, I can’t make myself wish they’d never happened. Sometimes I think it was worth it, those years. That I was lucky to have been born when I was. The younger guys now, they’re all scared shitless, or else they’re really crazy and self-destructive.” He shook his head. “Well.” He stood up. “You’ll be there tomorrow,” he added with a slight upward inflection.

“Oh, sure,” Lee said. “Tommy made me furious sometimes, he was so opinionated and bossy. But he was a smart guy, and a damn good real estate agent. He found me this place; he helped me get a loan and start the business. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know if I’d have had the nerve.”