Alison Lurie - The Nowhere City

“I didn’t even think about that!” she said, terrified. “I found the plans; and I knew they were important, and I had to get them to you; that’s all.”

“Ah, don’t kid me. You didn’t have to bring them all the way over here. You could have called me on the phone.” It was true; why hadn’t she thought of that? “Now couldn’t you have?” Iz smiled. Katherine recalled how she had run across Westwood, and wanted to run right back.

“I didn’t think of the telephone,” she said in an embarrassed voice. “I just rushed over. I’m sorry. Of course you’re right. That wasn’t necessary.”

“Depends what you need.” Iz leaned back, and let his arms fall. Though he continued to look at Katherine, she felt that the threat had diminished. “And why did it have to be me?” he went on. “How was it you didn’t try to get in touch with Charlie or Bert up at school?”

This idea, too, had simply not occurred to Katherine. “Well, but it’s you I usually ... she began feebly, but could not think how to end the sentence, and let her voice trail away.

“Another thing,” Iz continued, really grinning now. “Why did you jump at the conclusion that the plans you found are going into effect? How are you sure that our project hasn’t already been taken care of?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Has it already been taken care of?”

Iz nodded. “Uh-huh. Charlie and I saw Jekyll Saturday. He’s talked to Dr. Braun and it’s all set: we’re going to have two lab rooms and an office on the third floor.”

“Oh, that’s good.” But Katherine’s pleasure was extremely dim compared to her nervous embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I was stupid. I don’t know why I didn’t think of all that.”

“You really wanted to come over here,” Iz told her. “You don’t have to feel sorry about it. I’m flattered. It’s a great thing, the unconscious mind.” He smiled, and stepped back.

“But I didn’t think—” Katherine began, and stopped. “I mean, it never occurred to me that you—I suppose I thought I was safe,” (she attempted a joke) “because I know psychiatrists don’t sleep with their patients.”

“Yah, they don’t,” Iz said. “They sleep with their secretaries.” He laughed. “But I’ll let you off this time,” he conceded. “You can go—” He broke off, looked at her, and said in an offhand way, “No; I don’t want to be rude. I’ll give you five—no, ten minutes. You can stay ten minutes and talk to me, before you have to leave. ... I think I’ll have another cup of coffee.” He walked across the room towards a wall kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”

Should she go now? But everything had become so casual and ordinary that Katherine could hardly believe what had just taken place. Maybe it had all been a joke. “That’s very kind of you,” she said.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Just cream, please.”

Iz handed Katherine her cup and sat down at a round table not unlike the tables at the ice-cream shop.

“Thank you,” Katherine said, and sat down opposite. He must have been kidding her. Still, she felt something had to be said to make sure, and fit the scene together; it couldn’t just disappear; that would be too weird, and really rather awful.

“Well, at least I did get to see your apartment,” she remarked. “It is pleasant. That long window, and all the plants, like a jungle.” Iz smiled, but made no other contribution. “Wouldn’t you really ever have invited me here? Even if I brought my husband? Wouldn’t that have been safe?”

“Of course. But he isn’t here, is he?” In pantomime, Iz leaned down and peered under the table, and then behind a low bookcase by the wall. The implication was that Paul was an insignificant object, small enough to be overlooked. Actually, of course, he was five or six inches taller than Iz. But Iz was somehow more concentrated, denser.

“How is Paul, incidentally?” Iz felt his face to see whether he had shaved the outlines of his black beard properly.

“Oh, he’s all right.” Though she felt much easier, Katherine could not quite manage to continue her confidences to Dr. Einsam. “How’s Glory?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her for almost two weeks. She’s keeping busy, I suppose.” Iz’s voice was so dry and sour that Katherine felt a wave of sympathy.

“I’m sorry.”

Iz looked up. “You really are, aren’t you?” he said without irony. “You’re about the only one. Do you want to know what Dr. Robinson said to me yesterday?” She nodded. “He had the stupidity to come up and congratulate me on my separation.”

“What, really? How could he do that?”

“For him it was easy. You don’t know that department, Katherine. You should have been around here two years ago, when Jekyll first put me up for a teaching appointment. It was quite incredible. Academically I looked great, but they had also to take into consideration my character. They are all of course self-appointed clinical diagnosticians. They concluded I was immature, and my personal life was unstable. Because I had been married and divorced, and now they heard the rumor I was going around with an undergraduate. I told Jekyll, ‘I am not “going around with an undergraduate.” I am living with a very attractive and intelligent girl who happens at the moment to be taking some courses in the Department of Social Sciences.’ Only from their point of view it was as if I had deliberately selected some abstraction called an undergraduate to sleep with, exactly because it was against their rules. ... Jekyll’s a good guy; he tried to see it my way, but he just wasn’t flexible enough. If she had only been a graduate student, he kept saying, even a first-year graduate student, that would have been better. But, I pointed out to him, none of the first-year graduate students were as good-looking as Nancy. They were really a sad lot that year.” Iz looked quietly at his watch.

“That’s awful,” Katherine said. She was fascinated, though really shocked by the behavior of both sides. “I mean trying to interfere with people’s personal lives like that.”

“That’s not the end of it. Jekyll and Charlie Haraki brought me up again last year. By that time I wasn’t living with Nancy any longer, but I was engaged to Glory; they liked that even less. Two unsuccessful relationships, they said to Jekyll, and now he wants to marry a movie star. Isn’t there something rather unhealthy about that? I was furious. Unhealthy, to want to marry Glory! I said to Jekyll, what about them? What about Mrs. Braun: don’t you think anyone who would stay married to her for twenty years is pretty unhealthy? What about Robinson? He’s never been married at all; I bet he couldn’t even get it up for Glory; isn’t that pretty unhealthy?”

Iz looked at his watch again. A smile slowly appeared on his face. He drained his coffee cup and put it down. “Well, Mrs. Cattleman,” he said. “Look what time it is.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Katherine checked her own watch. “I’ll go now.” She stood up and started towards the door.

“No,” Iz said, getting up. “You’ve missed your chance. You see, you wanted to stay.” He spoke casually, and began casually to walk towards her.

“I’m sorry; I forgot to look at my watch,” Katherine explained, a little nervously. “I was too interested in what you were saying, I guess.” She picked up her pocketbook, and turned towards the exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Uh-uh.” Iz put his hand over Katherine’s on the doorknob, so that she could not turn it.

“Now come on, Iz,” she exclaimed. “I’m leaving now. Don’t be difficult.” She twisted and pulled to get her hand free, and open the door, but unsuccessfully—Iz only tightened his grip. The muscle of his arm pressed against hers. “Oh, really, don’t be so silly again,” she continued, putting on a primly humorous tone. “I only stayed a moment longer than you said I could. You’re not going to make anything of that, surely!”