McMurtry, Larry - Novel 05 (58 page)

 
          
 
"She hates being omitted from the honors
list," Jean said.

 
          
 
"You look awfully nice," I said.

 
          
 
"I hate talking about how I look,"
she said. "I hate thinking about it. I hate trying to change it. I spent
all afternoon trying, but it didn't work. This is how I look."

 
          
 
"Why shouldn't it be?" I said.
"You look fine."

 
          
 
"I meant to at least look
sophisticated," she said. "But I can't. I'm too ordinary. I just have
to come to terms with that fact."

 
          
 
When she said it she looked so appealing that
I leaned over and tried to kiss her. She jerked back against the car door.

 
          
 
"I may get out," she said, "if
you're gonna
do that
."

 
          
 
"Okay, okay," I said.

 
          
 
"Why'd you try to kiss me?" she
asked, as we drove off. "You're supposed to take me out to dinner."

 
          
 
"You just looked kissable," I said.
"One kiss wouldn't have limited your ability to eat."

 
          
 
"Yes it would," she said. "I'm
scared of you and I can't eat a bit when I'm scared. Now you've already made me
miss my one chance to enjoy a meal at the best restaurant in town."

 
          
 
"Don't be silly," I said. "You
don't have to be scared of me.

 
          
 
"I told you I'm out of practice at
dates," she said.

 
          
 
To complicate things, we were stuck in a
traffic jam, four blocks from her house.

 
          
 
"I wasn't meant to eat in fancy
restaurants," Jean said. "That's why this traffic jam is here. We'll
never get there."

 
          
 
Just as she said it the traffic jam began to
break up. I took a shortcut I had noticed and circumvented what was left of it.

 
          
 
"It's interesting you figured out that
shortcut," Jean said.

 
          
 
"Anyone could figure it out," I
said.

 
          
 
"I live here and I never did," Jean
said. "I'm a very passive driver. I just endure whatever traffic I
encounter, and I encounter a lot."

 
          
 
She had a lovely voice. Instead of rising when
she was depressed or nervous, it sank and became
more throaty
.

 
          
 
Jean sat way over against the door. Although
the door was locked, that made me nervous. I had a fantasy of having a car
wreck in which she popped out and was killed. Though ridiculous, it was a
powerful fantasy.

 
          
 
"I wish you wouldn't sit so close to the
door," I said.

 
          
 
"Leave me alone," she said.
"I'm having a lot of regrets about this date as it is."

 
          
 
We were silent all the way to the restaurant,
which was very fancy. I had put on a tie, but still neither Jean nor I looked
anything like the other people eating at the restaurant. They all looked more
elegant than us, and more at home in fancy restaurants.

 
          
 
Jean was brooding over the menu. It was such a
huge menu that it made her
seem
smaller than it was.
Also, it was very elaborate and required a lot of thought. She was frowning as
she gave it the thought.

 
          
 
"Why are you frowning?" I asked.

 
          
 
"Are you going to ask me why I frown
every time I frown?" she inquired, peeping around the menu.

 
          
 
I shut up.

 
          
 
"It's because it makes me realize what a
limited life Fve led," she said, answering the question she had just
objected to.

 
          
 
"We eat pizza, cheeseburgers, or
carry-out Chinese," she said. "That's stupid, isn't it? But they're
all in the neighborhood and I don't have the energy to change my habits. My
girls won't know what to do in a restaurant like this because they'll never see
one. I haven't seen one in years myself."

 
          
 
"Don't your folks ever take you out?"
I asked.

 
          
 
"My folks don't eat out," she said.
"They're worse than me. What are you gonna eat?"

 
          
 
I ate veal nioise, and Jean ate a flounder
stuffed with crabmeat. Then she had an endive salad. For dessert I had
profiteroles, after having failed to persuade her to have some, too. They came
in a rich chocolate sauce.

 
          
 
"I'd gain a lot of pounds if I ate
that," she said.

 
          
 
"Well, you're small," I said.
"A few pounds wouldn't hurt you."

 
          
 
"You don't know what you're talking
about," she said. "I get lumpy very easily. Two or three extra pounds
makes
me lumpy. Then I feel even more discontent than
I usually feel."

 
          
 
Then she stole several bites of my
profiteroles anyway.

 
          
 
I had an irrational urge to propose to her,
but managed to choke it down. It's an urge that strikes me often, whenever I'm
truly charmed by a woman. I was charmed by Jean, although I knew I hadn't known
her long enough to have made contact with her true character; however, lack of
contact with her true character didn't keep me from being charmed enough to
want to marry her.

 
          
 
"What arc you thinking?" she said
shrewdly. Her cheeks were glowing, probably from the wine.

 
          
 
"I was thinking it would be nice if we
got married," I said.

 
          
 
"Probably would be," Jean said,
wiping a speck of chocolate sauce off her chin. "I guess this sauce
overcame my resistance. I could eat chocolate sauce all day if I let myself.
Since I wasn't responsible for ordering it, anything it does to me is your
fault."

 
          
 
"It won't do anything to you."

 
          
 
"Well, it might give me a pimple,"
she said. "Good chocolate sometimes has that effect. I’m glad we came to
this restaurant. It's working. I'm beginning to feel slightly sophisticated.
That's a treat for a full-time mom."

 
          
 
"Let's have some brandy," I said.
"It might make you look even more sophisticated."

 
          
 
We had some brandy. Jean was looking quite
happy.

 
          
 
"I guess you think it's utterly
ridiculous, that I said that about marriage," I said.

 
          
 
"I hope you aren't going to start
apologizing for yourself," she said.

 
          
 
"No," I said.

 
          
 
"You would have, given time," she
said. "You should learn to stick to your guns. I don't see anything wrong
with your wanting to marry me. I'm a good prospect. I know how to do marriage.
It says a lot for your judgement that you said that."

 
          
 
"I just didn't want you to reject the
idea too quickly," I said.

 
          
 
"Ha," Jean said. "I'm an
experienced woman even if I'm not exotic. I don't reject ideas too quickly.
Proposals don't grow on trees, if that was a proposal. Although actually I had
another one last week, from a guy I haven't even gone out with."

 
          
 
"You did?"

 
          
 
"Yeah," she said. "He's always
admired me from afar. We grew up on the same block, so I guess he feels he
knows me. He just called up and proposed."

 
          
 
She looked a little depressed, just for a
moment.

 
          
 
"Shows you what an abstraction marriage
is, to some people," she said.

 
          
 
"Actually, it can be kind of
abstract," she added.

 
          
 
"Was yours and Jimmy's abstract?" I
asked.

 
          
 
"Not at first," Jean said. "It
was very tangible, at first Very much a realistic experience. Then the
tangibility kind of drained out of it and it became sort of minimal. That was
before he was angry. Then I decided to leave and he didn't like that. He got
angry and it became sort of expressionistic. Very black
blacks,
and very white whites.
Sort of Franz Kline.
He still
has the anger. He’ll never forgive me for being able to leave him. All I'll
ever get from that man now is big black swipes of anger."

 
          
 
Then she giggled. "For a relatively dull
marriage it approximated quite a few modes of modem art," she said.
"I hadn't thought of it that way. It makes it seem more interesting than
it actually was."

 
          
 
Jean looked around the restaurant, which was
beautifully decorated and arranged, and still full of people who looked far
dressier and more important than us.

 
          
 
"It's sort of magic," she said.

 
          
 
"What is?"

 
          
 
"The feeling you get, coming here,"
she said. "It's so elegant and the food is so good it convinces you you're
living on a far higher plane than you're actually living on. But then you sink
so
quick
, once you leave. It's why I'm not in a hurry
to leave. I've been sunk for a long time. I wish I didn't have to sink again,
quite so soon."

 
          
 
"Sink to what?"

 
          
 
Jean shrugged. "Oatmeal for
Beverly
and bacon fried absolutely crisp for
Belinda," she said. "If there's one particle of unfried fat on a
piece of bacon the little bitch won't eat it. I don't know how I could have had
such a picky child. But that's what awaits me, at
seven o'clock
in the morning. Then I'll have to wash the
saucepan I made the oatmeal in.
Beverly
only likes old-fashioned oatmeal, which is a lot of trouble. By the time all
that's done there won't be a cell in my body that feels glamorous."

 
          
 
"It's a long time until
seven a.m.
," I said. "We could try and find
a glamorous place and go dancing."

 
          
 
Jean shook her head. "Not
necessary," she said. "This is all the illusion I require. Let's have
one more brandy.

 
          
 
"Why do you think you want to marry
me?" she asked, as we were driving home.