Part 10 (2/2)

- Who is it? Arthur said.

- It's me.

He opened the door. She stood in the doorway with a smile that he saw had hesitation in it.

- Can I come in?

- Sure, tootsula. Of course. Come in. What's happened, is something wrong?

- There's nothing wrong, really. I just thought I would . . . come by.

The room was clean but somehow barren. He never sat in it and as much as read a book. He lived in the bedroom like a salesman. The curtains hadn't been washed in a long time.

- Here, sit down, he said.

She was walking a bit carefully. She had been drinking, he could see. She felt her way around a chair and sat.

- You want something? Coffee? I'll make some coffee.

She was looking around her.

- You know, I've never been here. This is the first time.

- It's not much of a place. I guess I could find something better.

- Is that the bedroom?

- Yes, he said, but her gaze had drifted from it.

- I just wanted to talk.

- Sure. About what?

He knew, or was afraid he did.

- We've known each other a long time. What has it been, three years?

He felt nervous. The aimless way it was going. He didn't want to disappoint her. On the other hand, he was not sure what it was she wanted. Him? Now?

- You're pretty smart, she said.

- Me? Oh, G.o.d, no.

- You understand people. Can you really make some coffee? I think I'd like a cup.

While he busied himself, she sat quietly. He glanced briefly and saw her staring toward the window, beyond which were the lights of apartments in other buildings and the black, starless sky.

- So, she said, holding the coffee, give me some advice. Bobby wants to get married.

Arthur was silent.

- He wants to marry me. The reason I was never serious about him, I was always making fun of him, his being so Italian, his big smile, the reason was that he was involved all that time with some Danish girl. Ode is her name.

- I figured something like that.

- What did you figure?

- Ah, I could see something wasn't right.

- I never met her. I imagined her as being pretty and having this great accent. You know how you torture yourself.

- Ah, Noreen, he said. There's n.o.body nicer than you.

- Anyway, yesterday he told me he'd broken up with her. It was all over. He did it because of me. He realized it was me he loved, and he wanted to marry me.

- Well, that's . . .

Arthur didn't know what to say; his thoughts were skipping wildly, like sc.r.a.ps of paper in a wind. There is that fearful moment in the ceremony when it is asked if there is anyone who knows why these two should not be wed. This was that moment.

- What did you tell him?

- I haven't told him.

A gulf was opening between them somehow. It was happening as they sat there.

- Do you have any feeling about it? she asked.

- Yes, I mean, I'd like to think about it. It's kind of a surprise.

- It was to me, too.

She hadn't touched the coffee.

- You know, I could sit here for a long time, she said. It's as comfortable as I'll ever feel anywhere. That's what's making me wonder. About what to tell him.

- I'm a little afraid, he said. I can't explain it.

- Of course you are. Her voice had such understanding. Really. I know.

- Your coffee's going to get cold, he said.

- Anyway, I just wanted to see your apartment, she said. Her voice suddenly sounded funny. She seemed not to want to go on.

He realized then, as she sat there, a woman in his apartment at night, a woman he knew he loved, that she was really giving him one last chance. He knew he should take it.

- Ah, Noreen, he said.

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