The Pursuit of Alice Thrift (Vintage Contemporaries) by Lipman Elinor

Author:Lipman, Elinor [Lipman, Elinor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307429230
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2007-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

18. The Life of the Party

RAY SEEMED SUSPICIOUS THAT I’D INVITED HIM TO A DINNER party in a doctor’s private home on what he deemed a swanky street in Brookline.

“How come?” he asked. “Why me?”

“As my date.”

“Was I invited specifically, or is it one of those ‘Alice Thrift and Guest’ deals?”

“Specifically.”

“Because . . .?”

“Because that’s how normal social intercourse proceeds: You meet new people, they get to know you, they invite you to dinner.”

“Is he your doctor?”

I said no; Dr. Shaw—Henry—was my friend. As an obstetrician, he was outside my orbit professionally, but at least I could claim him and his life partner, Jackie, as . . . work pals.

“Who else is going to be there?” Ray asked.

“Just us.”

“When?” asked Ray.

I said, “This Saturday,” hoping to hear that he had long-standing plans with cousins, or that business was taking him out of town to a confectionery convention at the Javits Center.

“I accept. Do you know if they’re allergic to nuts?”

I said I didn’t know. I had to run. I was in the ER today, and ambulances were arriving every thirty seconds.

“Can I see you tonight?” Ray asked.

I said—because it was easier than expounding on exhaustion and laundry and romantic uncertainty—yes. But did we have to go out? Would he mind if we did nothing?

“Stay in?” He chuckled. “No problem. Why would I want to go out when all I’ve been thinking about is you in your pink pj’s; no, correction: you with your pink pajamas in a ball at the foot of your bed.”

I was supposed to be calling an underage patient’s next of kin—concussion and abrasions from skateboarding, not life-threatening—but was struck immobile by Ray’s depiction of me as an object of sexual desire.

“You there?” he asked.

Nurses and residents were milling around the desk, eyeing the phone. I whispered, “I can’t talk.”

“But you’ve been thinking of me, too, right? My clothes in a heap. No pj’s, no nothing?”

“Affirmative,” I said.

“I’ll bring dinner. What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything.”

“Love ya,” I could swear I heard as the receiver left my ear.

HE ARRIVED WITH three large subs in the Italian genre, cut into quarters so we could mix and match. He also arrived with a gift-wrapped pillow. “Top of the line,” he said proudly. “Goose down, but not the scratchy kind with the quills poking through.”

I said, “Let me pay you for it.”

Ray said no, absolutely not. And hadn’t my parents taught me that you don’t offer to pay someone when they bring a gift?

I said, “It doesn’t seem right that you have to spend your money, especially in the off-season, on basics for my barren apartment.”

“You don’t have time to shop,” he argued. “I do.” He put the subs down on my kitchen counter along with the bottle of Chianti he’d brought, and put his arms around me. He kissed me, then backed away to ask what I was thinking and why I looked as if I were trying to solve a math problem.

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.

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