The Arriviste by James Wallenstein

Author:James Wallenstein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Milkweed Editions
Published: 2011-06-10T00:00:00+00:00

I found Vicky over her books at the high Formica bar between the kitchen and the dining room—the extent to which she was over them was the question. The room was dim for study. I had overlooked it when I’d first come in, gone to look for her in her room and on the balcony with the red poinciana flowers drooping on the sloped roof. Back in the dining room, the slatted blinds were angled against the sunlight, which crept across the table to her. From the tilt of her head in her hand, I thought she might have nodded off. Her eyes were open, but her pen rested against the page. I started to speak, then thought better of it, and drew close enough to see her heavy lids and deep pout. “Hello, Daddy,” she said, lazily.

“Hellooo, Daaaddy,” I answered. I circled the table and kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry to be away so long.”

“Were you? I didn’t notice. I was working.” She put down her pen and began to play with the ends of her hair. Her foot began to twitch on the base bar of her stool. Her tranquility was gone.

“It’d still have been good to be here with you.”

“I’m sure you had more fun doing whatever you did.”

I pointed to a writing pad in front of her on the bar. “Is that what you were brooding over when I came in?”

“No brooding. I figured out what I’m supposed to say and I said it. See?” She leafed through the pages. She’d covered quite a few. “I’m nearly done with it.”

“That’s good news. But why are you sitting in the shadows? I thought you were asleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

I turned toward her, the stool creaking as it swiveled, and studied her profile: soft yet obdurate, the slope of the jaw descending from the earlobe peeking through the chestnut waves. Though she must have felt me looking at her, she didn’t flinch. She had never minded being looked at. She had other ways of keeping her distance. “I’d like to know what goes through your mind these days.”

“Nothing very interesting, believe me.”

“What, for example?”

“Oh, things like Gregory.”

Gregory, Gregory. I searched my mind for a face to match the name. None surfaced. I played for time. “Isn’t he interesting?”

“I guess it depends. Funny he should come up, though. That’s what I was thinking about, him.”

“That is funny.”

“You never did say much about him.”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“That’s true. I was so angry after you barged into my room, I don’t think I’d have cared.”

That was Gregory. I thought it odd that a creature like that should even have a name. He had to, though. Generation follows generation and all must have a name. “Is he still in the picture?”

“I didn’t know you were interested in the picture.”

“Sure I am.”

“I hardly know myself. He’s over in Rhode Island, you know. We’ve tried to keep it going, but we just end up having a lot of difficult phone calls. Then when we see each other, there are so many misunderstandings to straighten out.

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