It Happened One Knife by Cohen Jeffrey

Author:Cohen, Jeffrey [Cohen, Jeffrey]
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781436229272
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2010-02-14T10:25:15+00:00

23

TUESDAY

“WAR?” Sharon asked.

For our second “date,” we had decided Sharon would come to my town house, and I’d make her dinner. This was a significant commitment for each of us: as I mentioned, Sharon doesn’t like to enter the town house, and I don’t like cooking, because I’m as skilled a chef as I am a shrewd businessman.

But since she was separated from Gregory, yet still living in the same house with him, going to her place for dinner would have been, at best, unbearably awkward. At worst, it would have ended up on the police blotter the next morning. We had decided to avoid that scenario.

So here she was, the woman of my dreams (anxiety, dirty, and otherwise), the woman of my past, possibly the woman of my future, sitting in my furniture-impaired home, at the dinner table (which I’d bought three days ago and assembled today), eating fettuccine alfredo, assuming that the label on the jar was accurate.

Sharon was lovely as ever, her huge eyes looking fondly at me and making me feel like I was sitting in a hot spring. Cold in many spots, warm where it counts. She ignored the spartan surroundings, and my obvious inadequacies as a chef, and smiled.

“War?” she repeated.

“Okay, maybe not war,” I countered. “But the coming-to-my-theatre-and-threatening-me thing was a step too far. I can’t just sit by and take that.” I offered her another glass of the very good red wine (Sharon had brought it), and she accepted. I poured.

“Even though you said you would? Even though it’s the most logical way to avoid bodily injury beyond what I had to pick out of your butt?” My ex-wife is the only woman I know—the only human I know—who can say the word “butt” elegantly. I’m not quite sure how she does it.

“He came to my place of business and wouldn’t take ‘yes’ for an answer,” I said. “There have to be limits.”

“I can hear a ‘besides’ on its way,” Sharon said.

I nodded. “Besides. He broke my snow globe.”

She pouted with her lower lip. “Aw. The one from Pikes Peak?”

“Yeah, and you know how hard I worked to get that one.”

Sharon nodded sympathetically. “Yes. That train was a terrible chore for you.”

“Mock me if you will.”

“I will,” she said. “But you were telling me about the war.” She actually slurped fettuccine into her mouth without getting sauce on her lip. I sat in awe for a moment.

“Perhaps ‘war’ was too inflammatory a word,” I admitted. “But I am going to look deeper into the Vivian Reynolds thing.”

We declared dinner to be over, and I took our plates to the dishwasher, which, as usual, was completely empty. I wasn’t even entirely sure I had dishwasher soap in the cabinet. But appearances are important, so I put the dishes in the appliance and closed it before Sharon could see how lonely they were in there.

“Shall we repair to the theatre?” I gestured toward the living room.

“Why, is it broken?” Sharon asked. She tries. It’s sad sometimes.

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