Playhouse by Richard Bausch

Author:Richard Bausch [Bausch, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2023-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

Claudette

She said, “Should I call Franny and invite her?”

They were getting into her car, Ellis being helped into the front passenger seat by Willamina, who had let him nap most of the afternoon. He was a little groggy. “Franny’s often annoyed,” he said. “She doesn’t want to come over.”

It was the last day of June, and they had got into a pattern. Dinners out on Tuesday nights, usually at the Madison, since it was near the theater, and Claudette could walk down there sometimes and meet them. This evening, she had come home early because three effects companies were conducting trials in the auditorium, and the fight coach had begun his meetings with the actors about the sword fights and battles. So they were going to drive together back into the city center. As they headed down Poplar toward the river, Ellis gazed out the window and spoke about the beauty of Memphis summer evenings. “The light’s always marvelous heading west,” he said.

That morning, she’d come from her room to find him standing in his robe at the little table in the kitchen, gripping the back of one of the chairs.

“You’re up,” she’d said. She was in her nightgown.

He only glanced at her. “For God’s sake put some clothes on.”

Ignoring the tone, she said, “Oh, I will, when I’ve had some breakfast.”

“You know I’m not peppy in the morning, Esther. Let go of it.”

“I’ll make you some French toast,” she said.

“I never liked French toast. Is Meryl up?”

Claudette ignored this, too. “French toast has always been my favorite.”

“It was Claudette who liked the French toast.” He turned. Briefly they were simply standing there in the light from the window, staring at each other.

“Say hello to Lear,” he said, and smiled, and then looked down at his hands on the back of the chair.

“Hello to Lear,” she said.

“I got a terrible headache.”

“Can I get you something? Did you take your Coumadin?”

“Gave me a headache. So I took a Tylenol. One tablet. Then a Xanax.”

“Let me get dressed.”

He lifted one hand to wave this away, and she saw the strain in the muscles of his other forearm where that hand still held on to the chair. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I’m back.”

“No, it’s all right.”

“Don’t tell me no!” He’d gripped the chair again.

She left him there and went into her room and dressed, quickly, in jeans and a sweatshirt. When she got back to the kitchen, he was at the stove, supporting himself on it, peering at the knobs.

“I can’t read these,” he said. “What the Christ and goddamn it to fiery hell.”

She went and took him by the shoulders, and gently pulled him back to the table, where he sat down and put his hands to his face. “Couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry. I was feeling good.”

“I’ll make you an egg in a cup.”

“I like egg in a cup. That’s the name of it. Only yesterday morning I wanted to ask for it. Couldn’t remember the name. I was wounded at Chipyong-ni.

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