gang scene—she was an equal-opportunity floggee. There, look at her, how she's holding on to him for dear life. Doesn't she seem submissive? Probably a passive-dependent personality, perfect symbiotic fit for a power junkie like Kruse."
To me she looked scared. Adhering to her husband, but staying in the background. I watched her step forward and smile when spoken to, then retreat. Tossing her long hair, checking her nails. Her smile was as flat as a decal, her dark eyes unnaturally bright.
She moved so that the sun hit the diamond choker and threw off sparks. I thought of a dog collar.
Page 25
Kruse turned abruptly to take someone's hand and his wife was caught off balance. Throwing her arm out for support, she took hold of his sleeve and held on tighter, wrapping herself around him. He continued to kneed her bare shoulder, but for all the attention he paid to her, she might have been a sweater.
Love. Whatever the hell that means.
"Low self-esteem," said Larry. "You'd have be down on yourself to fuck on film."
"Guess so."
He drained his mug. "Going for a refill. Can I get you something?"
I held up my half-full soda glass. "Still working on this."
He shrugged and went to the bar.
The Kruses had circled away from our table toward one filled with magpies. A fizz of small talk; then he laughed, a deep, self-satisfied sound. He said something to a male graduate student, pumped the student's hand while running his eyes over the young man's pretty wife. Suzanne Kruse kept smiling.
Larry returned. "So," he said, settling, "how's it going with you?"
"Great."
"Yeah, me too. That's why we're here without our women, right?"
I sipped soda and gazed at him.
He maintained eye contact but busied himself with a chicken wing.
The therapist's look. Gravid with concern.
Genuine concern, but I wanted no part of it. Suddenly I felt like bolting. A quick jog back to the big stone arch, farewell to Gatsbyland.
Instead, I dipped into my own bag of shrink-moves. Parried a question with a question.
"How's Brenda doing in law school?"
He knew full well what was going on, answered anyway. "Top ten percent of the class for the second year in a row."
"You must be proud of her."
"Sure. Except there's another entire year to go. Check me same time next year and see if I'm still functioning."
I nodded. "I've heard it's a rotten process."
Page 26
His grin lost its warmth. "Anything that produces lawyers would have to be, wouldn't it? Like turning sirloin into shit. My favorite part is when she comes home and cross-examines me about the house and the kids."
He wiped his mouth and leaned in close. "One part of me understands it—she's bright, brighter than I am, I always expected her to go for something other than housework. She was the one said no, her own mother had worked full time, farmed her out to babysitters, she resented it. She got pregnant on our honeymoon, nine
months later we had Steven, then the rest of them, like aftershocks. Now, all of sudden, she needs to find herself. Clara Darrow."
He shook his head. "The problem is the timing. Here I am, finally getting to a point where I don't have to hustle referrals. The associates are reliable, the practice is basically running itself.
The baby starts first grade next year, we could take some time off, travel. Instead, she's gone twenty hours a day while I play Mr. Mom."
He scowled. "Be careful, my friend—though with Robin it'll probably be different, she's already had her career, might be ready to settle down."
I said, "Robin and I are separated."
He stared at me, shook his head, again. Rubbed his chin and sighed. "Shit, I'm sorry. How long's it been?"
"Five weeks. Temporary vacation that just seemed to stretch."
He drained his beer. "I'm really sorry. I always thought you guys were the perfect couple."
"I thought so, too, Larry." My throat got tight and my chest burned. I was certain that everyone was looking at me, though when I looked round, no one was. Just
To me she looked scared. Adhering to her husband, but staying in the background. I watched her step forward and smile when spoken to, then retreat. Tossing her long hair, checking her nails. Her smile was as flat as a decal, her dark eyes unnaturally bright.
She moved so that the sun hit the diamond choker and threw off sparks. I thought of a dog collar.
Page 25
Kruse turned abruptly to take someone's hand and his wife was caught off balance. Throwing her arm out for support, she took hold of his sleeve and held on tighter, wrapping herself around him. He continued to kneed her bare shoulder, but for all the attention he paid to her, she might have been a sweater.
Love. Whatever the hell that means.
"Low self-esteem," said Larry. "You'd have be down on yourself to fuck on film."
"Guess so."
He drained his mug. "Going for a refill. Can I get you something?"
I held up my half-full soda glass. "Still working on this."
He shrugged and went to the bar.
The Kruses had circled away from our table toward one filled with magpies. A fizz of small talk; then he laughed, a deep, self-satisfied sound. He said something to a male graduate student, pumped the student's hand while running his eyes over the young man's pretty wife. Suzanne Kruse kept smiling.
Larry returned. "So," he said, settling, "how's it going with you?"
"Great."
"Yeah, me too. That's why we're here without our women, right?"
I sipped soda and gazed at him.
He maintained eye contact but busied himself with a chicken wing.
The therapist's look. Gravid with concern.
Genuine concern, but I wanted no part of it. Suddenly I felt like bolting. A quick jog back to the big stone arch, farewell to Gatsbyland.
Instead, I dipped into my own bag of shrink-moves. Parried a question with a question.
"How's Brenda doing in law school?"
He knew full well what was going on, answered anyway. "Top ten percent of the class for the second year in a row."
"You must be proud of her."
"Sure. Except there's another entire year to go. Check me same time next year and see if I'm still functioning."
I nodded. "I've heard it's a rotten process."
Page 26
His grin lost its warmth. "Anything that produces lawyers would have to be, wouldn't it? Like turning sirloin into shit. My favorite part is when she comes home and cross-examines me about the house and the kids."
He wiped his mouth and leaned in close. "One part of me understands it—she's bright, brighter than I am, I always expected her to go for something other than housework. She was the one said no, her own mother had worked full time, farmed her out to babysitters, she resented it. She got pregnant on our honeymoon, nine
months later we had Steven, then the rest of them, like aftershocks. Now, all of sudden, she needs to find herself. Clara Darrow."
He shook his head. "The problem is the timing. Here I am, finally getting to a point where I don't have to hustle referrals. The associates are reliable, the practice is basically running itself.
The baby starts first grade next year, we could take some time off, travel. Instead, she's gone twenty hours a day while I play Mr. Mom."
He scowled. "Be careful, my friend—though with Robin it'll probably be different, she's already had her career, might be ready to settle down."
I said, "Robin and I are separated."
He stared at me, shook his head, again. Rubbed his chin and sighed. "Shit, I'm sorry. How long's it been?"
"Five weeks. Temporary vacation that just seemed to stretch."
He drained his beer. "I'm really sorry. I always thought you guys were the perfect couple."
"I thought so, too, Larry." My throat got tight and my chest burned. I was certain that everyone was looking at me, though when I looked round, no one was. Just
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