ON FRIDAY, Matthew buys the white mink coat. In the evening, before leaving home, he opens the box, removes the coat, spreads it on the living room rug, fur side up, and considers the effect.
Too — I don’t know — cold, somehow, he thinks. It seems to say the wrong thing.
“Hooker,” for instance, says the voice of BW.
You may be right, Matthew admits. Maybe the bed.
He takes it to the bedroom and spreads it on the bed, just as Belinda had.
That seems better, says BW. It’s what she did, so it ought to say whatever she wanted it to say.
It might, but I don’t know exactly what Belinda might have wanted to say when she invited me to make love to her on the coat. I’m starting to think that this whole coat business is the wrong gesture — completely wrong. It’s not a good-bye gift; it’s a payoff.
But think of Belinda’s surprise and pleasure, and your own, when you reenact that sex scene on the coat later this evening. Even if you have told her good-bye — especially if you have told her good-bye — that’s no reason why you shouldn’t have one last fling. All the more reason, really. Leave it there.
WHEN HE ARRIVES at Belinda’s, Leila greets him. She’s wearing a robe. She looks as if she’s made up for a date. A martini is waiting for him. Leila pours it and says, “I’ll be back in a minute.” Matthew takes no particular note of that remark and drinks his drink. After a while Leila comes down the stairs, in a black coat, wearing high-heeled shoes and black stockings, carrying a tiny bag that Matthew has seen Belinda carry before. Matthew wonders if she’s going to a prom or something. He’s surprised to find how touched he is by her appearance.
“You look as if you’re ready for a big night,” he says.
“Well, I am,” she says. “Look — I,” and then, in a breathless rush, she says, “Mom couldn’t go, you know, work and all, and I figured that you had to go to the restaurant because you’re going to review it — right? — and I wanted to go instead, but I was afraid that if I suggested it, you might not think it was such a great idea, so I thought I would just spring it on you, and I hope you aren’t annoyed.”
“Annoyed?” he says. “I’m delighted,” and he is, but he’s surprised to notice how avuncular he feels. He calls a cab, and finishes his martini, and wonders whether he’ll be able to think of anything to say to her.
[to be continued]
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🎧 504: On Friday . . .