you there.”
“That’s a good sign, don’t you think?” Anne asked. They passed through the bright rooms filled with glittering crystal, hothouse flowers, silver trays of food, and chatting groups of people. “Your house looks great,” she added.
“That he’s by the bar?” her friend inquired.
“No, that he’s alone,” Anne replied.
“Of course it’s a good sign.” They had come to the last room, and as Anne stepped inside she saw Aaron leaning against the far wall. He was talking to an elderly man and he didn’t see her. “It’s a very good sign,” her friend agreed. “Get yourself a drink.”
Yes, Anne thought. A drink would help. Her knees were decidedly weak. She felt like some wolf waiting for a choice lamb to separate from the fold, and the idea of herself as hungry, as looking hungry to others in the room, struck her with enough force to make her lower her eyes. She told the bartender what she wanted in a voice she scarcely recognized, it was so oily, so sly, the voice of the inveterate predator. When she took the drink, he caught her eye and smiled. “This is a party,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“It’s a party,” he repeated. “You’re supposed to be having a good time.”
Then she understood him and was annoyed by him. “I just got here,” she said, turning away. “Give me a minute.”
Aaron was looking at her, had been looking at her, she understood, for some moments, and now he detached himself from the elderly man and made his way toward her. She thought he would say something about her appearance, in which she still had some confidence, and she drew herself up a little to receive a compliment, but when he was near enough to speak, he said, “Christ, that’s my chemistry teacher. I didn’t expect to find
him
here.”
“Did you think he spent his evenings over a hot test tube?” she asked lightly.
He smiled, and his smile was so ingenuous, so charming, that she moved closer to him as if to move into the warm influence of that smile. “I did,” he said. “And he might as well, for all he’s got to say.”
So their conversation began and continued for some time. Anne introduced him to some of the people she knew, and several times he went to the bar to refresh their drinks. He seemed content to be near her, to be with her, in fact, and she felt all her nervousness and foreboding melt away. The rooms filled with more and more people, until one had fairly to raise one’s voice to be heard. A few couples drifted out onto the patio; it was unseasonably warm and the night air was inviting. Anne and Aaron stood in the doorway, looking out for a few minutes. “Let’s go out,” Aaron said. “The smoke in here is getting to me.”
Anne followed him down the steps of the house and out into the darkness. As she did, she watched him and endured such a seizure of desire that her vision clouded. She was not, she realized, drunk; though she could scarcely see, her head was clear. She passed one hand before her eyes and gripped the stair rail tightly with the other, not to steady herself but to hold down a surge of ardor. I feel like dynamite, she thought; that was her secret thought behind her hand, and then she looked out. What a sweet thing it was to be alive at that moment, with all the eager force of life throbbing through her, the sensation of being stunning with the force of it so that if anyone looked at her they must stop and admire her beauty, which was only the fleeting influx of pure energy that sometimes comes to us, without any effort of our own.
But no one saw her and the moment passed. The patio was deep; one side was a high vine-covered wall, along which ran a ledge. People sat in little groups along the ledge and on the scattered iron chairs, and they stood about in groups among the plantains and the palmetto palms, talking, Anne discovered as she passed among them, about the weather. The weatherman had predicted a cold front, a drop in
“That’s a good sign, don’t you think?” Anne asked. They passed through the bright rooms filled with glittering crystal, hothouse flowers, silver trays of food, and chatting groups of people. “Your house looks great,” she added.
“That he’s by the bar?” her friend inquired.
“No, that he’s alone,” Anne replied.
“Of course it’s a good sign.” They had come to the last room, and as Anne stepped inside she saw Aaron leaning against the far wall. He was talking to an elderly man and he didn’t see her. “It’s a very good sign,” her friend agreed. “Get yourself a drink.”
Yes, Anne thought. A drink would help. Her knees were decidedly weak. She felt like some wolf waiting for a choice lamb to separate from the fold, and the idea of herself as hungry, as looking hungry to others in the room, struck her with enough force to make her lower her eyes. She told the bartender what she wanted in a voice she scarcely recognized, it was so oily, so sly, the voice of the inveterate predator. When she took the drink, he caught her eye and smiled. “This is a party,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“It’s a party,” he repeated. “You’re supposed to be having a good time.”
Then she understood him and was annoyed by him. “I just got here,” she said, turning away. “Give me a minute.”
Aaron was looking at her, had been looking at her, she understood, for some moments, and now he detached himself from the elderly man and made his way toward her. She thought he would say something about her appearance, in which she still had some confidence, and she drew herself up a little to receive a compliment, but when he was near enough to speak, he said, “Christ, that’s my chemistry teacher. I didn’t expect to find
him
here.”
“Did you think he spent his evenings over a hot test tube?” she asked lightly.
He smiled, and his smile was so ingenuous, so charming, that she moved closer to him as if to move into the warm influence of that smile. “I did,” he said. “And he might as well, for all he’s got to say.”
So their conversation began and continued for some time. Anne introduced him to some of the people she knew, and several times he went to the bar to refresh their drinks. He seemed content to be near her, to be with her, in fact, and she felt all her nervousness and foreboding melt away. The rooms filled with more and more people, until one had fairly to raise one’s voice to be heard. A few couples drifted out onto the patio; it was unseasonably warm and the night air was inviting. Anne and Aaron stood in the doorway, looking out for a few minutes. “Let’s go out,” Aaron said. “The smoke in here is getting to me.”
Anne followed him down the steps of the house and out into the darkness. As she did, she watched him and endured such a seizure of desire that her vision clouded. She was not, she realized, drunk; though she could scarcely see, her head was clear. She passed one hand before her eyes and gripped the stair rail tightly with the other, not to steady herself but to hold down a surge of ardor. I feel like dynamite, she thought; that was her secret thought behind her hand, and then she looked out. What a sweet thing it was to be alive at that moment, with all the eager force of life throbbing through her, the sensation of being stunning with the force of it so that if anyone looked at her they must stop and admire her beauty, which was only the fleeting influx of pure energy that sometimes comes to us, without any effort of our own.
But no one saw her and the moment passed. The patio was deep; one side was a high vine-covered wall, along which ran a ledge. People sat in little groups along the ledge and on the scattered iron chairs, and they stood about in groups among the plantains and the palmetto palms, talking, Anne discovered as she passed among them, about the weather. The weatherman had predicted a cold front, a drop in
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