I Am Curious (Thirty)

August 17

I met Howard yesterday. Walking downtown on Lexington between Forty-eighth and Forty-seventh. He was walking uptown, I was walking downtown. And there he was.

Talk about awkward.

Miss Plastic Tits was nowhere to be seen. He was alone, carrying that attaché case that I used to think was welded to his hand. We just stopped in our tracks and stared at each other, each waiting for the other to be the first to say something. When we finally started a conversation it went something like this:

“Well, what do you know.”

“Well, hello.”

“I always wondered when I’d run into you, Jan. A few months ago there was a time when I kept thinking I saw you around town, but I would look and it was never you. You’re looking good.”

“Thank you. You look good yourself.”

“You’ve lost a lot of weight.”

“I’ve been gaining a little back lately.”

“Well, you look good.”

“Well, I—”

“I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Actually I have an appointment.”

“I said I’ll buy you a drink. We have some things to discuss, Jan.”

“I have this appointment.”

“I’ll make a scene.”

“Huh?”

“Listen, bitch. You walked out without looking back. You gave me some bad nights, bitch.”

“I’m sorry about that. Let go of my arm.”

“I will like hell let go of your arm. We have some things to talk about. I want a divorce. I don’t want to wait to talk about it until we happen to run into each other again. No, you can’t brash me, Jan. I’ll raise my voice, I’ll attract attention, I don’t really give a damn.”

“You want a divorce?”

“I’m sure it’s impossible for you to believe that anybody could want a divorce from you. Jesus, you’re sick, do you know that? You’re a sick person, do you know that?”

“Of course I know it.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t especially want a drink, Howard. We can go across the street for coffee. All right?”

We went across the street and had coffee. He had to have my lawyer’s name and address. That was nice, except I didn’t have a lawyer.

“Just a minute.”

“You’re not going anywhere yet.”

“Oh, fuck off, Howard. I have to make a phone call. I won’t go out of your goddamned sight.”

I called Liz. She was back at her place and had just finished turning the first trick of the day. She works a lot by telephone, and gets morning people quite frequently. She calls them the coffee-break crowd.

“Who’s my lawyer?”

I told her why I wanted to know, and she told me the name of her lawyer, who she said is reasonably good. Jason Silverblatt. I love that name. I like to write it, the way it looks on the page. Jason Silverblatt. Jason, wherever you are, whoever you are, I’d ball you for free. I love that name.

“Jason Silverblatt,” I told Howie, and gave him the address. He wrote it all down. “And what else is there to say besides See my lawyer?

“I want your address and phone, too.”

“Up yours.”

“I don’t see how in hell you’re the injured party, Jan. Why come on so strong?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re the one who walked out. Not after a fight, not because I did anything that I know about. You just walked out.”

“I know. You were right before, I’m a bitch.”

“Well, people have problems.”

“Problems. Are you getting married again, Howard?”

“Eventually, I suppose.”

“I mean is that why you want the divorce?”

“Oh. No.”

“Just to get it over with, I suppose.”

“To get rid of loose ends.”

“Sure.”

“There are some girls that I see, one more than the others, but I suppose I’m a little reluctant to get too deeply involved with anybody right now, Jan. Once bitten and all that.”

“Sure.”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you—”

“We might as well finish our coffee.”

“All right.”

So we sat there and finished our coffee, but nothing much else got said. And then he paid for our coffee — poor men, they always pay for everything. And we went our separate ways.

I haven’t even called Silverblatt myself yet. I suppose I ought to. I told Liz I don’t want any alimony from him, or even anything from the house. She told me to take a cash settlement then.

“If you don’t take it, you’re throwing money away. You know what you could get? About half of what he earns from now until the day you remarry, and you’re not going to remarry.”

“But I’ve treated him badly enough already.”

“Men and women always treat each other badly. It’s a law of nature.”

“You know, I think that might be true.”

“Of course it’s true. Would I lie to you? Listen, at least talk it over with Jason Silverblatt. I’m sure you can get five or ten thousand dollars in cash just for signing a paper saying good-bye, Charlie.”

“I looked at him today and I wanted to take him home with me.”

“You’ve got the hots for him all of a sudden? For your own husband?”

“No, it wasn’t that. A pity thing, I guess. He looked so pathetic.”

“Terrific. You screwed him up and you feel sorry for it and now you want to screw him up some more.”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. That’s why I didn’t do anything about it. It was just an impulse.”

“You have to watch these impulses.”

“I know.”

“You take the money. He had the best years of your life, the son of a bitch.”

Maybe she’s right.