place.
To the right was a smallish-restaurant, twenty
tables draped with parrot green damask, to the left
a glassed-in disco where-couples boogied to a live
band, the glass shimmying with the backbeat. In
between was the lounge. Even the bar was covered
with reflective glass, its base a display of trendy
footwear.
The lounge was dim and packed with bodies. I
edged my way through the throng, surrounded by
laughing faces in triplicate, quadruplicate, unsure
what was real, what was illusion. The place was a
damned funhouse.
She was sitting at the bar next to a chesty guy in
abody shirt. He alternated between trying to make
time with her, guzzling light beer, and visually
trawling the crowd for a more hopeful prospect.
She nodded from time to time but was clearly
preoccupied.
I elbowed my way next to her, She was staring at
a tall glass half-filled with foamy pink liquid, lots
of candied fruit, and a paper, parasol. One hand
twirled the parasol.
“Alex.” She wore a lemon-colored Danskin top
and matching satin jogging shorts. Her legs were
sheathed from ankle to knee with yellow and white
warmers that matched her running shoes. She had
on lots of makeup and plenty of jewelry–at-work
she’d always been conservative with both. A glittery
sweatband circled her forehead. “Thanks for
comin’.” She leaned over and kissed me on the
mouth. Her lips were warm. Body Shirt got up and
left.
“Bet that table’s ready,” she said.
“Let’s check.” I took her arm and we-wedged
through waves of flesh. Plenty of male eyes followed
her exit but she didn’t seem to notice.
There was a bit of confusion because she’d given
the maitre d’ the name ‘Luke’ and hadn’t told me,
but we got it straightened out and were Seated in a
corner able ander a colossal Creeping Charlie.
“Damn,” she said, “left my zinger at the bar.”
“How about some coffee ?”
She pouted.
“You think I’m drunk or somethin’ ?”
She was talking clearly and moVing normally.
Only her eyes gave her away, as they focused and
unfocused in rapid succession.
I smiled and shrugged.
“Playing it safe, huh?” She laughed.
I called for the waiter and ordered coffee for
myself. She had a glass of white wine. It didn’t
seem to affect her. She was main ‘raining as only a
heavy drinker can.
A while later the waiter returned. She asked me
to order first while she scanned the menu. I kept it
simple, choosing .a small spinach salad and broiled
chicken, because trendy places usually have lousy
food and I wanted something they couldn’t ruin too
easily.
She continued to study the menu as if it were a
textbook, then looked up brightly.
“I’ll have an artichoke,” she said.
“Hot or cold, ma’am?”
“Uh, cold.”
The waiter wrote it down and looked at her expectantly.
When she didn’t say anything .he asked
if that was all.
BLOOD TEST 131
“Uh huh.”
He left, shaking his head.
“I eat artichokes a lot because when you run you
lose sodium and artichokes have lots of sodium.”
“Uh huh.”
“For dessert I’ll have-something with bananas
because b&nanas are high in potassium. When you
up your sodium you have to up your potassium to
put your body in balance.”
I’d always seen her as a level-headed young lady,
if a bit too hard on herself and prone to self-punishment.
The dizzy broad across the table Was a
stranger.
She talked about running marathons until the
food came. When the artichoke was set down before
her she stared at it and began picking delicately at
the leaves.
My food was unpalatable–the salad gritty, the
chicken arid. I played with it to avoid eating.
When she’d dismantled and polished off the artichoke
and seemed settled, I asked her what she
wanted to talk about.
“This is very difficult, Alex.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I feel like a–traitor.”
“Against whom ?”
“Shit.” She looked everywhere but at me. “It’s pobably
not even important and I’m just shooting
offmy mouth for nothing but I keep.thinking about
Woody and wondering howbng it’ll be before the
metastases start popping uI>–if they haven’l al-ready–and