It seemed to me that Nat relished talking to a woman who could hold her own with him on his own subject. As we talked, he became more stern; his forehead wrinkled, and his voice dropped to a low, determined pitch. Weighing his words carefully he gave me a long theory of his on the economic situation in Rome during the reign of Theodone. I found it fascinating, but toward the end my attention began to wander.
During a pause, while he tried to recall the name of a particular Roman administrative district, I couldn’t refrain from bursting in with, “You know, you’re so young.”
At that, his eyes opened wide and he stared at me. “Why do you say that?” he said slowly.
I said, “Well, you take all this so seriously.”
Quite brusquely he said, “It’s my field.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “But you’re so intense. How old are you? Come on, tell me. You seem so much younger than us.”
With apparent difficulty, Nat said, “I’m twenty-eight.”
That surprised me. “Good god,” I said. “We thought you two were only eighteen on nineteen. Another generation.” His face, at that, got even darker. “It’s hard to believe you’re really twenty-eight,” I said. “I’m thirty-one,” I said. “I’m only three years older than you, but my god, it’s another generation.”
We talked some more about the area, and then the Anteils arose and said that they had to get back. I felt tired, now. I was sorry they had to leave, but at the same time the meeting between us and them had, in the final analysis, disappointed me. Nothing of any importance had come out of it, although god knows what I had expected. We made a tentative date to get together for dinner one evening toward the end of the week, and then I sent Charley off to drive them home.
After the three of them left the house I went into the bathroom and took a couple of Anacin. My head hurt and I decided that probably it was eyestrain. But anyhow I returned to the living room and got down from the bookshelf a book by Robert Graves that dealt with the Roman period; going outdoors on the patio I made myself comfortable on the chaise longue and began to reread the book — it had been several years since I had read anything on the Roman period, and I felt that if I was going to discuss it with Nat I should bone up on it.
How odd it was. – .we had wanted so badly to meet the Anteils; we had been drawn to them so intensely, and now that it had come about — not boredom, surely, but — not what we had expected, somehow. And yet I felt terribly tense. My entire body, all my muscles, were drawn up and tense. Leaving my book I went to the kitchen and poured myself another martini. Here I was, keyed-up and feeling irritable. The sun hurt my eyes, and that always indicated that I was getting into a foul mood. Or perhaps I was pregnant again. My legs certainly ached; all those big thigh muscles hunt, as if I had, for the last hour or so, been carrying an enormous load.
Lying down on the concrete, outdoors on the patio, I began doing a few exercises. Certainly I could still get my legs up as well as ever. My stomach felt somewhat bloated, though. So I got the trowel and began weeding in the garden, a good exercise, that squatting and weeding; the best in the world.
A day on so later, during the afternoon, I got a phone call from Mary Woulden about the Bluebirds’ peanut sale fund. During our discussion she mentioned that the Anteils had told about meeting Charley and me.
“Oh my god,” I said, “do you know them? Why didn’t you say so? We turned heaven and earth over to try to meet them — when we first laid eyes on them we swore we’d get to know them and invite them up to the house, and we finally just had to walk up to them cold and introduce ourselves and invite them up.”
“They’re sweet people,” Mary said. “They’ve been coming up to Inverness for years, but now they’re renting a house all year round. They were just summer people; that’s why you never saw them. You know how summer people are; they spend all their time at McClure’s Beach.” And then she gave it to me right between the eyes. I had no warning whatsoever. “Apparently you didn’t make too much of a hit with him,” Mary said.
“Why?” I said, on my guard and apprehensive. I started, at once, to have hot and cold flashes. “They seemed to be enjoying themselves — we put ourselves out trying to make them comfortable. And good god, we practically picked them up off the street.”
“She likes you,” Mary said. “And I think he does, too. What he said was, if I can remember it exactly… something about you striking him as being a bossy person.” She added, “Actually he came out and said he didn’t particularly care for you.”
“Well, we argued about history,” I said, feeling the back of my neck boil with heat. “Possibly he resents the idea of a woman discussing his pet subject with him.”
We talked about various trifles, and then I rang off. As soon as the connection was broken I dialed the operator and got the Anteils’ number. I dialed them, seated on the bed and seeing my hands shaking. In fact I was trembling all over with indignation and a variety of other emotions that I did not have time to decipher.
The boy himself answered. “Hello.”
“Listen,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. It seems to me that I did keep it calm, too. “Maybe I just don’t understand the masculine mind, but in my book anybody who talks about another person behind his back but doesn’t have the integrity to come out to their face and say what he thinks –” I had trouble winding up what I had to say. “Didn’t we treat you hospitably?” I demanded, and at that point my voice broke.
“Who is this?” Anteil said.
“This is Fay Hume.”
After a pause, Anteil said, “Evidently some inadvertent remarks made in conversation got carried back to you.”
“Yes,” I said, breathing with difficulty and trying to keep the racket from being picked up by the phone.
“Mrs. Hume,” he said in a slow, somber voice, “I’m sorry you’re so upset. Let me assure you that it’s needless.”
“It’s upsetting,” I said, “to have somebody go through the motions of pretending to enjoy your hospitality, and then talk about you. Do you object if I try to talk to you in your own terms? I took a history minor; I like to discuss Rome. I may not be competent to discuss it, but –”
“This is difficult to discuss over the phone,” Anteil broke in. “Well, what do you propose?” I said. “Frankly, I’m not particularly interested in discussing it with you; I just wanted to acquaint you with my feelings.” At that point I hung up.
Almost at once I felt, acutely, that I was a hysterical nut. They shouldn’t trust you with the phone, I said to myself. Getting up from the bed I paced around the bedroom. Now it’ll get all over town, I realized. Fay Hume calls up some people in Point Reyes and naves like a drunk. That’s what they’ll say: I was drunk. Sheriff Chisholm will be by to take me away. Maybe I ought to phone him myself and eliminate the middleman.
I did not know what to do, but I had the keen insight that I had left it at a bad point, that someone had to do something. And here I was, the hostess, the woman of this quite outstanding house, placing a vast emphasis on providing people with a meal and conversation they would remember… a few incidents like this and I could forget considering myself hostess to anybody. What a faux pas. You’re just a child, a two-year-old, I told myself. Worse than Elsie on Bonnie. Even the dog has more self-control, more diplomacy.
That night Gwen Anteil appeared at the front door. Charley and I were doing the dishes; the children had gone off to watch tv. “I’m sorry to bother you,” Gwen said in her sweet but somewhat hollow fashion. “May I come in for a moment?” Her bike was propped up at the edge of the porch, and she had on capri pants and a sweatshirt. Her hair was tied back and her face was flushed, probably from the bikeriding.
“Come in,” Charley said. I hadn’t told him about either Many’s call or mine to Anteil, so for a moment I floundered; I knew at once that Gwen’s visit had to do with the business between me and her husband, and I knew that this was going to be difficult. I had to get rid of Charley, so I said,