Vera mocks him when Chaplin calls on the telephone. She claims that his voice changes when it is Chaplin on the other end of the line. She says that she can tell by his manner if he is talking to Charlie Rogers or to Chaplin.
Oh, Charlie! she mimics. Thank you for calling. Thank you so much for remembering me, your poor little friend from long ago.
Sometimes he and Chaplin meet for dinner at the Masquers, or Musso & Frank, but such occasions are rare. So they speak on the telephone, but only of some bucolic past.
I hate how you sound with him, Vera says. So fucking . . . obsequious.
He is shocked—not by Vera’s swearing, but that she knows the meaning of the word “obsequious.” He wonders if she is having an affair, possibly with a lexicographer.
But she is not correct. He is not merely grateful to hear from Chaplin.
He is honored.
He and Chaplin worked together, traveled together, roomed together, he and this man who is so much greater than the rest. They were close, once. They had a bond, which is why Chaplin calls him to talk of England.
Chaplin remembers him.
To Chaplin, he has meaning.