• Robert’s at his desk at the newspaper, sipping the morning cup of coffee, trying to think clearly, which seems to be harder and harder to do. Let’s see, meetings at ten and eleven. Kathy appears in his head and she’s undressing, more real than the room he’s in. . . .
No, block that! Think about the garbage strike, the tourist who got killed two blocks away, anything. . . . Then Anne’s there in his head and he sees them yelling, he sees her throwing things. Damn, no, please stop that! . . . There’s got to be a better way. . . . Alright, what if I put it all down in a letter, get everything said before she can interrupt me. Right! I try to talk to her, she’ll just go to pieces on me and we’ll never get through it. . . . Never, never, never.
Robert’s frowning thoughtfully as he finishes the coffee, puts the cup down. He glances over at the old IBM Selectric he keeps in the corner of his office, moves his chair toward it. Yeah, all the word processors are connected, maybe some jerk supervisor is checking everybody’s work habits, personal memos. Jesus, the nerve of these people. . . .
He puts a piece of paper into the typewriter, starts typing.
My dear Anne,
The most amazing thing has happened. Amazing but also sad! You and I have been truly blessed.
Jesus, right, pile it on. . . . Yeah, this is good. I can hand it to her, some place public. Hell, I can messenger it to her at work. Then it’s done. Let’s see. . . .
We’ve had a wonderful marriage. I believe few men are as fortunate as I’ve been.
He sits back, reading the words over several times. Yeah, be gentle, be nice. Infinitely nice. Right! Lay it out like a lawyer—but poetically. So there’s only one conclusion she can come to. Yes, Robert, you are right, she’ll say. Go in peace. God bless you. Thanks, Anne, you’re wonderful. Yeah, it’ll be like A + B = C. This is what I should have done at the start. Jesus, can you imagine! You try to talk about something like this, everything’s out of control before you know it, and you’ve got nothing but scars all around.
Robert goes on typing, watching the door now and then. Somebody’s always stopping by. . . . Why’re you using the typewriter, Mr. Saunders? . . . I guess I’m just an old-fashioned kind of guy, buddy. I think best on this old thing, can you believe it? . . . No, Mr. Saunders, I can’t. . . . Well, buddy, fuck you.
Robert’s smiling as he gets up and goes to shut his door. Yeah, let’s concentrate, do this thing right. He sees Anne reading the letter calmly, nodding sadly but resignedly, going with it.
Then he’s telling Kathy, everything’s set, no problem, I told you I’d take care of it. What do I take off first, she wants to know. Wait a minute, wait a minute. This is important.
Robert sits down again at the typewriter, reads what he’s got so far.