Theo arrived on the Cape the day before yesterday. We met for dinner the night he arrived. He is staying in one of the larger hotels, one of the few that has not yet closed for the season. The windows have been winterized, the canopies have been taken in, leaving the cement patio and steel canopy poles exposed to the wind. He’s not very fond of it, but has not, as far as I know, eaten anywhere else since he got here.
From across the dining room, Theo looked worried as he sipped from his martini, the twist of lemon bobbing face down. There was a time when I wanted to be just like Theo. And then, there came a time when I hated the idea. As I watched him dip his little finger into the drink, and then into his mouth, I merely admired the fact that he had survived relatively unscathed.
As I came across the room, he looked up at me. He wiped the sad expression from his face with his napkin and stood, his hand extended. A long time seemed to pass as I slipped across the luxurious carpet before I surrendered my hand into his.
“Hey, there, Gordy,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m all right.” We shook hands for a moment longer, looking sincerely at one another. “Let’s sit, “I said finally. He released my hand and fell ungracefully back into his booth.
“What can we get you to drink?” he asked. He waved over a waiter and ordered me a martini. He waited until it arrived and then we raised our glasses. “To your poor Mother,” he said with finality.
“Yes,” I said.
“A wonderful woman. She was troubled, but that doesn’t take anything away from her. I was crazy about her.”
“That’s what Annie said.”
“What’s that?”
“That you were always crazy about Maureen . . . Annie said you were always in love with her. That’s why you bought her the house.”
Theo frowned. “There are things a man has to do despite the failure of a marriage. She had run out of money . . . It doesn’t mean I was in love with her.” He frowned with more emphasis.
“I didn’t say it . . . Annie did.”
Theo shrugged and took a large sip of his martini. He held the long cardboard menu at arm’s length and gazed down his nose through the top part of his bifocals. I am sure he already knew what he wanted, but he scrutinized every item. Perhaps he wanted a moment of silence. As he held the menu, he extended it a little too closely over the flame of the candle, and it slowly began to blacken. I watched smoke curl up the backside of the menu, leaving a blue-black stain along the white, and thought for a thrilling moment that it might go up in flames. Just in time, he retrieved the menu, never knowing how close he came to setting it alight, and rested it on the table in front of him.
After the waiter took our order, and disappeared with the singed menu, I contemplated the black stain on the white tablecloth with the end of my finger.
“Annie has left me,” I told him.
He nodded, as if to suggest it was something he always knew would happen. “Do you think it’s for good?”
“I do.”
“She’s never coming back?” he said into his glass.
“No.”
He has never told me that I made a mistake. Maureen thought that I made a mistake with Annie. Theo never took me aside and asked, don’t you remember? Never marry young. And we were very young. Perhaps he does not remember giving me that advice. Never marry again, Theo. I might return the favor.
“Gordon,” he said. “You’ll be all right. Look at me. I’ve lived through it more than once . . . I want you to know that you can come to Florida any time you want. You can come and stay. I think we should see more of one another. It’s very sad about your Mother, and now that we’re both unmarried men . . .”
After dinner we walked from the restaurant into the lobby. Theo put his arm around my shoulder and walked me towards the exit. “You sure you’re all right staying at your mother’s,” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said.
Music came from a party in one of the ballrooms. The sound was muffled and then a door opened and the inviting music poured out of the room, interrupting the ringing phones and politely modulated conversation at the concierge’s desk. Theo guided us towards the open door and we looked in. A group of people crowded around the door, shaking hands. A party was coming to its end. Behind the good-byes, couples were still dancing. The men wore dark suits, the women heavy winter dresses. An older couple danced in the middle of the room. They had been drinking; their skin glowed from the alcohol. They were still in love, still sexually appealing to one another. But it was easier after drinking. They danced slowly. He whispered in her ear and made her laugh.
“Look at that,” said Theo. He shook his head sadly. “It’s a wedding,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“They invited all the guests who are staying at the hotel. There’s only three of us.”
“That was kind of them.”
“You mustn’t give up,” he said.
“Give up what?” I asked.
“Trying to be happy,” he said.
I don’t think that I had ever consciously tried to be happy. I had always presumed that I was, but perhaps I wasn’t.
“Your mother never gave up.”