A pastel portrait of the deceased Mrs. Meldrum senior, as a young girl, was placed over a console table with flared legs, and I stared at Mrs. Meldrum’s face and got to know her, for no purpose, for no benefit, none. But like a bird, I might have been eating out of her hand!
Her son, Melvyn, had forgotten he’d invited us. And thank you, Melvyn, for that. He suggested gin, rum, Scotch, rye, sherry, schnapps, Pepsi, cold tea, or beer.
And here I was in the company of a private detective and other pet owners. Some of them became scornful when the conversation centered on the next election or on Melvyn Meldrum’s unsympathetic mother and what was really so bad about her.
And even though I have no teeth—they’d all been pulled, because I was set to get implants and my dentures were just too painful to wear—I consumed a Diet Pepsi and some soft pizza topping.
This is not to say I am old. Far from it! Sometimes I just go to any lengths—and I had gotten started clearing out my God-given, skimpy, and in some cases, my diseased teeth.
So Melvyn had come to the door dead drunk and had told us we might as well come in for a drink. And where was his wife Yvonne, just then? She was upstairs getting ready for a different social event.
Yvonne Meldrum, when she appeared, brought in a tray of Limburger cheese, saltines, and Cheddar Goldfish.
And, I don’t forget what has happened to my pal Jack—he was there—a man I’d once had a fine time with—with my legs hanging up over his shoulders.
I wrote a note to the Meldrums after our return that it was so lovely to see you, so much fun. It was a joy.
Did Melvyn’s wife Yvonne leave him? Had she planned on finding somebody else to take her by the breasts? Because that night, while we ate, when June Hockett said, “Get Yvonne,” we discovered that Yvonne had left the premises!
I believe that this incident occurred before Vic’s and my son was born—soon after my divorce from Jack.
Had I been unhappy with Jack? Well, certainly Jack had been very woebegone.
One of the little girls at the party played a child’s version of a sad song on the spinet piano, while the other younger girl came up behind her to spoil it.
Vic said, as we went out for a taxi, “That was fun.” He stood just beyond the curb, stretching his arm out and by and by we arrived at our hotel.
Back in New Paltz, the next day, I needed to, but I could not go to the post office, but I could groom our dog Demon because it was Labor Day.
When I comb out Demon’s hair I may use a human comb and I always get under his belly. Sometimes I use an undercoat rake. I don’t ever use medicated shampoo for the genital area. And, I don’t need to imagine the pain of any teeth rotting out of Demon’s head!—so I let the vet tend to that.
But I have never had any discussion with Vic about whether he, Vic, is actually a jealous spouse—or about what happened to Yvonne.
I am unemotional about the abrupt ending of friendships and there’d be no purpose, no benefit, none, to exploring these subjects further—such as: have I come clean enough?
I am—yes—utterly at ease in the company of others, secretive, sexually active, quite adaptable.
And many have said of me, I hear—She’s very charming.