The Pursuit of Alice Thrift Read Free Page B

asked.
    I said, “Not that I pay attention, or not that he’s flagrant in his dating habits, but when he does entertain guests, they’re women.”
    This was what I deserved for agreeing to dine with a garrulous ex-patient. I asked if this was normal social intercourse for him—drilling virtual strangers about their home life and housemates.
    â€œI’m getting to know you,” he said. “You’re welcome to ask me questions, too.”
    So I asked, “Do you live in an apartment?”
    â€œA house.” He bit his lip. “Alone. At least now.”
    â€œNow?” I repeated.
    He drained his whiskey sour and blotted his mouth with his big maroon napkin. “I was married,” he said. “And then I was widowed.”
    The waitress was back with our entrées just in time to hear his declaration. After leaving the plates, she stayed, as if waiting for the next cold blast from my arsenal of bad manners.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” I said to Ray. “How long ago?”
    â€œA year and a day,” he said.
    I said to the waitress, “I think we’re all set for now.”
    â€œMore bread when you have a chance,” said Ray.
    I asked how his wife had died.
    â€œNot from natural causes.”
    â€œAutomobile?”
    â€œYes,” he said. He raised his wineglass. “If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon not go into the details. It’s too upsetting.”
    â€œOf course,” I said.
    He scooped a littleneck from its shell and chewed it with something like rapture.
    I dug in, too. My salmon was dry, but I’d brought that on myself.
    â€œGood?” asked Ray. “Because I was hoping you’d really like this place.”
    â€œExcellent,” I said.
    And this is exactly how a woman agrees to see a man a second time after finding him neither interesting, intelligent, nor compelling: He announces that he is a recent widower, vulnerable, like a man without an epidermis. That you are his first plunge into the treacherous waters of the Sea of Dates. Thus, when he finds the courage to ask if you’d like to do this again sometime—try another place, maybe Chinese or Ethiopian, maybe take in a movie—you say yes or you say no, and you understand that the look on your face and the speed of your answer will harm him, help him, or possibly save his life.

3.
Leo Frawley, RN
    IF YOU HAD SEEN MY APARTMENT, YOU WOULD HAVE GUESSED I was a clerk in a convenience store or a stitcher in a Third World sweatshop. I’m not bragging. I grew up in a three-story house with china and silver, a cleaning lady who came in every Thursday, and parents who sent me to college without financial aid. But four years later, I was sleeping in a bedroom that made me nostalgic for the claustrophobic shoe boxes I occupied in college. When I looked around my room and wondered why I said yes to the first place advertised on the housing board, I reminded myself of the extra twenty-five minutes of sleep I gained because of my proximity to the hospital, that I didn’t need a coat to run the three blocks to work if it was above 40 degrees Fahrenheit, and that Leo Frawley was an exemplary roommate.
    Leo would have said the same about me: I barely used any utilities. I didn’t watch television, play CDs, or touch the thermostat; my presence, especially in the refrigerator, the medicine cabinet, and the kitchen cupboards, was negligible. I was never around or underfoot; when present, I slept deeply.
    Signing a lease was an act of faith on my part. I knew nothing about Leo except for the superficial impressions I gleaned in our one cafeteria meeting. He was pleasant, well-spoken, and apparently popular. Coworkers greeted him, juggling trays across a single arm to hail him from all corners of the room.
    â€œYou have a lot of friends,” I observed.
    â€œYou will too when you’ve been here as long as I have.”
    I said I would be quiet,