GILBERT SORRENTINO
541
lick them with my tongue to make them shine in this harsh fluorescent
glare the better to see your food and read your paper by! See how I, for
a moment, forget to stupidly twist my napkin into orts. So many
things ... Mark Cross dresses, D' Agostino pants, Trunz handbags,
one of which reminded me of my lost corM, Merkel shoes, Packard
lingerie-and the endless swirl of openings, parties, theater suppers
with theater people than whom there is nobody like. Their closeness,
their camaraderie, their need for adulation and applause, their basic
shyness. And some other tributaries I forget just now bur you know
what I mean . Strange, how Tom was no slouch even though his brain
had been injured on a six and four field punt or something. No slouch
at all . Often drunk, yet he had his mind entire. Excuse me, my eyes–
my eyes are brimming with tears and you'll notice that my voice, which
up to now has been fairly strong, is faltering. He had some cute ideas
too . Bought me French maid's costumes, nurse's uniforms, nun's
habits. We had our good times and our bad, our ups and downs.
Another American marriage of the beautiful affluent. Among whom
we circulated all the time. Did you know that many affluent women
wear support hose and drink a lot of instant coffee? Then, too, they
favor tuna glop for buffet suppers. These things keep their husbands
on the golf course, so Tom told me anyway. Oh we had a lot of little
talks. And my father, he of the clam broth and lobster roll purchase, he
liked Tom, so there must have been something good and fine in him,
for my poppa could always smell bankruptcy afar off, e'en o'er the
briny deep, a nice turn of phrase, no? Yes, poppa liked the big sweet
lug, and I knew he did because at their second meeting he, poppa,
allowed him, Tom, to break one of his, poppa's, most treasured
pinatas. I remember ... I remember ... the little gifts falling on
Tom's head, his big silly grin ...
I kicked my heart into blinder obedience and stifled the cry that,
molelike, tried to get our ofmy throat. My poor Daisy! Daisy! If there is
a God in heaven, I began, but a counterman's sullen stare silenced me.
How I would like to shake his hand now, this humble slob, this dumb–
bell with the inarticulate wisdom ofEstonia in his bowel. Somehow, he
knew. With a swift motion I was up and our of my chair to get more
coffee and cheese Danish. For some strange reason, a reason that
seemed just outside my understanding. Daisy broke into sobs as she
looked at the cheese Danish. At that moment her face took on the
