Tapestry of Fortunes A Novel - By Elizabeth Berg Page 0,141

Rate Foods.”

“Overdressed dowager and man with consumption?” King asks.

“Yes!”

“Yeah, I’ve been there. Got fired myself.”

I uncurl my legs, sit up straight. “Really! Why?”

“Not enough leads.”

“Me, too!”

“There you go. Be proud! It’s good to get fired every now and then. It’s liberating. Gives you some time during the week to run errands.”

“But … I need to work.”

“The agency won’t care. They’ll give you more work.”

“They will?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Oh.”

Silence. And then, “Well … thanks, King.”

“You’re welcome.”

I hang up and lean back against the cushions, my shame transformed into satisfaction. It lies across my chest like a cat.

Maybe I’ll scramble some eggs. Reward myself.

25

“I admit it,” Edward says. “In many ways, I’m a walking cliché. But I’m very comfortable with that. I know my own self. I’m a good person and I have nothing to apologize for.” He is sitting at my kitchen table, handsomely dressed in tweed pants and a beautiful cream-colored shirt, one long leg crossed over the over, sipping coffee. He reminds me of a young Fred Astaire: a thin, narrow face, hair looking as though it will recede a bit farther if you turn your back. When Edward talked about knowing himself, he laid his hand over his heart. I like people who do that. I feel I can trust them.

“Well, King certainly speaks highly of you,” I say.

Edward rolls his eyes. “Is he a doll? I just love him. He’s really very handsome, you know. Under all that … sort of … flesh. Every time I cut his hair, I think, boy what a little weight loss would do.”

“He has lost some. Quite a bit, actually.”

“Yes, I thought so. But I’m talking about … I mean, can’t you just see him in a Gucci ad?”

I smile.

“Oh, I know,” Edward says, “I have a very good imagination. My mother used to get after me all the time for lying on my bed and dreaming up things instead of going outside to grow big and strong and heterosexual. She was sort of like Bette Davis: The Later Years, only she was like that all her years.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, she used to come in my room and scare my friend Martin Harris to death. I think we were in love with each other, but it was only fourth grade. She didn’t like him, of course—he took ballet, for one thing. She’d open the door and there would be her pop-out eyes and this really magnificent scowl. Red lipstick. She’d be holding a cigarette with her arm bent up, big chunky bracelet, and she’d take this incredibly deep drag and say”—here Edward lowered his voice—“ ‘What are you boys up to? Is this any way to spend a beautiful day?’ and then she’d exhale for about an hour and a half. So we’d go outside for a few minutes and then come back in and play dolls with our soldiers.” He shrugs. “But you had to like her, you know? I mean, I liked her.”

“Edward,” I say. “I hope you don’t mind my asking this. But why would you want to live here?”

“I don’t mind your asking. I like families. I don’t like living alone. And I don’t like living in … the Community. It’s just a little too intense.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, sure.”

Silence.

Well, fine, I’m dying to know, but if he doesn’t want to tell me …

“You could get back to me,” he says. “I know the idea is a bit unusual. I will tell you, though, I’m a very good roommate. I clean, I cook, I’m quiet. And I’m … entirely discreet. Plus I’ll cut your hair for free. I think, if you don’t mind my saying so, you could use some color, too.”

My hand flies to my hair. “Really? The gray?”

Edward nods solemnly.

“It’s really obvious?”

He nods vigorously.

“Well, I don’t mind it. I mean, it’s natural. It’s what happens, you know, when you get older.”

“Honey, you can have gray hair when you’re sixty. For now, you’re much too young and attractive. I’d use a dark brown base, then a little copper for highlights. It would make your eyes look greener.”

I nod, think for a moment. “Okay, I’ll let you know.”

Edward gathers up his coat, stands. “You can call me whenever you like. And I’ll understand if you can’t let me move in.”

“Oh, no. I mean, I’ll think about the hair color. You can move in on the first.”

He sits down again. “Really?” His happiness is so dear, so transparent. We sit for a moment, smiling shyly at each other. And then Edward says, “But don’t