OCR Text |
Show FOR LUCK-41 Courage was Oscar who could drape himself across me and lick my neck. A mensch. Lavish affection goes a long way with me. Margo tells me I ought to take a lover because of that. But a cat only wants the taste of salt. With a man, you never know if it's that or a way of setting you up for permanent hunger. Do they never forgive their mothers? Oscar hasn't been at the door for the past four mornings. I don't feel like grieving alone. It's intolerable that Tim should paint at such a time. "Tim," I say, "come out to Easy with me today. "I'm feeling bad." He hunches over the easel, deciding whether or not to resist. I've set it up so he either feels trapped or defiant, which is not very nice of me, but I do not feel very nice today. Unlike Oscar, he seems to delight in so little. How can I make things inviting for him? Is it for me to cajole? It must be, for I say into the heavy silence, "Why don't you help me work with her today?" No, not cajoling, but another meanness of mine, throwing out the challenge. Easy Living is the color of Revere Ware bottoms polished by someone's mother-someone else's, for mine was given to what my father liked to call "that God damned clutter." Odd then, that the thought of dog hair all over the place should have distressed her as it did. I'm teaching Easy dressage, which Tim likes to refer to as tailoring. "Ha ha," I say, and remind him that the art is too refined for the likes of him. He loves for me to say that and bites into the stem of his pipe. He hopes he's insulting, but in truth he's apt. You could even say a dressage-trained horse is well-made, correctly suited, all sorts of connections. Tim is more wonderful than he will ever admit. He knows not what he is. How I wish he did. We could just enjoy. Oh, how we could. Tim is silent all the way over to Easy's barn. He isn't feeling good |