Free After You've Gone by Alice Adams Page B

to say. To Sharon it would all be the ancient complaints about a wife.
    In fact, the only person who could make the slightest sense of his ravings is Antonia herself. Reeve, a somewhat sardonic, self-mocking young man, comes to this conclusion with a twisting, interior smile. And, on an impulse, passing Sharon’s exit, which is University, and heading toward the fog-ladened Bay Bridge, he speeds up the car.
    â€œPhyllis and Bynum, Lisa. Perry. I’ll be back soon. Sorry. Stew and risotto in the oven. Salad and wine in refrig. Please take and eat. Love, Antonia.”
    This note, taped to Antonia’s door, was found by Phyllis and Bynum, one of whose first remarks to each other then was “Who on earth does she mean by Perry?”
    â€œOh, some new young man of Lisa’s, wouldn’t you say?”
    â€œBut what could have happened to Antonia?”
    â€œOne of her meetings, wouldn’t you imagine? One of her good works.” This last from Bynum, Antonia’s oldest friend, who has very little patience with her, generally.
    That exchange takes place on the long stairs leading up tothe small, shabby-comfortable living room in which they soon sit, with glasses of wine, engaged in speculations concerning their hostess.
    â€œSomething could be wrong?” Phyllis ventures. A small, blond, rather pretty woman, she is much in awe of Antonia, whom she perceives as exceptionally
strong
, in ways that she, Phyllis, believes herself not to be.
    â€œI doubt it.” Big, gnarled Bynum frowns.
    This room’s great feature—to some its only virtue—is the extraordinary view afforded of the city, even now, despite the thick fog. City lights still are faintly visible, everywhere, though somewhat muffled, dim, and the looming shapes of buildings can just be made out against the lighter sky.
    Phyllis, who is extremely tired (a grueling day in court; but is she also tired of Bynum, as she sometimes thinks?), now lounges across a large, lumpy overstuffed chair, and she sips at the welcome cool wine. (The very size of Antonia’s chair diminishes her to almost nothing, Phyllis feels.) She says, “Obviously, the view is why Antonia stays here?”
    â€œContrariness, I’d say,” pontificates Bynum, himself most contrary by nature. “I doubt if she even notices the view anymore.”
    A familiar annoyance tightens Phyllis’s throat as she mildly says, “Oh, I’ll bet she does.” She is thinking, if Bynum and I split up, I’ll be lucky to get a place this nice, he doesn’t have to keep putting it down. This could cost, oh, close to a thousand.
    â€œBesides, the rent’s still so low,” continues Bynum, as though Phyllis had not spoken, perhaps as though he had read her mind.
    A pause ensues.
    â€œGod, I’m so hungry,” says Phyllis. “Do you think we should really go ahead with dinner?”
    â€œBaby, I sure do.” Bynum too is tired, a long sad day of not being able to work. And he too is hungry. “Antonia could be forever, and Lisa and her young man lost somewhere out in the fog.”
    The immediate prospect of food, however, serves to appease their hunger. They smile pleasantly at each other, like strangers, or those just met. Phyllis even thinks what a handsome man Bynum is; he looks wonderful for his age. “Was Antonia good-looking back when you first knew her?” she asks him.
    â€œWell, she was odd.” Bynum seems to ruminate. “She varied so much. Looking terrific one day, and really bad the next. But she was always, uh, attractive. Men after her. But the thing is, she doesn’t know it.”
    â€œOh, not even now?” Phyllis, disliking her own small scale, her blond pallor, admires Antonia’s larger, darker style. Antonia is so emphatic, is what Phyllis thinks.
    â€œEspecially not now.” Bynum’s smile and his tone are indulgent.
    â€œDo you remember that really strange