Free The Ladies' Man by Elinor Lipman Page B

it’s gone.
    Kathleen sees a stranger in her vestibule holding a glazed casserole identical to the one she bought at a seconds sale inWoodstock, Vermont. Her first thought is, I have a pot like that. But as soon as the glass door between them opens, she smells Veal Marengo.
    â€œExcuse me?” she asks. “Where are you going with that?”
    Nash recognizes immediately what has happened: The sister with the soft heart and the lingerie shop has been summoned, and has rushed home to tend to Adele.
    â€œI feel so foolish,” he says. He puts the casserole on the floor at her feet and puts out his hand. “I’m Nash Harvey,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me who you are.”
    â€œKathleen—”
    â€œThe baby,” he says.
    â€œWhere are you going with my dish?”
    Nash says, “I’m not stealing it. I was going to return it as soon as I thought Adele would let me.”
    â€œIs she okay?”
    â€œShe has a broken rib.”
    â€œI know. Richard told me.”
    â€œSo he told you about the choking in the restaurant?”
    Kathleen presses her hand to her chest, and swallows. “I can’t believe it. She could have
died
.”
    If you weren’t there
, Nash silently prompts.
If you hadn’t come to the rescue
.
    â€œI can’t believe Richard went back to work,” says this sister.
    â€œI insisted.”
    She stoops over to get the casserole, but straightens up to say, “ ‘Insisted’? What gives you the right to insist on anything having to do with my family?”
    This sister has a heart-shaped face, and no gray in her red hair. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. Adele heated it up for me. She asked me to leave so she could get more comfortable, but said I should take this.”
    â€œIt seems funny she would have given you my casserole dish instead of Tupperware.”
    â€œI’ll return it, washed, of course.” He waits a few beats then says, “Kathleen, you do realize who I am?”
    â€œOf course I do.”
    â€œThe Harvey who used to go out with Adele? Because I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl.”
    Kathleen repeats scornfully, “ ‘Used to go out with Adele’? I wasn’t
that
little. I was sixteen. I was there that night. And I was old enough to take her home and put her to bed.”
    â€œOf course you were,” he says. “Which makes it all the more astonishing when I look at you right now.”
    Kathleen stares, waits.
    He smiles. “Well, if my math is right, and if you’ll allow me, your driver’s license must say forty-five, but your face says thirty.”
    She hears her own voice say faintly, “I’m forty-six.”
    â€œAnd I understand you’re in ladies’ … apparel. Adele told me. I’d love to see your shop while I’m in town.”
    Later Kathleen will say it happened like a crime of passion, without premeditation. She won’t be able to pinpoint which inflection, which inch of his face infuriated her—or what made her raise her arms and bring the veal-filled casserole down on his astonished head.

N ash is not knocked out by Kathleen’s assault, but does recognize, as soon as he hits the tile floor, the possible advantages of playing near-dead. The casserole lies broken in jagged pieces, its contents smelling of onions, splattered on his pinpoint-check jacket. He slumps against the door, affecting what he hopes is the slack jaw of a man seeing stars. His head genuinely hurts from a sharp, localized pain, as if he’d walked into the corner of a cabinet door, and he thinks there may be blood mingling with the gravy on his face.
    Kathleen is whimpering, a stream of
Oh nos
and
Oh my Gods
. Nash can tell she is coming closer, about to do something caring and diagnostic, kneeling without regard to the glop under her knees. A good actor, he