Short Cuts by Raymond Carver Read Free Book Online Page A

pleasant – and held up her face to be kissed, and he gave her a little peck on the cheek. He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down, leaned back on the legs and looked at her. She smiled again and then lowered her eyes.
    “I’m already half asleep,” he said.
    “Coffee?” she said, reaching over and laying the back of her hand against the percolator.
    He shook his head.
    She took up the cigarette she had burning in the ashtray,smoked it while she stared at the floor, and then put it back in the ashtray. She looked at him, and a warm expression moved across her face. She was tall and limber, with a good bust, narrow hips, and wide wonderful eyes.
    “Do you ever think about that party?” she asked, still looking at him.
    He was stunned and shifted in the chair, and he said, “Which party? You mean the one two or three years ago?”
    She nodded.
    He waited, and when she offered no further comment, he said, “What about it? Now that you brought it up, what about it?” Then: “He kissed you, after all, that night, didn’t he? I mean, I knew he did. He did try to kiss you, or didn’t he?”
    “I was just thinking about it and I asked you, that’s all,” she said. “Sometimes I think about it,” she said.
    “Well, he did, didn’t he? Come on, Marian,” he said.
    “Do you ever think about that night?” she said.
    He said, “Not really. It was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Three or four years ago. You can tell me now,” he said. “This is still old Jackson you’re talking to, remember?” And they both laughed abruptly together and abruptly she said, “Yes.” She said, “He did kiss me a few times.” She smiled.
    He knew he should try to match her smile, but he could not. He said, “You told me before he didn’t. You said he only put his arm around you while he was driving. So which is it?”
    “What did you do that for?” she was saying dreamily. “Where were you all night?” he was screaming, standing over her, legs watery, fist drawn back to hit again. Then she said, “I didn’t do anything. Why did you hit me?” she said.
    “How did we ever get onto this?” she said.
    “You brought it up,” he said.
    She shook her head. “I don’t know what made me thinkof it.” She pulled in her upper lip and stared at the floor. Then she straightened her shoulders and looked up. “If you’ll move this ironing board for me, love, I’ll make us a hot drink. A buttered rum. How does that sound?”
    “Good,” he said.
    She went into the living room and turned on the lamp and bent to pick up a magazine from the floor. He watched her hips under the plaid woolen skirt. She moved in front of the window and stood looking out at the streetlight. She smoothed her palm down over her skirt, then began tucking in her blouse. He wondered if she wondered if he were watching her.
    After he stood the ironing board in its alcove on the porch, he sat down again and, when she came into the kitchen, he said, “Well, what else went on between you and Mitchell Anderson that night?”
    “Nothing,” she said. “I was thinking about something else.”
    “What?”
    “About the children, the dress I want Dorothea to have for next Easter. And about the class I’m going to have tomorrow. I was thinking of seeing how they’d go for a little Rimbaud,” and she laughed. “I didn’t mean to rhyme – really, Ralph, and really, nothing else happened. I’m sorry I ever said anything about it.”
    “Okay,” he said.
    He stood up and leaned against the wall by the refrigerator and watched her as she spooned out sugar into two cups and then stirred in the rum. The water was beginning to boil.
    “Look, honey, it
has
been brought up now,” he said, “and it
was
four years ago, so there’s no reason at all I can think of that we
can’t
talk about it now if we
want
to. Is there?”
    She said, “There’s really nothing to talk about.”
    He said, “I’d like to know.”
    She said, “Know