Passion and Affect by Laurie Colwin Page A

typewriter, stirring her coffee in a desultory fashion with her fountain pen. Small oval spectacles slipped down her nose. She had amber-colored hair that fell into her eyes. She looked bored and misanthropic and was drawing mustaches on the faces in The New York Times . Vincent said good morning to her and was about to begin a conversation about the headlines when she looked up and growled: “Get the hell away from me.” Later she came into his office to apologize. “It’s hell in the morning,” she said. Vincent felt his heart melting like hot candles. He asked her to have lunch with him and took her to a badly lit Italian restaurant.
    Misty Berkowitz was twenty-five. She wore an elderly suede jacket and revealed to Vincent that she spoke German, French, and Xhosa.
    â€œXhosa?”
    â€œI learned it in linguistics class. When I get enough money to get out of this dump, I’m going to go where they speak it and speak it.”
    â€œWhere do they speak it?”
    â€œI don’t know. Africa or someplace. I never asked.”
    â€œIs Misty your real name, or is it short for something?” Vincent asked.
    â€œIt’s real,” she snarled.
    â€œHow did you get a name like that?”
    â€œBecause my mother is a jerk.”
    The waiter brought two plates of Fettuccine Alfredo. Misty ate daintily, as if her food were under a microscope. Vincent ate quickly, waiting for Misty to say something, but she was too involved in her pasta to speak. When the plates were finally taken away, she looked deeply and silently into her coffee cup.
    â€œAre you a secretary or what?” he asked. “I mean, what do you do at your job?”
    â€œWhat is this, Twenty Questions? I just sit around.”
    â€œWell, who do you work for?”
    Misty tapped on her coffee cup with a spoon. “Some guy named George something. The guy with the pink glasses. You know the one. He has those hokey patches on his elbows. I never found out what his last name is. He comes around when he needs me and gives me stuff to analyze and edit. The rest of the time I sit around and read.”
    â€œHow long have you been working here?”
    â€œAbout six months, but I used to be on another floor. What do you do, anyway?”
    â€œGarbage.”
    â€œThat’s clever. Garbage what?”
    â€œI do studies of how much garbage is produced and how you can get rid of it. Right now I’m working on a method of compressing it into tubes that turn it into mulch.”
    â€œHow inspiring,” said Misty. “I think people should hate their jobs, because work is degrading.”
    Vincent tipped his chair back. He wondered if he could provide Guido with Misty Berkowitz to replace Betty Helen Carnhoops. That way, Guido would have an interesting and appealing secretary and Vincent could develop his connection with Misty. If she worked in Guido’s office, Vincent could demonstrate to her what a fine, competent, and gentle person he was. Guido’s office brought out the best in him, he felt. It occurred to him that he was going to fall in love with Misty Berkowitz, but he thought she found him affected.
    â€œRich people make me sick,” she said.
    Guido was brooding. Yesterday Vincent had been brooding. “We are on the verge of our lives,” he had said despondently to Guido.
    â€œWhat the hell does that mean?”
    â€œWe’re prime. We’re in the prime of life. We should be doing concrete, long-lasting adult things. It’s terrible, but I still feel like a child. Every adult is the headmaster and I’m just about to be suspended. Why do I do these useless things, like hang my heart around Misty Berkowitz’s neck? It’s just like high school and here I am, walking around in an adult skin.”
    From time to time Guido was mentioned by his acquaintances as being “recently eligible,” which caused him considerable distress. He had now been separated