Passion and Affect by Laurie Colwin Page B

from his wife, the former Holly Stergis, for four months. She called from the country once a week and they met for lunch every two weeks, but Holly refused to have dinner with him. “It’s too explosive,” she said.
    â€œI’m not going to be undone by you, or anyone like you,” said Guido to himself. He was having a conversation in the mirror and his reflection was the former Holly Stergis. On good days, he made plans for their mutual future together, and on bad days he felt himself permanently severed from all human warmth.
    Betty Helen Carnhoops appeared at the door. “Your friends are here,” she said, in a tone that would have been appropriate to an announcement of botulism or the plague.
    Vincent walked in, leading Misty Berkowitz by the elbow. He introduced her to Guido. His face was shining and hopeful. “Isn’t this a nice office?” he said eagerly.
    â€œNice enough,” mumbled Misty. “You do something literary, don’t you?” Guido handed her a back issue of Runnymede . She shuffled the pages like a deck of cards.
    â€œWould you like some Seltzer?” asked Guido.
    â€œI’d like to put my feet up, or would it tarnish these gleaming surfaces?” said Misty. Guido provided her with a wicker basket and she put her feet up on it. She wore small, expensive green shoes.
    â€œWould you like some Seltzer?” Guido asked again.
    â€œI don’t suppose you have anything as banal as coffee,” said Misty.
    â€œI’ll ask my secretary to make some,” said Guido.
    â€œThat awful girl outside? Jesus Christ, harlequin glasses. Will they never learn?”
    â€œShe’s actually very pleasant,” said Guido.
    â€œI’d like some coffee, but not if I have to deal with her,” Misty said.
    â€œI’ll get it,” said Vincent, leaping out of his chair. “There’s a delicatessen downstairs.” He raced out of the office.
    â€œYou,” said Guido to Misty, “are you and Vincent friends because you’re both so negative?”
    â€œWho’s negative?” said Misty. “Besides, Vincent’s not my friend. I don’t even know him. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
    â€œThat’s three negatives in a row,” Guido said.
    Vincent came in with the coffee, which was leaking through its paper bag. He handed it to Misty. He was positively wiped out by love.
    Betty Helen Carnhoops was like a reef of calm in a bad storm. She functioned as smoothly as a hospital kitchen. Vincent said she was a vacuum cleaner made flesh. Her telephone voice was brisk and astringent. Her letters were little miracles: she justified each line like a veritype machine. She never spoke to Guido except in the line of work and her few conversational attempts were confined to such soothing and uninteresting subjects as the weather, or what time the window washer was coming in. However, she announced anyone who came to the office by buzzing Guido and telling him his friends had arrived. She announced in this way the window washer, authors, trustees of the Magna Carta Foundation, messengers, telephone repairmen, and delivery boys from the delicatessen. Guido had not noticed this. It was pointed out to him by Vincent.
    â€œBetty Helen is so level. It’s a pleasure,” Guido said.
    â€œThat woman is lobotomized,” said Vincent. “She’s just waiting to strike. She’s a menace. Why does she announce these Western Union messengers as your friends?”
    The office hummed efficiently. For Guido it was like living in a quiet tunnel, safe and comfortable. The telephone and typewriter purred. Holly called to tell Guido that she was going to France with her mother for a few weeks and to cancel their lunch date. She called while Betty Helen was out to lunch, and after hanging up Guido put his head on his desk and fell into a short, miserable sleep.
    That afternoon, Vincent proposed