The Toynbee Convector
“Be still,” said the wife.
He was still.
“Continue.” The wife leaned forward.
“No time. Must go. May I have that drink?”
The wife went and mixed a martini and came back as if bringing a blue ribbon to best cat of the show. The beautiful woman sipped it and said, “That’s the best damned martini I ever had. Do you foil at nothing?”
“Let me think.” The wife sat down slowly and eyed her competition. “So he speaks of me, does he?”
“That’s why it’s all over,” said the lovely lady. “I can’t stand it anymore. If you are so crazy for her, if you love her so much, I said, for God’s sake, what you are doing with me! Get. Go! Vamoose. One more day of The Greatest Wife that God Ever Created will drive me absolutely bonkers. Scram!”
The lovely woman finished her drink, closed her eyes on the savor, nodded, and arose, story after story, lovely battlement after battlement. She stood above them, like a summer cloud, motioning them not to get up.
“Now it’s scram for me, too. I’m off to the airport. But I had to come clear up a few things. It’s not fair to ruin lives and not rebuild. It’s been fun, George—”
“My name is Bill.”
“Oops. Dear Bill, much thanks. And Annette—”
“Anne.”
“Anne, you’ve won. I’ll be gone four months. When I’m back, don’t call me, I’ll call you. So long, good wife. So long, Charlie.” She winked and charged for the door, where she turned.
“Thanks for listening. Have a great life.” The front door slammed. The taxi, out front, could be heard motoring away.
There was a long silence. At last the wife said, “What was that?”
“One of those hurricanes,” said the husband, “that they name for women.”
He wandered off toward the bedroom where she found him packing a suitcase. “What do you think you’re doing?” she said, in the doorway. “Well, after all this, I thought you’d want me to get out—”
“What, and move into a hotel?”
“Maybe—”
“Where she could come get her hooks into you?”
“I just imagined—”
“You think I’m going to let you run free in a world where people like that are lying in wait? Why, you poor custard—”
“You can’t get hooks into a custard.”
“But she’s got a big spoon! Take those shirts out of the suitcases. Now put those ties over there, and put those shoes under the bed, and come out and have a drink, dammit, and sit down and eat any damn dinner I make for you.”
“But—”
“You’re a beast and a rat and a bum,” she said.
“But—”
Tears ran down her cheeks.
“I love you! God help me. I do.”
And she ran but of the room.