She went on watching him, while he avoided her eyes. Simon, she said, are you sad today?
He gave a kind of embarrassed laugh. Hm, he said. I don’t know. I don’t think so.
Would you tell me if you were?
Am I that bad?
Playfully she prodded at him with her foot. I’m asking you about your day right now and you won’t tell me anything, she said.
Catching her ankle in his hand, he answered: Hm. Let me see. I had a phone call with my mother this evening.
Oh? How is she?
She’s okay. She’s worried about my dad, but that’s nothing unusual. He has— He’s fine, but he has high blood pressure, and she thinks he’s not taking his medication properly. It’s more psychological than anything else, you know the way families are.
And he’s pissed off with me because— But that’s boring, it’s all to do with work.
But your dad isn’t working anymore, is he? she said.
Absently he went on circling his hand around her ankle. Right, I mean my work, he answered. You know, we don’t see eye to eye politically. It’s fine, it’s the normal generational thing. He thinks my political views are like, an outgrowth of my stunted personality.
Quietly Eileen said: That’s not very nice.
No. I know. Although I think it hurts my mother’s feelings more than mine. It’s actually— If you heard him, it’s quite a detailed theory he’s developed. Something to do with a Messiah complex. I’m not going to be able to do it justice, because honestly, I kind of tune out when he starts talking about it. But he seems to think I want to go around saving people because it makes me feel powerful and virile or whatever. The funny thing is that my job has absolutely nothing to do with helping people. Maybe if I was a social worker or a doctor or something, but I actually just sit in an office all day. I don’t know. Last time I was home we got into this truly bizarre conflict because I woke up with a headache one morning. He didn’t talk to me all day, and then in the evening he gave me this big long speech about how much my mother had been looking forward to seeing me and how I had ruined her whole weekend by having this headache. He can never say he’s angry with me himself, he always has to project his feelings onto Geraldine, like it was a personal insult to her that I had a migraine. He has a thing about migraines, because she gets them as well, and he’s convinced they’re psychosomatic.
Anyway, she wants me to call him tomorrow about this medication thing, for his blood pressure. Not that it’s going to make any difference what I say. I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve been talking out loud for about a year now, I’m going to stop.
While he spoke, he had been touching the back of Eileen’s calf, the back of her knee, with his fingers, and with his last remark he drew his hand away and sat up.
Don’t, she said.
He looked over at her. What? he asked. Don’t stop talking, or don’t stop doing that?
Either.
He put his hand back where it had been before, under her knee. In response she made a low pleasurable noise like: Mm. He let his thumb brush the inside of her thigh, under her skirt. Kind of sounds like your dad is jealous of you, she remarked. Fondly he went on watching her. What makes you say that? he asked. She leaned her head back on the armrest, looking up at the lit glass lampshade overhead. Well, you’re young and handsome, she said. And women love you. Not that your dad would mind that, if you looked up to him and tried to be like him, but you don’t. Obviously I don’t know him that well, but in my experience he’s very domineering and rude. It probably drives him crazy that you’re so nice to everyone, and nothing seems to bother you. Simon was stroking the underside of her knee, nodding his head. But in his view, I’m only nice to everyone because it makes me feel good about myself, he said. Eileen made a baffled face. So what? she replied. It’s better than bullying everyone to feel good about yourself, isn’t it? God knows we have enough sadists in the world. And why shouldn’t you feel good about yourself? You have integrity, and you’re generous, and you’re a great friend. Mildly he raised his eyebrows and for a moment said nothing. Then he replied: Eileen, I didn’t know you thought so highly of me. Closing her eyes, she smiled. Yes you did, she said. He glanced over at her where she lay with her head tipped back, her eyes shut.
I’m very happy you’re here, he said.
She made a funny face and asked: You mean like, platonically?
Moving his hand up under her skirt, he was smiling. No, not platonically, he said.