Bridge of Sighs

sixty could be a watershed year? That people began to see the figure in the carpet of their lives and that sometimes it threw them?
And then his turn again: Would it all come back? (
Possibly. Possibly not.
) Should he worry? (
Do you enjoy worrying?
) Why did people pay money to go to doctors when priests were free?
    “Right now, they’re more concerned about my blood pressure than anything else,” Noonan continued, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
    “How high is it?”
    “High,” he admitted.
    “
How
high?”
    “They gave me a prescription,” he said. “Told me to avoid stress. You were not named specifically but—”
    “Here’s what you’ll do if you’re smart,” Hugh said. “Put the money from the show in an account here in the States. The first of each month I’ll send you an allowance. Enough to cover your studio and reasonable expenses.”
    “‘Reasonable’ to be defined by you.”
    “Well, yeah,” Hugh replied. “I’m the one who knows what it means. And my guy at Chase has been magic lately. Maybe he could suggest some investments.”
    “I’ll think about it,” Noonan said, and maybe he would. He was feeling uncharacteristically flexible these days.
    Hugh finished his vodka and pushed the glass away. “I should get back,” he said. “Things were winding down at the gallery, and Anne wants to go out to dinner and celebrate. You should come.”
    “Okay.”
    Hugh, clearly surprised, regarded him suspiciously. “The lady has a certain glow about her today.”
    “She sold well, too.”
    “True,” Hugh said, “but unless I’m mistaken, and I seldom am, that’s not where this particular glow comes from. And now that I look at you, there’s a modest flush about your own usually pale gills.”
    Noonan declined comment, which elicited a wry smile. Sleeping with Anne hadn’t been part of the plan, or wouldn’t have been if he’d had one. They’d been lovers once before, albeit briefly, nearly a decade ago, a pleasant enough interlude. Since both were painters, they never had to explain their odd behavior and rituals to each other, a good thing, though oddly disconcerting, too. He supposed he’d grown used to explaining himself, or failing to, so this had felt like skipping a necessary step in the process. Anyway, it hadn’t lasted. But last night felt different, their love-making unexpectedly moving him. How had Evangeline phrased her question that last time they’d been together? Had their sex spoken to him in any way? He hadn’t known how to answer, or perhaps he’d known how but didn’t want to hurt her feelings, which were raw and jangly. It occurred to him only later that any woman who asked that particular question was implying strongly that it hadn’t “spoken” to her either, at least not above a whisper. Last night with Anne hadn’t been a thunderous, buckle-your-knees event, but it had been sweet and tender. They’d both known what they were about, and at their age—though Anne was nearly a decade younger—maybe sweet, gentle was what you got. Or therapeutic. “Okay,” Anne had said, mostly to herself, as she’d pulled up the sheet afterward. “Now I can do this tomorrow.” By which he understood her to mean the opening. It was an oddly intimate and revealing thing to say, and only a little bit insulting. It suggested trust.
    “But for me, you’d have resorted to what? Percodan?”
    “Plus a martini.”
    “Well,” Noonan said, feeling sleepy and good, “I’m glad to be of service. Should I go back to my room now?” They were, courtesy of Hugh, staying at the same hotel. “If I fall asleep here, you could be treated to one of my night terrors.”
    “Not yet. I have a proposal for you,” she said, her tone strangely playful now. “I propose we accept Columbia’s offer.”
    Had he mentioned it to her on the flight? He didn’t think so. Hugh, then, the blabbermouth. “We?”
    “As in ‘you and I.’ We could share the position.”
    “Take the whole thing if you want it.”
    “They don’t want me. They want you. But they might accept me if that was the only way they could get you.”
    He couldn’t detect any rancor in this remark, which made him wonder what had become of her usual craving for reassurance, her fragile self-worth.
    “How would it work? The teaching.”
    “I suppose I’d tell them things and you’d correct me.”
    “Would we be married?”
    “I don’t think so, no,” she said, her turn to be caught off