The Thanatos Syndrome

He introduces himself to both of us as if we were the famous ones. ‘You’re Mrs. More, I believe, and you’re Mrs. Comeaux?’ I nearly drop my teeth, but you know Ellen, laid back and cool. ‘Yes?’ she says.” Sheri mocks Ellen’s coolness. “He bows, I swear I think he even clicked his heels like a Prussian general, you know? He’s the perfect gentleman, but it’s obvious it’s not me he had in mind. Oh, he knew all about you too. ‘I know your husband’s work,’ he says to Ellen. ‘Magnificent!’ Ellen still hasn’t got the message. ‘But I’ve also seen your work—oh, I can tell in about thirty seconds,’ he tells Ellen. ‘I saw you pull that Steknauer finesse not once but twice.’ Then he turns to me as if Ellen’s not there. ‘Mrs. Comeaux,’ he says, there’s such a thing as card sense and there’s such a thing as a sixth sense. This lady knows where the cards are. I don’t know how she knows but she knows. I don’t think she knows how she knows either. It is as if she had a little computer stored in her head.’ Then he turns to Ellen and there’s Ellen going, Ah—uh—ahem, and so forth. So he says to Ellen, ‘Would you do me the honor of being my partner in mixed pairs today?’ ‘Well, ah uh,’ goes Ellen. ‘I don’t believe I have the—ah—’ And she’s actually going through her purse. I give her a nudge: Dummy! So he says, with another bow, ‘The fee is waived. The honor is mine.’ Well, let me tell you, I have to give Ellen credit. That gal’s got class. Without turning a hair she shrugs and says, ‘Very well.’ Very well, I’m thinking, Jesus. Of course, some of the old biddies were jealous, said he was interested in Ellen’s money, but that’s a lie. She’s a natural-born bridge genius.”
    â€œDid they win?” I ask. I look at my watch. What is keeping Ellen?
    â€œWin! They haven’t lost since. And now they’re not going to Fresno. I don’t get it. Old charmer turns into old asshole. Right, Tom?” She’s got another Tanqueray.
    â€œRight. But why don’t you go see if Ellen’s—”
    â€œSure.” Her son Ricky comes up and shows her his trophy. She gives him a hug and me a wink. “Wonderful, darling.” After Ricky’s gone, she says, “You want to know what those trophies look like?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLike K.C. bowling trophies, right?”
    â€œRight. Now—”
    â€œYou want to know something, Tom?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou really screwed up, didn’t you?”
    â€œI suppose I did.”
    â€œBut you know something?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI always thought you were the best around here, the most honest and understanding—unlike some I could mention, namely Dr. Perfect here.” And here in fact is Bob Comeaux, who pays no attention to her even though she hasn’t lowered her voice. Instead, he leans past me, ear cocked with the same intensity, and speaks to the table: “I hope you’ve given some serious thought to our conversation this morning. Okay, Tom?” His hand rests heavily on my shoulder.
    â€œSure, Bob,” I say, not sure what part of the conversation he means. Probably Father Smith. “Sheri—” I turn to her, but she’s gone—to fetch Ellen, I hope.
    Van Dorn, passing behind Bob Comeaux, makes a sign to me as if he did not want to talk to Bob. He holds up one hand open and a forefinger.
    â€œOkay,” I say. “Six o’clock.”
    Ellen comes back, seeming all right, and drinks two more Absoluts. She smiles and nods in her new unfocused way at nothing. She’s getting somewhat dreamy but seems on the whole composed and pleasant.

10. ELLEN IS NOT so drunk that she cannot get up the spiral staircase. But it is well that I am behind her, because I can assist her without seeming to, moving up behind her and in step, knee behind her knee, hands up the rail and almost around her. I fear she might fall.
    Our new bedroom is on the third floor across a tiny hall from the children’s. Ellen bought two iron convent beds, now in high fashion, when the convent closed. What short narrow nuns. My feet stick out through the bars.
    How to sleep with her? There’s no spoon-nesting on these cots. And she’s