What We Talk About When We Talk About Love: Stories

sofa with her legs tucked under her and turned the pages of a magazine. James Packer came out of the guest room, which was the room he had fixed up as an office, and Edith Packer took the cord from her ear. She put the cigarette in the ashtray and pointed her foot and wiggled her toes in greeting.
    He said, "Are we going or not?"
    "I'm going," she said.
    Edith Packer liked classical music. James Packer did not. He was a retired accountant. But he still did returns for some old clients, and he didn't like to hear music when he did it.
    What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
    "If we're going, let's go."
    He looked at the TV, and then went to turn it off.
    "Pm going," she said.
    She closed the magazine and got up. She left the room and went to the back.
    He followed her to make sure the back door was locked and also that the porch light was on. Then he stood waiting and waiting in the living room.
    It was a ten-minute drive to the community center, which meant they were going to miss the first game.
    I N the place where James always parked, there was an old van with markings on it, so he had to keep going to the end of the block.
    "Lots of cars tonight," Edith said.
    He said, "There wouldn't be so many if we'd been on time."
    "There'd still be as many. It's just we wouldn't have seen them." She pinched his sleeve, teasing.
    He said, "Edith, if we're going to play bingo, we ought to be here on time."
    "Hush," Edith Packer said.
    He found a parking space and turned into it. He switched off the engine and cut the lights. He said, "I don't know if I feel lucky tonight. I think I felt lucky when I was doing Howard's taxes. But I don't think I feel lucky now. It's not lucky if you have to start out walking half a mile just to play."
    "You stick to me," Edith Packer said. "You'll feel lucky."
    "I don't feel lucky yet," James said. "Lock your door."
    After the Denim
    THERE was a cold breeze. He zipped the windbreaker to his neck, and she pulled her coat closed. They could hear the surf breaking on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff behind the building.
    She said, "111 take one of your cigarettes first."
    They stopped under the street lamp at the corner. It was a damaged street lamp, and wires had been added to support it. The wires moved in the wind, made shadows on the pavement.
    "When are you going to stop?" he said, lighting his cigarette after he'd lighted hers.
    "When you stop," she said. "Ill stop when you stop. Just like it was when you stopped drinking. Like that. Like you."
    "I can teach you to do needlework," he said.
    "One needleworker in the house is enough," she said.
    He took her arm and they kept on walking.
    When they reached the entrance, she dropped her cigarette and stepped on it. They went up the steps and into the foyer. There was a sofa in the room, a wooden table, folding chairs stacked up. On the walls were hung photographs of fishing boats and naval vessels, one showing a boat that had turned over, a man standing on the keel and waving.
    The Packers passed through the foyer, James taking Edith's arm as they entered the corridor.
    SOME clubwomen sat to the side of the far doorway signing people in as they entered the assembly hall, where a
    What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
    game was already in progress, the numbers being called by a woman who stood on the stage.
    The Packers hurried to their regular table. But a young couple occupied the Packers' usual places. The girl wore denims, and so did the long-haired man with her. She had rings and bracelets and earrings that made her shiny in the milky light. Just as the Packers came up, the girl turned to the fellow with her and poked her finger at a number on his card. Then she pinched his arm. The fellow had his hair pulled back and tied behind his head, and something else the Packers saw—a tiny gold loop through his earlobe.
    JAMES guided Edith to another table, turning to look again before sitting down. First he took off his windbreaker and helped Edith with her coat, and then he stared at the couple who had taken their places. The girl was scanning her cards as the numbers were called, leaning over to check the man's cards too—as if, James thought, the fellow did not have sense enough to look after his own numbers.
    James picked up the stack of bingo cards that had been set out on the table. He gave half to Edith. "Pick some winners," he said. "Because I'm taking these three on top. It doesn't matter which ones I pick. Edith, I don't