Page 70 - WTP Vol. VIII #4

Plus One (continued from preceding page)
tempted to drop his glance to the floor, examine the shoes of the others but some faint generosity of spirit, some common decency compelled Judd to wave and they all wended their way through the hubbub to an open spot.
“Who’s that,” Elise inquired, slipping off her heavy coat.
“I’ll explain later.” Judd was sure he’d told her about the contretemps at Roger’s but it was so long ago he didn’t think the episode had stuck.
“Hi Kent,” Judd said, hoping the animus wouldn’t show through the cordial greeting.
“I know you. Don’t tell me,” he replied, looking slightly vexed. Judd had the distinct feeling Kent knew ex- actly who he was but feigned ignorance out of some primordial ego defense, or as a means of retaining the upper hand. “You’re Monica’s classmate,” he recov- ered, before loosening his jaw with that wolfish leer.
Introductions were made and Kent was initially so pleasant, for a fleeting moment Judd wondered if his earlier boorishness and hostility had been a mirage. Kent’s colleagues quickly left them alone, moving to an alcove which had descriptions of the animals that had been killed for their nourishment, and whose embalmed countenances provided the place’s atmosphere. When Elise excused herself to find the ladies room, Kent seemed to study her gait as she walked away, the gentle, dignified cadence of it in her loose flowing dress and the winding straps of her heels.
“How did you do it, Judd?” he said, with an ingratiat- ing nudge.
“What do you mean?”
“She must be what, twelve, fourteen years younger, maybe more.” If this hadn’t come from Kent, Judd might have been mildly flattered but in his mouth the whole suggestion assumed a tawdriness that bor- dered on the carnal. “Monica’s going to be 45. She’s the one who was robbing the cradle.”
Kent looked the same age as Monica, even older with his gray flecked sideburns, and Judd stiffened further thinking of how he must abuse her easygoing nature.
The remark hung in the air as Kent produced a cell phone from his jacket and began peering into it. Judd had always found this to be an arrogant act in the middle of an exchange, which invariably cast the counterpart adrift. This was before all the laws on second hand smoke were enacted so with his free
hand, Kent lit a cigarette and inhaled as if he were a balloon and was trying to inflate himself. Judd fidg- eted uncomfortably, scanning the mob of carnivores, wishing his wife would hurry up. He considered turning the conversation back to Monica—how her new job was going—when Elise came back, with a polite expression that he couldn’t quite read, prob- ably wanting Judd to smoothly break off and find an inconspicuous corner.
“Is it a long wait?” she tentatively asked.
“Not long enough. I think it would be more fun talk- ing to you.” Kent beamed in a way that was not ex- actly lewd but which carried a trace of inappropriate intensity. Elise made an attempt to absorb the com- pliment, then shot Judd a glance of alarm, as if she’d suddenly been accosted by a beggar.
“I think we really have to find a place that’s less packed,” Judd said, despite the traffic jam outside. “We haven’t eaten since noon and we’re both starving.”
“I understand. If it wasn’t for the zebra steaks here, I’d follow you right out.”
“Give Monica my best,” Judd said, as a way to break off.
“Just tell me, Elise,” Kent said lowering his voice and leaning in. “How did this guy convince you to marry him? From here he just seems way out of his league.” While Elise issued a strained laugh, the gleam in Kent’s stare reminded him of a magician’s, the sort designed to hypnotize his audience, just before he sawed an assistant in half.
From how many guest lists had Kent been crossed off? Maybe Monica’s sweetness balanced the ac- count because it was inevitably a package deal. How was it that he exhibited the savoir faire, the insouci- ant grace of George Clooney one moment and bran- dished a dagger the next? It was as if Kent sensed something in Judd, some weakness that drew him to pounce. Perhaps, in some primordial display, he had to establish a pecking order, mark his territory. It was hard to imagine Monica choosing him but such mismatches seemed to populate the earth. How often was it that people adored the principal and loathed the spouse?
Judd had recently read a bestseller called “The Shift- ing Society” about how clubs were formed and how new members sometimes roiled the waters. He imagined Kent as just such an interloper, a barnacle attaching itself to the first ship that came along. He remembered how in senior year, a guy named Kyle
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