“We write each other notes, back and forth, back and forth. It’s like texting for people with large collections of stationery.”
Eddie and I, determined not to start any real conversation until we were properly seated, talked about books. “Tell me what you’re working on now,” I asked. “Tell me what you’re reading,” he replied, though neither of us listened to the answers. We existed in a state of mutual distraction.
“What about impermanence?” I asked once the nurse had gone.
“That’s all there is!” he said cheerfully.
“Polly wants very much to make a good impression,” Eddie said to me. “If I had wanted to make a good impression, I would have let you stay home.” In another minute she was there behind him, standing in the open door.
“Come in, come in,” she said with radiant good cheer. “You’re so nice to drive out here on a Saturday.”
Then Skip came out and shook our hands, showing us his formidable teeth. His insistence that he was glad we were there was so convincing that I wondered if he remembered keeping his back to me for the entirety of the evening at the Century Club. All three men had on khaki pants and navy sports coats, as if there had been a memo.
“People should be made to come to the office,” Skip said, stabbing his fork against his plate for emphasis. “There’s a culture to office life, and that culture holds the company together. If you don’t show up, you aren’t part of the culture.”
