Wednesday, July 1, 2015
From a Baroque to Birdland flyer
“We’ll meet you there,” Andre says, “in the lobby,” and I believe him. I have no reason not do. Or… Do I?
We park and walk into the theatre. The lights start to flash and Marj says it’s time to go in. “But they aren’t here yet,” I say, and we have their tickets. “Well that was a stupid plan. They are always late!” Marj goes and gets a seat, “How are we going to know what’s happening if we miss the prologue!” she says. “It’s in Italian! We aren’t going to understand it anyway!” I wait. I order an Old Fashioned.
At Intermission, I start to worry. Marj takes forever in the bathroom (“Godddamn lines! Goddamn women!”) “I’m worried, hon,” I say and she touches my face and says something must’ve come up. “He’s not a surgeon, hon!” Marj goes in for the second act and I take a seat right near the door.
We’re in bed and the phone rings.