Marion stood up. 'I'll have to be leaving now,' she said apologetically.
'But you haven't finished your drink yet.'
'I'm sorry,' she said quickly, looking down at the package in her hands, 'I have an appointment. A business appointment. I couldn't possibly be late.'
He rose. 'But...'
'I'm sorry.' She looked at him uncomfortably.
He put money on the table.
They walked back to Fifth Avenue. At the corner she offered her hand again. It was still cold. 'It's been very nice meeting you, Mr. Corliss,' she said. 'Thank you for the drink. And the book. I appreciate it... very thoughtful...' She turned and melted into the stream of people.
Emptily, he stood on the corner for a moment Then his lips clenched and he started walking.
He followed her. The brown felt hat had a gold ornament that glittered brightly. He stayed some thirty feet behind it.
She walked up to Fifty-Fourth Street, where she crossed the avenue, heading east towards Madison. He knew where she was going; he remembered the address from the telephone book. She crossed Madison and Park. He stopped on the corner and watched her climb the steps of the brownstone house.
'Business appointment,' he muttered. He waited around for a few minutes, not knowing exactly why he waited, and then he turned and walked slowly back towards Fifth Avenue.
Sunday afternoon Marion went to the Museum of Modern Art. The main floor was still occupied by an automobile exhibit which she had seen before and found uninteresting, and the second floor was unusually crowded, so she continued up the turning stairway to the third floor, there to wander among the pleasantly familiar paintings and sculptures; the arched white smoothness of the Girl Washing Her Hair, the perfect spear of Bird In Space.
Two men were in the room that held the Lehmbruck sculptures, but they went out soon after Marion entered, leaving her alone in the cool gray cube with the two statues, the male and female, he standing and she kneeling in opposite quarters of the room, their bodies elongated and gauntly beautiful.
The attenuation of the statues gave them an unearthly air, almost like religious art, so that Marion had always been able to look at them with, none of the slight embarrassment she usually felt on viewing nude sculptures. She moved slowly around the figure of the young man.
'Hello.' The voice was behind her, pleasantly surprised.
It must be for me, she thought, there's no one else here. She turned around.
Bud Corliss smiled in the doorway.
'Hello,' Marion said confusedly, 'It really is a small world,' he said, coming to her. 'I came in right behind you downstairs, only I wasn't sure it was you. How are you?'
'Fine, thank you.' There was an uncomfortable pause. 'How are you?' she added.
'Fine, thanks.'
They turned to the statue. Why did she feel so clumsy? Because he was handsome? Because he had been part of Ellen's circle?-had shared, football cheers and campus kisses and love...
'Do you come here often?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'So do I.'
The statue embarrassed her now, because Bud Corliss was standing beside her. She turned away and moved towards the figure of the kneeling woman. He followed at her side. 'Did you make that appointment on time?'
'Yes,' she said. What brought him here? You'd think he'd be strolling in Central Park with some poised flawless Ellen on his arm...
They looked at the statue. After a moment, he said, 'I really didn't think it was you downstairs.'
'Why not?'
'Well, Ellen wasn't the museum type...'
'Sisters aren't exactly alike,' she said.
'No, I guess not.' He began to circle around the kneeling figure.
'The Fine Arts department at Caldwell had a small museum,' he said. 'Mostly reproductions and copies. I dragged Ellen there once or twice. Thought I'd indoctrinate her.' He shook his head. 'No luck.'
'She wasn't interested in art.'
'No,' he said. 'It's funny the way we try to push our tastes on people we like.'
Marion looked at him, facing her on the other side of the statue. 'I once took Ellen and Dorothy- Dorothy was our youngest sister-'
'I know...'
'I took them here once when they were just going into their teens. They were bored, though. I guess it was too young.'
'I don't know,' he said, retracing his semicircular path towards her. 'If there'd been a museum in my home town when I was that age... Did you come here when you were twelve or thirteen?'
'Yes.'
'See?' he said. His smile made them fellow members of a group to which Ellen and Dorothy had never belonged.
A man and woman with two children in tow came bursting into the room.
'Let's move on,' he suggested, at her side again.
'It's Sunday,' he said. 'No business appointments to run to.' He smiled at her; a very nice smile, soft and lenitive. 'I'm alone; you're alone...' He took her elbow gently. 'Come on,' he said, with the persuasive smile.
They went through the third floor and half of the second, commenting on the works they saw, and then they went down to the main floor, past the gleaming automobiles incongruous within a building, and out through the glass doors to the garden behind the museum. They strolled from statue to statue, pausing before each. They came to the Maillol woman, full-bodied, strident 'The last of the red-hot mammas,' Bud said.
Marion smiled. 'I'll tell you something,' she said. 'I always get a little embarrassed looking at... statues like this.'
'This one embarrasses me a little,' he said, smiling. 'It's not a nude; it's a naked.' They both laughed.
When they had looked at all the statues, they sat down on one of the benches at the back of the garden and lighted cigarettes.
'You and Ellen were going steady, weren't you?'
'Not exactly.'
'I thought...'
'Not officially, I mean. Anyway, going steady in college doesn't always mean as much as going steady outside of college.'
Marion smoked in silence.
'We had a great many things in common, but they were mainly surface things; having the same classes, knowing the same people... things having to do with Caldwell. Once we were through with college though, I don't think we would've... I don't think we would've gotten married.' He stared at his cigarette. 'I was fond of Ellen. I liked her better than any girl I've ever known. I was miserable when she died. But... I don't know... she wasn't a very deep person.' He paused. 'I hope I'm not offending you.'
Marion shook her head watching him.
'Everything was like that museum business. I thought I could at least get her interested in some of the uncomplicated artists, like Hopper or Wood. But it didn't work. She wasn't interested at all. And it was the same thing with books or politics-anything serious. She always wanted to be doing something.'
'She'd led a restricted life at home. I guess she was making up for it.'
'Yes,' he said. 'And then, she was four years younger than I.' He put out his cigarette. 'But she was the sweetest girl I've ever known.'
There was a pause.
'Didn't they ever find out anything about who did it?' he asked incredulously.
'Nothing. Isn't it awful...'
They sat in silence for a moment. Then they began to talk again; about how many interesting things there were to do in New York, and what a pleasant place the museum was, about the Matisse exhibit that was coming
