“Thank God,” she said, feeling all the air leave her body. She was scrupulous about protecting herself from STDs, but that hadn’t stopped her from imagining a moment very much like this one a thousand times.
He stepped into her apartment familiarly, tossing his coat onto one of the chairs. “They checked me for AIDS, herpes, the works. Oh, yes, it’s been a fun couple of weeks. Personally, I think it’s my office—the place is a fucking allergen factory. I’m talking to the best mold guy in the city about an action. Did you know there’s scientific evidence linking fluorescent lights with Epstein-Barr? The fucking lights they use in every office in the city, and it’s killing everybody.”
“I don’t understand. Why can’t you work?”
“Because I basically have the vitality of an eighty-year-old emphysemic?” He moved to sit down on the couch, rubbing his hands together. “See? Just going up your front steps, and I’m about to pass out. Do you have any purified water?”
“I have a filter on the tap. It’s Brita,” she added.
“No, it has to be purified. Filtered isn’t good enough. Anything in a bottle?”
“I’ll see.”
She found some bottled mineral water in the back of the refrigerator, and brought it to him. He pulled a little plastic cup wrapped in cellophane from his pocket, and poured some of the water in it. “No offense,” he said. “It’s just a precaution.”
“I still don’t understand,” she said. “Do you have a diagnosis?”
Rudy waved a hand. “I’ve heard everything. Nobody knows, really. Fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome, seronegative rheumatoid arthritis. None of this stuff is diagnosable, you know. Oh, we’re also talking about sprue. Did I leave some shirts here, by the way? Jesus,” he said, jumping a little, “you have a cat?”
He was looking at Big Whoop, who had wandered in from the bedroom to stare at them with open hostility.
“That’s your cat, Rudy.”
“Sylvester?” he said. “No, no, don’t let him near me. He gets within a foot of me, I’m a dead man. Can you put him in the back? Hi, Sylvie. Hi, baby. I can’t believe you found him. I can’t believe you have him.”
She tried to pick up Whoop, but he ran under the couch. She decided to wait for him to come out. She’d be damned if she’d go on her hands and knees in front of Rudy Fisch.
“Funny story,” she said, taking a chair across from him. “I found him at the Humane Society.”
He sighed and nodded his head. “I know, I shouldn’t have done that. Pru, it’s such a relief that you have him. Really. I mean that. Thank you.” He looked stricken, suddenly, and to her annoyance, Pru was moved.
She had imagined seeing him again many times, but never like this. The Rudy she’d imagined held some kind of trump card over her. He’d beaten her by being the first to leave, ending the game by taking all the pieces and going home. When she saw him again, she imagined, he’d be victorious and strong and have some good, hot babe on his arm. He’d somehow be the Rudy he always should have been.
Whoop came out from under the couch and readied himself to jump on Rudy. “No,” Rudy said, alarmed. “No, Sylvester, no.” He pulled up his knees as Whoop pounced.
Whoop hit Rudy’s knees and fell back. Pru leaned over, scooped him up, and settled him on her lap, where he glared at Rudy.
“Look at that,” Rudy said. “You guys are friends now?”
“We’re doing okay,” she said, smoothing the ruffled fur on Whoop’s back. “Do you want him back?”
“God, no. You might as well feed me poison.” Suddenly he looked at her. “You probably want to, huh? Feed me poison?” He scrunched up his face, suddenly, and raised his fist to his mouth, as if he was going to sneeze, or cough, or both. After it passed, he said, “I must say, I wasn’t expecting you to be so nice to me. Aren’t you going to yell at me, or something?”
“No.”
“Have you been upset?”
She shrugged. Whoop raised his head as she concentrated on moving her fingers under his chin.
“No,” Rudy said, leaning back again. “I didn’t think so.”
She stroked Whoop for a while. Then she said, “Okay. Yes. I was upset. You know, I can understand your leaving me. You were right, everything you said was true. Fine, you want to find someone else. Fair enough. But you know what really hurt? You never even called me to see how I was doing. I could have been dead.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
“You left me feeling—unlovable.”
He closed his eyes. “You’re not unlovable, Pru. God knows, it is not easy to love you, even when I’m in the best of health. But you’re not unlovable.”
“So, what the hell, Rudy?”
He sighed. “Look, it’s hard to explain. It’s just where I was with Andrea, and therapy, and all that. And then I got sick . . .”
“Who is Andrea?”
He opened his eyes, in surprise. “Andrea Schwaiger. Dr. Schwaiger.”
Suddenly, she understood. “You were sleeping with her? With your shrink?”
“It was kind of crazy,” he said. “I kept thinking you were going to get suspicious—you know, all those sessions. But I didn’t sleep with her until after you and I split.”
She’d never met Dr. Schwaiger: in fact, she hadn’t even realized that she was of sleeping-together age. She’d imagined Rudy’s shrink, in fact, to be something like Angela Lansbury, crisp and stern. She now had the rather wild image of Angela Lansbury in black lingerie, a whip in one hand.
“Andrea said I was only cheating on you to get your attention, anyway. Not that I cheated on you, technically. I mean, we fooled around, but we never . . .”
She stopped him. “Rudy, I don’t care what you did with Andrea Schwaiger, or
