“It took some doing,” says August, emptying the remains of one champagne bottle into my glass and then reaching for another. “Marlena’s no pushover, plus she was practically engaged at the time. But this beats being the wife of a stuffy banker, doesn’t it, darling? At any rate, it’s what she was born to do. Not everyone can work with liberty horses. It’s a God-given talent, a sixth sense, if you will. This girl speaks horse, and believe me, they listen.”
Four hours and six bottles into the evening, August and Marlena dance to “Maybe It’s the Moon,” while I lounge in an upholstered chair with my right leg draped over its arm. August twirls Marlena around and then stops with her extended from the end of his straightened arm. He’s weaving, his dark hair tousled. His bow tie trails from either side of his collar and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. He stares at Marlena with such intensity he looks like a different man.
“What’s the matter?” says Marlena. “Auggie? Are you all right?”
He continues to stare into her face, cocking his head as though evaluating her. The edge of his lip curls. He starts to nod, slowly, barely moving his head.
Marlena’s eyes grow wide. She tries to step backward, but he catches her chin with his hand.
I sit forward, suddenly on full alert.
August stares for a moment longer, his eyes shiny and hard. Then his face transforms again, becoming so sloppy that for a moment I think he’s going to burst into tears. He pulls her to him by the chin and kisses her full on the lips. Then he steers himself into the bedroom and collapses face first onto the bed.
“Excuse me a moment,” Marlena says.
She goes into the bedroom and rolls him over so he’s sprawled across the center of the bed. She removes his shoes and drops them to the floor. When she comes out, she pulls the velvet curtain shut and immediately changes her mind. She pulls it open again, turns off the radio, and sits opposite me.
A snore of kingly proportions rumbles from the bedroom.
My head is buzzing. I am entirely drunk.
“What the hell was that?” I ask.
“What?” Marlena kicks off her shoes, crosses her legs, and leans forward to rub the arch of her foot. August’s fingers have left red marks on her chin.
“That,” I sputter. “Just now. When you were dancing.”
She looks up sharply. Her face contorts, and for a moment I’m afraid she’s going to cry. Then she turns to the window and holds a finger to her lips. She is silent for almost half a minute.
“You have to understand something about Auggie,” she says, “and I don’t quite know how to explain it.”
I lean forward. “Try.”
“He’s . . . mercurial. He’s capable of being the most charming man on earth. Like tonight.”
I wait for her to continue. “And . . . ?”
She leans back in her chair. “And, well, he has . . . moments. Like today.”
“What about today?”
“He nearly fed you to a cat.”
“Oh. That. I can’t say I was thrilled, but I was hardly in danger. Rex has no teeth.”
“No, but he’s four hundred pounds and he has claws,” she says quietly.
I set my wineglass on the table as the enormity of this sinks in. Marlena pauses, then lifts her eyes to meet mine. “Jankowski is a Polish name, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Poles do not, in general, like Jews.”
“I didn’t realize August was Jewish.”
“With a name like Rosenbluth?” she says. She looks at her fingers, twisting them in her lap. “My family is Catholic. They disowned me when they found out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Although I’m not surprised.”
She looks up sharply.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say. “I’m not . . . like that.”
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us.
“So why am I here?” I finally ask. My drunken brain is unable to process all this.
“I wanted to smooth things over.”
“You did? He didn’t want me here?”
“No, of course he did. He wanted to make it up to you, too, but it’s harder for him. He can’t help his little moments. They embarrass him. The best thing to do is pretend they didn’t happen.” She sniffs and turns to me with a tight smile. “And we had a lovely time, didn’t we?”
“Yes. Dinner was lovely. Thank you.”
As yet another silence engulfs us, it dawns on me that unless I want to try leaping across train cars drunk and in the dead of night, I’ll be sleeping right where I am.
“Please, Jacob,” says Marlena. “I do so want things to be all right between us. August is simply delighted you’ve joined us. And so is Uncle A1”
“And why is that, exactly?”
“Uncle Al was touchy about not having a vet, and then out of blue, here you are, from an Ivy League school no less.”
I stare, still trying to comprehend.
“Ringling has a vet,” Marlena continues, “and being like Ringling makes Uncle Al happy.”
“I thought he hated Ringling.”
“Darling, he wants to be Ringling.”
I lean my head back and shut my eyes, but this results in disastrous spinning, so I open them again and try to focus on the feet dangling from the end of the bed.