ERNIE AND ERNESTINA: The Writer, His Wife, and their Afterlife
Book One, Part Two, Chapter 72: A Dinner Date
Bella and I are to meet a few of her friends for dinner at a nearby restaurant. “I’ll knock on your door about quarter to seven,” she says.
At six-thirty, she calls me. “Make that seven. I just broke a cat dish. Glass everywhere. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to sweep and clean, and I’m still not dressed.”
This will be my first social engagement with people other than relatives and support-group friends since Ernie died. This morning, I washed my hair and bathed. I cleaned my face with Noxzema and put baby-oil gel on my eyelids.
I don’t wear make-up; it would just fall into the cracks. Ernie preferred a natural look in a woman, anyway. He even hated nail polish. “So primitive,” he said, “like claws dipped in blood.” And he felt suffocated by the smell of perfume . . . although he liked to dab his cheeks with men’s cologne or after-shave. We all have our inconsistencies, don’t we?
Waiting for Bella, I realize the backs of my knees are sweating. Am I scared? I don’t feel scared, yet being with people can be tricky. Take Bella, for example: She’s usually late. Take me: I’m a heavy presence. There’s a give-and-take in all friendships. I have to learn the rhythm.
I’m still awaiting Bella when Joshua calls, excited because the mechanic helping to restore his P-1800 Volvo pulled out its motor, and the mechanic’s wife cleaned it and painted it. “The correct color, too. She did a great job. Another P-1800 just sold on e-bay for fifteen thousand. Mine will be in great shape, too. Top running order.” He’s working fifteen- and sixteen-hour days restoring this classic car — with all proceeds to go into the Charles Street fund — and keeping everything else in his L. A. life going.
Bella rings my doorbell, and we head out. She’s in her usual look — black tunic over black leggings, chartreuse sweater tied about her waist. We get in the back seat of her friend Barret’s station wagon. Barret’s driving, and his girlfriend, Linda, a pale blonde, sits next to him. They both turn to shake my hand.
Then comes The Inquisition.
