He tilts the bottom of his tumbler toward the ceiling, washing the last of the whiskey and water and icemelt down his throat. A half-melted ice cube falls into his mouth as well – clattering against mercury-filled molars – but after swallowing the liquid, he spits it back into the glass and sets the glass down on his coaster on the coffee table. He stares at it. He thinks of the condensation ring in the bedroom. He doesn’t understand how he can be thinking about that fucking ring when his life is falling apart, but he can – he is. He should take furniture polish to it. He also needs to scrub the whiskey out of the carpet.He puts his right hand to his face, wipes at the corners of his mouth with index finger and thumb, and then takes his hand away again.He stands up and sits down and stands up again.‘I have to talk to Anne.’Bettie nods.‘You should do that.’‘I’m gonna go talk to Anne.’He turns and walks away from Bettie. She is beautiful – and sexy in the same way he thinks Elizabeth Taylor is sexy – but he cannot believe he has put his marriage in jeopardy for that when he knows almost nothing about her.
