The First Warm Evening of the Year Read Online Free PDF

shouldn’t I? Maybe I want to reminisce.”
    He walked into the living room, and I followed him. He started toward one of the chairs, changed his mind, walked over to the window, and stood looking outside. I could see Central Park over his shoulder. Even with the sun shining, the trees and everything around them looked dreary and gray.
    â€œYou wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette?” Simon kept his back to me.
    â€œI don’t smoke.”
    â€œOf course you don’t.” He stayed at the window. “The last time we met, you let me sleep on your couch.”
    â€œPass out,” I said. “As I recall.”
    â€œDo you also recall the occasion?”
    â€œIt was the day your sister got married.”
    â€œThe day after . You were very understanding. You gave me twenty-five dollars. I was broke and you felt sorry for me, coming all the way to New York for Laura’s wedding just to be a day late.”
    â€œNot so understanding. You asked for fifty.”
    He leaned his hip against the wall, hands in his pockets. I sat on the arm of the chair.
    â€œMy only sister is dead.” He kept his face turned toward the window. “She made you her executor. The last time I spoke with her she said if I had any questions about her will to ask you.” He turned to me now and showed that smile.
    â€œWhen was that?”
    â€œWhen I saw her. Last year sometime.”
    â€œYou came a long way just to ask me about your sister’s will. You could have phoned.”
    â€œWhat makes you think I hadn’t planned on coming to New York anyway?” Then he looked himself over, shrugged, and said, “You wouldn’t have any coffee around, would you?”
    â€œNot made.”
    â€œNever mind. By the time you made it, I wouldn’t be in the mood. Has anyone called, asking for me?” His eyes never stopped moving while he spoke, looking at the wall, the floor, at his watch, at me, then out the window again.
    â€œWhy would anyone call me looking for you ?”
    â€œOh, I gave your number to a few friends,” he said, and still looking out the window he told me, “I want to stay in my sister’s house.”
    â€œI have nothing to do with that. Talk to her lawyer.”
    â€œI went to high school with him. He’s a moron.”
    He stared outside a little longer, said, “She was my sister ,” walked past me, into the foyer. “If someone named Howie Greenberg calls, if anyone calls, I was never here.”
    He opened the front door. “This apartment is too big for one person. You must get very lonely here,” and Simon let himself out.
    For the past twenty years, I hadn’t given Simon Welles any thought. I used to tell myself that all the blame was his because of what he’d done to Laura during our college days, the way he’d treated her. But I felt no more generous toward him now than I had then, which was why I tried not to give him any more thought after he left my apartment.
    I did think about my girlfriend, Rita, about calling her, but I didn’t want to see her just yet. Most of that day, I thought about Laura and, when I could no longer hold myself back, Marian. It occurred to me that I was having the fantasy life of a teenager.
    T hree days later, I still hadn’t called Rita. She’d left me a voice mail the day after I’d come back home, but I was in no mood to see her.
    I was still thinking about Marian. Sometimes, I’d imagine meeting her by chance in a restaurant here in town, she with her friends, me with mine, in one of the places I like to go for cocktails. She’d be seated at a small table. I wouldn’t notice her at first, not until I heard her laugh, and when I looked over, she’d be there. Then I changed the scenario: She was meeting me for drinks. It was our first date. I’d be early and already seated. I’d turn toward the front of the restaurant and Marian would