The Pursuit of Alice Thrift Read Online Free PDF

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4.
We Entertain
    THIS IS WHAT WE IMAGINED: NURSES AND SURGICAL RESIDENTS conversing in civilian garb. RNs impressing MDs with their previously underappreciated level of science and scholarship. Exhausted doctors sipping beer while sympathetic nurses circulated with pinwheel sandwiches. Doctors asking nurses if they could compare schedules and find free Saturday nights in common.
    When every nurse accepted our invitation and every resident declined, Leo and I had to scramble to provide something close to even numbers. I volunteered to call my medical school classmates who were interning in Boston—there were two at Children’s, some half dozen at MGH, a couple more at Tufts, at BU . . .
    â€œFriends?” he asked.
    â€œClassmates,” I repeated.
    I know what was on his mind: my unpopularity. That the words
party
and
Alice Thrift
were oxymoronic, and now Leo was experiencing it firsthand. I said, “Let’s face it: I have no marquee value. My name on the invitation doesn’t get one single warm body here, especially of the Y-chromosome variety.”
    â€œWe’re going to work on that,” said Leo.
    â€œOn the other hand, since I’m not known as a party thrower, my invitees will expect a very low level of merriment.”
    Leo said, “Cut that out. It’s not your fault. We’re aiming too high. Interns are exhausted. If they have a night off, they want to sleep.”
    I said, “That’s not true of the average man, from what I’ve read.”
    â€œAnd what is that?” Leo asked.
    â€œI’ve heard that men will go forth into groups of women, even strangers, if they think there’s a potential for sexual payoff.”
    â€œWhat planet are you living on?” Leo asked. “Why do you sound like an anthropologist when we’re just bullshitting about how to balance our guest list?”
    We were having this conversation in the cafeteria, Leo seated, me standing, since I usually grabbed a sandwich to go. He didn’t think I ate properly, so after he’d rattled a chair a few times, I sat down on it.
    â€œIf I called my single brothers, not counting Peter,” he said, “and they each brought two friends, that would be six more guys.”
    â€œIs Peter the priest?”
    â€œNo, Joseph’s the priest. Peter doesn’t like women.”
    â€œOkay. Six is a start.”
    I unwrapped my cheese sandwich, and squeezed open the spout on my milk carton. “I know someone,” I finally said.
    â€œEligible?”
    I nodded.
So
eligible, I thought, that he was pursuing Alice Thrift. “Not young, though. Forty-five. And widowed.”
    â€œCall him. Forty-five’s not bad. Maybe he could bring some friends.”
    I said, “Actually, he’s the one leaving those messages.”
    â€œHe’s been crooning Sinatra on the latest ones,” said Leo. “What’s that about?”
    â€œTrying to get my attention.” I took a bite of my sandwich.
    Leo said, “No lettuce, no ham, no tomato?”
    I pointed out that I never knew how long lunch would languish in my pocket before consumption, so this was the safest thing to take away.
    Leo paused to consult our list of women. Finally he said, “I see a few of my colleagues who would be very happy with a forty-five -year-old guy. And even more who would pounce on the widower part. How long ago did he lose his wife?”
    â€œA year and a day.” I looked at my watch’s date. “As of now, a year and two weeks.”
    â€œCall him. Tell him you and your roommate are putting together a soiree of hardworking primary-care nurses, who—studies have shown—sometimes go out on the town looking for a sexual payoff just like the males of the species.”
    I said, “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know people have sexual relations on a casual basis.”
    Leo studied me for a few seconds, as if there was a social/