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Big Snow fell over New York as thick as it gets.
Sioux wanted to go to John's party in spite of her 'flu'. Without saying it, each of them wanted to leave something that could wait another day or two under the doormat.
The limo drove cautiously down Park Avenue where, for long, immaculate stretches, no car seemed to have passed before. The flakes whirled in silky whispers under that inimitable play of lights, shadows and reflections which is New York under snow.
"Escape from reality..." Sioux said.
"Sometimes." He closed his eyes and imagined a dark cloud passing over their heads.
They hugged and stayed wrapped in the essence of a New York state of mind. Without saying anything, she went down on him and he covered her with her fur so that the driver could not see,-- but the driver seemed to be so far away in the long automobile--and they both thought they were back in Los Angeles, in the desert, or in Charleston, in a time frame when everything was projected forward.
"Do you like to do it in the limo?"
"I adore it."
"Well, I shall buy a limousine then."
"We'll do it all the time then....promise?"
"I promise." The echo of a promise, as the car kept sinking down in the purple cusp of the evening
When they alighted at the Sherry Netherlands, they were a little disheveled. He was wearing his dinner jacket, she her terrific dress by Halston, the fashion designer who gave New York women such style. But she still wore her headband and her locket, like a creature from America's oldest frontiers. He moved ahead of her and turned just to have a full view of the woman he was going to marry. He would marry her a hundred times or not marry her at all if that would free her lungs.
Only Isaac and John had made it to the hotel. Outside the first gigantic snowmen began to surge from the drifts. Reaching the 21 for dinner would be impossible. As Sioux went to the pianist and asked for oldie Twist Again John told Ravic: "Isaac is right, Sioux has lost weight. She seems to be coughing a lot, too."
"One is never too thin and never too rich, that�s what I said" commented Isaac, the jackdaw, already tipsy but still just in little patches. Ravic hadn�t seen Isaac in a while and had forgot how assertive his personality could be. That wasn�t the evening he could cope with Isaac "Kid, want to know something?"
"Isaac, can I ask you to just call me Ravic."
"John, listen to the kid....He wants to be called Ravic. Who's Ravic?" Isaac....flushed and happy. Ravic�s proposal couldn't have fallen on deafer ears
"Ravic, remember when you first got nicknamed kid?" asked John. "We were all at Annabelle's. Back in London.? You�d ordered a cr�me caramelle. The waiter told us they didn't have any. Then, minutes later, you saw the same waiter passing with just the pie you wanted,. It was for another table. You had such a fit that you put your finger in the pie. A brawl ensued, remember?. We got away by saying you were a kid. You had just gotten your degree in surgery and you were still doing these sorts of things," concluded John.
"Who put the pie in the finger?" asked Isaac.
"Never mind, Isaac, never mind."
"I don�t think anyone will come with this weather" said John. He looked depressed. The presentation of The Boys of Camaro Street to a group of New York�s intelligentsia would have to be postponed. Ravic was relieved, he deemed John one of those writers that should be turned into suds. They were pals, of course.
Ravic took John by an arm and when Isaac wasn't around, told him: "John, Sioux is sick."
"Sick? What do you mean sick? With what"
"She has tuberculosis."
"Tuberculosis?" John remained silent for a moment. "I've read about it recently. Now with this story of AIDS, all diseases are back."
"Tuberculosis never really left and is rampant again."
"It hits mostly young, destitute, poorly nourished people, doesn't it?"
"No."
"Sad to hear that. Just when you�re about to leave for your honeymoon... Are you sure?"
"What else, John, what else?"
John remained pensive a moment. "Ravic, you�re a surgeon and I�m a writer. I can only feel sorry."
Feel sorry, that�s all he kept hearing, the magical line that absolved the last generation from all its misjudgments. He checked the time. "It�s getting late. Me and Sioux have taken a room. Say good-bye to Isaac. See you tomorrow John."
Sioux came to the counter for just a minute and quaffed her calvados. He noticed how lustrous her eyes were. He hated fever, the vicious syndrome that so often bypassed the cutting edge of his knife. He, the arbiter who decided where to draw the ultimate line between a neoplasia and life. Ultimate in the sense that, after, fever once again would often lay in wait .
When in the room they found a small dinner waiting for them: caviar and small potatoes in cr�me fraiche. A note went with it: "In anticipation of Paris. John"
"I feel sorry for John. His book is about the time when the two of you were pals in Paris, isn�t it?. Was he a writer already then? " asked Sioux.
"John�s always been too rich to see life anything other than a matter of curiosity. He was never a writer. He only pretended to be one. "
"Is it true that once you stuck your finger in the middle of a cr�me caramelle in a restaurant in London?"
"Who told you?" Ravic wondered if there�re anything in his life that really belonged to him, or did he have to share everything with John, Isaac, etc.
"That's why they call you kid? You're too old for such a nickname."
He didn�t answer.
That evening she wanted to dress him up with a condom. They had found a packet in the bathroom, three rubber bands of different colors. She had never made love to a man wearing a condom and wanted to try. When she saw it on him she began to laugh.
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