“You’re a cynic, Eliot,” said Pound.

           “If you ask me, you’re the cynic at the table.” said Tom. “You have to pretend life is elliptical in order to endure it, and if that’s not cynical then I don’t know what is.”

           “I’m not too cynical to let you buy the next round, Eliot.”

           “Nor I,” said someone else.

           “Here, here,” said Dog-Ear.

           “A toast to cheap happiness,” said Viv.

            
            “Made all the happier at Tom’s expense,” Pound added.

            “Oh yea of simple faith,” said Tom. “You see, Viv, you see what I’ve been talking about? They’re sordid little creatures, the lot of them. And this, I’m afraid, is but the tip of the iceberg.  Here, see if you can get that little whiff of a barmaid to come in our direction.”

                                                                                    
           Leaving Tom and the others to their own, Viv returned to their flat, opened her closet, and took from a shelf a package of delicate votive candles she’d purchased along with espadrilles and chocolates in a market in Niece. As she set the candles around her bedroom and lit them one at a time, she thought of the slip of paper on which she’d written where they lived in case drink had gotten the better of its bearer, who she knew would be Tom.

           She slipped out of her evening clothes and tried on several things hurriedly before deciding on what she should wear, then remade the bed from this morning.

           She would have done still more by way of preparation but there was a knock at the door, which caught her up short. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, tried something with her hair and brought her face to her own reflection to inspect something about her mouth.

            There was a second knock, and she said she was coming. Then added, “Thank God you found your way. I felt like I was scribbling. And in the dark, no less.  It’s a wonder you could read it.”

            She took a deep breath before she opened the door, and when she finally did, she said,  “Tom.”

           “Can I come in, Vivian?”.

           “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you still with your friends?”

           Tom waited to see if she meant to block his way. When she stepped aside, he went directly to the bedroom. Discovering the candles, he said, “Expecting someone, Viv?”

           “That’s none of your business, Tom. You’re drunk.”

            “I’m many things.  Embarrassed. Betrayed. Humiliated.”

            Tom held out the slip of paper on which she had written their address. When she reached for it, he jerked it away. She reached a second time. Again, he put it out of her reach. “Give me that,” she said. 

           He held it high over his head, as if he expected her to jump for it.

           “You’re pathetic. It’s late, Tom. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

           “Tell me, Viv. Was it fun? Did you enjoy it?”

            “Did I enjoy what?”

           “You know very well.”

           “What I do is none of your business.”

           “I hope you enjoyed it, I really do.” He took her arm in his hand.

           “That’s my arm, Tom.”

           “So it is. “

           “Are you giving it back? May I have it”?

           “Well? I’m waiting for an answer.”

           “If you’re finished with it, I’d like it back. If it’s not too much trouble.”

            Tom still had hold of Viv’s arm, his grip growing tighter.  Viv did her best to wrest it away. Tom grabbed her with his other hand to hold her still. She did her best to resist this as well, kicking at him and squirming, even trying once to bite him, until Tom let go entirely.

           “You fight like a girl,” said Viv.

           “So do you.”

            “Look at these marks.  Are you happy now?”

           “Do we have anything to drink, Viv?”

           “Damn you,” she said. “That hurt. It still hurts. ”

           “I don’t care if it does.”

           Through the open door walked Pound.

           “Well who do we have here?” said Tom. “The man of the hour.”

           “Are you all right, Viv?” asked Pound. “Your husband made the most goddam stinking scene once you left. I assumed he’d find his way home here, sooner or later. “

            Tom made a pitiable effort at sounding sober, and civil. Which in Tom’s case generally meant British. He said, “You’re not welcome here, Pound. It’s best that you go.”

           Pound ignored this. “Let me see your arm, Viv. Why are you rubbing it?”

            Tom tried to block Pound as he stepped forward, and the two men tussled for a minute. Pound got the better of it.  He put Tom in a chair and told him to stay there. Tom said drunkenly, “Did you just put your hands on me? I’ll kick your arse good, that’s what I’ll do. I demand that you leave. Immediately.”
            
           “Not until I’m certain she’s safe. Let’s see that arm, Vivian.”

           “It was nothing,” answered Viv.

            Tom charged Pound from behind, leaping upon his back. Vivian did her best to pry him free, saying,  “You’re only making this worse, can’t you see?”

           “Get off me, you fool, you’re choking me,” said Pound.

           “You’re both being perfectly ridiculous, “ said Viv.

           Tom made a stupid cowboy noise, as if riding a bucking bronco. Then dismounted on his own and straightened his clothes. “All right, we’re calm now. Order’s restored. All’s well with the world.”

           Pound said, “Sit down, Tom. Sit down and shut up.”

            At last Tom was still. Pound knelt over him, and once he was sure Tom was fine, he asked Viv to help get Tom to the couch. 

           “Is he unconscious?” asked Viv.

           Pound replied, “Nothing so dramatic. He just can’t hold his liquor.“

           Viv showed him out. She leaned her back against her door once she and Pound were on the landing. She said she was sorry about how things had turned out, the evening, she meant. She was grateful to him for standing watch over Tom though, and hoped he might call now that he remembered where they lived.

            Pound took her hand in both of his. “He wouldn’t write if it weren’t for you, you know. Is that why you keep things in constant turmoil?  What do you hate most? That he has such talent? Or that he hasn’t enough to do this without you?”

           Looking deep into Viv eyes, he shook his head and began to laugh. “You’re not crazy at all, are you, Viv. No, you’re worse. You’re awful; you’re shameless. I’ve never seen anyone so ambitious.”

           “Why, what do you mean?”

            “Why, what do you mean?” said Pound, batting his eyes.   Laughing darkly to himself as he descended the stairs, he called, “You realize he’d be perfectly content as a banker if it weren’t for you. Tell him to write me. I’ll be in Kent this coming week. Jesus Christ, what a pair!”