The Purse In Her Hand

Abstract

She had the purse in her hand when she walked in. The purse was in her hand when she walked in. I remembered, you see, but too late. Just after putting Jimmy down for the evening, right as I was making my last peek-a-boo face around his door before closing it, I had this sudden and vivid recollection of Maryan swinging that purse, of the glinting arc its silver clasp made as she moved through the light, of the faces that turned towards her, as they always do, magnetised, hypnotised, when she walked into the restaurant. 'Darling', she said, and her voice was so high and so light that her greeting, though it was meant just for me, seemed to embrace the entire restaurant. 'Darling, she breathed, and bent to kiss my uplifted cheek, 'it's lovely to see you here. I'm so glad you could come and oh God, I'm sorry I'm so late, an awful morning. I hope you haven't been - not too long? Good, that's good. I feel better now. You haven't had a drink yet? Oh surely one won't hurt the child, silly girl. Waiter. A bottle of - you do like champagne? O God yes, an awful morning, everything that could go wrong...' I don't remember noticing the purse after that, though, whether she put it under the table or on top, or lay it in her lap when she sat down.