His eyes widened: What? What is it? What?nAlarmed, she plunged in after him, bent on retrieval.n”You’re not old!” she cried.nArchie blinked; the shadows faded. He grinned that boyngrin. “Certainly not. What’s all the fuss about?”nTheir party was a grand success. The others all came inntheir autumn best, men and women in rusty tweeds andnbrilliant colors, everybody delighted to be at a party on thisnlong weekend that usually died on Friday night becauseneverybody assumed that everybody else had planned. BecausenKirk and Jessie were new everybody behaved well, andnif the outlines of their bodies were beginning to blur or thenskin of their faces softened, forming new folds, still theyntalked and laughed with conviction; Jessie remembersnwondering on too many nights, Where is everybody? Hernheart bounced:nEverybody is here.nEverybody got pleasantly buzzed but not messy and, in anspirit of solidarity, Fred let it drop that if the kids knew wherenthey could get a joint he’d love to smoke. When the partynwas over everybody spilled out onto the sidewalk laughing,nchattering in the black late afternoon. Several clumped to gonto restaurants and others asked friends to pickup suppers atnhome.nArchie lingered in the living room, which was unnaturallynsilent and still blue with smoke, beginning to smell sour.n”Bless you, my children, it is accomplished. Now you’re onneverybody’s list.”nJessie offered, because he’d expect it, “Stay for supper.nWe’re not cleaning up until tomorrow, I promise.”n”Thanks, but I have a better offer,” he said, lookingnrumpled but game. “The Glovers are burning steaks.”nThe tempo quickened in December. There was such anspasm of festivity that Jessie began to complain. Shenand Kirk had slid from too much staying in to too muchngoing out, sleeping late after Friday’s party, convalescingnSaturdays so they’d be ready for the party that night. Jessienfound herself looking forward to the stilly fastness ofnJanuary, when she and Kirk could be snowed in.nArchie had them to that year’s massive retaliation, whichnwas followed by parties at the Stoners’ and the Shortells’. Ifnthere was an urgency to the pace, fueled by LesternHancock’s physical decline, Kirk and Jessie would not see itnbecause they hardly knew Lester and were so new at life thatnthey didn’t recognize the signs. People began being discoverednin alarming situations: public drunkenness, illicitngrapplings.nSunspots, Archie said. It happened every few years.nWhen the storm windows came off in the spring and theyngot cut out of their winter underwear there would be a fewnsurprises, he said.nJessie and Kirk clung together for mutual protection. Ifnshe lost track of him at some big party she knew she’d findnhim backed into the refrigerator or cornered in somencandle-lit alcove, signaling over some predatory woman’snhead with his teeth bared in a desperate grin. She’d spring tonthe rescue, even as he was pledged to keep track and rescuenher.n”Bob Shortell is Kirk’s new boss, you know,” Eva saidnover the Sunday paper rack.nRemembering how she yearned to be part of thesenconversations, Jessie caught herself thinking: Is this all? “Inthought Fred was.”n”Bob’s been moved in. He thinks you don’t like him.”n”That letch?”n• “Honey, it wouldn’t cost you anything to flirt with him.”n”Is that what that was?”n”Think of it as a form of flattery.”n”I think it’s creepy,” Jessie said. What she meant was: Butnhe’s old.nIt seemed best to stay out of his way. Dancing, she andnKirk danced together best, danced to safety as lightly as theyncould. Except they could not quit blundering into unexpectedncouples: Bob and the vet’s new wife slow-dancing in thenbathroom; feisty Howard mumbling with his hand balled innthe soft spot in Eva’s neck; skinny Lester Hancock huggingnBeth with intense concentration, as if his life depended on it.nGoing home, Jessie and Kirk would ask each other: Are wengoing to be like that? No. How could they? It was tacit.nThey would never. No.nShe’d always envied these people theirnassurance and maturity, their style, the factnthat they could accept or exclude at will,nbut at what price?nBob Shortell’s diagnosis was made the day before Frednand Eva’s Christmas supper dance; he was getting the newsnfrom his physician around the time Beth took Howard to thenemergency room with chest pains. And Lester — poornLester might not be well enough to come.nThe party had been scheduled for months; Fred and Evanhad hired a live band this time and after agonized consultationnwith most of the guest list, they decided it would be sillynand wasteful not to go ahead. It’s what Howard and poornLester would want, and what Bob Shortell needed, or sonthey said. When a small delegation stopped by the hospitalnon the way to the party with flowers and a silver shaker ofnMartinis for Howard, Beth met them in the hall with tears innher eyes and said Howard couldn’t see them right now. Shenknew he’d appreciate everybody coming like this, and they’dnboth be thinking of everybody at the party thinking of them.nBy the time Jessie and Kirk got to Fred and Eva’s partynthere was a thin crust of snow silvering the hillside and lightncrashed out of all the windows, making every surface glitter.nShe and Kirk could hear the music even from here; therenwere people dancing on the porches in spite of the cold.nJessie had a new dress that rode over her body in a silkynsweep, and her legs felt sleek and strong in the icynpantyhose; she could not have said precisely why she was sonconscious of her body tonight, its youth, her health, but asnshe and Kirk went inside she put it before her like a shield.nThis was the biggest party of the year, and everybody herenseemed to have gotten a head start, from Cindy, who wasnsitting on several men’s laps at once, which she usually didnonly after midnight, to Bob, who could not stop running hisnknuckles down the V in the new law clerk’s satin dress.nThere was a surprising-looking person on the sofa in a whitensuit and pointed shoes; he could have come straight out of annnOCTOBER 1990/27n