Orient
“He spent the drive over shifting in the passenger seat, yanking the collar of his sport coat, and picking lint off his pants. He had never been comfortable in the constraints of finer clothes. At their wedding, he had complained so much about the starch in his shirt and the knot in his tie that she expected to find him half-unraveled by the time she joined him at the altar. Seeing him there, withstanding the straitjacket of a Brooks Brothers suit, his maroon eyes wild with claustrophobia, she t...ook his commitment to formality as a commitment to her. Gavril was most at home in the relaxed fit of his studio uniform. He liked to think of himself as a worker like his parents, dressing up only to appear before the occasional dictator. She let him have his fantasies, mostly because he let Beth have hers.
She could have told him the good news right then in the car, driving down Main Road, but Gavril was in an insolent mood. He kept carrying on about the Russian collectors traveling from their huge, new, twenty-seven-million-dollar house in Sagaponack to slum it for two days in Orient with the young artists they collected—“and like desperate girls in bars we giggle and wink and suffer his bad insights,”MoreLess
She could have told him the good news right then in the car, driving down Main Road, but Gavril was in an insolent mood. He kept carrying on about the Russian collectors traveling from their huge, new, twenty-seven-million-dollar house in Sagaponack to slum it for two days in Orient with the young artists they collected—“and like desperate girls in bars we giggle and wink and suffer his bad insights,”MoreLess
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