A Very Good Life (18 page)

“
Too
happy,” Kim said while eating a scoop of vanilla ice cream. “I’m supposed to test for the advanced placement course in chemistry next year, but I’d rather study European art history.”

“Have you shared this with your parents?”

“Yes, but they want me to think about it. They say that I can enjoy the arts in my leisure time. I guess I . . . “ Kim paused and cocked her head to the side. “Dana, have you ever read a poem called ’When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer’?”

“It sounds familiar, but I don’t remember it. Whitman?”

“Exactly! The narrator listens to a lecture filled with charts and numbers and diagrams and then goes outside to look at the beauty of the night sky and appreciates astronomy in a totally different way. That’s me. I like to look at things from a different perspective.”

“I love art history myself,” Dana said. “I always attend Rosamond Bernier’s lectures at the Met.”

“Really?” Kim’s entire face radiated enthusiasm. “Did you know that Michelangelo used to dissect corpses to prepare for his sculptures, especially the David?”

“He certainly did. In fact, he had to do it in secret.”

“Yes! This is the problem with me and my parents. They’re like that astronomer. They’re fascinated with the science and the numbers and the anatomy—all those endless details. I’m more like Michelangelo. The anatomy is okay, I guess, but I appreciate the big picture. I can spend hours looking at the David or the Pieta and be inspired by the beauty—but not the blood and guts underneath, like my parents.”

Amused at the colloquial allusion to dissection, Dana was nevertheless amazed at how articulate Kim Sullivan was. She was remarkably self-aware, and the contrast she’d drawn between Whitman’s astronomer and Michelangelo expressed the difference between herself and her parents perfectly. In fact, Dana herself could relate to the poem on a personal level. She was discovering that while she was disciplined and diplomatic—important traits for success in a structured corporate setting—the politics of placating colleagues and superiors was becoming boring and stifling, inhibiting her creativity. Like both Kim and the narrator in Whitman’s poem, Dana had a different perspective on achieving success and happiness, and she was determined to find her own way. The more she got to know Kim, the more she liked her. Looking at Kim in her Dominican Academy uniform, Dana felt as if she were speaking to a version of herself thirteen years in the past.

Lisa Gelber sat at an adjoining table with her mother. Lisa naturally recognized Dana and gave her a wave as she began an animated conversation with her parent.

“Just remember, Kim,” Dana said, “that it’s okay to love yourself, not just your parents. Keep telling them how you feel.”

Dana could see that Kim’s entire disposition had changed in the last half hour. She had been sullen and quiet while upstairs in Dana’s office. She had now opened up, speaking with enthusiasm, daring to allow her own dreams to peek through the very specific expectations her parents had for her future.

Lisa and her mother were engaged in a rather loud conversation, with Lisa obviously complaining about something.

“It looks like Lisa has more on her mind than suede miniskirts,” Dana remarked. “What’s all that about?”

“Lisa wants to leave school at the end of next semester,” Kim said, lowering her voice. “She’s only a sophomore but wants to enroll at Simon’s Rock College, an early admissions college in the Berkshires. It’s in a beautiful spot, but rural. I can’t picture Lisa anywhere outside Manhattan. I’d love to know why she’s in such a rush.”

“It looks like her mother is asking the same question,” Dana observed, looking at her watch. “Let’s get back to the Junior Department. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

As they got up to leave, Lisa caught Kim’s eye, raised her eyebrows, and smirked, as if to say, “Nice work hanging out with Dana.”

In the elevator on the way to the main floor, Dana wished she could help Kim more and knew that the teen trusted her. More than ever, Dana wanted a family. But would she ever get the chance? The word “family” brought back all the conflicting events of the past few days and the questions she needed to ask Brett.

Dana and Kim spent the next hour selecting clothes for the luncheon. Afterwards, Kim left in good spirits, and Dana returned to her office, still tempted to call Brett. The temptation was cut short when Andrew appeared at Dana’s door. His face looked tired and drawn.

“What’s the matter, Andrew?” asked Dana. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“I have too much on my plate to begin with,” he answered, “and I just learned that my dad has been hospitalized. He had a heart attack.”

“That’s awful,” Dana said. “What’s his condition?”

“He’s stable for now. I’m heading over to Flushing to hold his hand, which means I won’t be able to join you for Rosamond’s last lecture tonight, or even the after-party.”

“Don’t give it a second thought. I’ll ask Brett to tag along. Meanwhile, hang in there and take care of yourself.”

“Thanks, kiddo. You’re the best.”

Andrew left, leaving Dana to ponder that Andrew already had problems with a new and difficult relationship. He certainly didn’t need to deal with a sick parent.

Dana said a silent prayer for her best friend and then headed home to get dressed for the lecture. She felt that she had accomplished a lot with Kim Sullivan and looked forward to a relaxing evening at the Met.

Relaxing? After Brett answered her questions, she might not feel like attending the event, although Rosamond Bernier was expecting her. She knew that the next few hours might well determine the course of her marriage.

As was often the case, she could hear her father speaking in her mind:
Don’t borrow trouble, Dana. What Janice told you is second-hand information. Give Brett a chance to explain things.

As usual, her father’s wisdom was a comfort.

D
ana arrived at her apartment, walked Wills, and called Brett’s office. His secretary informed her that he’d left for the day. That was good news as far as the lecture was concerned, but she had butterflies in her stomach. Would she ask for an explanation about his exploits with Janice on Saturday straight away, as was her inclination, or would she wait until they got home from the after-party so as not to spoil the evening. She didn’t know how much longer she could wait to get conclusive answers. Her quandary was resolved, however, when the phone rang.

“Honey, it’s me,” said Brett. “I have to work late this evening.”

“Is there any possibility you can get away?” Dana asked plaintively. “I’m going to a lecture at the Met to hear Rosamond Bernier, but Andrew can’t make it. His father had a heart attack.”

“That’s too bad about Andrew’s dad,” Brett replied, “but I can’t. I should be home by the time you get back, so save me a kiss.”

Dana said goodbye and hung up. She was saving questions, not kisses. But how could he be working late if he’d already left for the day? Dana picked up the phone and dialed Davis, Konen and Wright, asking for Brett McGarry’s office.

“Brett McGarry,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“It’s me. I called a little while ago and was told that you’d left for the day.”

Brett laughed. “Patrick and I stepped out for a quick bite before we came back to tackle a brief. Is anything wrong? I guess Alice didn’t realize we were just taking a break.”

Alice was the secretary for three of the firm’s litigators.

“Could you pick up a carton of milk on your way home?” Dana asked. It was the only excuse that she could think of for calling him back to check on his whereabouts.

“Milk? Sure. No problem.”

“Thanks.”

Dana got dressed in her favorite Calvin Klein black wool jersey dress, feeling somewhat relieved that Brett was indeed at his office. She’d had visions of Brett and Janice having an intimate dinner, Janice dressed in a new outfit her husband had purchased at Saks or Bloomingdale’s. At least
that
possibility had been eliminated.

Dana wished that she could take Kim Sullivan to hear Rosamond Bernier speak on Toulouse-Lautrec. The girl needed a confidant, and if anyone would appreciate the lecture, it would be Kim, but it would be an overt show of favoritism on Dana’s part.

Dana left, hoping that the lecture could help her get through another four hours before she could finally speak with Brett.

• • •

The seven-hundred-seat Grace Rainey Rogers Auditorium at the Metropolitan Museum of Art had been sold out months in advance, as it always was when Rosamond Bernier was scheduled to lecture. The art world was appropriately dressed in its finery for Bernier’s season finale as it filed into the auditorium.

Bernier’s lectures were popular, in part, because she was able to create the atmosphere of an intimate conversation with her audience as she chatted about artists she had known so well, artists such as Picasso, Miró, and Matisse. This evening, she spoke of the great post-impressionist, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, who’d lived from 1864 to 1901.

Toulouse-Lautrec, Bernier explained, had shown unnatural artistic talent as a child after his parents separated, a time when he began to sketch in a workbook, being especially fond of drawing horses. What the average layperson envisioned in his mind when the name Toulouse-Lautrec was mentioned, however, was a short, disfigured man. When still a teenager, Lautrec fractured both his left and right thigh bones, leaving him for the rest of his life with short, malformed legs attached to an adult torso. To compensate for his hardship, he immersed himself in his art, later spending much of his time in cabarets and brothels of the bohemian Montmartre district of Paris. There, he would produce now-famous sketches, paintings, and lithographs of the bawdy and colorful dancers and prostitutes who inhabited the district. Not surprisingly, most of his adult life was marred by alcoholism, and the great artist died at the age of thirty-six. His greatness had come at a high price.

As Ms. Bernier lectured, Dana could not help but think of the subjective ways in which people defined greatness, with each person willing to make different sacrifices to achieve what they regarded as excellence in their lives. Her colleagues at B. Altman were truly gifted people, all driven to attain their personal best. Kim Sullivan’s parents were likewise driven by their careers, and their daughter was equally driven by her desire to achieve a different kind of success, perhaps as an academic in art history. Nina Bramen was unmarried, but traveled the world without regret.

Dana’s parents, on the other hand, had modeled a very personal brand of achievement. Her father, for example, was truly great in her eyes, and yet achievement for him had been represented by loyalty to his employer and devotion to family. Greatness, it turned out, was a relative term. Some people wanted fame, while others sought success closer to home. Some reveled in details, while others appreciated what Kim termed the big picture.

For Dana, so much had coalesced around the events of the day. She felt that each life was itself a work of art, and she agreed with Kim Sullivan’s perspective: finding a big picture that was both beautiful and simple seemed to be the one worth pursuing. Putting a teen makeup counter in an alcove had turned out to be an easy solution to her problem at B. Altman, and yet the politics of her job—having to mince words with Helen, Bea, or Bob—suddenly seemed annoying. Dana was a disciplined woman who knew what she wanted and, more importantly, how to get it. Sometimes, however, life pushed back. It certainly had with Toulouse-Lautrec, and forces were currently pushing against Kim Sullivan, who didn’t want to follow in her parents’ footsteps. In Dana’s personal life, the question came down to whether or not Brett would “push back.” Since their dinner at Cheshire Cheese, she’d thought that he was again sharing her long-term goals—the big picture for the next phase of their lives together. But was he so immersed in concerns of his career that he would forever be a man who could only address his advancement with the firm? She didn’t begrudge his success, but did he have the ability, like her father, to leave work behind at the end of the day to enjoy his family? Would he lend moral support when she was worried about the children, or would he dismiss her concerns as he had done in recent years?

She refocused her attention on Toulouse-Lautrec and his tragic death. He had concealed alcohol in his walking cane so that his next drink was always available. Was there anything Brett was concealing?

• • •

Café des Artistes was located in the lobby of Hotel des Artistes at One West 67th Street, a part Gothic, part Tudor revival co-op building that originally opened as artists’ studios. The restaurant, opening in 1917, had been a favorite of many artists of all genres, from Marcel Duchamp to Isadora Duncan. Dana entered the restaurant and was getting a glass of wine when Max Helm approached her with his wife, recognizing her from the day they’d met at Lenôtre.

“And where is Andrew?” Max asked. “He’s coming, isn’t he?”

“His father had a heart attack today,” Dana answered. “I’m afraid he won’t be joining us.”

“That’s terrible news,” Max said. “I’ll have to give him a call tomorrow. I hope everything turns out okay.”

As Max and his wife walked Dana around the small bistro, discussing the history of the enchanting Howard Chandler Christy murals—thirty six flirtatious nudes inspired by the all-American Gibson Girl of the 1900s—he introduced her to many of the guests. Dana made a mental note to tell Andrew the following day about the fascinating people she was meeting.

Dimly lit and cozy, Dana thought that Café des Artistes was the perfect place to be on this wintery December evening. After her various epiphanies during the lecture, she found that she was not star-struck to be around such illustrious company, but rather grateful that she was learning more and more about how to live life on her own terms. She was thrilled, of course, to be in the company of Rosamond Bernier—that hadn’t changed—but her definition of greatness had been modified. She realized that her personal satisfaction for creative ideas and a job well done was more important than approval from colleagues and senior executives. She loved the city, with its vibrant pace and cultural richness, but she would also enjoy watching a star-filled sky from a country home. Greatness didn’t have to result from tragic circumstances or an obsession with one’s career.