Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances (16 page)

“You certainly opened your checkbook quite a few times in these last few days,” she said. “You spent a lot of money, are you worried?”

“As I told you, I was prepared to. Remember, I was in a low-rent apartment, able to save. I don’t have child support. Anyway, I’m not really one of life’s unfortunates, in fact rather the opposite. Nothing magnificent, you understand, but I do have a trust fund that was bequeathed to me by a dear old uncle who favored me and that’s what keeps me going, that quarterly check. I would have been bananas to try earning a living solely by my writing efforts and as a matter of fact may have been bananas to chuck the job anyway. I should be holding down a post, its important to be in the marketplace. I know that very well. For a spell, though, it’s good to live without someone breathing down your neck. Time will tell.”

He smiled at her. “It’s nice of you to give it a thought, Chris. Not to worry, however, I’ll get by. What drives me up the wall is that clock racing by, time and tide coursing ahead, and what have I done for immortality. That’s what wakes me up in a cold sweat in the long and lonely nights. Nobody knows my name.”

“Give yourself a break, why don’t you. You do tend to flog yourself, Jack.”

“Just a masochist at heart.”

“Sometimes yes, I think you are.”

“Not really. Impatient? Yes. I have my serene moments, though. Too bad it’s not yesterday. Yesterday was Thursday, they were serving the Calamari.”

“Alas. I’ve decided on the minestrone, though. Yesterday I had lunch with my friends. Five of us, we’ve known each other forever. It’s about the only social life I have.”

“It’s a lot more than I have.”

“Well, you’ve got your work.”

“Yes,” he conceded. “Anyway, I’m not one of those people who need people characters. That is, yeah, I need people in my view, the way I said I liked to face the street when I work, see the passing crowd, know they’re there. But I’m not a glad-hander, I couldn’t care less. I don’t think you are either.”

“No.” She eyed him. “You said you miss going to an office, though.”

“Oh, that. Sure — well, it’s actually Calvinistic. You know, you
should
go to an office. The work ethic. A good day’s work for a good day’s pay. You can work your ass off on your own but somehow it’s not the same thing. You still feel you’re playing hookey. That’s more or less it except, yes, you do get that forlorn feeling sometimes, things are passing you by, the action’s elsewhere. It’s a penalty you have to pay.”

“As long as it’s worth it.”

“It will have to be worth it. It’s up to me, that’s the first thing I tell myself when I wake up in the morning.”

“Is the sneezer still doing his wake-up job?”

“Hasn’t fallen down on it once.”

“Haven’t you seen him yet?”

“Nope. Still a mystery man. I’ve grown very fond of him.” He gestured. “By the way, I meant to tell you. The orange tree’s doing marvelously, did you notice?”

“No, I guess I didn’t. So it’s healthy and such?”

“It’s fantastic. I talked to a florist, he told me how much water to give it. It seems to like me, it’s behaving very well indeed.”

“Glad to hear it. Well, I guess I’m ready for that soup, Jack, how about you? It’s a long time since breakfast.”

Later, he said he would call her the minute the kitchen chairs arrived, give her breakfast. “Not Cheerios, the works. A big country spread, the way mother used to make. Bring your appetite.”

“I like my bacon crisp, please.”

“Eggs how?”

“Once over lightly.”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

They left Anthony’s laughing, went out into the bright sunlight and the clamor on the street, stood smiling at each other. “It was nice,” Christine said. “It’s always nice, Jack. You know, you haven’t let me pay for a single lunch.”

“You should pay for lunch? After walking your dogs off getting my household problems solved? What kind of a heel do you think I am?”

“Just the same.”

“What are you going to do now, Christine?”

“I have to go to Saks. They’re having a lingerie sale; I want to see what I can find. Very boring stuff, you wouldn’t be interested. Go home and have a love affair with your new lamp.”

“You like it, don’t you?”

“I think it’s one of the most gorgeous things I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, me too. Well, then — ”

He reached for her hand. “I’ll call you.”

“Do that.”

“When would be a bad time to call?”

“Is it your intention to call me at a bad time?”

“Why — ah, shut up,” he said, and they grinned at each other.

“Call me in the early evening, why don’t you,” she suggested. “Around five, five-thirty, okay?”

“Right. Thanks a lot, Christine.”

“Thank you. Bye now.”

She walked off in one direction, he in another. She resisted the temptation to look back, though she wanted to. Now he would go home and sit at the typewriter. Maybe he’d work well today, maybe he wouldn’t. She hoped he would.

It was almost five when she left Saks, with a shopping bag of goodies and a smaller balance in her checkbook. Five o’clock, rush hour, the bus jammed and about 110 degrees Fahrenheit inside. It crawled along. She couldn’t remember what she had scheduled for dinner. The menu, so painstakingly orchestrated for the week, eluded her. They had had beef bourguignon last night, sole the night before. Why couldn’t she recall what she had written down for today? There might be something she should buy on the way home.

She found herself coolly disinterested. After all, there was food in the house, none of them would starve. If something was needed someone could go out and get it. They were a community of souls, each of which was capable of fending for himself, they didn’t need her to shovel food in their mouths. This should be a happy time of life for her, a time when she could stop thinking of herself as chief cook and bottlewasher.

Phyllis. His former wife’s name was Phyllis. A winsome name, with echoes of Gilbert and Sullivan,
Iolanthe
. And now Jack was in his high-ceilinged room, at the desk in the right-hand corner, pounding away at, she hoped, a great rate. Later he would put one of his TV dinners in the oven.

She didn’t feel sorry for Jack Allerton. It seemed like a very piquant life to Christine. He had his work, an apartment he obviously cherished and he had his freedom. She was inclined to view it as a little bit Puccini, la vie de Bohème. And now here she herself was, after a pleasantly tiring day, going home during rush hour. Sardine time. It made her think, in a nostalgic way, of when she herself had worked in an office and gone home with others of such ilk. The marketplace, as Jack had said, was good for the soul and the psyche. You were part of the forward thrust of things, in it and of it. It was a good life, a worthy life. You called it the salt mines and you griped about the regimentation and you always thought you were underpaid. But you were out there, in the madding throng, one of the movers and the shakers even if it was only in a modest way. She missed it still, even after these long years.

• • •

Shopping for a gift for Jack, because of course the plant wasn’t really a gift, just — well, in place of a bottle of booze when she and Rodney had been invited. She would like to find him a fruit basket, since he had mentioned that, but she was pretty sure he had his own ideas about what he wanted, the way he’d had about the lamp. Something “different” was always hard to track down: you only saw something different when you weren’t looking for it. What she meant, of course, was something imaginative, distinctive.

She didn’t come across it on Saturday, but on Monday, passing a music store, quickly retraced her steps and stood in front of its window again. There it was, just what she had in mind, it couldn’t be more
right
. It was a print of a sheet of music, a big blowup, the first few bars of Richard Strauss’s
Death and Transfiguration
. It took her a second, because naturally the title was in German,
Tod und Verklärung
. It had been reproduced in all its yellowed and weathered state, and it was enormously impressive.

She realized that it was part of the window dressing, but she meant to have it, even if it meant waiting until the display was changed. “I have an odd request,” she said to one of the men behind the counter when she went in.

“If it’s possible we’ll do it,” he said. “If it’s impossible we’ll do it anyway.”

“It’s the poster in the window, the Strauss page. On the far wall to the right. I’d like to buy it.”

“Poster?” He looked surprised.

“I guess it’s part of the display.”

He went with her to the window. “That? Oh, it’s just a promotion item. I’ll speak to someone in the back. There might be a few more lying around someplace. Wait here, I won’t be long.”

When he came back it was with something that looked like a parchment scroll which, when unfurled, proved to be the Strauss poster. “So you did have others,” she said, delighted. “I can have this?”

“It’s yours.”

“I’m awfully grateful! How much will it be?”

“No charge. As I said, it’s a promotion ad for Wallace.”

“It’s marvelous, just what I wanted.”

“You’re going to frame it? Good idea, it will look nice.”

“Yes, I think it will. Thanks again, thanks very much.”

She took it right around to a good frame shop in Lexington, not far from her own building. They showed her what would be suitable for posters and modern art. “Like so, how’s that?”

“Yes, it’s about what I had in mind. But no matting showing, just the page itself. That’s important.”

“I understand. For a musician, right?”

“A music lover. When do you think you’ll have it ready? I’d like it to be this week, he’ll be sticking close to home waiting for other deliveries.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You can’t really promise?”

“Not a hundred percent, but we’ll do our best.”

“I’d appreciate it. How much do I owe you?”

He scribbled on a piece of paper. “Fifty-five. Plus tax. Fifty-nine forty.”

“You’re sure it will come out all right? No matting showing.”

“Not to worry, it will be very stylish.”

She hoped that when she next went to Jack’s place the poster would be hung. Something of her own there, she’d like that. He had said he’d call her when the kitchen chairs arrived, but she knew he wouldn’t; he’d wait until every last thing was in place before inviting her again. She was pretty sure of that.

When he called, it was on Friday. “Where did you find it?” he demanded, the rumble of his voice shooting up a bit. “And how? And what do you mean spending all that money? I think I’ll kill you.”

“Would you by any chance be talking about the picture?” she asked.

“What else? Christine, you — my God, it’s the most superlative — ”

“When did it get there, Jack?”

“Just now! I almost refused to take it. I didn’t order this, I was expostulating. What is it, I kept demanding. It was all wrapped up tighter than a drum in stout brown paper. The boy said take it, mister, isn’t that your name, J. Allerton? I took it inside and unwrapped it and nearly fell over. How did you — ”

“How did you?” she asked. “Know it was from me?”

“Who else? There isn’t anyone else.”

“Is it all right, do you like it?”

“Like it,” he said simply. “Like it. Jesus, I think I worship it. Christine Jennings — ”

“It was a very chancy thing to do,” she said doubtfully. “Please, Jack, you must tell me if it jars with your own ideas. Afterwards I thought, well how nervy of me to stick you with something that-”

“Try and get it back,” he said vehemently. “Just try and get it back. I’m insane about it. Listen, but you — ”

“I just hope you’ll be sure,” she insisted.

“You must be crazy not to know I’d go for it. Wow, I can’t wait to hang it.”

“What else came, Jack? The armoire?”

“That, yes. I’m not shoving things in hit or miss, though. I want some organization, do it right, so I can find things properly. It’s a temptation to sweep up everything off the floor and get it quickly out of the way, but I’m resisting it. I’m glad it’s here, though, and the table came. It marches, as the French say. Look, Christine, how’s next week shaping up for you? I want you to see how the poster looks, I’m going to get it up tomorrow.”

“Why don’t we wait until the rest of the stuff gets there?”

“I don’t think I can wait.”

“I’ve had some terrible news. One of my friends. She was mugged. Needless to say it’s been preying on my mind.”

“Hell, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, making a sound between his teeth. “Is she — is she all right?”

“She was robbed, nothing worse. Except that once it happens, it — ”

“Christ.”

“But it would be nice to see you next week, Jack. Would you give me a call. By that time you should have all your new things.”

“I’ll do that. And — well, I can’t thank you enough, Chris. There’s no way.”

“Just if you like it, that’s what I hoped for. Talk to you next week, Jack.”

She hung up smiling. What a nice guy he was. What an unusually nice guy …

She was pulling on pantyhose when the phone rang. Why now, she thought crossly, can’t you see I’m trying to hurry? “Yes,” she said into the receiver.

“Christine?”

“Oh, Jack. Hello, hi.
Come va
?”

“
Bene
. Guess what?”

“I’ll bite.”

“The kitchen chairs are here. Finally. The last to arrive.”

“Aha. How do they look?”

“Empty. Any chance of you coming over for breakfast?”

“I’ve had it. I’m rushing a bit because I have a dentist’s appointment. Eleven o’clock.”

“I’ll make you lunch, then. When you’ve finished with the dentist.”

“After a cleaning? I don’t think I’ll want to chew.”

“All the more reason for some tender loving care.”

“When do you do any work, may I ask?”

“In between times.”

“Between what times?”

“The pleasurable ones. I’ll give you pap then, soup and toast. And a stiff drink to raise your spirits after the dread ordeal.”

“Oh, Jack — well, okay, how about — I suppose I could be there at around one or so.”

Rodney phoned shortly after that. “I’ve been trying to get you for the last hour,” he complained.

“I’ve been right here.”

“The line was busy.”

“I was on the line for about three minutes! Honey, I have to run, I have an appointment.”

“Bother. I was hoping we could — ”

“Darling, I really have to dash. Look, dear, come to dinner this week. Any night, just let me know beforehand. I love you madly, be a good boy.”

The dentist was in his usual jovial mood. Before she found Dick Altman, going to the dentist was indeed the dread ordeal Jack had called it. She was convinced he was the best man in the city, if not the whole world, and he had been talking lately about retirement, which depressed her. Not only was he a superlative craftsman but he inevitably left her laughing: there was always something amusing he had to tell her, an anecdote or story that sent her into gales of mirth just when she decided she couldn’t sit, a victim, in that damned chair one minute longer. He referred to himself as the good gray doctor.

There was always music, from a stereo, as an accompaniment to the drill or his own steady stream of conversation. He was partial to 17th- and 18th-century Italian; Pergolese, Corelli, Boccherini. Today it was Vivaldi.

“Okay, you can rinse now,” he said at last. “You’ve got good gums, Christine, you’re a sure bet to die with all your teeth in your head. If everyone had equipment like that I’d go out of business.”

“You’re always so reassuring. Thank you, Dick.”

“Mrs. Malaprop was in yesterday,” he told her, washing his hands. “She came up with a string of howlers. I had the best time, even if I did nearly bust trying not to laugh.”

“What did she say this time?”

“Let’s see — oh yes, she was up in the arms about someone’s behavior. Apparently this person did her dirt, and she was up in the arms about it. She claimed to be in a real ‘dudgeon’ about it. You know anyone who says
dudgeon
, Christine, in this the twentieth century?”

“She must be deep into Thackeray or something. I love up in the arms! Sounds like a bad tailoring job-”

“Here’s the killer though, are you ready for this? She was very, very sore at this person, I could tell that because she’s not a tough-talking gal. Her idea of profanity is ‘Oh, sugar.’ She wouldn’t say the other thing if her mouth was full of it.”

He dried his hands and beamed at her. “Imagine my astonishment, then, when she came up with this little gem. ‘What she is,’ she told me through clenched teeth, ‘is she’s an ass-polisher, a lousy ass-polisher.’ After getting that off her chest she seemed to feel better.”

When she could stop laughing, Christine went to the washroom, put on fresh lip color, blotted it and went out again. Another patient sat in the chair, being bibbed by the dental assistant. Dick came out and gave her a hug. “Love you,” he said.

“Love you too. See you in six months.”

It was just noon. Well, she would walk up to Madison and window shop; she had an hour before she was due at Jack’s. Her mouth was sore, naturally, but as always after a session with Dr. Altman she felt, as she had told him, reassured. And what a day, 76 degrees, not humid and the sun blazing away. How splendid she felt these days! In every way, as if nothing could faze her, that she was in total control, pulling the strings like some master puppeteer, with quintessential ease: it was as if the whole world were dancing to her tune. She seemed unable to give the proper consideration to Ruth’s plight, with one of her sons down with mononucleosis and his education in jeopardy. It was
awful
for Ruth, it was a disaster and, as for Meryl’s ghastly attack on the street, how
was
Meryl going to weather it? Especially with her earlier shaky psychological history? What had happened to Meryl would ordinarily have given her sleepless nights and endless panic about her own family’s safety.

Instead she was mindlessly absorbed in
herself
: she felt so gloriously alive, splendidly euphoric. But then she always did love summer and one supposed it was, in the main, just that. But now it was twelve forty-five and she had trotted all the way down to Central Park South, she would have to get on her stick in order to be at Jack Allerton’s at somewhere around one o’clock. She’d be very firm with him today, tell him that he had been spending enough time away from the typewriter, praise his new acquisitions, that she was delighted to see what God hath wrought and now that all was accomplished he must get back to work full time. That was the most important thing, that he establish himself as an upcoming author.

Up the stone steps and into the lobby, a little breathless: she had walked rapidly all the way there. The bell on the brass plate pressed and then the answering buzz. She ran lightly up the carpeted stairs, smiling; he was in the open doorway, smiling too.

“For some reason I convinced myself you wouldn’t show up,” he said.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. And then when you were late — ”

“It’s only fifteen after. If I say I’m going to show up, I show up. Hello, Jack.”

Inside she gave a quick look round. “You found the basket!”

“What do you think?”

“It’s very handsome. There isn’t another man alive, or at least one I know, who’d go bonkers over a fruit basket.”

“Bonkers. Rodney’s influence again.”

“Yes, I’m still doing it. Impressionable’s what I am, a tabula rasa, write me off as a witless broad.”

“I think not,” he said, and watched her as she moved about the room.

“The armoire’s gorgeous.” She felt complacent about it. “I love it, I just love it.”

“Do you like where I’ve hung the music page?”

“I saw it as soon as I came in. It looks nice.”

“You know damned well it looks stupendous. It’s the focal point of the whole room.”

“It isn’t supposed to stick out like a sore thumb.”

“It doesn’t do that! Come on, stop being so self-conscious, Chris, if I’d bought it myself you’d be falling all over yourself with admiration.”

“All right, it’s lovely. I’m happy you like it.”

“Doesn’t it amuse you about the German being a shorter word than the English? That doesn’t happen very often, those long-winded Krauts with their Geldangelagenheits and their Gesetzessamlungs, tongue-twisters all.”

She walked over to his desk, where a growing pile of typed sheets was accumulating. “You seem to be making progress, Jack.”

“Not as fast as I’d like to. More or less at a snail’s pace. Note how well I turn a phrase.”

“Jack, really, this whole place is terrific. Everything fits in so beautifully. I have a very
special
feeling for this apartment. I helped you find some things for it, and I have a feeling you’re still not sure about that coffee table, but you know you can change it, just don’t wait too long.”

“No, I’m not in doubt about it, forget that. I was at first, I admit. I thought it might be too high-keyed, too modern. Now I agree with you that stuff with clean, sharp lines takes the curse off an old place like this. I sure wouldn’t want a Victorian look.”

“Nothing is jazzy, I wouldn’t go for that either. Well, Jack, I had more fun fooling around with this place than I did with Rodney’s. Don’t ever tell him that.”

“I haven’t heard from him since he was here. My guess is he’s moved on to greener fields.”

“He told me he didn’t want to interrupt you in your battles with the Muse.”

“Did he? Actually it’s just as well.”

“Anyway I meant what I said. I feel part of this setup and besides money’s no object to Rodney. I know I told you he couldn’t pay too much for an apartment, but it was only because I was trying to do the best for him. His family is very well off, he can buy whatever takes his fancy. You can’t afford to do that, so — ”

She turned quickly. “Oh. You don’t mind my saying that.”

“No. Not at all. Or rather I do mind, but not in that way. What I mind is being such a slow starter, that the fucking returns are so piddling, that I can’t turn out a big package deal. Reprint in six figures, movie interest, my name writ large. What I mind is not being Mario Puzo.”

“I had the impression you were thinking more along the lines of Updike.”

“Okay, later. After I hit the headlines with a Puzo type opus.”

She sat down. “Mario Puzo was your age once. I guess he minded too. Anyway he was never as pretty as you are.”

He sat down too. “I know what you’re trying to say. That it takes time. I don’t question that, but I don’t like it either. I don’t feel any more that I have that time.”

“Jack, you’re only — what, 28, something like that?”

“Ain’t you the tactful one. I’ll be thirty-one in November. And then that slow decline.”

“Oh, excuse me. I keep forgetting I’m in a slow decline.”

He laughed. “Not
you
. You don’t have to make it, you’ve made it. You’re there.”

“May I ask in what way?” she queried, smiling faintly. “
I’m
forty, I’m an almost empty nester, I can’t remember when I last had an orgasm and I never did a ground-breaking thing in my whole life.”

“That’s bull,” he said flatly. “You know it too. You’re on top of the world and here I am trying to drag you down.”

“Drag me down?” she echoed wonderingly. “What do you mean by that?”

He looked at her for a long time. So long that she became uneasy. Then he rose. “Some host I am,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Let’s get you fed. By the way, how’s your mouth, tender and such?”

“Not bad at all.”

“Anyway, I have nothing jaw-breaking, I kept it in mind. No, sit still, you can see the chairs later. The kitchen’s slightly in disorder at the moment.”

“I thought we were going to eat in there, that’s why you asked me.”

“I changed my mind. We’re having Chablis, I marinated some strawberries in brandy for it.”

“Sounds ambrosian, Jack.”

“Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.”

“Can’t I help?”

“Uh uh. Want to go to the John or anything?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe later. Did you put out those nice little towels just in case?”

“Certainly. Excuse me, Chris, be back shortly.”

She could hear him moving around in the kitchen. She smiled contentedly. It was nice to be waited on. It was nice to be here. She got up and ambled about, stroking the shutters at the window. In New England they were called Deerfield blinds. How she loved these old brownstones and town houses, and how melancholy it was that they were disappearing so rapidly. They were the old New York, which was quickly becoming a city of highrises, characterless and impersonal.

She sat down and lit a cigarette and just after she crushed it out Jack returned carrying an enormous tray. A plate of sandwiches, elegant little triangles, with the crusts cut off. He had spent a lot of time cutting those crusts off the soft fresh bread. There wasn’t even a trace of what had once been crust. They were artfully pyramided on the platter and they reminded her of when Schrafft’s, which was now almost a thing of the past, had served tea sandwiches at three in the afternoon.

A little bowl with green olives, another with Greek olives. A small feast. The glasses were iced. Beautiful crimson strawberries floated on the surface of the crystal-clear Chablis. Cocktail napkins with strawberries in the design. She said, “Why, Jack, how festive, but why? This was supposed to be soup and toast and on the run, you shouldn’t have done all this! Good God, it looks like a wedding reception or something.”

“Ah shut up and start eating. And drinking. How’s the Chablis?”

She sipped. “Like nectar, it’s like drinking May wine.” She clinked glasses with him. “To you, Jack, and lots, lots of luck.”

“Here’s to you. Here’s to us. To Rodney, when it comes right down to it. Thank God for Rodney. That’s lox. There’s chicken liver and there’s smoked turkey. Oh, and Boursin.”

“I can’t believe this magnificence. It’s like a cocktail party for the Windsors.”

“Strawberries okay? Marinated in brandy. A good brandy too.”

“You bet they’re okay. Jack, all this because I went to some stores and browbeat a few salespeople?”

She smiled reminiscently. “I liked shopping with you. It was like old times. When I furnished my own place.”

“Where you live now?”

“Now? Oh no, that was just adding here and there, that wasn’t really anything. I mean the place on Ninety-second Street, when I left my family’s home and got one of my own. I quit college after two years, it didn’t seem to be my thing, and I lucked into a pretty good job. Then I found this apartment, a big, airy room, square or almost, twenty by twenty-one, on the top floor of a brown-stone. Or limestone, I guess, like your building. I bought two studio beds because I got a good buy on the pair, slept in one and the other was a sofa. A good buy — you must think of me as some kind of Arab trader or something. To this day I think in terms of a dollar saved is a dollar earned.”

“It’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Well, anyway I bought the beds and then at one of those unpainted furniture stores I latched on to two chests of drawers, some stools, a room divider and little by little it all came together. I had the best time I’ve ever had. I was so proud of that place. When I was doing the dishes, there was this whistling tea kettle I had, and I kept that polished and shining, and I could see the other room from the shine in the kettle; I used to enjoy doing that. The room, the studio room looked like a fascinating picture, like the way you would see it in a bull’s-eye mirror, all spherical and mysterious and lovely. My room, my home.”