Pam of Babylon (16 page)

“What was he like at work? You know, I have never been to his office, at least since they moved it downtown. When the only branch was in the Bronx, I used to go up every week and have lunch with my son. It was the highlight of my week.” She stopped, thinking of the final betrayal, the final straw. “I did something to hurt him unintentionally, and now he is gone. I can never make it up to him.” Out of character, she lowered her head and started to weep, right there in Big Nick’s. Sandra couldn’t take it. She reached across the table and grabbed Bernice’s hand.

“He loved you so much, Mrs. Smith, he really did. Whatever it was that happened between the two of you, he never mentioned a word.” Bernice looked at her curiously. Sandra had revealed too much. Thinking that his involvement with her took time away from the people who loved and needed him the most—his mother and Marie, she felt guilty. Both were used to lunching with him, seeing him for dinner when he was in the city all week and blamed themselves for his abrupt exodus from their routine, when in fact, it had nothing at all to do with them.

The waiter approached with their food, and Bernice patted the area under her eyes with a hankie, blotting away the tears and keeping her makeup intact. Jack had been surrounded by a bevy of vain women. She picked at her salad, the confessional diminishing her appetite.

Sandra couldn’t look at her food. She’d elevated her importance in Jack’s life and the burden of hurting his mother was pressing on her. She sipped the milk shake, fighting the sudden urge to confess everything to this stranger, hoping the tale of infidelity would give the needed excuse for his behavior without tainting his mother’s opinion of him. She would think about it.

“Where do you live? Here? Close by?” Bernice asked. “You know I am just a few blocks from here, don’t you? Our place is on Columbus.”

“Actually, I’m just up Broadway on Eighty-second. Jack told me that his mother was close by.” She may have revealed more than she bargained for by confessing that.
Why would Jack have talked about his mother to an employee?
It was too late. Bernice finished with her salad, pushing the plate to the edge of the table.

“This may sound strange, but could we exchange phone numbers? I feel like we need to stay in touch. Maybe because of Jack, I am not sure. It feels so strange, actually.” Bernice chuckled. “Maybe I am getting old after all.” Sandra couldn’t take anymore. That comment, yet another swipe meant to take blame for something she had nothing to do with, made the decision for Sandra. She would reveal her relationship with Jack to his mother. She would need to know in nine months anyway.

“Are you finished eating? I would like to talk to you, but this isn’t the place.” Sandra pushed her untouched plate away and reached for the check.

“I’ll get that,” Bernice said. “Do you want to come up to my house?” she asked.

“I hate to impose.” Sandra didn’t know if either of their homes was the right place to lay this out. It might be the worst possible thing to do. She hesitated.
It was so early. What if the pregnancy didn’t take?
Sandra decided she wanted an ally, a witness to the tiny cells growing in her, part of this woman’s son.

“My car is right across the street. Come home with me. I’ll make tea, and we can talk there. Now you have my curiosity! An old woman doesn’t get many chances to hear interesting news!” Sandra thought,
What an understatement
.

They left the restaurant. When she said she had a car, Sandra thought a regular car, not a limo. But there it was, the driver leaning against the side, waiting. When he saw Bernice, he put his finger up and got into the car.

“He will pull around. God forbid we have to walk across the street!” she said, smiling. The car pulled out, and the man maneuvered it in a perfect U-turn. He hopped out and opened the door for the two women, ignoring Sandra. They got up to her house in record time. Sandra tried not to gawk. It was a huge five-story brownstone. There was a deep front yard enclosed in grand wrought iron.
Its price would be, well, without price!
She couldn’t imagine living there.
Why would Jack have that bland apartment when here was this fabulous place right at his disposal?
She would never know.

“Oh my God! This house!” Sandra exclaimed. Bernice laughed out loud.

“Isn’t it wonderful? We raised our boys here. It belonged to Harold’s family first, so it is full of family treasures. We updated everything, although you would never know it. Harold was a stickler about historical accuracy and all of that baloney.” She led the way up the walk, opening the gate and shutting it behind her. The car pulled into a driveway, which was also gated with a long, double gate that opened automatically.
The car would disappear around the back of the house, to what? Garages? Who had this kind of money anymore?
By the time they got to the front door, a beautiful, deep-oak double door, a uniformed maid opened it, greeting the women with a big smile.

“Welcome back, madam!” she said.
Madam?
Sandra felt totally underdressed in her spandex and denim. This might have been a big mistake. The maid stepped aside, taking Bernice’s purse, and closing the door behind them.

“Tea and sandwiches in the den, okay, Mildred?” Bernice gave the order, and the maid smiled and walked to the rear of the house.
So Mrs. Smith wouldn’t actually be making the tea herself,
Sandra thought.
Who else worked here?
“You didn’t eat a thing, and that garden salad was just for show. We will have a real meal now.” Sandra followed her, Bernice walking backward when she spoke, stretching her arm out to point at things of interest, like portraits of the boys in their youth and Jack’s tennis racket encased in a shadow box with awards surrounding it—things of interest only to the family in residence. It was a real home.

Calling the room a den was an understatement. It was at least a thousand square feet. At one end, there was a huge walk-in fireplace surrounded by beautiful leather furniture, wingback chairs, and solid tables and flanked by fifteen-foot-high bookcases. On the other side of the room was a flat-screen TV that took up half the wall. Bernice saw her looking at it.

“It’s a three-D. Those are blackout curtains on the windows. We have a theater in the basement, but I don’t like subterranean rooms.” Bernice was looking around the space, rubbing her hands together, proud of the home she’d made for her children and grandchildren. Sandra wondered how often it was used anymore.

In the center of the room was a pool table with legs covered in carvings, and three game tables—a room that a family would play in. Along the walls stood a collection of pinball machines that a connoisseur would lust after.
It was an arcade!
She imagined the grandchildren loved coming here. Bernice led her to the fireplace end of the room. Somehow, she had managed to make this area feel intimate and cozy, in spite of being surrounded by fun and games.
How did she do it?
There were two wingback chairs on either side of a high round table, a tea table. Bernice pointed to one of the chairs and told Sandra to make herself comfortable. She excused herself to change out of her suit, promising it wouldn’t take but a minute, and asked her to please not wait, to start eating without her.

Bernice was gone less than a minute when Mildred returned with a tray covered with a white linen cloth. Another worker followed, pushing a cart with the tea items, including a large silver tea service. Efficiently and quickly, they set everything up on the table. Mildred poured tea into a cup and offered it to Sandra, pointing out the sugar and cream as well as the honey and lemon. The linen-covered tray was uncovered, revealing a delicious-looking selection of sandwiches, pastries, cookies, and petit fours. Mildred, forcing her to eat, handed her a plate and presented her with the tray. She balanced the tray on her forearm and placed little cakes and what looked like a cream-cheese sandwich on her plate.

“Take more,” she said. Sandra laughed out loud. “I just ate!”

“Hogwash!” Bernice was back, looking youthful and comfortable in a black cotton outfit with drawstring pants and a short-sleeved shirt. She took a plate and piled on sandwiches. Sandra took a cream-cheese sandwich first; it was a sweet rye bread and had smoked turkey, horseradish, and cream cheese. Bernice pointed out nut bread with a gorgonzola cream cheese spread and half a fresh pear sliced on it. They were so delicious that Sandra forgot that she was in this stately mansion and ate like a starving boy. There was butter lettuce with a ham spread on white bread and a small hard roll with butter and some kind of anchovy paste on it, with a slice of cherry tomato. It was meant to be popped into your mouth.

“Is anyone joining us? Or is this all for us?” Sandra asked, smiling. Bernice told her it was just for them. She drank more tea and then started in on the desserts. The petit fours were filled with almond paste or milk-chocolate cream or vanilla custard. She ate one of each kind. When she couldn’t eat another mouthful, Bernice instructed Mildred to package up the leftovers for Sandra to take home. She would have delicious lunches this week, at the very least. They sat in their chairs then, looking out the bank of french doors, which lead out to a courtyard. Mildred had opened one of the doors, and Sandra could hear the water fountain, meant to block the noise from Broadway and Columbus Avenue. She didn’t care about that. She knew they were only a block from Central Park. She loved the city so much.

Bernice grasped her shoulder.

“Oh my God! I am so sorry!” Sandra sat up abruptly, having fallen asleep.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She looked up at Bernice, who was looking down at her more motherly than concerned.

“I would have let you go on sleeping, but you cried out. I was afraid you were having a bad dream,” Bernice said.

“How long was I out?” Sandra asked.

“Not long at all, about twenty minutes. You must be exhausted.” Bernice pulled up an ottoman and sat in front of Sandra.

“It was probably the anchovy paste and the chocolate cream.” Sandra said, embarrassed. “I should probably get going. I’ve infringed on your hospitality long enough.”

“Don’t go yet,” Bernice said. “I have the feeling you were on the verge of telling me something about my son.” She looked at Sandra with a penetrating gaze. The trays of food had been removed when Sandra was in nod land. She needed to empty her bladder.

“Can I use the ladies’ room?” she asked. Bernice showed her the way. The bathroom was as elegant and exquisite as the rest of the house. The tile was a work of art; the stained-glass windows, she assumed, were Tiffany; and the fabulous vessel sink of a cobalt-blue glass was hand blown, with a gorgeous goose-neck faucet.
People really did live this way.

When she came out, Bernice had gone back to the den. She stood when Sandra came into the room, pointing toward the courtyard.

“Let’s sit outside, shall we? The bugs aren’t bad yet, and the traffic has died down. Sunday evening is the best.” She started to walk out. “It is surprising how rarely I do sit out here. When the boys were young, they loved this part of the house, and you could always find them here. Harold built them a tree house in that ancient oak. We thought the neighbors would sue us for harming it, but the house wasn’t really nailed to the tree. They are really such asses. We had a portable pool, not really portable, because it was in ground, but just a vinyl thing that Harold sunk into the ground, knowing that when they grew up, they would no longer use it. It was small, but they loved it.” She turned to look at Sandra. They were sitting at a round glass table surrounded by heavy wrought iron chairs. They were surrounded by beautiful statuary; what you would expect in the courtyard of a mansion in the middle of New York City. “What did you want to tell me, dear?” Sandra decided that she would not be apologetic. She would state the facts, as she knew them.

“I was having an affair with Jack. That is why he no longer spent as much time with you, not because he was angry or disappointed about anything. It was because he was with me.” There, she had said it. But there was more. She would get it out now, rather than later. Give her time to mash it through. “And I just found out today that I am pregnant. Not far, just a few weeks. But I knew right away that my life has been preparing for this moment for years. And you finding me in Big Nick’s in the middle of Manhattan was no coincidence.” She stopped, sat back, and took a deep breath. She was afraid to look over at Bernice. Of course, Bernice would be loyal to Pam. She was her daughter-in-law and Jack’s wife. But the truth, although not easy to hear, would be better in the long run. Her baby deserved that much.

“Let me think for a moment,” Bernice said. She was staring off into the night. While all of this was happening, the sun went down, and it was evening. She moved her hand under the table and must have pressed a hidden button because Mildred appeared with yet another tray, this time with a pot of coffee, cream and sugar, and two cups.

“It’s decaf,” she said. Mildred left it and Bernice poured. “Want a cup?” Sandra was a little worried that Bernice may be angry. She waited, picking up the cup and saucer, grateful for the distraction. Finally, Bernice looked at her. “There is more to this that needs to be discussed. You have no idea the parallels in our lives. You couldn’t know. But I think we have had enough for one evening. You, young woman, have work tomorrow. Jack may have told you that I am a stickler about work. Easy for me, right, who has never punched a timecard?” She laughed out loud. “But that is neither here nor there. If it were Saturday, I would beg you to spend the night. But you must get home and get ready for tomorrow. You are carrying my grandchild; you must get rest and take care of yourself.” She stood up, wringing her hands. “I just thought of poor, silly Pam. What will she make of all of this?”

Reeling from the insult to Pam, Sandra simply stated, “She knows about me, but not the baby.” Bernice led her out of the den. She was not so much dismissing her, as trying to do what was best for her. Mildred appeared with a large brown paper bag with Whole Foods printed on it in green ink. It was filled to the brim with foil-wrapped food and plastic containers of who knows what. She would have plenty to eat this week.