Seasons of the Heart (35 page)

“I love you, you know.”

“I love you too, Adam.”

“Do you mean that?”

Hearing his uncertainty, Ann pressed her lips to his. “With all my heart, darling.”

Stretching, he got out of bed. “I hate to say this, but I’m starving. Do you have the energy to go out? We missed lunch, but we could get an early dinner.”

“Why don’t I just fix us something here?” Ann said.

“All this and you can cook too? How did I get so lucky!” he said, putting on his robe.

Ann sat up and was about to push away the covers when she realized her clothes were scattered from the living room to the hall. Grinning, she said, “I hope you have something I can borrow.”

He started to open drawers, but she shooed him out, saying, “I think I can manage.”

A little while later she came into the kitchen wrapped in an enormous maroon silk robe, her feet swimming in fur-trimmed slippers that flopped as she walked.

He slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her ear. “I thought you were starving,” Ann laughed. “Food first.”

Rummaging about, she found eggs, a small jar of caviar, and some sour cream. Twenty minutes later, they sat down to delicious scrambled eggs and chilled champagne.

Adam ate hungrily. “You’re a hell of a cook,” he said, looking at her with new respect.

“Not as good as your Gaston, I’m afraid.”

He looked at her mischievously. “Ah, but you have so many other talents to offer.” They washed and dried the dishes, pausing every few minutes to kiss.

“Okay.” Adam smiled. “It’s time for the cook to relax.” He led her to the huge Jacuzzi, and afterward he kindled the fire and they lay on the carpet, staring into the flames.

Ann knew that this was where she belonged. Strangely, it was Phillip who had given her this gift. She would never have had the strength to break up her marriage, so now she was filled with gratitude toward her husband.

Adam too was thinking how lucky he was to be given a second chance with Ann.

All his life he had been searching for the right woman. It surely had not been Felicia, whom he had married far too young, or any of the women who had come after her. But with Ann next to him, he knew real happiness for the first time. He looked at her as she gazed into the fire and hoped she shared his contentment.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said, hoping to be reassured.

But when she turned to him she said with unexpected curiosity, “Adam, tell me about yourself. I want to know everything about you from the time you were a little boy.”

“It’s not very exciting.”

“It will be to me.”

Adam got up and poured two snifters of brandy. Then, gazing steadily at her, he began.

There was nothing to indicate that Avrum Gnetsky would achieve great fortune, but his mother, Leah, knew that there was something extraordinary about this baby. Of course she had thought that about her older three, too. She already referred to them as the Doctor, the Dentist, and the Lawyer. Obviously, there was nothing left for Avrum but to become the first Jewish President of the United States of America. Nothing could convince her otherwise as she lay in her bed in the flat above the bakery on Slotkin Street.

Inhaling the familiar smell of bread, she felt a great sense of peace. What a joy he was, that husband of hers. Yankel had run up and down those stairs a hundred times that morning just to make sure that the midwife was doing a good job. He couldn’t understand how his wife could be so serene, but to Leah, giving birth was a miracle and the pain was nothing.

Three days later, after having fed Avrum from her more than ample breast, she left him in his little basket, went downstairs, and took her usual seat on the high stool in front of the cash register. By eleven o’clock that morning, she had seventeen dollars in the till. Pleased with the morning’s take, she went upstairs and once again took Avrum to her breast, singing a lullaby which her mother had once sung to her.

It was in that aura of love that Avrum had grown up, in a family devoted to one another. When he began school at age six, there were many things about the world Avrum did not know. Among them was the fact that there were people in the world who were not Jewish, who ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and who had yellow hair the color of cornsilk.

He also discovered that in this strange world he was called Adam. But it really didn’t bother him. He loved his teacher, and more important, he loved to learn, a desire his mother did everything to encourage. Leah spent all their extra money on books and music lessons for the boys. Each afternoon she would leave the bakery to make sure they practiced on the old upright piano. When they complained that they would rather play ball, she fed them milk and cookies and forced them to continue.

The only time that the boys were permitted to escape practice was on Friday nights when, bathed and dressed in their best, they went to the tiny
shul
three blocks away, where they worshiped with their father.

As the years passed, Adam’s brothers went on to college, where they fulfilled their mother’s dreams. The excellence their parents demanded began to pay off, as Max became a surgeon, Irving an engineer, and Morris an orthodontist. Leah’s only remaining goal was that Avrum become the next Clarence Darrow.

He arrived at Columbia University during the early days of the Great Depression, and, just as little Avrum had been astonished to learn that not everyone in the world was Jewish, so young Adam was appalled to discover that Jews were not welcomed with open arms at Columbia. In spite of what he was reading in the papers about events in Europe, he hadn’t really believed in the existence of systematic anti-Semitism. Now he wondered if he could cope with this threat. His older brothers quickly reassured him.

“You bet it’s tough being a Jew,” they told him. “But it’s never stopped us. We just have to work harder, and the result is that we’re better off for having been put through the extra tests. You know something? We should thank the bastards!”

One day he met a senior named Jerry Moss, who admitted that he was born Abe Moskowitz.

“Why did you change it?” Adam asked him.

“Look, Adam,” Jerry explained patiently. “A name like Moskowitz—or Gnetsky, for that matter—makes it just that much harder to hack it, particularly if you’re trying to get into a Gentile law firm, like I am. I don’t look Jewish—and neither do you. Why make things tougher than they are? So I’m not a hero. Sue me.”

Adam still wasn’t convinced. “Isn’t that like cheating? We make it and other Jews don’t?”

“Wake up, kid. I know they say that anyone in America can become President, but I don’t see any Gnetskys or Moskowitzes in the White House. Make your own decision, but I’m staying Jerry Moss.”

Adam slept badly that night; he had never really thought about being a Jew. Finally he shrugged off Jerry’s warnings, deciding that changing his name would be a betrayal of his parents. But, after graduation—he had gotten his degree in record time—he reconsidered. He was beginning law school, times were bad, and he knew that with the exception of a few firms, the New York law offices refused to hire Jews.

In a quandary, he asked his brothers for advice. They agreed that theoretically it was desirable to remain Adam Gnetsky, as they had, but given Adam’s situation, it might be better to change his name. It would be possible to do this without abandoning his faith.

So, when Adam registered at law school, it was as Adam Gayne. And, whether it was because of his elegant new name or possibly guilt over having relinquished his original name, he worked even harder than his classmates, graduating with honors and as editor of the Law Review.

In spite of his extreme youth and the Depression, he had an excellent choice of jobs. He finally settled on Williams, Stein and Brown, one of the best corporate firms in New York. He quickly acquired a host of new clients from all over the city, for besides his legal know-how, he was interested in everything—politics, charity, the arts—and he mixed well with people.

The law firm was delighted. Adam Gayne was exactly what they needed. He was shrewd, discerning, and at ease in any company. How he got his polish was a miracle, but he was in demand at parties as an excellent mimic, and his brothers had given him lots of good advice on the social graces. He dated frequently but had no strong desire to marry.

One of the partners in the firm, Daniel Brown, was especially interested in the new young associate. A widower for twenty-five years, Brown had no children of his own, but he was devoted to his sister’s only child, Felicia. Felicia was extraordinarily beautiful. As she grew into womanhood, though, he had begun to worry about her future. Painful as it was, he was forced to admit that the girl was also flighty and immature: even infantile. She needed a strong, level-headed husband to look after her, but while many young men asked her out, none became serious.

And so it was that Daniel found himself taking an appraising look at young Adam Gayne. One day Daniel invited Adam to spend a weekend at his estate on Long Island. Adam had thought that he could no longer be impressed by money. But he gasped with wonder as he drove his secondhand Buick through the wrought-iron gates, up a driveway lined with lovely oak trees, and parked in front of an exact replica of a sixteenth-century French chateau. Upon entering, he was immediately surrounded by young men in tuxedos and beautifully dressed women: the cream of what remained of the international set. The Great Depression hadn’t reached the home of Daniel Brown.

It was in that somewhat dazed condition that Adam first saw Felicia, floating down the immense black marble staircase in white silk. Adam immediately concluded she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

After dinner there was dancing, and he found himself leading Felicia to the floor. As he took her into his arms for a waltz, he couldn’t help comparing her to an exquisite Meissen figurine he had recently bought for his mother. When the music stopped, he took her hand and led her to the garden.

There, under the flickering Chinese lanterns, they stood and watched the moonlight play on Long Island Sound.

Felicia was very quiet, and Adam found himself doing all the talking. Her comments, uttered in a childlike voice, were extremely brief, and were always accompanied by her high, silvery laugh. To Adam, her reticence lent her an air of sophistication.

He had never met anyone quite like her, and soon managed to convince himself that what seemed to be shallowness was simply an amusing pose, that she had been brought up to let men do the talking. And she was so tiny, so lovely, such good company….

Adam had no way of knowing as he fell asleep that night dreaming of Felicia that she had been carefully tutored by her mama and her Uncle Daniel. She was to say little, stay away from the punch bowl, smile her enchanting smile, and agree with absolutely everything Adam said. They were determined not to let yet another eligible young man get away. If Felicia would only refrain from chattering in a way that revealed to all her utter lack of comprehension of what was being discussed, she just might land Adam Gayne.

Felicia was the sole heir to her father’s pharmaceutical company, and to her Uncle Daniel’s personal fortune, so neither her mother nor her uncle felt any qualms about their tactics. Adam would thank them one day. After all, beautiful young heiresses weren’t a dime a dozen, and the Depression was still on, wasn’t it? One never knew.

Adam soon found himself being invited to parties, receptions, and elaborate dinners at Felicia’s apartment overlooking Central Park West. He never quite knew how they became officially engaged. Everyone seemed to expect it, yet the odd, frustrating thing was that they were rarely alone; protective relatives always seemed to be hovering about. Nonetheless, still dazzled by the aura of great wealth, he almost convinced himself that he was in love with her….

They were married at the Hotel Pierre, in one of the most lavish weddings of the year. Adam’s parents were there, as well as his brothers and their wives. Leah looked regal and Yankel slightly intimidated by it all. Daniel, and Felicia’s mother, were so delighted to have married off Felicia that they managed to be cordial to the Gnetskys, who returned to Brooklyn believing that their Avrum had found the perfect bride.

Adam and Felicia honeymooned in Europe, at Daniel’s expense. London, Venice, Rome, the Riviera—there was no lack of things to do and see, and the dollar was king. Adam was delighted with his new bride—she was like an adorable, playful kitten.

The first incident occurred at Monte Carlo.

They were playing bacarrat and chemin de fer. At first he laughed when he saw her betting recklessly, a wild, unfamiliar gleam in her eye. But as time passed, he became increasingly alarmed. Felicia refused to leave the tables, and she had already lost over two thousand dollars. She had also switched from champagne to Pernod on the rocks, and was knocking back these potent drinks at an amazing rate.

Finally, when her losses hit twenty-five hundred dollars, Adam touched her on the shoulder and gently suggested that it was time to go home.

Whirling on him, she said loudly, “I’ll go home when I’m damn good and ready.” Then she went to the bar, ordered another Pernod, and returned to the tables.

Adam took her arm. “Felicia—let’s go home.”

“You let go of me!” she shrieked, and the people near them turned around and stared.

Adam’s face flushed with humiliation, but he continued to hold her arm. “Felicia—either we walk out quietly or I’ll carry you out.”

“Stop that!” she screamed. “I’m going to tell Uncle Daniel about this and he’ll fire you for being mean to me!”

This was followed by a stream of threats and insults, at which point Adam picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the casino to the amused or shocked comments of the other guests. They drove to their hotel in silence.

There was more to come. Adam discovered that when Felicia was crossed, she would fly into infantile rages, pounding him with her tiny fists and screaming hysterically. Worse, he began to understand that she had a fondness for the bottle—a penchant which her mother and her uncle were undoubtedly aware of. For Felicia was drinking far too much in restaurants and nightclubs, and often seemed tipsy even in their hotel rooms.