Seventh Avenue (35 page)

The wind from the Charles River cut into Jay’s face as he walked past the saluting doorman at the Statler into the large black Cadillac waiting for him at the curb. He hadn’t called Terry as he had promised before coming to Cambridge. Rhoda could wait. As he sat down in the back seat, he had a vague flicker of Myrna’s face across his path of vision, and he told the chauffeur to stop at the first liquor store they passed. He’d bring Terry some champagne and buy a few bottles of scotch to keep in the hotel room.

He bought two bottles of Krug ‘29, not because he cared a whit, or knew anything about vintage champagne, but because they were the most expensive bottles in the shop. The chauffeur, a tall, strapping man, with tobacco-stained teeth, and the expression of a dead eel, took the package from the man. When they got back into the car Jay asked the chauffeur where they were.

“Turning onto Commonwealth Avenue.”

“It’s very nice. I’m going to one hundred and sixty. Do you know it?”

“I’ll find it,” the man said in a Back Bay twang that cut right to the marrow.

“Any good restaurants in town?”

“This is Cambridge,” the man said contemptuously.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking.”

“New Yorker?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, if you like roast beef, there’s Durgin Park. That’s in Boston.”

The car pulled up to a smallish apartment house, the kind they call apartment studios. It was modern and sleek, and somehow out of keeping with the Victorian architecture that composed the street.

“Know where Durgin Park is?”

The man shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ll find it. You’d better reserve a table. They get crowded on Fridays.”

Jay took out a wad of bills.

“They always have a table for Hamilton.”

“Just as you say, sir.”

Jay put a bottle of champagne under each arm and walked briskly into the lobby. A set of buzzers with a mouthpiece designed for a four-foot man was located on the stucco wall behind the door. He spotted her name: “Miss T. Fredericks,” and his mouth was dry with nervousness. He decided not to announce himself and walked up the two flights to her apartment. He pressed the buzzer, and a small blonde, wearing a crew neck
Shetland
sweater, brown and white saddle shoes, and a brown tweed skirt,
appraised
his face with the same attention a jeweler gives to a suspect diamond.

“Wrong apartment?” he said.

“Who’d you want?”

“Uh, Terry Fredericks.”

“Well, enter our sanctum, oh, beautiful one.”

Jay stared at her, then broke into a smile.

“Bring the champagne,” she said, when she saw him hesitate.

“You on junk, or just being natural?”

“My high spirits, which my good breeding has done little to stifle.”

“Oh, yeah, I see.” He came into a small foyer that had a bookcase with more books than he’d ever seen. “Going into business?”

“Required reading . . . You must be Jay.”

“I’m wearing a sign on my back or something?”

“I’ve heard all about you. Ter,” she shouted through a closed door. “A visitor.”

“You live here with Terry?” he asked, wishing to get the bad news over with at once.

“Didn’t she mention me at all?” the blonde said, screwing up her nose into what was supposed to pass for disappointment.

“Not a word.”

“The rat! God, what a gorgeous color you are, and poor little me, all white and pale as a lily. I’m Caroline Reed, Terry’s roommate.”

“You see your folks lately?” Jay asked.

“No. That’s a funny question to ask.”

He put his hand in his pocket, fished out a bill.

“Here’s a yard. Why don’t you catch the next plane and see them for the weekend?”

“You want to get rid of me?”

“That’s the general idea.”

“But I’m so discreet, so utterly discreet. You can count on me!” She took the champagne from Jay. “I’ll cool them a bit, shall I?”

“Florida, then? You get yourself a quick tan, have a wild weekend.”

“Ugh, you rich people.”

“I thought the same thing when I was on Relief.”

“Don’t kid me. You probably inherited a fortune.”

“The only thing I inherited was flat feet, a small mole on my behind, and fifty-seven starving relatives.”

“Would you like to take off your coat, I’ll hang it up.”

“You can sell it if you like and travel on the proceeds.”

She rubbed the coat on her cheek.

“Ummm, cashmere. Where’d you get it?”

“I met this goat on Fifth Avenue, who needed two hundred dollars. Where’s Terry?”

“In the bath. Why, don’t you like talking to me?”

“I could live without it.”

“God, I can see why Terry’s insane about you. So direct, so vital; up from the people. The blood and guts of democracy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no insulting you, is there?”

“It’s your defense mechanism speaking, not you.”

“I think I like you,” he said.

She kissed him on the cheek then hopped over to the davenport and did a few pirouettes.

“You’re giving free samples?”

“I’m irresistible.”

Terry came out of the bathroom, with a towel wrapped round her head and blushed through her suntan when she caught sight of Jay.

“Just the way I pictured you,” he said.

“Oh, Jay. Aren’t you awful. No call or anything.” She rushed up to him and kissed him.

“Your cold cream’s delicious,” he said.

“Oooooooo, isn’t it wonderful,” Caroline moaned ecstatically. “Can I stay and watch?”

“Caroline’s going to open the champagne, and then she’s flying to New York,” Jay said.

“I am not. I’m going to be with you every minute of the day and night.”

“We don’t need a scorekeeper.”

She roared with laughter and danced into the kitchen.

“She’s really great,” Terry said.

“Yeah, she seems a ball.”

“Are you going to take me out to dinner, sir?”

“Durgin Park?”

“Oh, I’d love that. I’ll be able to show you off to everyone I know. It’ll get back to my father.”

“I’m going to see him on Monday.”

“Then you’ve told your wife?”

“No, she wasn’t home. And I couldn’t hang around waiting. I got so edgy that I had to shoot up here to see you.”

“I’ll just get dressed. Give me a few minutes.”

From the kitchen Caroline called out in a high, trilling voice:

“Isn’t it wonderful - two men fighting for you? Jay and Mitch. It’s drama.”

She brought in a tray with glasses; the champagne swaddled in a wooden cheese box with cubes around its base. She had some saltine biscuits on a plate and a tube of something, the label of which he could not read.

“Look what I found in my little nook.”

“The suspense is killing . . .” Jay said.

“S.S. Pierce’s very own caviar.” She squeezed a bit out on a biscuit and offered it to him. He moved away with the champagne bottle. He was fighting a losing battle with the cork.

“What is it shoe polish?”

“Is it shoe polish?” A guffaw from Caroline.

“I think they shot this cork on with a pistol. I better get the chauffeur to open it.”

“The limit, the last word,” Caroline exclaimed. “The noble savage in cashmere. What a find you are . . .” She pulled the bottle away and popped the cork.

“I’ve always had other people to do this sort of thing.”

“Yes, I can tell, you’re definitely to the manner born.”

“In the old country when we found a champagne bottle, know what we did with it?”

“No, I’d love to hear.”

“Peed in it.”

“Peed?”

“That’s right. Fill them with pee, and drop them off the tops of buildings on the police - the Russian police. They exploded like bombs.”

“God, you must have been mad!”

“You’ve never seen a squad of Russian police operate in a small Polish town, a border town. It’s a gap in your education. Fifteen or twenty of them would have taken turns with you in one night. Then they would’ve knocked your teeth out so that you could be even more accommodating in the future. If you were Jewish, whatever they did to you was considered a public service by the rest of the town. Ask your history teacher about that. He’ll probably tell you it wasn’t very important to history, and there aren’t any dates to memorize.”

She poured the champagne, and Terry emerged from the bedroom wearing a black wool dress with a turtleneck collar. The dress was skin tight, and the contours of her body shaped it. She looked like a statue to Jay.

“You’ve lost him to me, Ter. It’s love at first sight.”

“I swear she’s a nut case. Well, you going away for the weekend?”

“Oh Jay, she can’t,” Terry said with an edge in her voice.

“I could spend the weekend with June. Her roommate’s gone home.”

He detected a stiffening in Terry, and he wondered if he had gone too far. The mood of the girls and the atmosphere of a college town - Cambridge was, above all, a college town - made him decidedly uncomfortable. He wasn’t accustomed to the banter, the manners of students, and somehow whenever he spoke, it sounded like someone else talking, desperately acting a part that he was peculiarly unsuited to play. The easy familiarity of the girls, and their private jokes reminded him of the fact that he was a coarse, ignorant, inferior being who had dragged himself out of a slum, the smell and the commonalty of the slum still clung, was a constituent element of his skin, which he sensed was very thin indeed. He had the moral sensitivity to be embarrassed by himself and the constructive awareness not to regard this membrane of ignorance as a protective shield that he could brandish complacently to those with less money. A projection of Neal’s face danced across the screen of his mind, and he hoped that when Neal had absorbed all of the advantages that money could provide, he would not abandon Jay precisely for having provided the advantages. He felt better when he realized that the girls were not superior, merely different, and he was tempted to invite Caroline to join them for dinner, but he wanted to be alone with Terry on the first night.

“Hey, look, if you’re not busy tomorrow night, why don’t you come out with us?” he said.

“Oh, you are a sweetie,” she said. “But I wouldn’t think . . .”

“Bullshit. Get yourself a date, and we’ll tear a red streak through Boston.”

“Please, Caroline. He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want you to come.”

“Well, I suppose I could.”

“Settled.”

“See you, kid. You can polish off the other bottle of champagne if you can open it.”

Terry rested her head on his shoulder in the back of the car as the strange lights of Boston flashed past Jay’s line of vision. He kissed her affectionately on the cheek.

“Baby, it’s so good to be close to you. I couldn’t even concentrate on business when I was in New York. Spent four hours in the office then zoomed to the airport. Florida was like a dream: meeting you, a business offer from your old man. I’ve never been so on top of the world in my life. All this is happening to me, Jay Blackman.”

“Darling, I love you so much. What a nice surprise for me.”

“I didn’t offend Caroline?”

“No, don’t be an idiot. I’m glad you asked her to come tomorrow.” She looked at his face and ran her fingers under his chin. “We can’t go back to the apartment tonight though,” she added reluctantly.

“I guessed as much.”

“So it’ll have to be your hotel.”

“
My hotel!” He was incredulous.

“
You’re not going to be a prig, Jay?”

“
It looks so bad.
You’ll get a reputation . . .”

She laughed sardonically.

“
You’re my reputation. Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”

The car turned into the driveway, and the chauffeur opened the door.

“I’ll be a couple of hours, so if you want to get lost somewhere, it’s okay.”

The chauffeur tipped his hat and smiled.

As Jay had predicted, the headwaiter did have a nice corner table for Mr. Hamilton.

“
You’re very pleased with yourself,” Terry said.

“Private joke. The chauffeur said I couldn’t get a table. Whenever people say you can’t do, or get something, what they mean is,
they
can’t. I thought I was going to hate Boston.”

He examined the menu that the headwaiter had, with a flourish and practiced sycophancy, handed to him. He was about to make suggestions, but Jay cut him short as he did all headwaiters, assuming a naïveté that might have been touching if it hadn’t been quite so bellicose that headwaiters always had these special suggestions on hand for people who didn’t belong and would be likely to order the wrong things. He hated to be patronized and often reacted violently when people were only trying to be helpful, for he was unable to distinguish between the two.

He ordered a martini for Terry and a triple scotch for himself. She gave him that peculiarly intense and concerned stare that young girls in love and in heat develop. It is a look of pure candescence and innocence, a look belonging to one of the few times in the span of a lifetime when the division between mind and heart disappears. At thirty-five, it becomes nostalgia, and at forty, sentimentality. At twenty, it is one of the few virtues that even an ugly girl possesses. Terry could not keep her hands off him. Even when she held the menu in one hand, she managed with the other to touch him under the table.