“Itch away, darling. We can’t afford it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. We haven’t got thousands to spend on fruitwood or gilding. Adam doesn’t own the computer company! And you know what teachers earn. Also, what it costs to educate three children. Anyway, I really don’t care tremendously about having stuff. Never have.”
“I’m so different from you, but I love you so much.” And Nina kissed Margaret on both cheeks.
“Gil and I are going to Europe in the fall,” Louise said. “I was thinking we might stop off in New York for a couple of days and see you at your place, Nina. Our house hasn’t been touched since Bobby and Tim moved out, and I’d love to do over the downstairs, at least.”
“Oh, fabulous! I’d love to bring in some business of my own. I’ll give you my card.”
Gilbert owned a heating and air-conditioning business; the Ferrises were prosperous. They took an almost childish pleasure in what Adam called their “adult toys”: Louise’s fur coats and Gil’s Jaguar. Overstuffed was the adjective that he applied to them, and Margaret knew that he only tolerated them for her sake. It was too bad, yet she understood that they were intellectually no match for Adam. Yet they were such good people, so generous and loving! Gil, although not old enough to be her father, had been the nearest to a father that she had ever known.…
“You men are very rude to leave us alone in here,” Nina called. “Come on out. You’ve had enough time with that electronic stuff.”
Fred came in chuckling. “If Adam were speaking Chinese, I’d understand him about as well. Semiconductors, disk drivers—all I know are bricks, cement, and two-by-fours. I guess I’d better stick to the building business. Although seriously, I’ve got to educate myself. We’re in a new age, the age of Adam.”
Adam, visibly pleased, now turned his attention toward Julie. “Do we get our after-dinner music tonight, Mrs. Chopin?”
The name, which was a family joke, caused Julie to blush with a touch of embarrassment and a deal of pride. Margaret thought of all the theories about the difficulties of the middle child; as far as anyone could see, Julie had no particular difficulties. Perhaps it was because she had her talent.
“What shall it be?” Adam urged. “The new Erik Satie?”
Julie nodded. “I haven’t got it perfectly yet. My teacher only gave it to me two weeks ago. But I’ll try it. It’s a waltz,” she explained to the assembled group as if she were instructing them. “It’s called ‘Chocolate-Covered Almonds.’ ”
“A show tune?” asked Louise. “I never heard of it.”
“It’s a very old piece,” Julie said solemnly. “He’s a French composer.”
It was tranquil music, evening music, summer sounds for lamplight and leaves rustling at the open window. From where she sat, Margaret could see her daughter’s profile as she swayed in harmony with the mood of the waltz.
Her gaze traveled around the circle, where no one moved. Even Danny sat quite still, probably not because he was enjoying himself—at eight he vastly preferred baseball—but out of respect for his father, for whom music was a serious part of life. Those two were as connected as a hand to the arm, she thought, as she studied the boy’s round cheeks, short nose, and jaunty curls, all so like her own. Her gaze then rested upon Megan, who at twelve was already browsing through popular medical books at the library. Maybe she would be the one to do it.…
Nina was smiling. She had rested her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes, yet even in such repose she seemed to sparkle. Her heavy chestnut hair was piled high above her small, piquant face; her rather large, sensuous mouth was glossed with the same red-brown lipstick that she had been wearing since, at fifteen, she had used up her allowance to get a professional makeup.
“What a handful!” Mom used to sigh. And Mom had not even lived to see Nina as a grown girl. She had known her only as the mischievous child who liked to scare them by pretending to run away and then, an hour later, popping out of the neighbor’s garage to laugh at them. It had taken more than a little patience to rear Nina!
But it had been worth the effort to watch the unfolding of her imagination, with its recklessness and generosity. There was the time she had given her little savings to a poor girl in her class. There was the time she had bought a reproduction, expensively framed, of Manet’s “Luncheon on the Grass.” “Isn’t she nervy?” Nina had said of the naked woman sitting with the gentlemen in their dark, formal suits. And “It makes my room, doesn’t it, with all that color splashing on the wall?”
Remembering all this now, Margaret felt inner laughter along with a few inner tears. Over time she had taught hundreds of teenagers and thought she understood them fairly well. Yet Nina remained unique. Clearly, the circumstances of her birth must have had their effect; again and again she had asked questions about her father, questions that had been answered simply with “I don’t know.” The truth was that no one knew. It was possible—ugly thought—that even Nina’s mother had not known. Jean had believed it best to tell Nina that her father was dead, and it was too late now to say otherwise. Perhaps the man really was dead, anyway.
And with a surge of gratitude Margaret thought again about her own three sitting there, who had no such uncertainties, no unanswered questions, nothing hidden. Father and mother were here together and always would be.
Fifteen years! In the course of history that was not even the wink of an eye, yet for this little handful of people, much had occurred in that wink of time. Adam’s cheerful mother, who had lived with them long, too long, past the inception of Alzheimer’s disease, was now in an institution. Jean and her new husband had been run over by a taxi in Hong Kong; he had been killed, and Jean had lain in the hospital there for three months before Margaret had been able to bring her home, where she had later died. When travelers returning from Hong Kong rhapsodized over that fabled city, Margaret shuddered. That fabled city was, in her memory, only a hospital and a cheap hotel. After that, there had been a miscarriage, and after that, Danny.… You wondered, looking back, how you had managed to weather it all.
Perhaps, though, when two people loved each other, problems even strengthened a marriage. Together you overcame. Of course you did. For here they were, held close in prosperity and health. Adam had his good job, and she was assistant to the head of the science department. Their children flourished. Nina was on her way. What more could one ask of life?
Presently, the music came to an end. Fred Davis departed with Jimmy and a temporary supply of puppy food. The cousins left with praise: Delicious food, a lovely family, a lovely day. And Nina prepared her good-byes, for she was to leave in the morning.
“Remember, you two, that you promised to come to New York in the fall.”
“We’ll be there,” Adam promised. “It’s four years now since we’ve been at the opera, and we owe ourselves a treat. Besides seeing you,” he added.
The house was closing up, with lights out and doors locked. Margaret was the last at the back door, waiting for the dogs to come in after their final run. The sky was misted, a few drops pattered, and the air was cool on her face.
“A lovely day,” Louise had said, and so it had been. Blessed, she thought. We are blessed.
The only way you could tell that it was fall outside was to note that brittle leaves were dropping from the meager trees on Nina’s street. Adam, standing at the window, was ready to depart, but the women were still chattering over tea and cookies. It was good, though, to see them so happy with each other, so eager to hear about each other’s school and children, boyfriends and job. Furthermore, he was himself in a mood of well-being. They had tickets for Der Rosenkavalier at the Metropolitan tomorrow night, and just before leaving home, reports had been circulating through the company about a possible move into European markets. If so, it should certainly mean a step upward for him. Ramsey, vice-president for programming, would probably go to Europe and then … So reflecting, he was interrupted in these pleasant thoughts
by catching Margaret’s words.
“Adam deserves to be head of engineering. And it’s not just a loyal wife talking either.” She was so earnest, with that little righteous frown of hers! “Wives tell tales, you know, and I’ve heard some of them talking about how people who work with him respect his knowledge. They know what he’s worth. I just hope the big bosses know it too.”
“When you get rich,” Nina said, “you’ll let me do your house for you. Wait till you see the things Louise and Gil have ordered. They really gave me a free hand. It was great fun.”
“I shall never be that rich,” Adam said. “People who actually make things, or invent things, rarely make as much money as people do who merely sell things.”
The words were bitter. He knew it, and was at once displeased with himself because he did not want to sound like an envious or bitter man. And he said quickly, “It’s remarkable what you’ve accomplished here with just one room.”
“Do you really like it? Willie and Ernie let me have the furniture at cost. They’re the sweetest guys. And they gave me a bonus for Gil’s big order too. I was going to buy some handsome cabinets to fit that wall, but then I thought that I surely am not going to live in a studio apartment forever, so I bought this ring instead.”
Nina held up her hand, flashing a pretty round stone of a shade between green and blue.
“Nice,” Adam said. “An aquamarine, isn’t it?”
“Cool, like the sea,” Margaret said. “I can see how it might make you feel good to look at something like that every day.”
The remark was slightly surprising to Adam, since she had never asked for jewelry, and he had never given her any. All she owned was a pearl necklace and a narrow bracelet, perhaps not even real gold, that her mother had left her. In any case, they had too many expenses to think of jewelry. Pity the man who gets Nina, he thought; they are undoubtedly flocking around her already, but the one who gets her had better think twice unless he is rich enough to provide rings and antique tables.
“I’ve been working on the most wonderful library,” Nina said, “paneled from floor to ceiling in dark blond wood, honey colored. And moss-green silk curtains on the windows, very tall windows with a view of Central Park. Can you imagine? But the funny thing is the books! They’re all matched sets, Dickens, Balzac, and whatnot, bound in leather to match the curtains. You could die laughing.”
“Books that have never been read and will never be,” said Adam.
“True, yet they’re not stupid people by any means. You’d be surprised. He’s somebody on Wall Street, and she’s very interesting, very quick witted.”
“It’s the fast lane,” said Adam.
Nina shrugged. It must be a new habit, he thought, not having seen it before.
“I’m meeting people I never knew existed. I hear them talk about restaurants and theater and resorts and business deals. So very amusing.” She laughed. “Educational.”
“Oh, I miss you,” Margaret said. “We all do, especially Megan. She’s getting so grown-up for a twelve-year-old.”
“Don’t you think I miss all of you? Here you are, going away again, and I haven’t said half the things I want to say.”
“There’s always the telephone,” Margaret reminded her as they stood up to leave. “Sundays and after eight. Remember us, Adam, when I was in college and you at engineering school? What phone bills we had!”
“Yes,” Adam said when they were out on the street, “she’s in the fast lane, all right.”
“Fast? You have to be more precise than that.”
“I can’t be precise when I’m feeling vague about it myself. It’s just something—the kind of people, the grabbing for goodies and sensations, cravings for every kind of sex, always something new—oh, you know the weaknesses I’m trying to describe. You heard her. You know the type.”
Margaret laughed. “And you think Nina’s about to drown in a sea of wickedness?”
“Not on purpose. But look at her, twenty-one, beautiful, and all alone here. She’s a prime candidate for trouble.”
“She’s twenty-two, adorable, and smart. She’ll take care of herself.” And Margaret laughed again. “You old Puritan! Wait till our girls are turned loose into the world. I’m afraid that nice dirty-blond hair of yours will turn gray. But if it does, never mind. You’ll still be the handsomest man in the world.”
Adam had looked forward to his trip with as much pleasure as if they had been going abroad. Packing the suitcase and boarding the plane with the list in his pocket—Philharmonic on Friday. Impressionist exhibit Saturday—he had felt a glow. Margaret was physically glowing; her very white skin could turn pink with emotion of any kind. Now, as they walked downtown and he caught in plate-glass windows the reflection of her healthy stride and happy face, he could not help but think how pretty she was and how well they looked together.
The cold was severe, and coming out of a shop on Fifth Avenue near their hotel, he lowered his head against a sudden blast of autumn wind. When he raised it, there stood Randi.
Afterward, when he went over what happened, and he was to go over it hundreds of times, he could think only of the word materialized to describe it. There had been no sense of approach, no moment or two during which he felt uncertain of recognition, no time to take a second or third look, to prepare his mind or arrange the expression on his face. It was simply that, out of the moving colors on the street, the kaleidoscope of anonymous faces, the flash of light on metal and plate glass, in the middle of all the moving glitter, she was there. Just there, in front of him. Randi.
Her cry was a trickle of musical notes. “Why, Adam! It is you, isn’t it?”
Adam’s glance flicked over her, barely touching, as it might have flicked over a lamppost, and went northward above her head, where a gray sky floated and a green awning flapped.
“Yes,” he said. “How are you? This is my wife, Margaret. This is—”
“Randi Bunting, that’s my name now. Adam, I can’t believe it’s been fifteen years, can you?”
“No,” he said.
“You haven’t changed,” she said.
Now he had to look at her, to pay the same banal, anticipated compliment. “Nor have you.”
But she had. She looked fashionable. He had learned enough over the years, although not from Margaret, more probably from young Nina, to recognize the alteration, even to recognize a detail like the expensive handbag with its straps and brass buckles. Someone had taught her, and someone was paying. All this went through his mind in an instant, along with a streak of anger that he would, a minute ago, have sworn was impossible to him.
“I’m just in from California, looking around the city. Where are you staying?”
“Over there,” Adam said. “Across the street.”
“Why, so am I. Listen, let’s get out of this wind and have a cup of tea together. The light’s green. Let’s go.”
How stupid of him! He should have thought quickly, should have said that they had an appointment. But he had not done so, and in two minutes they were across the street in the hotel. She had always known how to get her way. And silently, his anger entrenched itself as, in his sudden awkwardness, he was led to the tea table.
Margaret made polite remarks. “Were you in school with Adam?”
“I? Heavens, no. I was lucky to get through high school.” Randi’s laugh, at least, had not changed; it chuckled up from the throat. “Seriously, I worked in town and lived near the university, close to the school of engineering. I went to all the parties and had a wonderful time.”
Discreetly, the two women were examining each other as women did. It pleased Adam that Margaret was so impressive in her simplicity. Her refinement was unmistakable, and Randi would not mistake it. But, good God, why should he care whether Randi did or did not know how well his life had turned out without her? Had he been so humiliated that her opinion should still matter to him?
“Yes,” she was saying, “once you’re past your twenties, the f
un is never the same. The things I remember! Do you hear of Smithy? Or Tommy Barnes? He was a nice guy when he was sober, which wasn’t often.”
“I don’t see or hear of anybody,” Adam said. Then, because there seemed to be a need to add something that would soften this curt reply, or perhaps only because he was so ill at ease, he added, “We live pretty much to ourselves. We’re both busy. Margaret teaches biology and chemistry in the Elmsford high school.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. In another life I would have liked to do something important too. I always loved the atmosphere of learning.” Randi laughed again. “I guess that’s why I kept having crushes on students, including you, Adam. Oh, I had such a big crush on your husband,” she told Margaret.
Margaret smiled appropriately, and Adam read her scornful thought: Stupid. Crude.
But Randi was neither stupid, nor often crude. She was simply blunt and apt to say without forethought whatever might come into her head. Inwardly, he squirmed and tried to avoid Margaret’s eyes, which he thought were seeking his.
Seeming not to notice that Margaret and Adam were so quiet, Randi prattled sociably about last night’s play, and California. Her silvery voice was agreeable, and her remarks were amusing. Yet it would be unbearable for him, he thought, after ten minutes had passed, to live with such a flow of words.
“I’m in a rather unsettled state of mind just now,” she confided. “Certain circumstances—but no need to go into them. Anyway, I’m trying to make up my mind whether I want to stay in California or pull up stakes. So I’ve been touring the country to find a place that talks to me, that says, ‘Stay here.’ I have an idea it may be New York.”
What had she meant by “certain circumstances”? Then she must have left the man. And what about the child? The most astounding thing was, Adam thought as, in acute discomfort, he shifted in the chair, that he had been able to bury the fact of its existence. No matter that it had been merely an embryo, and been aborted, it had been alive and it had been his. Yet for him it had ceased, even in memory and until this moment, to exist.