A Life of Her Own, page 22
“I guess, but I can’t get over the feeling it’s an inauspicious start.”
“It’s either that or a precipitous finish. Take your choice.”
Chapter Twenty-four
CHLOE MET EZRA AT THE DOOR WITH THE NEWS. “WE have a television. Sixteen inches.”
She took him by the hand and led him across the living room to the set, not that he could have missed it. Fanny hadn’t found a place for it yet, and it was still sitting on the coffee table.
“Congratulations. Now you’re not the only kid on the block without one.”
“Not just the block. Practically all my friends have one.”
“It’s just an expression, but congratulations all the same.”
“I’ll show you how it works.” She turned the knob, and they stood waiting for the set to warm up. When it did, there was snow in the picture, and she adjusted the antennas until it cleared.
“You’re quite an expert.”
“I had to teach Mommy how to get rid of the snow.”
“I take it from whatever smells so good that she’s in the kitchen.”
On Fridays and Sundays, Fanny cooked for the three of them. On Saturday nights, she got a babysitter or Chloe had a sleepover, and she and Ezra went out to dinner.
“Don’t you want to watch it?”
“Later. For now, I’ll let you and Kukla hold down the fort while I see what’s up in the kitchen.”
Fanny was at the counter trimming string beans. He came up behind her, put his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck. Max used to do the same thing, only he used to put his hands on her breasts. Ezra would have if Chloe hadn’t been in the next room. She supposed the gesture was universal, even prehistoric. Man returning to the cave from the hunt found woman preparing whatever she’d gathered that day, sidled up behind her, and slid his hands inside the animal skins that covered her nakedness.
“I can’t decide which smells better, dinner or you.”
“A man of the people, torn between sautéing onions and Chanel 22.”
“Let’s just say a man of varied appetites.” He let go of her and took a step back. She turned to smile at him. He looked perfectly at home in her kitchen, jacketless with loosened tie, leaning against the counter with his hands in his pockets fiddling with keys or a lighter or change. “Chloe just showed me the new addition to the apartment and demonstrated her expertise with it.”
She continued trimming the beans.
“I knew it was only a matter of time until Rose gave in,” he went on.
She forced herself not to look at him and told herself to let it slide. There was no need to contradict him. If Chloe hadn’t mentioned the provenance of the television yet, she wasn’t likely to. Rose could have given them the set. She probably would have in the near future if Charlie hadn’t beaten her to it. Besides, she didn’t owe Ezra an explanation. At least not yet.
“It was generous of her, but I admit I’m embarrassed,” he said.
She turned her head to look at him again. “Why should you be embarrassed? You’re not the one who keeps taking things from her.”
“I knew how much Chloe wanted one, and I thought of buying one for the two of you. For the three of us, really. I spend a lot of time here.”
“You shouldn’t be buying us televisions.” She tossed the ends of the beans in the trash. “We’re not exactly one of the Times’s Hundred Neediest Cases.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest you were. But I decided there was no point in buying a second set. I already have one, and we’re not going to need two, much as it would delight Chloe. We probably won’t have room for two in the beginning. Besides, I had a more important gift on my mind.”
She bent to the bottom cabinet to take out a pot for the beans. When she straightened, she saw it on the counter. A small velvet box.
He came around to face her, picked up the box, and opened it. The small diamond winked at her. She’d never liked men who winked, but you couldn’t muster animus against an inanimate gem. Nonetheless, the thumb of her left hand rubbed the underside of the gold band on her finger.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, though she knew that was neither the point nor what he wanted to hear. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Try yes.”
She heard the clock ticking in her head. She felt him standing beside her, waiting. She’d told Rose she needed more time. She’d said the same thing to him and made it clear in countless ways. But how long could she go on needing more time? They weren’t kids.
“Yes,” she said finally, and turned to him. She put her arms around his neck and lifted her face to his. “Of course, yes.”
Now you do sound like Molly Bloom, Charlie Berlin whispered in her head.
The subject of the television didn’t come up again that night or for the rest of the weekend. Chloe was glued to it. Though Fanny knew she’d have to set limits to her viewing time, she didn’t have the heart to that first weekend. Besides, she had other matters on her mind.
She’d explained to Ezra that she had to tell Chloe about the marriage in her own time and her own way. They had to be alone. It had to be a discussion, not a proclamation. It couldn’t look as if the grown-ups were ganging up on her. Chloe had to be reassured that she still came first in her mother’s life. Rose said that was no way to raise a daughter, but then Rose had never brought up children, unless you counted Fanny.
There was also the issue of Fanny’s job, but since he didn’t bring it up, she saw no reason to. The ring was a more immediate problem. Standing in the kitchen, he’d started to slip it on her left hand, but the gold band was already there. She thought of saying that she didn’t want to wear it until she told Chloe, but she didn’t like the idea of exploiting her daughter in her stratagems. Besides, he’d probably say that Chloe was too excited about the television to notice a new piece of jewelry on her mother’s hand, and even if she did, she wouldn’t necessarily grasp its significance. That was the drawback of getting mixed up with a man whose specialty was children. Instead, she gave him her right hand and explained that the wedding band had become tight with the years and she’d need soap to get it off. She’d take care of it later, she promised. She was too excited now. But as she set the table and served dinner, she was acutely aware of her hands. They felt heavy, stiff, strangely clumsy, as if she were a puppet on one of Chloe’s television shows whose movements were being manipulated by others. But at least she and Ezra weren’t talking about the television.
Chloe could tell something was up. Her mother was pretending it wasn’t, but Chloe knew. She recognized the difference between her mother when she was really happy and when she was only acting that way. She hoped it didn’t have to do with the television. Nobody was saying anything about it while they ate, but every once in a while, her mother glanced over at it. It was sitting right there on the coffee table, the screen black now because her mother had made her turn it off when they sat down. Chloe hadn’t forgotten her mother’s reaction when it came. She said they couldn’t keep it because it was from Mr. Berlin. Aunt Rose had talked her into not sending it back. But maybe her mother had changed her mind again. She wondered if her mother would have wanted to return it if Uncle Ezra had given it to them. Come to think of it, she wondered why he hadn’t. He was around a lot more than Mr. Berlin. She couldn’t decide which of them she liked better. Until now, she’d been pretty sure it was Uncle Ezra. It wasn’t just the skating at Rockefeller Center and the baseball game and stuff like that, though that helped. He was really nice to her. But Mr. Berlin was nice to her too. And now there was the television. Sometimes she thought about which one she wanted her mother to marry. She didn’t mean which of them would give her more presents. She meant who she’d rather have around. But the more she thought about it, the more she decided it didn’t matter. She just wished her mother would get married. It wasn’t only that then they’d be more like normal families. It was that she wouldn’t feel so responsible for her mother. “Responsible” was Aunt Rose’s word. She never said anything to Aunt Rose about the times she felt bad leaving her mother alone, but somehow Aunt Rose knew. She’d told Chloe it wasn’t her job to take care of her mother. But if it wasn’t her job, whose was it?
The following Saturday, Charlie was still there, sitting on the sofa going through breakdowns, when Chloe returned from her ballet lesson.
“How are you and the telly getting along?” he asked. “That’s what they call it in England.”
She crossed the room to him. “It’s wonderful.”
“I’m glad. Your thank-you note was nice, but I like a little in-person enthusiasm as well.”
She stood for a moment, debating. “I could hug you.”
“Not only could you, I think you should.”
She bent to the sofa and put her arms around him. The gesture was quick and shy, but it was unmistakably a hug.
“Thank you,” he said when she let go. “Which are your favorite programs?”
She thought for a moment. “I like The Lone Ranger and The Magic Cottage.” She thought some more. “But my favorite is Kukla, Fran, and Ollie.”
“That’s one of my favorites too.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“Scout’s honor.” He held up his right hand. “It’s supposed to be for kids, but lots of grown-ups like it. Like The Bear Who Wasn’t. It’s for all ages. Anyone who has a funny bone.”
“A funny bone?”
“Anyone who can laugh at funny things.”
“I hate to break up this discussion of the nature of comedy . . .” Fanny began.
He stood and picked up the breakdowns. “I was just leaving.”
She turned to Chloe. “And you better get ready if you’re going to Karen’s for a sleepover.”
Fanny was still putting away the scripts and breakdowns she and Charlie had been going over when Ezra arrived.
“That woman doesn’t pay you enough for the amount of work you do for her.”
She looked at her watch. “The afternoon got away from me.”
“It frequently does.”
Chloe came out of her room carrying her overnight bag, and Fanny said they’d drop her off at Karen’s on their way to the restaurant.
“I have a better idea,” he said. “I’ll take her now, while you get ready. That way she won’t be late, and you won’t have to rush.”
“How did you become such a sterling human being?”
“Hard work and good genes.”
She stood in the doorway watching her daughter and the man she was going to marry chatting volubly as they went down the stairs. She still hadn’t told Chloe about the engagement—she was waiting for the right moment—but she didn’t have to worry about her daughter’s reaction.
Twenty minutes later, he came back into the apartment saying it was a frigid night out there, and when he bent to kiss her, his mouth was icy against hers.
“You need a drink,” she said.
He agreed, and she went into the kitchen. When she came back carrying two glasses, he was sitting on the sofa. She handed him one of the glasses and sat across from him with her own.
“Feels like snow,” he said.
“It’s not in the forecast.”
“If we get a couple of inches, we can take Chloe to the park, sledding.”
“That would be wonderful,” she said, and didn’t add she’d never been able to do it herself. Even a flurry still reminded her of that brutal night.
They went from the weather to his practice, the patients he’d seen that week, a pediatric convention he was debating attending, new equipment he was considering buying. When they finished their drinks, she stood and carried the glasses into the kitchen. She was surprised when he followed. He often kept her company in the kitchen while she was cooking or cleaning up and even took a towel and dried dishes on occasion. When Fanny had mentioned that to Mimi, she’d been appalled. “A man’s place is not in the kitchen,” she’d insisted. “Don’t tell that to Escoffier,” Fanny had answered. But there was no reason for him to follow her now.
He leaned against the counter with his hands in his pockets again, a man at ease in her kitchen.
“Who’s Charlie Berlin? Or Mr. Berlin, as Chloe says you make her call him, though he told her Charlie was fine with him.”
She’d been careful never to mention Charlie when she talked about the office. And he hadn’t been important in Chloe’s life until recently. She began to run the water. She’d wash the glasses now.
“I take it you and Chloe had a talk on the way to Karen’s apartment.” She put one clean glass on the drainboard.
“We were discussing the new television. I remarked that her aunt Rose was a very generous woman, and one thing led to another until it came out that Rose didn’t give you the television, someone called Charlie Berlin did. So naturally, I’m curious to know who Charlie Berlin is. And why you told me Rose had given you the set.”
“I didn’t tell you Rose had given us the set. You assumed.”
“You’re right, I assumed, but you didn’t set me straight, so naturally I’m curious who Charlie Berlin is.”
She turned off the faucet and swiveled to him. His expression was perfectly controlled. Clearly this was a man who was going to be reasonable.
“Maybe we should go into the living room and sit down to discuss this,” she said.
“I’m fine here.”
They were face-to-face without much space between them. The proximity made her lean her upper body back, but he was still feigning ease.
“He’s a scriptwriter on the programs,” she said finally.
“Who gave you a television set for Christmas.”
“It’s show business, even if it’s the lowest rung. He’s really a playwright.” She wished she hadn’t said that. Keep Charlie out of it. Keep it generic. “You know show business.”
“I don’t, but you seem to.”
“People are extravagant. They make grand gestures.”
“How grand? Did this Charlie Berlin give all the secretaries televisions?”
“I’m the only secretary on Alice’s shows.”
“So you’re the only secretary he gave a television?”
“I told you, there aren’t any others, and he wanted to show his appreciation.”
“For what?”
“Helping him.”
“Helping him do what?”
She’d been cantilevered back, but now she pulled herself up and away from the counter. “Not anything close to what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m just asking you how you helped him.”
The answer was spooling through her mind. Charlie’s blacklisting, his friend’s suicide, Ava’s stag movie. A man who branded idealism as naïveté would never understand.
“Typing scripts after hours when he’s late, which he is all the time. Covering for him then.”
“Does he pay you for that?”
“That’s why he gave us the television. It was for Chloe too.”
“So he’s grateful to the entire family.”
“He’s met Chloe when he’s come here to drop off scripts. I’ve taken her to the office on occasion.” Her mind was racing through the unlikely possibilities. “And once I saved a script for him.”
“You mean he threw it out by mistake, you found it in a wastebasket, and he gave you a television in thanks? That’s an extravagant gesture, all right.”
“There was a really bad scene, and I spotted it.” She remembered something Alice had told her when she first met Charlie. He’s the only writer I know who can write when he’s drunk as well as sober. “He must have been drunk when he wrote it.”
“Is he a drunk?”
“I don’t know if he’s a drunk. I keep telling you, I don’t know him that well.”
He was silent for a moment, and she could see again that he was determined to be reasonable. “Look, Fanny, I’m not suggesting you did anything wrong.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
“But you don’t know men.”
“Possibly.”
“This Charlie Berlin is working up to something.”
“Which evidently I’m incapable of handling.”
“I’m not saying that. I’m just warning you to nip it in the bud.”
Maybe it was the cliché that did it. She turned away from him and walked out of the kitchen. He followed her into the living room. Now they were standing a few feet apart.
“All right. Maybe he is just grateful. I don’t believe it, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Give him the benefit of the doubt.”
He ignored that. “And maybe it is a flamboyant business. But you have to admit it looks pretty compromising to the rest of the world that isn’t in the business.”
“What does it matter what the rest of the world thinks? Unless you want to think those things along with them.”
“We don’t live in a vacuum. It matters what my colleagues and friends and patients think.”
“Your patients are children. They’d like nothing better than being given a television set out of the blue.”
“Be serious, Fanny. How does it look that my wife is taking television sets from another man?”
“Television set, singular. And I’m not your wife yet. If this is how little you trust me—”
“I said I didn’t think you’d done anything wrong.”
“. . . maybe I shouldn’t be.”
He stood staring at her for a moment. “I had a feeling we’d get to this point.”
“I didn’t do it alone.”
She asked him if he wanted the ring back, and he told her not to be silly. They went on that way for a while, swinging and jabbing, feinting and pummeling, coming close and backing off, like a couple of punch-drunk prizefighters who want to call off the match but have no referee to step in and do it for them. Finally, one of them—she couldn’t remember who—said perhaps dinner wasn’t a good idea, and the other agreed.
