What's with Baum?, page 12
“I don’t think that’s Shakespeare.”
“No, I guess not but I was thinking that one’s brain is not in the head but in the blood.”
“I love the way you sink so deep in thought, you talk to yourself,” Sam said.
“Did you ever read Impossible for Man, a novel by Harry Eastman?”
She thought a moment. “No. Impossible for Man? No. Why? Is it great?”
“No, no. It’s an old novel. I just happened to remember it.”
“What’s it about?”
“Oh, just some people who try to change their lives and they wind up changing them for the worse.”
“Uh-huh. No. I never heard of it.”
Now Baum wanted to get off the subject. He was very uncertain of his feelings. He needed time to be alone. To have some peace and quiet and lay out all his options. To plan how he should handle this damning information. This was not the moment. He had lucked out into a day in the city with a sweet and lovely creature who took him back to the happiest, most intensely lived days of his life and here she was, smiling at him in a cab aimed at Balthazar. Truly a journey into the past.
“I’m so grateful to you for setting up a meeting with Henry Cobb. I really had mixed feelings about Shivay Banerjee.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d take to him but I didn’t want to say anything. It’s none of my business. He’s very taken with himself. But not stupid. I think you and Henry will hit it off. You’re both uncompromising guys. He’s very intense, very proper, very moral and high-strung, cares about everything. Lives on pills but if you had to be on a life raft with someone, he’s the one. A terrific human being.”
Sam clearly thought the world of her boss and felt strongly enough about Baum’s work that she brokered a meeting. There was no question Baum had a crush on Sam and while his logic told him it could lead nowhere at best and disaster at worst, the undertow was hard to swim against. He found himself holding every sentence she said under a microscope. The choice of words, the context, the inflection. Do they reveal anything about her inner feelings? There was a silence and then she said, “The plot of that book you mentioned sounds similar to Thane’s book.”
“Ah look, we’re here,” he said, mercifully saving him from following up on her observation. After five minutes of gab in Balthazar on great Parisian brasseries they were ordering salads and of course the burgers and fries. The waiter, the snake in this Soho Eden, suggested wine. Sam asked, should they? But fearing that Hysterical Asher would be set free, he said no thank you. She, however, took a bite of the apple and ordered a little Cabernet Sauvignon with her lunch and it wasn’t long before she tippled her way into looser charm.
“There seems to be something on your mind,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Baum said. He wanted to say, “You’re very sharp. With your intelligence and perception what are you doing with Thane?”
He really was tempted to spill the beans and had he not passed on the Cabernet Sauvignon, he might well have.
“I can tell you’re excited to be in New York,” she said. “You’re like a different person.”
“In what way?”
“More up.”
“I’m definitely a city mouse. London, Rome, Paris. I like the action.”
“And yet, you live in Connecticut amongst bee hives and bird nests.”
“Connie couldn’t live anyplace else. She can’t handle the streets. I grew up in the streets.”
“Connie’s great, but can I say something about your wife?”
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“She and Thane are awfully close.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I mean it’s nice in a way how much they admire each other.”
“Yes, although some have suggested there’s a slightly creepy quality to it.”
“No. Don’t say that. It’s just rare to see such mother-son closeness.”
“Connie is convinced she’s given birth to a genius.”
“Yes, he’s a genius. A spoiled genius. Overconfident but when you’re as bright as he. I guess I was spoiled too.”
Baum noted she didn’t say, you also are a genius, just undiscovered.
“Where did you grow up?” he asked her.
“San Francisco. Pacific Heights. My dad was a civil engineer and my mother taught philosophy. They spoiled me. I never heard the word no.”
“Like Tyler. You’re so much like my ex-wife. You look like her. You say the same things. She was very preceptive too. Especially about my writing. And she was beautiful—like you.”
“So, you’re a sucker for a pretty face.”
Baum had snuck in that compliment to test the waters and see how she’d react but it failed to provide any usable intelligence.
“Connie is a workout,” he said, hoping to very subtly imply that perhaps all was not perfect between him and his wife.
“You must love her a great deal to sacrifice your passion for New York City. I know what you think of country life.”
“Yes. I suffer from hay fever. And yet I spend my life amongst timothy and ragweed. To atone for my sins.”
“What are your sins?”
“What are yours?”
“Sweets. Impatience. What else? Falling for the wrong men.”
Bingo, thought Baum, a rich strike.
“And you?” she said.
“My biggest sin is fear.”
“And what are you afraid of?”
“Loneliness, black holes, time, burglars, tumors, failure, elevators—I could go on but we’d be here all day.”
She smiled and looked at Baum.
“I see. Fear is where those sporadic flashes of inspiration in your work come from. In your own way you’re an original.”
“An original what?”
“Headcase.”
“Thank you, this has been my day for frank appraisals.”
“Thane told me about your issues—you’ve paid some dues but it hasn’t made you bitter—angry maybe but you’re likable.”
“A likable head case.”
“And you’re so damn interesting. At least to me.”
“Did he tell you when Tyler dumped me I had a kind of nervous breakdown?”
“What do you mean, kind of?”
“You’re right—it was not kind of, it was a breakdown. My friends thought I was going to harm myself. They checked me into a kind of sanitarium—okay, an actual sanitarium. And then I was walking down this long hall to the room they were putting me in, I don’t know why because they had no intention of it, but I got the mistaken notion they were going to give me shock therapy and knock me out with electricity, so I panicked and made a run for it, but they stopped me and gave me some stuff that eventually calmed me down.”
“How long were you in for?”
“Just a few days. Maybe a week or two. So, you’re right in saying I’m a headcase but that was some time ago, although lately I’ve had some of the same kind of anxieties. Like I’m losing it. It’s hard to explain.”
“I know a critic said you whine but I find something universal in your whining. I know I’m in the minority.”
“I appreciate you introducing me to Henry Cobb.”
“So you really were in love with Tyler, your ex.”
“It’s amazing how much you remind me of her. Did I say that? You look like her and here I am sitting with you in Balthazar.”
“Is that why you wanted to spend time with me? Because I remind you of Tyler?”
“Probably,” he said, enjoying all the flirtatious drivel between them but knowing he could not and would not act on it.
“Well then let’s at least enjoy the day,” she said. “Shall we hit the streets and see some art?”
“I’ll get a check. I hope it’s a big one to punish me for my guilt over this conversation.” Still flirting, he took care of business and they left.
They worked Soho and the Meatpacking District. Some of the art was wonderful and some was not so wonderful. Baum loved art and thought of all the young artists struggling to emerge in a world that loved art, was moved by art, needed art, and paradoxically gave artists such a hard time. He thought of Thane and a feeling of anger came over him which he filed for later consideration not to spoil his afternoon. They lucked out at a photography exhibit and saw some fabulous Lee Friedlanders and then a few Weegees. They both loved the men’s work. They stopped in at the Morgan Library to see some original Alice in Wonderland illustrations and she bought an Alice tote bag for her niece.
It reminded Baum of a funny story he told her of when he and Tyler had visited Europe and while in Munich, at his urging they drove out to Dachau, the former Nazi concentration camp that was kept intact and was open to tourists. Both he and Tyler were surprised to find the horrific camp nestled in the beautiful country woods amidst trees and flowers. And there it was, a short drive from town, exactly as seen in the ghastly photos and newsreel footage with its gas chamber and crematorium. There were lovely, manicured spots where prisoners were beaten to death. Thousands of innocent human beings were starved and tortured and threw themselves on the electrical wires to die when it became intolerable. It was as close to hell as one could imagine. On the way out they heard a lady tourist innocently ask at the front desk if there was a gift shop. Sam laughed as hard as he and Tyler had when it happened. They cabbed uptown to the Met and saw the Pissarros. They both had always been tremendous fans of “The Boulevard Montmartre on a Winter Morning.” Asher explained how he would love to step into that painting and be there, then, not here, now. Sam laughed and said, take me with you. Later, outside, walking in Central Park, the effect of the picture stayed with him and so did her remark.
“I used to come here with Tyler and stare at the pictures, only she wanted to step into a Renoir. She and I talked a lot about moving to Paris.”
“Is that your dream? To live in Paris? It’s certainly mine.”
“Yes. But the painting is so seductive because it makes you want to be there that specific winter morning. You have to realize, so much of the dream is that you’re looking at them in those clothes and in horse and carriages. Imagine dining at Maxime’s. Naturally, if I was in that time and place by now I’d be dead. And of course the dentists had no Novocain.”
“Yes, life teases, doesn’t it?” Sam said. “So much charm and beauty, so much Dachau.”
“If you’re lucky you wind up with a rock on a hill. What good is a rock on a hill? It’s nothing. It’s nothing. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to rant so loud.”
“What if it’s not a rock but a great book?”
“You’re very perceptive but ask me that question in a few billion years when to paraphrase Gertrude Stein, there’s no here here.”
“You bring pessimism to new heights. And I was just going to say how divine it must’ve been living in Paris in the belle epoque. To live in a Renoir painting.”
“Of course, the people you see in the Renoir painting probably longed to live in the Fragonards.”
As they strolled in the park parallel to Fifth Avenue and chatted, the warm lights of New York apartments started going on making the tableau through the foliage very romantic and Samantha Taylor became more and more beautiful as dusk stole in.
It was the nicest time he’d had in a long time but of course would end badly as there was nowhere to go with it despite the fact she found him “likable” and “so damn interesting.” He was a “headcase” but his whining was “universal.” Oh well. This day would be a throwback to sweeter years, and he felt lucky to get it in while he could still do fifteen push-ups.
Then, an amazing thing happened. Something out of a movie or a dream, not the usual fare from life’s routine theatrical season of flops. They decided to leave the park and walk to his parked car. They were heading down Fifth laughing over some trivial thing because one thing that made the day fun was that they laughed at many of the same things, some grave, some foolish. They decided to have one quick drink at the Bemelmans Bar before driving back to Connecticut because both he and she loved that bar with the artist’s fabulous murals. Sam had an actual original Bemelmans watercolor of Madeline, a gift from her parents. Plus, they had been talking about Paris so lovingly the past half hour. And so they turned off the avenue and headed across Seventy-Seventh to The Carlyle hotel and reaching Madison Avenue, who do he and Sam run smack into but Tyler. Tyler? Yes, it was Tyler Royce, once Tyler Baum, now Tyler Lake. Sam knew who she was right off, not so much from Baum’s description of her looks, but from his physical reaction, which was probably comparable to when the meteor wiped out the dinosaurs. Baum stood there stupefied.
“Hi Asher,” she said bubbling over with a bright smile. “What a nice surprise.”
Baum, frozen like the victim of blunt force trauma, stood there, and the only word in the English language he could think of was, “Tyler.” Then, the neurons in his brain started firing and he came up with, “What are you doing here?” My god, he thought, I can do better than that. He was failing this Noel Coward moment.
“Ricky’s friend is getting married so we’re here for his wedding. You look good.”
“So do you,” was all he could think of. What’s wrong with me? I usually have such a flair for dialogue.
She hadn’t aged much and where she had it was commensurate with her natural beauty. No Botox here sabotaging that wonderful farm-to-table face. She looked sparkling, healthy, beautiful. Apparently, tending sheep agreed with her. Of all the things they had been through together, only that first moment, standing by her doorbell, talking to her over the intercom came back most vividly, most poignantly. All that was missing from this chance encounter was a full orchestra scoring the moment.
“This is Sam,” he said having finally achieved maximum awkwardness. “She’s my stepson’s girlfriend.”
“Then what are you doing with her?” Tyler said and laughed though Baum turned red.
And then the women acknowledged one another warmly and for a moment he was seeing a double feature, the original and the sequel.
“How’s your work coming?” Tyler asked. “I read your book. If I had more time, I’d love to talk to you about it but we’re making a plane tonight. Twenty-seven hours in the air. Just your thing,” she said sarcastically.
“I’m sure you’re anxious to get back home. The sheep need tending.” Baum’s hurt was returning, his mixed emotions.
“It’s definitely not for you.” Tyler said. “‘All animals are failed humans,’ I remember you once saying.”
“Oh, sheep are different, I could never resist a good wool shearing. Or watching the fold graze in a meadow, a Collie by my side. Or for that matter a couple of lamb chops with mint jelly.”
“Stop with the bullshit, Asher. It happens to be very fulfilling. And educational. I’ll bet you don’t know the pupils in the eyes of sheep are rectangular.”
“I didn’t, although how I managed so many years on Manhattan’s Upper East Side without knowing that fact. Just goes to show you.”
“Actually, you’d like sheep. You have something in common with them. They self-medicate.”
“What does that mean?”
“Like you, they eat certain plants not for food but to combat disease and they know which ones cure them.”
Baum never thought that when he first met and fell in love with Tyler Royce, a sophisticated die-hard New Yorker who frequented opening nights and trendy restaurants, that years later he’d be standing on Madison Avenue with her, now his ex-wife, discussing her life in New Zealand. When the poet Robert Burns wrote “the best-laid plans of mice and men gang aft a-gley” he didn’t know how goddamned a-gley they could actually gang.
“We were just going for a drink. Would you like to join us?” Sam said.
“I’d love to but I can’t. But thanks anyway. I’m late already but it was great seeing you, Ash.”
“Yes. You too. Otherwise, I would never have known sheep’s eyes have rectangular pupils.”
And with a smile, she split, walking up Madison Avenue to whatever came next in the adventures of Tyler Royce, Park Avenue Shepherdess.
Despite what he might have told Sam, he was shaken up by the moment with his ex and after he and Sam sat down in the Bemelmans Bar, when she ordered a margarita, he ordered one too.
“I thought you hated hard alcohol,” Sam said.
“I do. I really hate the taste of it. I’m just going to sip mine. This really took me by surprise. But I have to drive home.”
“She really rattled you.”
“I’m okay,” he lied, a little embarrassed. “I should have known sheep have rectangular pupils. Where’s my drink?”
“I can hear your heart beating from here,” she said.
Baum excused himself. “I need to slap some cold water on my face. If I’m not back in five minutes call New York Hospital.”
For Baum this had been an unreal encounter, and he wanted a moment’s breathing space. He was completely surprised and taken aback he had run into Tyler after all that went on, causing a flood of impressions, the walks, the talks, the laughs, her lips, her jokes, her spaghetti. Suddenly, as Larry Hart so perfectly put it, it had been orange juice for one. He recalled someone mentioning a straitjacket, but it never quite got to that. “We have no intention of giving you ECT, Mr. Baum. Where did you get that idea?”
Ironically, I was the opposite of violent, he remembered. They weren’t sure.
“You were a bit out of control,” they said.
“I was fine till I heard the words Electric Convulsive Therapy.”
“You misunderstood, Mr. Baum. You may have heard it somewhere but never in connection with you. Calm down.”
And now he was alone in the restroom of The Carlyle hotel. There he spoke up. “Hey, did you see what just happened?”
