History of Art Page 15

  Paul interrupted her rounds and asked her to dance. “Nice party,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

  Elaine shrugged off the compliment, though she was pleased. “Once you’ve thrown one party for two hundred, you’ve done it.”

  “But you’re so young.”

  Elaine laughed. “We’re the same age. What did my mother tell you?”

  “She was completely discreet,” he said. “She’s very proud of you.”

  “That’s generous of you,” Elaine said. “And I’m really sorry.”

  “I’m not,” he said.

  She preferred to let a good dancer lead, and Paul could dance—nothing flashy, but he knew what he was doing, and he wasn’t timid about holding her. When she complimented him, he insisted that she was the good dancer.

  “I don’t want to fight about it,” she said. He pulled her closer.

  The same two women who had been watching Daniel now watched her. Elaine squinted at them. When the song finished and Paul escorted her off the floor, she made a point of talking to them.

  “I hope you’re enjoying the party.”

  The tall one regarded her frankly. “Not as much as you are, kid. Two men. I should be so lucky.”

  The plump one arched her brow. “Who wants trouble? I can’t keep up.” The women scanned the crowd behind her. Elaine knew these women were her age—it was true they both had families and households to run, as she had once planned, if not with Avi then around him. Somehow they thought themselves much older. She thought this a fault of theirs and not a result necessarily of being married and having children. Look at her mother, after all: wasn’t she still vital and gorgeous?

  She took up the hand of the tall woman, whose features were very sharp. “Let me read your palm. I’m practicing for the next fundraiser—it’s a carnival.” The woman’s hand felt heavy with rings and bracelets. She tapped the woman’s palm. “Here—the love line. You’re going to meet someone who will change your life forever.”

  The woman turned to her companion. “She must be talking about Mike’s mistress.” The two of them laughed so sharply that Elaine flinched. They picked their way through the crowd, settling in another corner from which they could survey the scene without being disturbed. Elaine continued to circulate, and the women’s laughter seemed to follow her. She became more and more animated; told louder, funnier stories; flirted with everyone, male and female. She plastered a smile on her face, helped people with their coats, and made appointments for coffee, lunch, planning.

  After the last patrons had slipped into cabs, Mrs. Shapiro invited Elaine and Daniel out for breakfast before heading home. Elaine and her mother walked arm in arm while Daniel walked backwards in front of them, taking pictures. Ernie had gone ahead for the car. Elaine’s feet felt bruised, and her face ached from smiling. “It’s late, Mommy. Don’t you need to get home to the suburbs?”

  “I like to spend time with you kids. You make me feel young.”

  “I feel like Methuselah.”

  “Which is why,” Daniel said, “you need to come to the Catskills with me. Tell her, Alice.”

  To Daniel, Mrs. Shapiro said, “I believe in the restorative powers of a change of scenery.”

  Daniel smiled at Elaine as if to say, See?

  At Lox Around the Clock, all the things Daniel did when they were alone together made her wince in public. The way he sang to himself, the way he couldn’t stop fiddling with his cameras: Elaine said silent prayers that he would be still for just a moment. Ernie was visibly distressed. He looked around the diner, trying to focus his attention away from the table, while Mrs. Shapiro kept up a veiled conversation about Paul the dermatologist.

  “Paul was telling me about real estate in Montana. Wonderful place for a second home.”

  “Are you thinking of buying there?” Elaine asked.

  Mrs. Shapiro shrugged elaborately. “Who knows? We could end up anywhere. We all could.” She settled her gaze on Daniel, who was tying a straw wrapper in a knot.

  “Alice,” Daniel said, “maybe you could provide some insight.”

  Elaine turned to face Daniel. His eyes were red-rimmed. When had he? In the bathroom at the party probably, and her annoyance, an ever-renewable source, flared.

  Mrs. Shapiro folded her hands in front of her on the table. “I’m always happy to help.”

  Elaine could have supplied her mother’s thoughts: I’m always happy to help an inappropriate young man pack his bags. She leaned back against the booth to watch the scene play out.

  “How can I get your daughter to come away with me to the Catskills?”

  Mrs. Shapiro turned her gaze to Elaine, who thought her mother was doing a passable job of suppressing a great deal of mirthful malevolence. “Well,” she said. “What would she do for six months in the country?”

  “That’s exactly what she said.” Daniel nudged Elaine. “Like mother like daughter. I’m beginning to think I should disinvite you. No offense,” he said to Alice.

  Elaine’s mother continued to smile serenely at Daniel. “We’re long past the days of girls following boys wherever they may go,” she said.

  “Women,” Daniel said. “We call them women now.”

  “See!” Mrs. Shapiro exclaimed.

  By the time the food came, Elaine was exhausted and cranky. Beside her, Daniel jiggled his leg in time to the 1950s rock and roll on the jukebox. She placed her hand on his upper thigh and stroked, lazily, lightly, as if a pleasant afterthought; this kept him still for the rest of the meal, and they ate in relative peace.

  He hung on her all the way from Lincoln Center. They stood in the middle of the subway car, Elaine holding onto a pole, Daniel holding on to Elaine. He ran his hands all over her, sliding the satiny fabric of her dress as he fondled her belly and the underside of her breasts. Every once in a while he’d press into her and she’d feel him against her, hard.

  Back at her apartment, he sat naked on the ottoman; Elaine, who had forgotten his annoying habits, straddled him. He held her tight against his hairless body, so tight that she could barely move. At first this excited her. After a time she found she couldn’t inhale any air that hadn’t just been exhaled by Daniel. The more she tried to pull away or change position, the more closely he held her. Finally, she couldn’t take a breath, or at least she thought she couldn’t; later he told her that was impossible—he couldn’t have been holding her that tight. But she had passed out—right in the middle of things.

  III

  At forty-two, she still felt like a girl. When she walked home from the subway, she felt the energy of the city. It shot up her legs, suffusing her muscles, sending tingling waves through her torso. The energy of the city crackled through her and out of her—through her smile, through the spark in her eyes.

  She had settled into a routine: weekdays fundraising for WNYC and weekends at Hudson Flowers at the corner of Hudson and W. 11th. She had been dating comfortably, for three years, a married man named Joe, with whom she worked at WNYC. She had moved into a larger apartment on Thompson Street. Her balcony, on the third floor, faced a jazz club, and sometimes at night she stood outside in her silk robe with a glass of white wine and watched the musicians load in. Weekends, she often had brunch at the Hudson Café, across the street from the flower shop.

  This morning, she could not get past the picture of the Kennedy wedding in the Times. It was the ten-year anniversary of the plane crash, so all the papers were running the same picture: the couple framed by the doorway of the small church on Cumberland Island where they had married. She sat at the café sipping coffee before opening the shop. Rain dripped from the vinyl awning and blew underneath, spattering the paper. She drummed her fingers on the table. They were so young and so impossibly well-groomed. What had her mother said? “A well-bred couple.” She shifted her gaze to the cuffs of her black jeans, which were starting to fray. Then she looked at the picture again. “Such fluid grace! Such simplicity!” Her mother had practically broken into song. Elaine r
olled her eyes and folded the paper. She and Joe would go out tonight—an oddity. Normally she had him during the week and his family got him on the weekends. This was a special exception—their three-year anniversary. She had splurged and bought a new dress—a new old dress at a vintage shop in the Village. It was sleek and black and reminded her of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

  She paid her check and made her way across the street. One of the owners might stop by for a few hours on either day, but for the rest of the time she worked alone. She enjoyed the quiet closeness of the shop. It was small and subterranean, with steps leading down to the entrance. She unlocked the iron gate and then the door. During nicer weather, she set buckets of gladioli and spider mums out on the walk. Mostly she stayed indoors and drank coffee, opened her mail, caught up on her correspondence and phone calls, and paid bills. Occasionally she made up bouquets and wrapped them in lavender tissue for customers. Joe sometimes came to visit, but not so often since he had moved his family to Summit.

  Before she closed up on Saturdays, she made a bouquet for herself, for which she never paid. At first she used the slightly old flowers, the ones no one would buy. After a short while she felt no compunction using the freshest: sweet pea, Oriental lilies, lily of the valley, Johnny jump-ups, Gerbera daisy, bird of paradise. Hal, one of the owners, had taught her how to open the bird of paradise, to slit the green sheath with a knife and pull out the orange and purple petals within. She had thought, like most, that the blossoms would unfurl on their own, in their own time. Actually, they had to be coaxed. If left to their devices, the flowers would burst forth at the last possible moment; they would start to fade immediately. She took great pleasure in these little gifts to herself; she felt herself a rich and extravagant benefactress. She never took carnations. They depressed her. Too common.

  This Saturday she was somewhat disturbed, though she was more interested in elevating her mood than in determining what bothered her. The air smelled somewhat fresher than usual. It had a been a moist spring, and now the humidity of summer crept in, weighing down the air, until in late July to go outside would feel like being wrapped from head to foot in a wet wool blanket. For now, though, the air felt light and cool, and she wished she were meeting Joe for champagne brunch at Hudson Café—or anywhere. Yes, why not someplace different? She sighed harshly as she bent to lift a bucket of miniature pink carnations. She felt tired—a little draggy—and her knees ached, though she couldn’t say why. She had the usual bills to pay and mail to sort, which she saved all week for this mostly idle time. Today she was particularly grateful for the quiet.

  She was facing two neat stacks of bills and catalogs when the bell over the shop door rang. She looked up to see a young couple enter. The woman was blond and athletic-looking—no makeup, but bright skin and light eyes. They held hands as they came down the steps, both of them giggling and flushed as they fit themselves through the narrow passage. The young man smoothed his dark hair from his forehead.

  “We need some flowers,” he said, “for a wedding.”

  She smiled at them, though she felt a persistent tug somewhere behind her eyes.

  “When’s the date?”

  The blonde looked up at the young man. “Today,” she said. “In a few minutes.”

  Elaine looked at the young man for confirmation. He raised his eyebrows at her. “We’re tying the knot and hitting the trail.”

  The girl laughed. “Then we’ll speak to each other in clichés for the rest of our lives.”

  Elaine noted that they both wore backpacks—how could she have missed that? She fixed a boutonniere of sweet pea for the groom and a small bouquet of sweet pea and Gerbera daisies for the bride. The girl excused herself to use the bathroom, and Elaine asked the groom about the honeymoon. They were hiking the Appalachian Trail, which would take a good six months, the young man told her. After that, they were moving to Africa. “I never would have thought of such a thing,” she admitted. She pinned the boutonniere to the man’s backpack strap. “Nice touch,” he said. She looked into his face and thought he looked vaguely underdone—a cake pulled from the oven too soon—and she had to laugh at herself.

  The girl, meanwhile, seemed to be having difficulties in the bathroom. Elaine thought she might have forgotten to replace the paper, so she went to check. She knocked on the door just as the girl opened it. The girl flashed a big smile.

  “Hey,” she said. “Had to shoot up for the big day.”

  Elaine gave her a quizzical look.

  “I’m diabetic,” the girl said.

  Elaine imagined the trail littered with hypodermics. She thought it must be juvenile diabetes, and she wondered how it would affect the girl’s life; she’d heard that they couldn’t have children. She had never seen a person look so young and healthy. She watched as they fit themselves through the narrow stairwell to the door, their packs bumping against each other.

  That night, dinner took close to three hours: raw oysters, champagne, spring pea soup, Beef Wellington, fruit, cheese, more champagne, and chocolate soufflé. They went dancing afterwards, though both of them were so full and drowsy they didn’t last long. Elaine shivered in her sleeveless gown, and Joe draped his jacket over her shoulders. She tilted her head so she could smell his cologne. Elaine loved Joe’s clothes. They smelled expensive. She clasped his hand as they walked and rested her head for a moment on his big arm. When she straightened herself up again, he was looking at her strangely, she thought, as if he’d realized she was much drunker than he was.

  They took a carriage to the Plaza. Elaine wanted to order room service. She wanted to use the giant tub and rub her face in all the towels.

  “Tomorrow,” Joe said.

  “You have to go home tomorrow,” she said.

  So they ordered more champagne. They crammed themselves into the tub, which wasn’t as big as it had appeared. While lolling there, Elaine started to speak several times but stopped. Joe didn’t speak either. Normally they chatted about people at work, or Elaine reported details from the fundraising parties she’d been to. Generally they laughed and made fun. Tonight, though, Elaine felt they should talk of weightier matters, it being their anniversary. She felt dull and heavy from the food. She set her glass down on the tile floor. “I’m going to get my hair wet.” She slid down until her head was covered. Joe shifted while she was underwater, and for a panicky second she thought he might try to hold her there. But then he shifted again, and she realized he was probably uncomfortable. She raised herself up and smoothed her wet hair away from her face. Joe was getting out of the tub.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out. I’m pruning.” He wrapped a thick white towel around his waist.

  The water felt suddenly too warm. Elaine leaned back against the cool porcelain. Joe sat on the edge of the tub, and she noted for the first time the few white hairs that had crept into his mustache. “Well,” he said. “Enjoying your anniversary?”

  She smiled at him and nodded. “You?”

  He palmed her cheek. “Come out of the water. You’re falling asleep.”

  When she came out of the bathroom, the room was dark. She tiptoed around the bed, felt for her side as her eyes adjusted. “Joe?” His breathing was slow. She could just make out the lump of him. Naked, she sat on the edge of the bed. The sheets felt cool. She slid under the covers and laid her head down, then jerked upright. Something cold and hard was on her pillow. She turned on the bedside lamp and found a necklace of ivory-colored pearls with a diamond clasp. She put it around her neck—a choker—and curled into Joe’s warm body.

  The next morning they awoke hungover, tired, and cranky. Elaine wore her new necklace with a wrap dress she had bought at a consignment shop. She appraised her reflection in the mirror, touched her fingers to the pearls. Before she could stop herself, she squinted. The pearls felt heavy against her collarbone. Behind her, Joe pushed his hairy belly against her back. “Move it, lady. It’s my turn in here.”

  She
thought of the young couple hiking the Appalachian Trail. They probably wore only simple wedding bands as they slipped through the woods. She turned away from the mirror, patting Joe’s hairy gut.

  “You’re very hairy, and I’m afraid I have to leave you.”

  “Don’t let the door hit you—”

  “We’re not married. You can’t speak to me in clichés.” She peered over her shoulder at herself in the mirror. “Is it appropriate to wear a pearl choker during the daytime?”

  “Pearls are for anytime, pearls are for always. You go to the bathroom in them. You get married in them. You visit your coke dealer in them.”

  “But a choker? I know preps wear pearls 24/7, but a choker is so . . .”

  “Slutty?”

  “That’s not the word I was looking for. When you wear a choker, it’s like you have something to prove.”

  Joe combed his hair in the mirror. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t want the necklace? Don’t wear it if you don’t want it, but I won’t take it back.”

  Elaine folded her arms over her chest. “Maybe I’d prefer something else.”

  Joe combed his mustache. He replied without moving his upper lip. “Prefer all you want.”