When Debbie opened the door, Michael thought she looked even more beautiful than he had remembered. She was wearing a long blue dress with a frilly white silk collar and cuffs that covered every part of her body from neck to ankles and yet she could not have been more desirable. She wore almost no makeup except a touch of lipstick that Michael already had plans to remove. Her green eyes sparkled.
“Say something,” she said, smiling.
“You look quite stunning, Debbie,” was all he could think of as he handed her the roses.
“How sweet of you,” she replied and invited him in.
Michael followed her into the kitchen, where she cut the long stems and arranged the flowers in a porcelain vase. She then led him into the living room, where she placed the roses on an oval table beside a photograph of two small boys.
“Have we time for a drink?”
“Sure. I’ve booked a table at Elaine’s for eight-thirty.”
“My favorite restaurant,” she said, with a smile that revealed a small dimple on her cheek. Without asking, Debbie poured two whiskeys and handed one of them to Michael.
What a good memory she has, he thought, as he nervously kept picking up and putting down his glass, like a teenager on his first date. When Michael eventually finished his drink, Debbie suggested that they should leave.
“Elaine wouldn’t keep a table free for one minute, even if you were Henry Kissinger.”
Michael laughed, and helped her on with her coat. As she unlatched the door, he realized there was no baby-sitter or sound of children. They must be staying with their father, he thought. Once on the street, he hailed a cab and directed the driver to 87th and Second. Michael had never been to Elaine’s before. The restaurant had been recommended by a friend from ABC who had assured him: “That joint will give you more than half a chance.”
As they entered the crowded room and waited by the bar for the maître d’, Michael could see it was the type of place that was frequented by the rich and famous and wondered if his pocket could stand the expense and, more importantly, whether such an outlay would turn out to be a worthwhile investment.
A waiter guided them to a small table at the back of the room, where they both had another whiskey while they studied the menu. When the waiter returned to take their order, Debbie wanted no first course, just the veal piccata, so Michael ordered the same for himself. She refused the addition of garlic butter. Michael allowed his expectations to rise slightly.
“How’s Adrian?” she asked.
“Oh, as well as can be expected,” Michael replied. “He sends you his love, of course.” He emphasized the word love.
“How kind of him to remember me, and please return mine. What brings you to New York this time, Michael? Another film?”
“No. New York may well have become everybody’s second city, but this time I only came to see you.”
“To see me?”
“Yes, I had a tape to edit while I was in Washington, but I always knew I could be through with that by lunch today so I hoped you would be free to spend an evening with me.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
She smiled. The veal arrived.
“Looks good,” said Michael.
“Tastes good, too,” said Debbie. “When do you fly home?”
“Tomorrow morning, eleven o’clock flight, I’m afraid.”
“Not left yourself time to do much in New York.”
“I only came up to see you,” Michael repeated. Debbie continued eating her veal. “Why would any man want to divorce you, Debbie?”
“Oh, nothing very original, I’m afraid. He fell in love with a twenty-two-year-old blonde and left his thirty-two-year-old wife.”
“Silly man. He should have had an affair with the twenty-two-year-old blonde and remained faithful to his thirty-two-year-old wife.”
“Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so. I’ve never thought it unnatural to desire someone else. After all, it’s a long life to go through and be expected never to want another woman.”
“I’m not so sure I agree with you,” said Debbie thoughtfully. “I would have liked to remain faithful to one man.”
Oh hell, thought Michael, not a very auspicious philosophy.
“Do you miss him?” he tried again.
“Yes, sometimes. It’s true what they say in the glossy menopause magazines, you can be very lonely when you suddenly find yourself on your own.”
That sounds more promising, thought Michael, and he heard himself saying: “Yes, I can understand that, but someone like you shouldn’t have to stay on your own for very long.”
Debbie made no reply.
Michael refilled her glass of wine nearly to the brim, hoping he could order a second bottle before she finished her veal.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Michael?”
“If you think it will help,” he replied, laughing.
Debbie didn’t laugh. Michael tried again.
“Been to the theater lately?”
“Yes, I went to Evita last week. I loved it” — wonder who took you, thought Michael — “but my mother fell asleep in the middle of the second act. I think I shall have to go and see it on my own a second time.”
“I only wish I was staying long enough to take you.”
“That would be fun,” she said.
“Whereas I shall have to be satisfied with seeing the show in London.”
“With your wife.”
“Another bottle of wine please, waiter.”
“No more for me, Michael, really.”
“Well, you can help me out a little.” The waiter faded away. “Do you get to England at all yourself?” asked Michael.
“No, I’ve only been once when Roger, my ex, took the whole family. I loved the country. It fulfilled every one of my hopes, but I’m afraid we did what all Americans are expected to do. The Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, followed by Oxford and Stratford, before flying on to Paris.”
“A sad way to see England; there’s so much more I could have shown you.”
“I suspect when the English come to America they don’t see much outside of New York, Washington, Los Angeles and perhaps San Francisco.”
“I agree,” said Michael, not wanting to disagree. The waiter cleared away their empty plates.
“Can I tempt you with a dessert, Debbie?”
“No, no, I’m trying to lose some weight.”
Michael slipped a hand gently around her waist. “You don’t need to,” he said. “You feel just perfect.”
She laughed. He smiled.
“Nevertheless, I’ll stick to coffee, please.”
“A little brandy?”
“No, thank you, just coffee.”
“Black?”
“Black.”
“Coffee for two, please,” Michael said to the hovering waiter.
“I wish I had taken you somewhere a little quieter and less ostentatious,” he said, turning back to Debbie.
“Why?”
Michael took her hand. It felt cold. “I would like to have said things to you that shouldn’t be listened to by people at the next table.”
“I don’t think anyone would be shocked by what they overheard at Elaine’s, Michael.”