She was having so many thoughts! How would she get them all down on paper into proposals, outlines, workable flowcharts? She needed to invent a system to catch all these ideas: the public programs, the public-private partnerships, the synergies, even just ways Renny could run the department better. She needed to enlist the help of that intern from Columbia whom Renny was sending her way, the one he probably plucked because he was Puerto Rican, just like Renny. Renny isn’t so bad! she found herself thinking, though she usually hated the man — well, no, okay, not hated, chafed under the man. . her boss, for God’s sake! But Renny could be funny! And warm! All his “ay coños!” when he was fed up with red tape and the bullshit stonewalling and inertia out of Koch’s office. She was going to reach out to Renny today somehow, touch his arm, set up a lunch date — once she had some of those ideas down on paper!
In the mirror, she examined her hair, her clothes. She tore off her jacket and the metallic-gray blouse with the bow tie and pulled out the purple silk shell with the deep scoop neck, put on a gold chain over it. Why did she always separate day and night clothes? Why couldn’t she bring just a little bit of luster into that drab office? She picked out a slightly higher pair of heels, grabbed her brush and the hairspray, and made her hair a little bigger and looser, bumping up the black feathers on either side. A darker lip gloss. Work was more fun this way! Goal number one for today, Wednesday, May 6: Have fun! Do the work, but have fun!
Sam came in, sweaty, once she was downstairs, nibbling a piece of toast — she wasn’t very hungry; so much for the all-natural peanut butter she’d usually smear on it — downing a quick cup of coffee, and going over memos for meetings later that day (the infant mortality rate summit in early July, the herpes thing, the problem with the restaurants in Chinatown). He was her hunky Brooklyn boy, her strong-jawed, dark curly-haired Elliott Gould, her lawyer man with the soul of an artist. She was surprised, and pleased, by the surge of attraction she felt for him at 8:14 A.M. — a time they were usually both so busy getting themselves and Emmy out of the house they barely managed a good-bye peck on the cheek.
“Come here, you big sweaty lug,” she said, putting down her papers, slouching back, and parting her legs. Which led her to another thought: She wasn’t a girl from Queens anymore; she was an Upper East Side woman! She’d made it! She never really thought about that!
Sam looked at her funny, but intrigued. “I thought you didn’t like me sweaty. Especially when you’re all pulled together for work.”
She stood up, kicking off her shoes. “Things change,” she said, aiming to sound smoky.
His eyes narrowed at her — a little dumbfounded? A smidge concerned? Then a smile of gratitude bloomed. “No bullshitting me, Aves?”
She shook her head slowly, reaching for him, pulling off his sweaty old Cardozo Law T-shirt. She wasn’t bullshitting. Oh my God, her work clothes were coming off! This was happening — suddenly they were on the kitchen floor. “Holy shit, Aves!” exclaimed Sam. “What the fuck!”
Francelle stepped in with a bag of groceries. “Oh, good Lord,” she blurted out. She all but dropped the bag on the floor near the door. She retreated, calling back, “I’m running more errands!”
Ava and Sam burst out laughing, mortified and delighted — this would certainly make things awkward around the house with Francelle — and kept going until they were both done, then lay there on the parquet, clothes down around their ankles, breathing heavily, exhausted.
“Was something in your coffee?” Sam asked her, cradling her on the floor.
She giggled. “You just looked so sexy to me, all sweaty. My Elliott Gould.”
With a groan of reluctance, Sam stood up, releasing her gently, picking his sweaty running clothes up off the floor. “All right, Aves,” he said. “Hanky-panky time’s over. I gotta go make deals for Donald Trump and you gotta go get everybody healthy. And together we’ll conquer New York.”
“I’m gonna ask Renny to lunch,” she said, pulling a brush from her bag and re-fluffing her hair wings. “I have about a dozen ideas for streamlining DOH, doing more with less.”
“Go get ’em, honey,” Sam said. He leaned down and kissed her dutifully, then trudged up the stairs. She stood up, put her clothes back together, and was slipping her pumps back on when Francelle gingerly reentered the kitchen.
She smiled impishly at Francelle; she couldn’t resist — it was fun to tweak her island sense of propriety. “Good morning, Francelle,” she singsonged.
Collecting dishes and cups off the table, Francelle gave her a sidelong frown, but Ava caught the frown twisting into an amused, awkward smile as Francelle turned away. “Morning to you, Mrs. H.,” Francelle said. “Aren’t you running late to be downtown?”
She laughed. “You sound so reproving, Francelle!” She picked up her bulging bag. “No, not too much so. It doesn’t hurt to throw off the schedule a little bit here and there. Would you do that sometime today, Francelle? Would you leave a load of laundry till tomorrow and call your sister for twenty minutes instead?” How bizarre! she thought. She’d never told Francelle to call Jamaica from the house phone before! She liked how it felt: magnanimous.
Francelle turned, looked at her perplexedly. “I guess I might have time for that,” she finally said, loading the dishwasher, “seeing as it’s Serendipity day. You didn’t forget that, did you?”
She had forgotten — in her head, she’d been planning her workday out through six o’clock — but she wouldn’t give Francelle the satisfaction of knowing that, not with all the unspoken tension between them over who spent how much time with Emmy and whom, inevitably, Emmy was more attached to, felt safest with. “Of course I didn’t forget that, Francelle,” she said. “Wednesday is Serendipity day. I look forward to it as much as Emmy does.” Did Emmy look forward to it?
“All right, Mrs. H., have yourself a good day, then. I’ll leave something for you to heat up tonight before I leave at two.”
“Enjoy your half day, Francelle.” She strode over to Francelle and put an arm around her. Francelle went rigid, taken by surprise — perhaps a touch horrified? “Thank you for all you do for us, my dear. You’re part of this family.” As she walked away, she spied Francelle looking back at her, mouth agape, completely baffled now. Oh, she had ruffled the unrufflable Francelle. What fun!
The glorious spring day, the flowers blooming on the dividers on Park Avenue, the rough thrill of the 6 train downtown. . the preponderance of good-looking men on the subway and on the street, which she seemed to notice with a special zeal, even though she’d just had sex with Sam. I could have sex all over again right now! she thought, amazed and delighted, walking down Worth Street, aware of feeling sexier in her scoop-neck blouse, higher-than-usual heels, fluffier-than-usual hair. She was only thirty-eight, for God’s sake! The youngest deputy health commissioner the city had ever had. And maybe the sexiest? she thought with an inner giggle.