“It's true, but I wanted to tell you myself, Paul.”
“Then go ahead. Who is she? All I know is that she bought a wedding dress on the fourth floor.” He laughed. They lived in a tiny world run by rumors and gossip.
“Her name is Liz, and she's a second-grade teacher. She's originally from Chicago, went to Northwestern, is twenty-seven years old, and has a delicious little girl named Jane who is five years old. And we're getting married right after Christmas.”
“It all sounds very wholesome. What's her last name?”
“O'Reilly.”
Paul roared. He had met Mrs. Fine several times. “What did your mother say?”
Bernie smiled too. “I haven't told her yet.”
“Let us know when you do. We should be hearing the sonic boom over here, or has she mellowed in recent years?”
“Not exactly.”
Berman smiled again. “Well, I wish you the best of luck. Will I be seeing Liz with you when you come east next month?” Bernie had to go to New York, and then Europe, but Liz was not planning to go along. She had to work, and take care of Jane, and they were looking for a house to rent for the next year. There was no point buying if they were going back to New York so soon.
“I think she'll be busy here. But we'd love to see you at the wedding.” They had already ordered the invitations, at Wolffs, of course. But the wedding was going to be small. They didn't want more than fifty or sixty people. It was going to be a simple lunch somewhere, and then they were leaving for Hawaii. Tracy, Liz' friend from school, had already promised to stay with Jane at the new house while they were away, which was helpful.
“When is it?” Bernie told him. “I'll try to come And I imagine now you may not be in such a hurry to get back to New York.” Bernie's heart sank at the words.
“That's not necessarily true. I'm going to be looking for schools for Jane in New York when I'm there, and Liz will look at them with me next spring.” He wanted Berman to feel pressured to bring him home, but there was no sound at the other end as Bernie frowned. “We want to have her enrolled for next September.”
“Right…. Well, I'll see you in New York in a few weeks. And congratulations.” Bernie sat staring into space afterwards and that night he said something to Liz. He was worried.
“Christ, I'll be damned if I'll let them stick me here for three years like they did in Chicago.”
“Can you talk to him when you go east?”
“I intend to.”
But when he did, when he was in New York, Paul Berman wouldn't commit himself to a sure return date.
“You've only been there for a few months. You have to get the branch on its feet for us, Bernard. That was always our understanding.”
“It's doing beautifully, and I've been there for eight months.”
“But the store has only been open for less than five. Give it another year. You know how badly we need you. The tone of that store will be set for years by what you're doing there right now, and you're the best man we have.”
“Another year is an awfully long time.” To Bernie it felt like a lifetime.
“Let's talk about it in six months.” Paul was putting Bernie off, and he was depressed when he left the store that night. It was the wrong frame of mind to meet with his parents. He had made a date with them at La Cote Basque, because he explained that he didn't have time to go out to Scarsdale. And he knew how anxious his mother was to see him. He had bought her a beautiful handbag that afternoon, a beige lizard with a tiger's eye clasp that was the latest from Gucci. It was a work of art more than a handbag and he hoped she'd like it. But his heart was heavy as he walked from his hotel to the restaurant. It was one of those beautiful October nights, when the weather is perfect for exactly two minutes, and the way it is in San Francisco all year round. But because it's so rare, in New York, it always seems much more special.
But everything seemed alive as the taxis swirled past, and the horns honked, and even the sky looked clear as elegantly dressed women darted from cabs to restaurants, and in and out of limousines wearing fabulous suits and brilliantly hued coats, on their way to plays and concerts and dinner parties. And it suddenly reminded him of everything he had been missing for the past eight months, and he wished that Liz were there with him, and he promised himself that the next time he would bring her. With luck, he could plan his spring business trip while she had Easter vacation.
He went quickly through the revolving door at La Cote Basque and took a deep breath of the elite ambience of his favorite restaurant. The murals were even prettier than he remembered and the light was soft as beautifully bejeweled women in black dresses lined the banquettes watching passersby and chatting with dozens of men, all in gray suits, as though in uniform, but they all had the same air of money and power.
He looked around and said a word to the maitre d'hotel. His parents were already there, seated at a table for four in the rear, and when he reached them his mother reached out to him with a look of anguish and clung to his neck as though she were drowning.
It was a style of greeting which embarrassed him profoundly, and then made him hate himself for not being happier to see her.
“Hi, Mom.”
“That's all you have to say after eight months? 'Hi, Mom'?” She looked shocked, as she relegated her husband to a chair so she could sit next to Bernie on the banquette. He felt as though everyone in the room were staring at them as she scolded him for being so unfeeling.
“It's a restaurant, Mom. You can't make a scene here, that's all.”
“You call that a scene? You don't see your mother for eight months, and you barely say hello to her, and that's a scene?” He wanted to crawl under the table. Everyone within fifty feet could hear her talking.
“I saw you in June.” His voice was deliberately low, but he should have known better than to argue with her.
“That was in San Francisco.”
“That counts too.”
“Not when you're so busy you can't even see me.” It had been when the store opened, but he had still managed to spend time with them, not that she would admit it.
“You look great.” It was definitely time to change the subject. His father was ordering a bourbon on the rocks for himself and a Rob Roy for his mother, and Bernie ordered a kir.
“What kind of a drink is that?” His mother looked suspicious.
“I'll let you try it when it comes. It's very light. You look wonderful, Mom.” He tried again, sorry that the conversations were always between himself and his mother. He couldn't remember the last time he and his father had had a serious talk, and he was surprised he hadn't brought his medical journals to Cote Basque with him.
The drinks arrived and he took a sip of the kir, held it out to her, and she refused it. He was trying to decide if he should tell her about Liz before or after they ate. If he told her after, she would always accuse him of being dishonest with her all night by not telling her first. If he told her before, she might make a scene and embarrass him further. After was safer in some ways, before was more honest. He took a big swallow of the kir and decided on before. “I have some good news for you, Mom.” He could actually hear his voice tremble, and she looked at him with hawk-like eyes, sensing that this was important.
“You're moving back to New York?” Her words turned the knife in his heart.
“Not yet. But one of these days. No, better than that.”
“You got a promotion?”
He held his breath. He had to end the guessing game. “I'm getting married.” Everything stopped. It was as though someone had pulled her plug as she stared silently at him. It felt like a full five minutes before she spoke again, and as usual, his father said nothing.
“Would you care to explain that?”
He felt as though he had just told them he had been arrested for selling drugs and something way deep down inside him began to get angry. “She's a wonderful girl, Mom. You'll love her. She's twenty-seven years old, and the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. She teaches second grade,” which proved that she was wholesome at least. She was not a go-go dancer or a cocktail waitress or a stripper. “And she has a little girl named Jane.”