“He’s still suffering from David’s death,” she said. “Try to understand. He does love you.”
“David died nine years ago,” said Adam.
Margaret nodded and patted Adam’s arm. “I just wanted you to know what’s going on in his mind.”
Adam opened the door and went into his father’s office. It was a large square room with tall windows that looked out onto a pleasant inner garden. The other walls were covered with bookcases and in the middle of the room was a large oak desk. Two good-sized library tables were spaced perpendicularly on either side of it, creating a spacious U-shaped work area. In its center sat Adam’s father.
Adam resembled his father closely enough for people to guess their relationship. Dr. Schonberg, too, had thick curly hair, though his was graying at the temples. The greatest difference between the two men was size, the father being more than five inches shorter than his son.
As Adam came in and shut the door, Dr. Schonberg had a pen in his hand. Carefully he put it in its holder.
“Hello,” said Adam. He noted that his father had aged since he’d last seen him. There were lots of new creases across his forehead.
Dr. Schonberg acknowledged Adam’s greeting by nodding his head. He did not stand up.
Adam advanced to the desk, looking down into his father’s heavily shadowed eyes. Adam didn’t see any softening there.
“And to what do we owe this unexpected visit?” asked Dr. Schonberg.
“How is mother?” asked Adam, sensing that his fears had been correct. The meeting was already going poorly.
“Nice of you to ask. Actually, she’s not too good. She had to have shock treatment again. But I don’t want to trouble you with that news. Especially considering the fact that your marrying that girl had a lot to do with her condition.”
“That girl’s name is Jennifer. I would hope after a year and a half you could remember her name. Mother’s condition started with David’s death, not my marrying Jennifer.”
“She was just recovering when you shocked her by marrying that girl.”
“Jennifer!” corrected Adam. “And that was seven years after David’s death.”
“Seven years, ten years, what does it matter? You knew what marrying out of your religion would do to your mother. But did you care? And what about me? I told you not to marry so early in your medical career. But you’ve never had consideration for the family. It’s always been what you wanted. Well, you got what you wanted.”
Adam stared at his father. He didn’t have the energy to argue in the face of such irrationality. He’d tried that on their last meeting one and a half years ago with no result whatsoever.
“Don’t you care what is happening to me, how medical school is going?” asked Adam, almost pleading.
“Under the circumstances, no,” said Dr. Schonberg.
“Well, then I made a mistake coming,” said Adam. “We’re in a financial bind and I thought that enough time had passed to make it possible for me to talk to you about it.”
“So now he wants to talk finances!” said Dr. Schonberg, throwing up his hands. He glared at his son, his heavy-lidded eyes narrowed. “I warned you that if you willfully went ahead with the marriage to that girl I was going to cut you off. Did you think I was joking? Did you think I meant for a couple of years only?”
“Are there no circumstances that might make you reconsider your position?” asked Adam quietly. He knew the answer before he asked and decided not even to bother telling his father that Jennifer was pregnant.
“Adam, you’re going to have to learn to take responsibility for your decisions. If you decide something, you have to stick to it. There is no latitude for shortcuts or compromises in medicine. Do you hear me?”
Adam started for the door. “Thanks for the lecture, Dad. It will come in handy.”
Dr. Schonberg came around from behind his desk. “You’ve always been a smart aleck, Adam. But taking responsibility for your decisions is one lesson you have to learn. It’s the way I run this department for the FDA.”
Adam nodded and opened the door. Margaret backed up clumsily, not even bothering to pretend that she hadn’t been listening. Adam went for his coat.
Dr. Schonberg followed his son into the waiting room. “And I run my personal life the same way. So did my father before me. And so should you.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, Dad. Say hello to Mom. Thanks for everything.”
Adam turned down the corridor and walked to the elevator. After pushing the button, he looked back. In the distance Margaret was waving. Adam waved back. He never should have come. There was no way he was going to get money out of his father.
It wasn’t raining when Jennifer stepped from their apartment building, but the skies looked threatening. In many ways she thought that March was the worst month in New York. Even though spring was officially about to begin, winter still held the city firmly in its grip.
Pulling her coat tighter around her body, she set off toward Seventh Avenue. Under the coat she was dressed for rehearsal in an old leotard, tights, leg-warmers, and an ancient gray sweater with the sleeves cut off. In truth, Jennifer didn’t know if she would be dancing, since she was planning on telling Jason that she was pregnant. She hoped he would allow her to continue with the troupe for a couple of months. She and Adam needed the money so badly, and the thought of Adam dropping out of medical school terrified her. If only he weren’t so stubborn about accepting help from her parents.
At Seventh Avenue Jennifer turned south, fighting the rush-hour crowds. Stopping at a light, she wondered what kind of reception Adam was getting from his father. When she’d gotten up that morning she’d found the note saying he was off to Washington. If only the old bastard would help, thought Jennifer, it would solve everything. In fact, if Dr. Schonberg offered support, Adam would probably be willing to accept help from her parents.
She crossed Seventh Avenue and headed into Greenwich Village proper. A few minutes later she turned into the entrance of the Cézanne Café, descended the three steps in a single bound, and pushed through the etched-glass door. Inside, the air was heavy with Gauloise cigarette smoke and the smell of coffee. As usual, the place was jammed.
On her toes, Jennifer tried to scan the crowd for a familiar face. Halfway down the narrow room she saw a figure waving at her. It was Candy Harley, who used to be one of the Jason Conrad dancers but who now did administrative work. Next to her was Cheryl Tedesco, the company secretary, looking paler than usual in a white jumpsuit. It was customary for the three of them to have coffee together before rehearsal.
Jennifer worked her way out of her coat, rolling it up in a large ball and depositing it on the floor next to the wall. On top she plopped her limp cloth bag. By the time she sat down, Peter, the Austrian waiter, was at the table, asking if she wanted the usual. She did. Cappuccino and croissant with butter and honey.
After she’d sat down, Candy leaned forward and said, “We have good news and bad news. What do you want to hear first?”
Jennifer looked back and forth between the two women. She wasn’t in the mood for joking, but Cheryl was staring into her espresso cup as if she’d lost her best friend. Jennifer knew her as a rather melancholy twenty-year-old with a weight problem which seemed of late to be getting worse. She had pixieish features with a small upturned nose and large eyes. Her disheveled hair was a dirty blond. In contrast, Candy was strikingly immaculate in her appearance, her blond hair twisted neatly into a French braid.
“Maybe you’d better tell me the good news first,” said Jennifer uneasily.
“We’ve been offered a CBS special,” said Candy. “The Jason Conrad Dancers are going big time.”