by Cindy Rizzo
“And so how did it work with the children? Did Bennett have them on weekends or something?”
“No, we split the weekdays and alternated weekends. I wanted Bennett and Helena to have some time to themselves since their relationship was so new and she had become an instant stepmother.”
“Is that how your children think of her?”
“Yes. She’s quite important to them. Since I’m ‘Mom,’ they’ve always called her by her first name, but once in a while Lauren slipped, especially in front of her friends. It was difficult for me the first time I heard it, but after a while I decided that their relationship with Helena was far more important than any bruising of my maternal ego.”
“You see,” said Elizabeth. “I told you that you aren’t arrogant.”
Ruth’s smile in response set off a little flutter in Elizabeth’s stomach. She silently reminded herself not to look too deeply into Ruth’s eyes, remembering the effect they always had on her.
“What about you? Were you never interested in having children?”
Elizabeth looked ahead at a small fenced-in area directly in front of them.
“I’ll answer in a minute, but first, let me show you something.” She gestured toward a circle set off by a metal railing, just like the one protecting Eleanor Roosevelt. It was a relief to be diverting them from personal issues, at least for a few minutes while Elizabeth could recover from that smile.
When they’d reached their destination, she pointed to a rectangular stone plaque lying flush against the pavement. A band of flowers around the inside perimeter provided some color and a bit of a flourish to the gray and black setting.
“This is a monument to the defenders of the Warsaw Ghetto in World War II as well as to the six million who perished. Have you been here before?”
Ruth stared at the plaque with its simple words of dedication. “No,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.
“It’s nothing fancy, but maybe this little plaque that looks something like a flat gravestone is a fitting symbol, wouldn’t you agree?”
Ruth nodded slowly, still looking at the stone with its engraved words. “Yes,” she said softly. “Thank you for bringing me here.” She turned and leaned her back against the railing.
“Even though I was born after the war, it was such a big presence in my life before I came to the US. Millions of Russians died, some of them in places that were close to where I grew up. But you know, the Soviets never taught us about the Holocaust. To them, all of the war’s victims were Russian civilians and soldiers. More than thirty thousand Jews were massacred at Babi Yar in the Ukraine and they were never spoken of. Same thing with the fifty thousand killed in Odessa and then all those in little villages between Poland and Moscow. A whole culture destroyed.”
“Maybe that’s why it was so important to you to have children?”
Ruth turned to her looking as if she was going to say something, but remained silent. Elizabeth motioned toward the path with her head. “Shall we?”
They resumed their walk. Elizabeth’s question lay unanswered between them along with Ruth’s earlier one.
“I think that’s an interesting insight,” said Ruth. “I’ll have to give it some thought. I’ve spent so many years trying to unravel why I’ve done the things I’ve done, and your question gives me one more tangled piece to contend with.”
“Do we ever figure it all out, Ruth? I mean, really, we make choices and we live with them and we just hope we were right.”
“Maybe that’s why I like the law so much. Everything can be so cut and dried. Although it wasn’t until I became a judge that I realized just how many gray areas there are and how my own choices would often be what determined the outcome.”
“It’s funny you should say that. I actually wanted to talk to you about something and I wondered if your judicial mind could be helpful, almost like Solomon.”
“Are you in need of legal advice?”
“Oh God, no. I have more of that than I could ever need. We have in-house counsel and outside counsel. I’m sure Morrison Publishing has bought many in your profession their vacation homes.”
Ruth smiled and pointed to a bench up ahead. “How about we sit for a while?”
They faced away from the Hudson River looking toward the apartment buildings of the Upper West Side. Another statue was directly in front of them on the top of a hill that separated the park from the residential area.
“Ah, Joan of Arc on her horse,” said Elizabeth. “A fitting bookend for our girl Eleanor, don’t you think?”
“I think the city should hire you as a tour guide for Riverside Park.”
“They couldn’t afford me. Actually, I sit on the board of the park’s conservancy.”
They each angled their bodies toward one another, and for the first time since meeting up, really looked at each other.
Ruth was dressed simply, in black slacks and a light green blouse. Short, dark hair framed her always pale face. And, of course, her ebony eyes were inviting as ever. Elizabeth’s hope of avoiding them now seemed doomed. As always, she was transfixed. After a few seconds, she managed to look down at her lap to regain her composure. Then she took a deep breath.
“So, you asked if I ever wanted children.”
Ruth nodded for her to continue.
“Well, for a very long time, the answer to that question was a simple no, but more recently, there’s been a…” She paused. “I guess I’d call it a complication of sorts. You met Reese Stanley at the reunion?”
“Yes, the young woman who works for you.”
“She began as a Fowler intern and from her first day showed great promise. At that time, I was moving up the ranks of editorial and decided to personally mentor her.”
“Were you ever…?”
“Involved?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Oh, no. She’s attractive and all, but the thought never even entered my mind. She’s had the same girlfriend since high school.”
“Remarkable,” said Ruth. “I’m always so, I don’t know, encouraged I guess, when I hear about couples like that. Gives me hope for the next generation.”
“Reese’s mother died when she was a teenager, one of those long-drawn-out battles with breast cancer that she unfortunately lost. And, after that, her father just withdrew inside himself and stopped being a parent. He died right after Reese graduated college. There’s an older sister, but to say she’s intolerant of Reese’s life would be putting it in the kindest way possible.”
“So you’ve stepped in to fill the void as a kind of surrogate parent?”
Elizabeth wasn’t surprised that Ruth caught on so quickly. She could always read her, sometimes better than she could read herself.
“Yes, somewhat. I mean, birthdays, Christmas, things like that. But we’ve never spoken of it that way. And then something happened at the reunion that raised this situation to a whole new level of confusion for me.”
Ruth tilted her head and squinted, silently asking for an explanation.
“Reese slept with Margaret. I inadvertently saw them together when Reese left Margaret’s room at five a.m.”
Ruth opened her mouth in surprise and said nothing for a few seconds. Finally she squeaked out a “what?”
“Oh yes, it was a very eventful thirtieth.”
“You’re talking about Margaret Halperin, right?”
“Yes, my pretend daughter slept with my best friend.”
“But you said Reese has…”
“A partner. They have an arrangement.”
“Elizabeth, I don’t know what to say. I think I can understand your discomfort.”
She touched Elizabeth’s arm and left her hand there. The touch felt warm and comforting and something else that Elizabeth decided to ignore. She exhaled audibly.
“I’m actually glad to hear you say that. I’ve been doubting whether I even have a right to feel anything at all about this. I mean they’re both grown women. Yes, there’s an age difference but it’s not obscene. Men do it all the time.” She paused and looked down at her lap. “It’s just that with the growing realization that my connection to Reese is evolving into this kind of mother-daughter relationship, discovering that she and Margaret had been together felt strange, almost inappropriate. I know it defies logic but I thought that maybe because you have a grown daughter you might be able to provide some perspective.”
“You mean, how I’d feel if Lauren slept with my best friend?” She paused and looked down, moving her hand off Elizabeth’s arm. “Angry at both of them, I expect, and wondering if I had a right to be.”
“Well, I guess then it’s comforting to hear that my reaction isn’t completely atypical.”
“Have you spoken with either of them about it?”
“Only briefly with Reese, who at first told me it was none of my business and then apologized for not informing me beforehand.”
“Sounds a lot like the behavior of a daughter toward her mother. An act of rebellion, a lot of attitude at being questioned, and then contrition. I’d expect the exact same reaction from Lauren.”
“You think it was really an act of rebellion by Reese?”
“Well, Judge Abramson does not have enough evidence to make a ruling, but Mom Abramson, relying solely on her intuition, says it sure seems like it. What about Margaret? Though I have a feeling I know the answer to that question.”
“I don’t know really. I’ve been avoiding her calls. I figured out pretty quickly that she had her eye on Reese from the first minute we arrived at the reunion and I expressly asked her not to act on it. But, of course, Margaret made light of it and just went ahead and did as she pleased.”
“Not a lot has changed in thirty years.”
“Nothing and everything.”
Elizabeth let the week go by trying not to think about the feelings that had surfaced when Ruth had touched her arm. Instead, she focused on the ease of their conversation and how Ruth seemed to understand her anger and confusion about Reese and Margaret. But wasn’t their emotional connection even more concerning than the rush she’d felt when Ruth’s hand made contact with her skin? Had she expected to feel nothing when they got together outside the confines of the Fowler campus? She’d arranged the meeting thinking that she could talk to Ruth about Reese and perhaps begin a casual friendship with her. But there was nothing casual about any of this, and now, she was once again left with the same question that had plagued her in the hotel bar: what did she want from Ruth?
The phone on her desk buzzed like an insistent alarm clock.
“Ms. Morrison, Jeff Bezos from Amazon is on the line for you.”
Bezos? What could he possibly want? They’d met briefly over coffee the first time Elizabeth had traveled to Seattle. He was kind and solicitous, letting her know that his company would fully cooperate in their negotiations with Morrison Publishing. But that was the last she’d seen of him. Now that they’d managed to work out a new set of revisions, what could he possibly want?
She adjusted the headset of her phone to cover her ear and spoke into the small mouthpiece.
“Hello, Jeff, Elizabeth Morrison here.”
“Well, it seems I have to say I’m a rich and powerful straight man to get you to pick up your phone, Ms. Morrison.”
Margaret. Elizabeth sighed.
“Hello, Margaret. I’m going to have to review our security protocols with my assistant.” Her tone was weary.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“You’re not still angry with me about my fling with little, oh what’s her name?”
“Reese.”
“Ah yes. And I’m certain by now she’s forgotten my name. So you see Elizabeth, there’s no need to hold on to this ridiculous grudge of yours. Give your young protégé a break. Besides, I called to hear about Ruth. Have you seen her?”
“She said I had every right to be angry at both you and Reese. She would have felt the exact same way if her daughter had slept with her best friend.”
“You did see her! But, for cryin’ out loud, Elizabeth. You reconnect with this woman after thirty years and that’s what you talk about? You’ll do anything to avoid dealing with the real issues, won’t you?”
“I’m sure I’ll regret asking this, but just what are the real issues in your opinion?”
“The two of you, of course.”
Elizabeth sat back in her chair and tilted her head up toward the ceiling. She doubted very much that Margaret was going to be the one to help her through this, but maybe it was worth a try.
“Oh I don’t know. It seems she has a constant need to apologize to me and, to be honest, I can’t bear to spend time going back over the past. It’s pointless. So I invited her to go on a walk to figure out who she is now and see if I like that person. And I wanted her opinion about what you did.”
Margaret groaned. “So where do things stand? Do you like that person?”
“I’m not sure. Where things stand, that is. As far as Ruth, yes, she’s still level-headed and very insightful. It’s frightening how easy it was to talk to her after so long.”
“And you’re still attracted to her?”
“Oh I guess so. But all of that is beside the point. The important issue is what I want from a connection with her. That’s been the only question all along, especially now that I’m pretty certain of what she wants.”
“And that is?”
“She wants a relationship like we had before. She hasn’t specifically said that, but I don’t think I’m mistaken. What she does say is that she’ll take anything I’m able to give. She said she’s turning all the control over to me this time. And instead of liberating me, it’s just a big burden.”
“So she’s still in love with you and wants to be with you.”
For some reason, hearing those words aloud, so clear and unambiguous, was jarring, even though Elizabeth had known them to be true since the reunion. She felt a bit out of breath.
“Elizabeth, you still there?”
“Yes.” Her voice was raspy. She cleared her throat. “Apparently she thought of contacting me a few years back when the Times Magazine piece ran. But…”
“She was scared away by Gretchen Czernak?”
“Yes. The ironies in this situation are endless. You know, Margaret, every time I think about this, the utter waste of it just overwhelms me. All those years with each of us harboring assumptions about one another and ourselves.”
“And now?”
“I’m afraid it’s too late.”
“I think you’re just afraid.”
“Of Ruth?”
“Of getting hurt again or maybe of hurting her this time, like you did Gretchen.”
“Why are you pushing this on me? You always say that relationships are a waste of time and way too messy.”
“They are, for me. But you’re different.”
“How can you say that? Because I have such a sterling track record?”
“Elizabeth, Ruth is no Gretchen, and as I told you repeatedly, Gretchen was no Ruth.”
“I know, and I guess I had to learn that the hard way.”
Chapter 9
1999–2001
I tried to beg off this book event at NYU. It was right before Christmas and I knew traffic downtown would be unbearable. But the executive vice president of our nonfiction division pleaded with me to go. We were attempting to strengthen that area of the business and Uncle Hank was off in Europe launching a new subsidiary. I was chief operating officer then, and it was common knowledge that when Hank Morrison retired, I
would be his successor. So the staff began to treat me that way even though his exit from the company wasn’t imminent.
NYU symbolized everything I detested about urban campuses—an excess of concrete, sprawl disrupting adjacent neighborhoods, and boring, boring buildings. It was likely I’d been ruined by the bucolic beauty of Fowler College and could not imagine why anyone would pay exorbitant tuition rates to give their child this wholly inadequate undergraduate experience.
I was a bit surprised, therefore, when I stepped inside what turned out to be a lovely function room similar to what we have at Fowler, though not quite level with our high standards. But it did have the requisite deep red Oriental carpets, gleaming hardwood floors visible at the edges, and four floor-to-ceiling windows set off by dignified drapery. I was offered a glass of the usual chardonnay by a passing waiter and found my Morrison people knotted together in the middle of the room with our author, who’d just published a book on how the breakup of the Soviet Union would impact Poland and the newly constituted countries to its east. Her main argument was that while the stranglehold of the Soviet era was a welcome change, it would unleash many old rivalries among the now liberated peoples, leading to years of unrest.
A man sporting an NYU name tag spotted us and made his way over with a woman I didn’t know. A very attractive woman, with thick, dark wavy hair and a small, upturned nose. I looked her over and gave her a slight smile, which she returned. It wasn’t very long before she and I wound up in a quiet corner together.
An associate professor of European history whose area of study overlapped a bit with that of our author’s, her focus lay to the south of Poland, in Central Europe—Slovakia, Hungary, Romania, and the Czech Republic, the country where her family had originated.
“I’m not certain I agree with your author’s premise, Ms. Morrison, so I decided to come tonight and hear her out. She takes a much more pessimistic view than I do.”
“Well, Professor Czernak, I’d be pleased to hear more of your thoughts about that over dinner, perhaps? And please call me Elizabeth.”