The Misfortunes of Others

by Gloria Dank

  “Too nice,” said Snooky, patting her hand. “Too nice. Underneath was all this meanness. Now you’re letting it out, so it’ll be gone before the baby is born.”

  Maya stared at him wildly. “Do you think so?”

  “Yes, Missy. Yes. Now try to go back to sleep. You look tired.”

  “I feel like there’s something terribly wrong with me, Snooks. I have no energy.”

  “You’re just pregnant. People work in the fields while they’re pregnant. Try to be brave.”

  “Bernard and I went for a walk the other day, and I had to come home and lie down. I used to be able to walk for miles and miles. Remember that, Snooks? I wouldn’t be able to work in the fields. They would throw me out of the village. I’m no good for anything. I can’t even get out of bed.”

  “You’ll feel more like yourself again soon, Missy.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She closed her eyes. “I hope so.”

  He waited until her frantic grip on his hand relaxed, then slipped out of the room. He met Bernard on the way downstairs.

  “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I don’t think I’m going to make it through the first trimester.”

  Bernard laid a heavy paw on his shoulder and gazed into his eyes. “That bad?”

  “Worse than bad. Terrible.”

  “Do you think she wants a cup of tea? I was bringing her one, just in case.”

  “No. She’s asleep.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m going to New York the day after tomorrow. You two are on your own. Good luck to you. Weezy says you need time alone, without me, for your great romance.”

  “Weezy says what?” said Bernard in horror, but Snooky had already gone past him, down the stairs and out of sight.

  THREE

  WEEZY WAS nervous all the way into the city. She stared out the window of the train at the landscape of Connecticut and New York rolling by, she fiddled with her hat, which was a small thing with feathers that looked like a bird perched on top of her messy nest of hair, she refused to make conversation with Snooky, she looked anxiously inside her handbag. She applied lipstick several times and patted her hair in a futile attempt to cajole it into keeping its shape.

  “Forget the hair,” said Snooky at last. “It’s hopeless.”

  “Thank you.” She snapped open her handbag, took out a large pink plastic comb and began to drag it through her frizzy curls. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t see what you’re so nervous about.”

  “This is the first meeting I’ve had with this gallery owner in person, and you don’t see what I’m so nervous about?”

  “He’s lucky to be able to represent you.”

  Weezy responded to this with a cynical snort. She finished struggling with her hair and put the comb away.

  “You look beautiful.”

  “Please shut up.”

  “You do.”

  “I never have looked beautiful in my life, Snooky. The best I can hope for is neat and clean.”

  Weezy was conservatively dressed in a tweed jacket and skirt whose muted green shades showed off her flaming hair to advantage. She wore no jewelry except for a heavy turquoise and gold ring on the little finger of her left hand.

  “Is that a beetle?”

  She slipped off the ring and waved it in front of his face. “It’s a scarab. You are so ignorant, it’s amazing. It’s Egyptian. It was my father’s. When he died I had it sized so I could wear it.”

  “That’s interesting. Odd, but interesting.”

  She turned to look out the window. “Are we there yet?”

  “Weezy, we just passed the New York border. We’re nowhere near there yet.”

  She sighed impatiently and swung one leg like a little girl.

  Seeing that any further conversation was hopeless, Snooky opened up a magazine and buried himself in it until the train lurched to a halt in Grand Central Station. Weezy was already on her feet, prodding him with an impatient hand.

  “Come on, come on, Snooky, we’re going to get caught in the line.”

  She pushed him off the train and prodded him through the enormous vaulted lobby and out onto the street. It had finally stopped raining, and the sun spilled down onto the city, reflecting blindingly from glass office towers. An old man dressed in rags extended one filthy hand.

  “Hey, mister … hey, mister …”

  Snooky reached into his pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. The old man took it with a wintry smile. “Thanks.” He turned away. “Hey, mister … hey, mister …”

  “The gallery is in the East Forties,” said Weezy, nervously checking a piece of paper. “It’s not far. I thought we could walk.”

  “Still sure you want me to come?”

  “Yes,” she said, linking arms with him. “I need emotional support in this crisis. What if he hates me and decides to cancel the show?”

  “That’s a good thought.”

  “Or what if he comes on to me, but I hate him, so he decides to cancel the show?”

  “Why don’t you sleep with him in order to get your show put on?”

  “I think I might,” Weezy said, staring at the sidewalk and biting her lip. She seemed oblivious to the hordes of people surging around her. “I just might.”

  “If I promised to put on a show of yours, would you sleep with me?”

  “Only if you had a really well known gallery.”

  “I’ve obviously chosen the wrong career,” said Snooky, maneuvering her past a scaffolding which said DANGER.

  “Oh, really? Being the black sheep of your family doesn’t seem quite as attractive anymore?”

  “I’m not really a black sheep. I’m just doing it to annoy William.”

  “Well, whatever. Look at that poor man there, give him some money, will you? God, every time I go away I forget, and every time I come back I’m so glad I went away. New York isn’t what it used to be. Although I do love the way people dress. Look at that woman over there, in the purple outfit. I’ve only been away a year, and now when I come back I feel like a hick. I forgot how when rich people dress sloppy they can still look glamorous.”

  “Nobody in Ridgewood is particularly glamorous.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think old Mrs. Castor is pretty glamorous. All that snowy-white hair and that little birdlike face and that red lipstick she wears. I hope I look that good when I’m her age. I won’t, of course.” She checked the slip of paper worriedly. “I think this is it. Yes, this is it, all right. Oh, my God. Here we go. Try to act sophisticated. Don’t embarrass me.”

  “Weezy, I haven’t embarrassed anyone since I was five years old.”

  As she pushed open the door, a man rose from a desk in the back and came towards them, his arms out in welcome.

  “Ms. Kaplan …?”

  “Mr. Genuardi?”

  “Call me Edward. This is a pleasure … a very great pleasure …”

  “Oh, no, no, the pleasure is all mine. I was so thrilled when you called …”

  The gallery owner was a short, slight man in his mid-thirties with large glasses and receding hair. He fixed Snooky with a pale, unanimated eye. “And this is …?”

  “Oh, this is Snooky, my friend Arthur Randolph, everyone calls him Snooky. And please call me Weezy.”

  “Weezy.” He laughed. “How delightful. I thought there were a few details we should go over before the show …”

  “Of course …”

  They both turned to Snooky. Weezy was smiling as though she had never seen him before in her life.

  “I’ll look around a bit,” he said. “Take a look at your fine collection here.”

  The gallery owner bustled away, Weezy in tow. Snooky strolled over to the paintings. The gallery was dark, with high ceilings and track lighting to offset the murky interior. There was a sculpture exhibit on at the moment, as well as a collection of large paintings. Snooky stopped to contemplate a brass object which ap
peared to be the stylized shape of a woman tied into some kind of knot. She was holding out a baby and her mouth was open in a soundless scream.

  “Now there’s the perfect shower present for Maya,” he thought.

  Next to it was another knotted metal shape that, after much reflection, he decided was probably an animal tied into a knot. He thought he could make out an antler and a hoof. After that were several free-form figures.

  He was looking at one of the paintings when Weezy came out of the office fifteen minutes later. She was beaming.

  “Thank you so much,” she said to the owner, who shook her hand. There was a descending spiral of good-byes as they neared the door.

  “Thank you for coming in today … we look forward so much to …”

  “Oh, yes … you’re very welcome … I look forward to seeing …”

  “Yes, yes … talk to you soon …”

  “Talk to you …”

  “Good-bye, Edward.”

  “Good-bye, Weezy.”

  The gallery owner shut the door firmly behind them.

  “Are you going to have to sleep with him?”

  They were seated in a small diner on Lexington Avenue, near the gallery. Snooky was having a cup of coffee and Weezy was eating a tuna salad sandwich.

  She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I don’t think so. At least, he didn’t mention it.”

  “But it went well?”

  “Very well. He’s enthusiastic. A nice man. Horrible eyes, of course, that pale color, like a frozen fish, but that’s not his fault.”

  “He looks like he’s already dead, Weezy.”

  She picked out some lettuce and ate it delicately. “Well, yes, he does, but fortunately that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the show. He could be a zombie from outer space, and as long as he ran this wonderful gallery, it wouldn’t matter. Do you see what I mean?”

  “You have no morals at all, Weeze.”

  “Not when it comes to my work.” She took a large bite of her sandwich. “Not when it comes to my work. Harold always said I was a monomaniac on the subject. Of course Harold was a complete moron when it came to art. A moron. He didn’t have an artistic bone in his body.”

  “Go figure a doctor wouldn’t be artistic.”

  “It doesn’t necessarily follow. Look at Somerset Maugham. Look at the director Jonathan Miller. Look at Monty Python. I think one of them trained as a doctor. And you don’t have to be an artist to appreciate art. You just have to be a joyous person. Art brings joy.”

  “Harold was not joyous?”

  “No.” She picked another piece of lettuce out of her sandwich and chewed on it reflectively. “No. He was not a joyous person. So few doctors are, don’t you think? He was worried all the time.”

  “About his patients?”

  Weezy snorted, a long horsey whinny. “His patients? No. How delightfully naive of you. No, he was worried about getting ahead, you know, in the medical hierarchy. Making money and making a name for himself. There’s a whole structure there, a pecking order in the hospital, that we as civilians know so little about, but it’s life and death to the people involved. I suppose that’s true in any profession, but somehow with doctors I’d like to think …”

  Her voice trailed away.

  “Yes?” said Snooky.

  “Oh, God.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t turn around.”

  Snooky instinctively lowered his voice, although the diner was so loud that he could barely hear himself. “Who is it?”

  “Oh my God, it’s Harold.” Weezy sounded lost between laughter and tears. “It’s Harold and his little chickadoo. What in the world do I do now?”

  “Sit tight and ignore them.”

  “I can’t do that. You know me, I can’t avoid confrontations. Oh, God, I knew I shouldn’t have been talking about Harold. It called him up, like some kind of demon from hell. Like a syllabus, or whatever that word is.”

  “I think you mean succubus.”

  “Whatever. It’s bad luck even to talk about him, it summons him up, like the accursed spirit that he is. Well, never mind. Are you coming, for support?”

  “Of course.”

  Harold and his girlfriend were eating at a small table nearby. Weezy stood up and strode over regally.

  “Harold.”

  He looked up in surprise, flushing as he saw who it was. “Weezy. Weezy! How are you?”

  “Fine, thank you. This is my friend, Arthur Randolph.” Weezy took Snooky’s arm.

  “This is …” Harold cleared his throat, “this is Gabriela Loeser. Gaby, this is Weezy Kaplan.”

  There were murmured hellos. Harold’s girlfriend’s face was flushed scarlet. She glanced at Weezy, lowered her eyes, then looked back again, as if fascinated.

  Snooky took advantage of the opportunity to put an arm around Weezy. “We have to go, darling.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Stay just a minute. How are you, Harold?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “The medicine business going okay?”

  “Oh, yes, yes.” He covered his mouth with a napkin and coughed violently into it, as if to expel all the stress from his body. “Yes, going fine. Very interesting, very busy, as always. You remember how it was, Weezy.”

  “I certainly do.”

  “And how are things going for you?”

  “Just fine, thank you. I’ve moved out of the city, did you hear?”

  “No … no, I didn’t.”

  “The most charming little town. Ridgewood. Ridgewood, Connecticut. An hour and a half away, but it’s another world. My blood pressure has dropped dramatically since I left.”

  “And your work? How’s your work going?”

  “Oh, not bad, thanks. That’s why I’m here today, actually—I have an exhibit coming up.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  “At a little place around the corner from here. You wouldn’t have heard of it, but it’s very exciting for me.”

  Harold, as if suddenly remembering his manners, got awkwardly to his feet. He was as tall as Snooky, more solidly built, with long dark hair and a European-looking face. He had a beaked nose and thin, sensitive lips. “That’s nice. I’m happy for you, Weezy. I really am.”

  “Thank you.”

  Harold’s girlfriend was looking at Weezy with great interest. She had thick straight blonde hair which fell to her shoulders, a fair complexion, huge dark eyes and a full mouth which was accented with bright red lipstick. Now she spoke.

  “The Genuardi Gallery?”

  “Why, yes. The Genuardi. You know of it?”

  “Oh, yes, yes. I’m a big fan … really a big fan, Ms. Kaplan. I love your work.”

  Weezy paused. Her eyes flickered over her appraisingly. “That’s good of you to say.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Well, Harold, it’s been a pleasure seeing you again. I’m sorry to bother you over lunch. Take care.”

  “You, too.”

  “Come on, Arthur. Good-bye,” she said to Harold’s girlfriend.

  “Good-bye, Ms. Kaplan.”

  The last Snooky saw of Harold, he was getting back into his seat with a flustered, apologetic expression on his face.

  “What’s this ‘Ms. Kaplan’ deal?” Weezy said later, patting her hair. “Am I her second-grade teacher, or what?”

  “I don’t think you’re being fair. That wasn’t easy for her. Stop kicking me.”

  “I’m not kicking you, Snooky. It’s the motion of the train.”

  “You are too kicking me.”

  They were on their way back to Ridgewood, seated opposite each other at the window of the train. Their legs were entwined familiarly, and Weezy was once again checking her reflection in her little pocket mirror. She sighed, put the mirror away and looked out the window at the countryside rushing past.

  “I enjoyed being your boyfriend for thirty seconds,” said Snooky.

  “I thought you would.”

  “Do you t
hink Harold was deceived?”

  “Oh, no, no.”

  “What’s the point, then?”

  “Appearances.” Weezy waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Appearances, Snooks. I needed a boyfriend, and there you were. It will leave a doubt in his mind, at the very least.”

  “I see.”

  Weezy propped her chin on her fist and leaned on the window. “So that’s his little mouse. That’s what he calls her, you know. His little mouse. Is that nauseating, or what?”

  “Gabriela, huh?”

  “Yes. She’s very pretty. Exotic-looking.”

  “Not as pretty as you are,” said Snooky loyally.

  “Shut up, Snooky. She’s much prettier than I am. She didn’t seem like a bad person, either. I liked that trapped expression she got on her face. Another woman might have gotten bitchy. She actually tried to be nice.”

  “What does she do for a living, other than preying on other women’s boyfriends?”

  “She’s a journalist. Works for some magazine. He met her at a news conference at the hospital.” Weezy sighed deeply. “Did I make a fool of myself, going over to them?”

  “No. You were brave.”

  “Brave, or stupid?”

  “Brave.”

  “Did I look terrible?”

  “You know you looked very nice. You were all dressed up for fish face at the gallery.”

  “I’ve always looked good in green.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  Weezy wet her finger and drew absentmindedly on the window pane. “She’s much more attractive than I am, and she probably has a better disposition. I’m sure she doesn’t throw tantrums or sulk for days, the way I did. It’s hard to know why he left.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have.”

  “Are we talking about you?” Weezy drew a stick figure on the window, then absentmindedly drew a line through its neck, decapitating it. “This is the most horrible thing that’s ever happened to me. Here I was having a wonderful day in New York, and a ghost from my past has to surface. Just when I was starting to get over the whole thing. Just when I was starting to build a new life for myself.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, I think you ruined their entire day. I saw his face when he was sitting down again. I don’t think his home life is going to be too serene for a while. You could be wrong about the tantrums. She looks to me like she could have a temper.”