The Age of Desire

by Jennie Fields

  Anna shakes her head. “I wish you were right,” she says.

  But Edith is not fretting over Teddy. She is absorbed entirely in readying the new apartment. Even though it’s evening when Anna arrives, it’s still light, and Edith insists they take a cab from the Crillon and tour the place.

  “No matter how tired you are, it will cheer you to no end,” Edith says.

  Anna isn’t just tired. She’s soaked in a soporific relief at being near Edith again. I’m like a dog, she thinks, who has paced by the door all night but can now curl up by the fire because his owner has returned. Anna is not saddened at all by viewing herself as a dog. There is nothing and no one Edith loves more than her dogs. In fact, Edith carries Nicette in her lap to the Rue de Varenne.

  “See. Nicette has missed you! Watch how she snuggles against you.”

  Anna barely has the energy to reach out and touch the silky golden ears of the little dog.

  Unlocking the heavy outer door, Edith reveals the apartment house’s inner courtyard, with its Corinthian columns and glowing mahogany doors, the modern garages neatly arranged along the back of the court. Elegant and simple, the place couldn’t suit Edith better. And while the apartment, endless room upon room, has none of the elegance of the Vanderbilt apartment, it is spacious and light. How Anna will miss the old servants’ rooms at the top of 58, though. Perhaps she will cross the street sometimes to see her old friends.

  “It’s lovely,” she says.

  “It’s going to need our touch, our vision,” Edith says, generously including her. “And this, dear Tonni, is your room! I think it the best room in the whole apartment. Do tell me you like it.” Anna glances over at Edith, who, having set Nicette down to wander the empty herringboned expanses, stands with her hands together, incandescent with the pleasure of giving. She is a changed Edith. It has been just a few months since they saw one another. So much has passed. And time has worn away at each of them. Does Edith look at her just as critically? Anna wonders. For she can’t help noting that Edith has aged visibly. Her eyes are deeper set. And her hair above her ears is sparked with silvery notes. But also there is a girlish sway to her walk these days. A deeper, inner glow that warms her cheeks and softens her jaw. Has Fullerton given this to her? If so, Anna is grateful to him. Grateful that Edith seems so happy.

  Anna walks to the window of her new room and peers out at the garden. In the late day heat, rising in waves from the flower beds, the daylilies and lavender shimmer like jewels. The pear trees that run along the fencing rustle and glint as dark as tourmalines.

  “Edith,” is all she manages to say.

  “You do like it, don’t you?”

  “You want me here? In what would be a guest room?”

  “We have a guest suite all its own. I want you here in the front of the apartment. I want you happy, Tonni.”

  “Do you?” Anna asks. Is it the exhaustion? The relief? Or the fear that this warm moment will soon fade like late daylight when Teddy’s truths are revealed. She has to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “Don’t you dare cry,” Edith warns. “Or I shall too.”

  “When you were a little girl, you once told me that when a room overlooks a garden, its ceiling is painted with watercolors.”

  “Did I?”

  “Look. It is.” Anna points up at the ornately edged ceiling, awash with shifting clouds of color as the garden’s leaves move and sway in the cooling breezes. Baby pinks, azures. Overlapping, breathing. Anna turns to press a kiss on Edith’s cheek.

  “Thank you,” she whispers. “I couldn’t ask for more.”

  “There will be endless things to do. We can go shopping together. We have to fill this empty place.”

  Anna nods. “We should begin as soon as possible,” she says.

  The other shoe—Teddy’s shoe, Anna thinks—does not drop for a wonderfully long while. He holes up in Boston doing whatever it is he is doing, and Anna keeps her worries to herself. It is easy to bury them with all the arrangements that must be made for the new apartment. Edith disappears some afternoons, and Anna suspects she may be off with Fullerton, who scarcely makes an appearance. But what does it matter? Her distaste for Fullerton stemmed from her desire to protect Teddy. Now she wants the opposite. Let Edith have her pleasures!

  And then Teddy arrives with Nannie, and they move into the Crillon too, Teddy just as full of himself as ever.

  “You will soon be kissing my boots, Puss, when you see what I have done with our finances.”

  “I rather doubt it,” Edith says drily, looking down at his feet.

  “The fact is, I should have been a full-time businessman. Some men get satisfaction out of working and now I see why.”

  “He’s a regular entrepreneur,” Nannie says, patting her brother on the back.

  Teddy and Nannie are a pair! They eat at restaurants all over Paris and complain about them.

  “Why does no one have plain roast beef here? Everything I eat makes me bilious,” Nannie declares one afternoon, fanning herself. Nannie is hot no matter how cool the hotel.

  And then Anna sees that Teddy is sinking again. His mouth is drooping beneath his mustache. His eyes take on that dead look once more. He chooses a favorite chair by the fire in the Crillon suite, and even Nannie can’t budge him out of it. But Anna no longer wishes to be his guardian, though now he has begun to call for her again.

  “Come sit with me, my friend,” he says to her one afternoon. “You are the only one who understands me.

  “I’m sorry,” Anna says. “Edith and I have an appointment with the drapier at the apartment.”

  “I do think you’re avoiding me,” he says wearily, asking her no more questions.

  When Edith invites Teddy and Nannie to see the changes they are making in the apartment-to-be, they say they will visit on Wednesday. But they demur at the last moment.

  “We can’t count on either of them,” Edith whispers to Anna. “Thank heavens we can count on each other.”

  Teddy and Nannie finally plan a trip to the Pyrenees together, with Cook at the wheel. As Edith and Anna watch the car disappear around the Place de la Concorde, Edith doesn’t even attempt to hide her satisfaction.

  “We could just stay in Paris and work away this time without the Whartons pulling us down . . . but I’ve been thinking . . . come with me to Germany, Anna. Let’s have ourselves a whirl. You can show me all the things you know. I’ll be your student again. We’ll take the train.”

  Anna is dizzy with the thought of a trip for just the two of them.

  “Just you and I?” she asks. “Now?”

  “And why not? Don’t we deserve it?” Together, they map it all out: Munich and Würzburg, Bruchsal and Karlsruhe. And the trip itself is better than Anna imagines. Armed with guidebooks and Goethe poetry, they track their favorite poet, reading quotes, touching old walls, breathing in the scent of a time long gone, staying at exquisite hotels, sharing a suite like sisters.

  And except for thoughts of Thomas (should she call him, go see him?), Anna doesn’t think she’s ever been happier. Finding herself back in Edith’s good graces is a gift. A prize. It soothes the brittle edges of her disappointment over Teddy. They travel as equals. There is so much to share. So much to laugh about. And despite their exquisite accommodations, they aren’t too self-important to drink beer in beer halls.

  “Imagine my British friends seeing me here!” Edith laughs as a loud band with a tuba plays music that makes even Anna long to get up and dance.

  What a fine time Edith is having, steeping herself in German romanticism. Taking in the intricate beauty of towers and gables and frescoed walls. And all without having to worry about Teddy and Nannie, who annoy her so. Anna is enjoying the trip as well. Edith can see the joy in her eyes. And it is good to share it with her.

  Bu
t Anna is a mostly silent partner. Nodding in agreement. Happy when Edith is happy. Edith can’t help but long for Morton by her side, in her bed.

  Unable to suppress her constant longing for him, she starts a postcard for him from Augsburg and ends up with a full letter. She has never been able to hide her feelings from him. She has never learned to dissemble.

  How I’ve wanted you today in this absurdly picturesque place, which we have seen under a balmy blue sky, and the brightest sunshine. At every turn, I thought how we should feel it together, or how, for us, the sensation would be deepened and illuminated by your share in it—as a reflection is often infinitely more beautiful than the object it reflects.

  She describes the beauty of their trip, the thrill, the charm of everything they’ve seen. When she posts it, she allows Anna’s eyes to gaze at the address. Why not be open with Anna? She knows.

  “I miss him terribly,” she tells her.

  “I wish he could be here with you instead of me,” Anna says. “I know it would be more for you with him.”

  Edith squeezes her arm. She doesn’t want to lie. And how generous Anna can be.

  “It’s been splendid with you,” she says, at ease with the truth.

  One evening, in an elegant restaurant in Munich, Edith glances up and says, “I’ve been meaning to ask you forever, Tonni . . . with whom did you travel in Greece?”

  “Oh . . .”

  “I’ve often wondered. A yacht. So suddenly leaving Italy like that. I can’t believe I’ve never asked.”

  Anna can’t help but smile when she thinks of the Parthenon shimmering in the heat, the parched fields of the Peloponnese.

  “With a man named Thomas Schultze.”

  “A man!” Edith shakes her head with wonder. “What sort of man? You just took off with a man, Tonni? You do astonish me!”

  “We were shipmates coming over from New York. He’s a very wealthy steel magnate, it seems.”

  “Really! And he asked you to travel with him?”

  “You needn’t be shocked. There were others on board.”

  “Did he have . . . feelings for you?”

  Anna pauses for a long time before she answers, looking into Edith’s green eyes, wondering what they’re anticipating. And then she simply nods.

  “He asked me to marry him.”

  “What!” Edith can’t help but let her mouth fall open. “I’m stunned! And did you not like Mr. Schultze?”

  “I liked him very much.”

  “But you did not love him.”

  “I might have loved him . . .”

  Anna can’t press back the wave of feeling that comes over her when she reflects on Thomas and their days together. Hamburg. Venice. Athens.

  Edith is taking the news rather comically, pressing her hand over her mouth as though suppressing her amusement.

  “Well, I’m not one to pry, but do tell, Tonni. Why on earth did you turn him down?”

  “I told myself it was because he had a grown child who needed special care . . . and I feared he was only wooing me because he thought I was the one who might give it to her. I didn’t want to marry to be an unpaid governess. . . .”

  “But that wasn’t the reason?”

  “The reason, I guess . . . is so that I wouldn’t miss . . . this,” she gestures to the restaurant, to Germany, to the trip that has pleased her so. “So I wouldn’t miss you, Edith. The fact is: I like our life.”

  Edith’s eyes cloud over as though she’s read a complex passage she doesn’t quite comprehend. She doesn’t say anything for a long time.

  “Our life? Really?” she says. Anna is uneasy. Edith probably never thinks in terms of “our life.” Edith’s life is hers. And Anna, most of the time, is just a facilitator. Someone to help Edith’s days grind along more smoothly. But Anna’s words are released, pigeons sent to take wing where they may. She can’t beckon them back.

  “You turned him down because of me?” Edith whispers. “Dear Tonni.” And suddenly Anna knows that Edith hasn’t rejected the thought that they have an interlocked life. She’s touched. “Do you know, my own mother wouldn’t have turned down any gratification for my sake. I don’t think she ever did.” Edith’s eyes are shimmering with tears.

  “Maybe that’s why, dear friend,” Anna says, resting her eyes on Edith’s oh-so-familiar face. “Maybe that’s why I do it with pleasure.”

  The very night they return from Germany, Teddy, weepy, miserable, drunk, confesses to Edith that he has done something terrible. That she will never be able to forgive him. And that he’s contemplating suicide.

  “Can it be so dreadful?” she asks him drily. After such a lovely, floating trip, she is dismayed to have to entertain this tiresome man. She sits down wearily in the velvet bergère, crosses her arms and waits for him to enlighten her.

  He nods, doesn’t meet her eye.

  She is annoyed. Will he make her drag it out of him?

  “Just tell me, Teddy,” she says. “What odious thing have you done?”

  “I’ve pinched some of the money from your trust fund.” He says it so softly, she wonders if she heard him right.

  “Pinched it? Pinched my money? What do you mean?”

  “I bought an apartment house in Boston.”

  “Without even discussing it?” Edith asks. “What on earth for? An investment? Do you wish to live in Boston?” She tingles at the thought. Maybe Teddy will go back to Boston, and she’ll be free in Paris to do as she pleases!

  “I’ve made some bad choices, Puss.”

  “Such as . . . ?”

  “Such as taking up with someone you might not approve of. . . .”

  “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “Her name . . . her name is Maisie.”

  Edith doesn’t say anything for a long while, and when she does speak, it comes out crackling, her voice as deep as Teddy’s, and far more thoughtful. “I see . . . ,” she says.

  “She’s a pretty thing. I set her up in an apartment—in the house I bought. I wasn’t myself this summer. . . .”

  Edith tries not to gasp, or scream, both of which she would like to do. Does everyone in New York know what she doesn’t know? Information flies so easily from Boston to New York. Does Nannie know? Edith shudders.

  “And do you wish to marry this . . . Maisie?” Edith asks, trying to sound equanimous. But she is rocked. She always knew that Teddy must take his pleasures elsewhere, but she’s rested for years and years on the notion that he is wise enough not to make a spectacle of himself. No one has ever found Teddy Wharton interesting enough to gossip about.

  “No. I’m married to you! I’m in love with you. I was angry, I guess,” he says.

  “Angry at me?”

  “You were always making me feel not up to your standards. And last year . . . when you took up with your . . . your friend,” he says the word so distastefully, it raises the hair on Edith’s arms, “Maisie made me feel . . . appreciated.”

  Edith tells herself to breathe, to wait, to sound solid even if she doesn’t feel it.

  “I’m sure she appreciated you if you bought her an apartment house.”

  “She makes her own money. She wasn’t asking me to do it. She’s a dancer in a show. She’s practically famous. . . .”

  “A famous dancer?”

  “Well, not ballet or anything. The follies. I filled the rest of the house with her friends from the show. . . . Made a little money back.” He looks momentarily proud, and then his shoulders inch up around his ears. “At least I did that. . . .”

  Edith starts to laugh, can’t help herself. Her throat opens and laughter coughs up like bile, no matter how she tries to suppress it.

  “Couldn’t you have been more original?” she says. Her voice is so icy it sends a claw up her
own spine. “A chorus girl. Teddy . . . And did you parade little Miss Maisie all over Boston?”

  “I wasn’t myself, Puss. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  Edith puts her face in her hands for a moment, sick with the news.

  “And how are you going to clean up this mess?”

  “There’s more,” he says, his voice sepulchral. Edith thinks that there never were two more horrifying words.

  “Yes?”

  “I pinched . . . actually . . . I borrowed more of your money. . . . I invested . . . not as wisely as I thought. I was maybe a little too confident. I was, I guess, too confident about many things last summer.”

  Edith’s mouth is now so dry she can’t speak. She gets up and pours herself a glass of Teddy’s brandy. She’s never liked brandy. Can hardly stomach it. But if she ever needed it, she needs it now.

  “How much money did you lose, Teddy?”

  Teddy licks his lips before he speaks. Like a snake. He is a snake!

  “On or about . . .”

  “On or about?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars . . .”

  “Fifty thousand dollars!” Edith gulps the russet-colored fire, which burns all the way from her throat to her stomach.

  “I wasn’t myself, Puss. You know I wasn’t. . . .” Teddy’s voice is so small, he might be six years old.

  “Please leave my room,” she says.

  “Maybe I should kill myself. I’m not fit to be married to you. I know it. I do know it.”

  “Please leave my room,” she repeats.

  “I . . . you can’t know . . . I can’t help it. I get these flights of fancy, these times when I think everything is going along swimmingly and then . . .” Tears are running down his red face and dripping off his mustache like rain off a roof.

  “If you don’t leave, I’ll . . .” but Edith can’t think of a thing with which to threaten him. What a fool she was to let him handle her money, even after she knew he wasn’t acting himself! Kinnicut tried to warn her. Anna too. She knew if she took the responsibility for her money away from him, he’d be furious. And so she let him go on. Still, she should have cut him off months ago. It’s her own fault. And that’s the thing that aches inside her: she hasn’t been paying attention. Hasn’t wanted to believe that she was married to a madman. But could anyone but a madman have compiled such a list of outrageous actions at her expense?