by Rona Jaffe
“I didn’t realize that.”
“You’re rich. You should enjoy yourself.”
“I’ll try,” Olivia said.
“I’ll put Roger’s name down, too,” Kenny said. “The dinner and dancing after the wedding will be at the Rainbow Room, on the sixty-fifth floor, and the ceremony itself will be at the Radio City Suite on the floor below. I was lucky we could get so many people into the Rainbow Room at such short notice, but it’s summer, and also I know somebody. Next Saturday at five o’clock.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting Pam,” Olivia said.
“She wants to meet you, too. See you then.”
When Olivia told Roger she would appreciate it if he came with her, he agreed immediately. Of course; he was on his good behavior. She hoped the family wouldn’t notice they were different together, and then she realized that they had seen him so seldom they would never know.
The Radio City Suite was Art Deco, cozy and elegant, decorated with Bakelite radios from the 1930s. Huge windows overlooked the city spread out below, simmering in the late afternoon sun, but in here it was cool and nice. There was the main room for the ceremony, where Kenny and Pam had had them put up a chuppah made of white silk with flowers wound around the poles, and there was another room where the bride could dress. Waiters were walking around with trays of champagne. The cousins were all happy to see each other again, and hugged and kissed. They didn’t seem to mind having been pulled away from their summer country vacations to make this unexpected trip, or if they did they were hiding it well.
Kenny, beaming, was walking around introducing Pam. She was an attractive blonde: fresh and trim and active-looking—a tennis player marrying Winnie the Pooh. There was also an air of great sweetness about her. She was wearing a white suit with a little veil and carrying a bouquet of flowers, but she didn’t seem like a timid bride meeting his family for the first time; she seemed like a warm and happy hostess who wanted them all to enjoy themselves.
“I’m so glad to meet you,” she kept saying. “Now you go on and have a good time.”
“She’s perfect for Kenny,” Olivia whispered to Roger.
It was a small wedding. There was most of the family, Pam had invited three people and that was it: twenty in all. Kenny’s son Jason was there, the only nonadult who had been included, wearing a suit and tie with a flower in his lapel and a big smile. He was probably relieved that his stepmother-to-be was old enough to be his mother, not his sister, unlike the stepmothers of most of his friends.
The ceremony was short, and when the bride and groom kissed they were so attracted they couldn’t let go. Everybody laughed good-naturedly. Kenny had lipstick smeared all over his mouth, and when he finally wiped it off everyone laughed again.
I remember when Roger and I were like that, Olivia thought, getting depressed. Except I never even bothered wearing lipstick. It seems so long ago, before we settled down and thought we knew what life would be like forever. She glanced at Roger and looked away.
They all went upstairs to the Rainbow Room. It also was elegant and Art Deco, but vast, with enormous windows for the spectacular view, a circular dance floor and tables set on two tiers. She and Roger had been there before; the other cousins hadn’t. There were two big round tables with place cards, in their own little area, for the wedding party. Olivia was delighted to see that she and Roger were sitting with Jenny and Melissa and Taylor, and their husbands; and they looked glad and relieved, too. They would always be the girl cousins from Mandelay. . . .
They talked about their vacations and their kids; they said they were pleased to see Kenny settled down with what seemed like such a nice woman; they basked in their small circle of closeness and familiarity, and drank champagne and ate, and when the orchestra came they danced with their husbands. No one danced with anyone they were not married to. And as the evening went on and the sun set and the city started to twinkle, they began to seem like couples on a date in this romantic place, on this sentimental occasion, away from the responsibilities of their normal lives.
Olivia danced with Roger because they didn’t want to look different from the others. She had not been this close to him physically for two months, and part of her yearned for him while another part of her wanted to push him away so she wouldn’t need him so much. She and Roger never danced together; he didn’t like it because he said he wasn’t good at it. But tonight he was courtly and she was gracious, and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t dance very well. They didn’t speak.
Then they all went back to their tables and Pam and Kenny cut the first slice of their wedding cake. Jenny looked at her watch. “We’re driving back tonight,” she said. “I don’t want to leave the kids too long with the housekeeper.”
“But it’s such a long trip,” Olivia protested.
“I know,” Paul said cheerfully. “It’s a horror. And I’m the one who has to drive.”
“We’re going back tonight, too,” Melissa said. “Jake has a swimming competition tomorrow. Besides, I miss them when they’re not around.”
“I want to have a baby,” Taylor said.
They looked at her, surprised. Taylor had always said she never would.
“Soon, when I’m off Prozac, we’ll try,” Taylor said. She glanced at Tim, who smiled at her. “I don’t have to be a bad mother like mine was. I can learn.” She paused. “I knew Grady would never have children. Now I need to before it’s too late. A family shouldn’t just stop.”
There was a silence. Olivia knew they were all thinking about Grady’s suicide. She was sure that despite her protestations of ignorance, Taylor on some level had understood that Grady was gay. Or had she really believed him when he said he couldn’t trust anyone enough to marry, that like her, he was only afraid to carry on the family mistakes? Why would he have tried to fool her anyway, the only person he did trust; his sister, his soul mate? Taylor must have known he wasn’t straight . . . hadn’t she?
A family shouldn’t just stop. Olivia thought about herself. She had never wanted children, still didn’t, but Taylor’s words hurt. She hoped the rest of them weren’t thinking about her: the maverick, the disappointer. She knew Taylor was only thinking about herself and Grady.
“You would have an adorable baby, Taylor,” she said.
Pam came back in a black linen dress to say goodbye and she and Kenny left. The party was breaking up. Aunt Myra came over and gave Olivia a kiss. “I didn’t even get a chance to talk to you,” Aunt Myra said.
“I know.”
“Hello, Roger, how are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“They’re going to China on their honeymoon,” Aunt Myra said, and giggled. “I wouldn’t want to go to China, would you? I hear the living conditions are just terrible.”
“I would,” Olivia said.
“Oh, you. You’re going to Paris, that’s what you like.”
Roger put his arm lightly around Olivia’s shoulders. “We’re just sybarites,” he said, and smiled.
“Sounds sensible to me,” Aunt Myra said, and moved on. Roger dropped his arm.
I wonder if any of the others is as big a fake as we are, Olivia thought.
“We’re going to Cape Cod tomorrow,” Taylor said to her. “I want to see the Atlantic Ocean. Can you have brunch with me before we go?”
“Of course. Do you want to come to the house?”
“Too much trouble for you. You pick a restaurant.”
“There’s a nice little place near your hotel,” Olivia said, and gave them the address.
“Noon,” Taylor said.
“Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?” Roger asked when they got home.
“I don’t care,” Olivia said. She was very tired.
“You like to be alone with your family,” he said.
“And you can run to see Wendy.”
�
��I told you that’s over. Besides, she goes away every weekend. You’re perfectly safe. Not that you aren’t already. I thought I could go to the gym.”
“The gym.”
“We’re going to eat a lot in Paris,” Roger said.
“If we go.”
“If we go. I hope we do. Hoping, I’m going to try to get svelte for you.”
“All right,” Olivia said. “You were nice enough to come to the wedding. You don’t have to go to the brunch.”
“I enjoyed it,” he said.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I sort of did.”
“All those years, were we together too much, you and I?” Olivia asked. “Was that the problem?”
“It was never your fault,” Roger said. “Don’t ever think it was.”
“Sometimes I wonder. I have to.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself,” he said.
Then I have to blame you, she thought. That almost makes it worse, because then what can I do to keep you from having another affair with someone else? “Good night,” she said softly, and went to her room.
* * *
The restaurant where she met Taylor and Tim looked like the dining room of a small English country inn. There were pots of strawberry jam on the tables, and a waitress brought big, warm, fresh popovers. “Remember these from Mandelay?” Olivia said, tearing one apart.
Taylor smiled. “You always pulled the inside out and ate it first,” she said. “And left the outside. You still do.”
“It’s the best part.”
“Not to me.”
They had hot, strong coffee and scrambled eggs. “We saw Uncle Seymour,” Taylor said. “I have Grady’s stock now.”
“I know. You and I have more stock than anyone else in the family. We could get together and run things.”
“I don’t want to run a store.”
“Neither do I.”
“Grady liked to watch over things,” Taylor said. “But I think they’re doing a very good job.”
“Grady didn’t seem to think so,” Olivia said. “He seemed . . . upset.”
“He was hurt,” Taylor said. “He asked Uncle Seymour to give him a job in the family business. He didn’t want to be a stuntman anymore. He had lost his nerve. I knew that. Grady couldn’t get work for a long time. He wanted to learn about the store. Uncle Seymour and Charlie said there was no place for him. That means they didn’t want him. They were keeping it all for Charlie’s son Tony. But they could have hired Grady, too. There were lots of things he could have done. Grady was very smart.”
So that was what Grady had been thinking about when he came to the house for lunch with me so soon before he died, Olivia thought. It was what he had seen Uncle Seymour about, and why he seemed so bitter.
“It was a waste,” Tim said. “It was all a waste.”
“I’m still stuck with his house,” Taylor said. “I can’t sell it. I have to pay the mortgage every month. I haven’t disposed of his ashes yet. Why do people die and leave you these things to do?”
You mean, why do they kill themselves, Olivia thought.
“Grady left me and I can’t even grieve in peace,” Taylor said, as if reading her thoughts. “I’m still angry at him.”
“Of course you are.”
“People think you’ll be sorry when they kill themselves, but you’re not. You’re too angry at them.”
“It’s the same thing,” Olivia said.
“I wish you had learned to sign better,” Taylor said. “Talking makes me tired.”
“I wish I had, too,” Olivia said. Taylor does all the work, she thought, and we do nothing. She signed I’m sorry, and I love you, some of the few signs she still knew, and then she leaned over and put her arm around Taylor and kissed her downy cheek. “I love you. You’ll always be my little brat cousin. I miss him so much.”
They drank more coffee in silence.
“The week before Grady died,” Taylor said, “he sent me a tape of the movie Torch Song Trilogy. And he sent me a script of it so I could follow the words. He wrote a note with it. It said: ‘I used to be Matthew Broderick, now I’m Harvey Fierstein. Ain’t life a bitch.’ “
Poor lonely, conflicted Grady—his regrets, his yearnings, so different from the way he presented himself. He couldn’t have been much clearer about his secret life, Olivia thought. And he didn’t want to get old. Not being young and cute anymore must have changed the tenor of all his relationships. So Taylor knew.
“Did you watch the tape?”
“No,” Taylor said. “I threw it away, and the script, too. I didn’t want to see a movie about some old drag queen.”
“It wasn’t about some old drag queen,” Olivia said. “It was about a man who only wanted his family to love and accept him. You shouldn’t have thrown it away.”
“Well, I did.”
“And he never asked you about it?”
“No. We never said a word.”
19
WHENEVER OLIVIA AND ROGER were on an airplane together he would reach over and hold her hand during takeoff. She didn’t know whether he did it because he thought she was afraid or because he was; and it was one of the few things she had never asked him about, because she didn’t want to know and because it seemed too fragile an issue to mention. It seemed so sentimental, so protective, that she preferred to think he was taking care of her, even though she had never been afraid of flying. So now, beginning the night flight to Paris, their plane hurtled along the runway and Roger covered her hand with his without even thinking about it. They lifted safely into the air, and she was suddenly filled with such unexpected excitement and hope that it was as if they had left more than the earth behind.
Their plane was a closed-off and protected capsule to adventure. Roger let go of her hand, as he always did when it became apparent that once again they would live. They adjusted the paraphernalia of comfort and drank champagne.
“Happy birthday weekend,” she said, and lifted her glass to him, smiling.
“To us,” he said, and smiled back.
After dinner he slept, and she tried to. She thought about the past and edited it to remember only the happy things. Whatever happens, she thought, we’ve always loved Paris, and we’ll have a good time there. Then she dozed, and they woke up to coffee, dawn and France.
The Plaza Athénée Hotel was legendary to her. They had never actually stayed there before, but on their trips they always tried to have a drink at the Relais Plaza bar and watch the people. A large, elegant limestone building, with tall French windows giving way to tiny metal balconies with red awnings above them, overlooking Avenue Montaigne with its expensive shops, the limousines parked in front, the imposing lobby, the well-dressed guests, the feel of money—it was definitely a hotel for grown-ups. Rich grown-ups.
The hotel was quieter in the summer, though, and there were lower-priced summer special rooms, one of which they had. The furniture was antique, there was air-conditioning and a television set and a minibar. The two beds were separated with a night table in between.
They unpacked. “A shower and a walk, or a nap first?” Roger asked.
“Oh, I’m not tired,” Olivia said. “Let’s hit the streets.”
They walked until it got too hot, wandering the way they used to in their happier days, and stopped for lunch in a little cafe they happened to come upon, where they had sandwiches and beer. There was a long line of people trying to get into the Louvre. She was relieved that they had been there several times before and that today they didn’t even have to pretend to seek out culture. The winding little streets were culture, and the old houses, and the wide avenues, and the statues, and the huge, beautiful, historical buildings whose facades were kept so clean, unlike the ones in New York.
It was nice to relax with nothing to do but find things that seemed like fun, a
nd after lunch they went to the Left Bank to look in antiques stores and finally walked along beside the Seine, watching people, most of whom looked like tourists watching them. Roger wanted to have a drink in an outdoor cafe, so they did that. Olivia had mineral water, Roger had a small carafe of wine, and they looked at the view over the river.
He was her favorite companion. She couldn’t imagine anyone she would rather wander around with. And yet the thought nibbled at the edge of her mind that all this was a temporary dream. Something else had happened. It wasn’t really like old times. It was more like a date with someone who had been her love a long time ago and had been away. If that was the case, she should be asking him what he had been doing; but of course she knew.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
What indeed? “That I have to buy you a birthday present,” Olivia said.
“I don’t want a present.”
“I saw something you’ll like.”
“You’re my present,” Roger said. “Being here with me.”
“Well, then, a souvenir.”
Of course she should buy him something. She had been ambivalent about buying him anything at all, which was why she had waited so long. Now she felt sentimental about all the years they had been together, and touched that he was trying to recapture their closeness, and she wanted to. There had been a funny old microscope in one of the antiques shops they had browsed in and Roger had liked it. She would go back tomorrow and if it wasn’t too expensive he could have it for his desk.
“A souvenir,” he said, and smiled.
He ordered another carafe. I wonder if he’s nervous being here with me, she thought, or if he’s just on vacation. In the old days, after so much walking and wine they would have gone back to their room to rest and make love. It was so different now. At least they could rest, and she could worry about the other possibility later. She was, finally, exhausted.
“I’d like to take a nap for an hour,” she said when he had finished his wine.