Summer in the City

by Irene Vartanoff

  “Please stop,” Edward said, flushing. “You’ve made your point. You want your pound of flesh.” He leaned forward across the tiny table earnestly. “I want to give it to you.”

  “A whole pound?” Rona said wickedly, “That’s what it weighs?”

  “You always did talk dirty,” he smiled. “I’d forgotten that.”

  He took her hands determinedly, stilling her nervous movements with her knife and fork. “I love you. That has never changed and never will. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

  Her face crumpled. She couldn’t help showing how overwhelmed she was by his declaration.

  Edward grasped her hands more tightly, attempting to sooth her. “There is so much emotion between us. I hate being on display when I want to hold you, my darling.”

  “No, Edward, if we meet in private we’ll have sex.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” he asked. He sighed. “No, why should you after all that has happened between us?”

  “You don’t get it, as the kids say. I don’t trust myself,” she admitted. “I see you and I want to rip your clothes off and have my way with you.”

  Edward smiled, that slow delighted smile she loved. It spoke of his surprise and his own hunger. “What’s wrong with that? Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter 14

  Michael called Susan at work the next day. She had told him about her hallway desk, so he knew she could speak without being overheard. It was more private than being in a warren of cubicles, and today, she was grateful.

  “When can I see you again?” his voice held a determined timbre.

  “I—I don’t know,” she stuttered. “I’m still thinking about last night.”

  “Me, too. I want more of you. Name a time.” His urgency was thrilling, but today, in the cold light of an interior hallway, she wasn’t so sure.

  “Not right away. I have to come to grips with this thing, whatever it is.”

  “I’ll be happy to engage in a wrestling match with you anytime. Let me see you tonight.”

  Tonight? Oh, but that was much too soon. She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t made up her mind. She didn’t know what she wanted from Michael or how far she was willing to take a relationship with him. She had a pretty good idea of what he hoped to lead her into. No, she couldn’t see him tonight.

  She heard herself say, “Okay.”

  He made a satisfied sound. She hastened to add, “We’ve got to slow this down.”

  “How do we do that? Last night was like a bomb going off, and you know it.”

  How did he come up with the most telling way of saying it? The way that made her more excited than ever?

  “Why don’t we go to an opera?” she suggested. She hurried to give details, hoping to ward off more passionate talk. “The Kirov is doing its summer stint at the Met, and I’d like to see their Queen of Spades.”

  “You like Russian opera?”

  She couldn’t tell if he was asking, or mocking. They hadn’t touched on opera last night. Feeling a bit defensive, she replied, “Yes I do. Want to make something of it?” She then caught her breath at her feisty response.

  “I already had a ticket for Friday night. I’ll trade it in and get us a pair for tonight.”

  “Oh.” He liked opera, too. He was perfect, absolutely perfect. Rick hated opera. “Oh, no, you don’t have to go to the trouble,” she protested. “We can go Friday. I’ll buy another ticket.”

  “No, it has to be tonight, and we have to sit together. I’m buying.”

  “I can pay my own way.”

  “You can buy dinner,” he replied, a tease in his voice. “I’ll order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

  She started laughing. She couldn’t help it. They firmed up the details for meeting and hung up. For a long time, she sat contemplating the middle distance. This wasn’t going to slow down. Michael wouldn’t let it. She didn’t want it to, either.

  There was time after work to rush home to the apartment and dress up for her date. When she arrived, Bev was strolling around the living room. They exchanged greetings as she raced through a quick shower and then poured herself into one of the sophisticated new evening dresses Rona had helped her buy. Upscale. Discreetly elegant. It was a dark green, with a clever square-cut collar that hinted at décolletage without being revealing. Thanks to her weight loss and control undergarments, it fit in all the right places, skimming her breasts, nipping in at her waist, and belling out in a natural skirt shape that ended right above the knee. She had gold sandals to contrast.

  Bev came and stood at the bedroom door. “You’re going out tonight?”

  “Yes. Opera, and I’m in a tearing hurry.”

  “Why are you going to an opera?” Bev made it sound like odd, incomprehensible behavior. She never showed any understanding of behavior unlike her own.

  “I like it. There’s very little world class opera in Ohio, except the summer festival in Cincinnati.”

  “What’ll I do here all night? I’m getting tired of sitting around.”

  It was thrilling to hear that, but she refused to give Bev any more of her own time. “Maybe you can spend the evening with Rona. Or call a friend? Surely you still have some living here?”

  Bev sniffed, “Everybody has moved to Boca.”

  “You can go out for a stroll, enjoy the city sights.”

  Bev said with a stubborn air, “I don’t want to.”

  “Fine,” she replied, trying to hide her annoyance as she emptied the contents of her daytime purse and threw half into her beaded and sequined evening purse before heading for the door. Bev’s entertainment wasn’t her responsibility.

  As she hot-footed it to the avenue corner to pick up a cab, she thought about the situation with Bev. Maybe Bev could find something to do that would take her out of the apartment, but it didn’t look as if she was going to bother. If Bev insisted on being a hermit, Susan intended to go out every night to a show or a concert, or to shop. She would spend as little time in her apartment as possible. When she was home, she planned to camp out in the walled courtyard she loved so much. It was peaceful there, and she could relax with no demands on her. Which was ironic since she spent her days virtually and literally alone in a publishing office hallway.

  Bev wasn’t yelling at the phone so much anymore. The tears had almost subsided. Bev actually tried to engage her in conversation sometimes, like just now. Susan did not trust her. She sensed that Bev was trying to get at some knowledge that she had, to find some advantage. Susan fought to keep her distance.

  She felt guilty about her coolness. She ought to feel compassion because Bev was unhappy and her marriage was a wreck. Not so different from Susan’s own situation.

  Enough about the houseguest from hell. She was about to venture into dangerous waters with Michael by pursuing a relationship when she ought not. She could perhaps justify her book party date, even excuse herself for letting it turn into a romantic evening. She could forgive herself for getting carried away and kissing him. She could use the typical “It just happened” denial of responsibility that so many people claimed as their excuse for immoral behavior.

  She couldn’t weasel out of responsibility for tonight. She was deliberately going on a date with a man while she was still a married woman. She was asking for trouble. In fact, she was inviting it into her life again. Only this time, instead of mental illness, obesity, and death, trouble was in the form of a very attractive, sophisticated man who seemed enchanted by her. No wonder she was running off the rails.

  ***

  They met at a tiny French restaurant near Lincoln Center. It had an unremarkable front, but inside was elegant and comfortable, with white linen tablecloths and plump banquettes, and, that most luxurious of New York treats, plenty of space between the tables. Michael kissed her cheek in greeting, then seated her. He looked marvelous in a well-cut dark suit and repp tie, with a brilliantly white dress shirt. As usual, his dark hair was crisply combed.

  “Classic French cuisine,
as agreed,” he said.

  “Wonderful,” she replied, discreetly looking around at the crowd of other diners, hearing their low murmur. This elegant restaurant was the right touch of formality to go with an opera.

  “We could skip all this and go to my place and make love,” he offered, in the same casual tone of voice he might have used to offer her dinner rolls.

  Her head came up at that, and she stared at his intent expression. Was he being facetious? She decided to play it cool. “Thanks. Some other time.” She shook her head, to clear it. “Michael, we have to slow down.”

  “It was worth a try,” he said, a smile in his voice. “If you insist that we take the long way to get there, we’ll take the long way.”

  The rest of the evening, Michael did not pressure her. He was the perfect companion. They enjoyed an elegant dinner, and the opera was marvelous. Between acts, they roamed the halls of the Metropolitan Opera House and people-watched, drinks in hand. He took her home in a cab.

  At the inner door of her building, he kissed her until she thought she was going to faint.

  “Let me come inside,” he finally said raggedly, leaning his head on the brass scrollwork of the door behind her. His lips were near her ear.

  “I can’t,” she said, breathing in gasps, torn between needs and realities.

  His lips took hers again while his body pressed her against the security door. She felt him to her toes. Oh, what a feeling.

  “Yes, you can.”

  She had to stop them. She pushed him away a bit, reluctantly. “I have a houseguest. Automatic chaperone.”

  Before Michael could solve that problem, and she was sure he could have, she placed her fingers over his lips gently. “It’s too soon,” she said.

  Then she turned, unlocked the door, and slid inside. She made herself not look back.

  Chapter 15

  The next day, she came home from work and found Louis visiting with Bev.

  “I came by to check on the walls,” he explained. “Hey, want to go to dinner?”

  Bev didn’t look terribly enthusiastic at the invitation. For her part, she certainly didn’t want to have to sit across a table from Bev for an extended period. She’d love to get Bev out of the apartment even for a couple of hours.

  “No thanks, I’m beat. Why don’t the two of you go?”

  “Great idea! Go put on your glad rags, kid.”

  Bev refused.

  “No way. My face is all puffy from crying.” When it looked as if Louis was going to argue further, Bev started to cry again.

  “Okay, okay. How about ordering in?”

  Bev nodded, still teary-eyed. Bev sure knew how to work men.

  “Is that okay with you?” Louis looked at Susan.

  “Fine, but no need to order anything for me. I’ve eaten out the last couple of days. I’ll take a prefab frozen dinner down to the courtyard.”

  “That’s right,” Bev chimed in nastily, “You don’t want to get all fat again.”

  “No, I certainly do not. Thank you for reminding me.” With that barely restrained retort, she went into her bedroom to change. Louis followed her in.

  “Looks like Rona was right, and I was wrong. Bev is doing better. She even took a call while I was here, and she didn’t shout.”

  “Good for her,” she replied evenly. “See if you can find out when she plans to leave.”

  “You have a one-track-mind. Can’t you give her a break?”

  She badly wanted to roll her eyes. How could Louis be so blind to Bev’s nasty dig? “Didn’t you hear her insult me?”

  He grimaced but did not reply. Maybe he thought that was how women always behaved with each other, like competitive witches. She wasn’t going to detail all the little and big things she had been forced into doing for Bev in the last week. Bev repaid her with sneers about her weight in front of a friend. Bev was not a nice person.

  “I’m trying to be a gracious hostess, but Bev makes that difficult,” she said, sealing her lips against saying more. She showed him the door.

  She sat on her bed, undoing her office attire. She was not going to think about what Bev did at Nancy’s wedding. She refused. Darn Bev for being so shameless as to foist herself on Susan’s hospitality.

  She took some deep breaths and made herself smile. They said smiling caused your upper body to relax, and produced sighs. Yes, now she felt better.

  Bev staying here was complicating her life, not to mention draining away the simple joy of having this summer of freedom, a place of her own, a new job, and more. Once again, Susan was in a prescribed role. She didn’t want to be. She wanted to focus on what she wanted in her future. What was going to happen between her and Michael. She knew what he wanted. He’d called her today, too, asking to see her tonight. She’d refused. She needed space and time to think about what was going on.

  She changed into casual clothes and made herself a careful dinner that she put on a tray. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to buy one. The tray made it possible to run her nuked meal down to the courtyard, so she could get away from the poisonous, unwanted presence in what should have been her haven.

  As she headed down, she thought about food. She had been focused on Michael instead of the food last night. She had done all right, but she couldn’t depend on distractions. She needed to pay attention, relentlessly, to portion size and caloric content. She promised herself a non-food reward later.

  She took her time eating her dinner, basking in the fresh air of the walled garden. The sun was still out, but this courtyard didn’t get much sunshine directly, and not at this hour. She could hear the bustle of the evening commute slowing down.

  ***

  Upstairs, Bev enjoyed her dinner with Louis. She was sick of the overly simple food Susan bought. Chinese takeout, the sugary the better, was what Bev wanted. Although she might have to hurl some of it in the bathroom later. It was impossible to eat only a tiny serving.

  She hoped she could get some information out of Louis about Susan’s new boyfriend. “I don’t know who he is, because of course he only calls on her cell phone. They went out two nights in a row. Have you seen him?”

  Louis answered cautiously. “No. As far as I know, she’s still married.”

  “Exactly what I thought,” Bev said triumphantly. The bitch was so holier than thou. Bev was determined to find out everything.

  “Rona probably knows all about it. Ask her,” Louis said.

  “I’ve been trying. What’s up with her and cell phones? She never answers.”

  “She used to,” Louis said. Bev perked up her ears. This sounded interesting. “What changed?”

  Louis obviously was reluctant to tell her, but he gave in. “She kept getting calls from a guy she used to know.”

  “And? Come on, Louis, spill,”

  “She wouldn’t answer them. She wouldn’t turn off her phone, either. She’d just stare at it.”

  Bev shivered. What a delicious mystery. She already knew the answer.

  “Does she still do that?”

  “No, she tends to ignore her cell instead. Forget I told you. It’s probably nothing.” He must have thought he had said too much, so he’d backtracked. She knew the signs of a lover calling obsessively. She hugged the tidbit of knowledge to herself, and pretended to agree with him.

  ***

  Susan was still seated in the walled garden when she looked up from her diary and found Louis staring at her.

  “Are you confiding all your secrets in there? Better hide it.”

  “The world can see this. It’s all about food.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. I’ve been a food addict all my life. How do you think I managed to gain one hundred pounds? Or lose it all? How do you think I’m maintaining it? I think about it, I talk about it, and I write about it. Food, Louis, nothing else.”

  “We need to talk about Bev.”

  “Not tonight, Louis. I’m still trying to regain my equanimity after h
er fatso remark. She can jump off the Brooklyn Bridge for all I care.”

  “That was tactless of her.”

  Men were so blind. Bev had directly attacked her in front of Louis, and he thought it was merely maladroit. No way. It was deliberate warfare.

  Something had to change, because Bev already had the air of being settled in. She wasn’t going to budge unless Rona pushed her. “I didn’t invite her. I want my apartment back.”

  “Look, I’ll help you, if you’ll be patient. I’ll get on Rona’s case to set up a meeting and brainstorm ways to get Bev to go home.”

  When she was silent, he added, “How does that sound?”

  She nodded at this new plan, and Louis took his leave.

  Later, she reluctantly returned to the apartment. After Bev’s animation of earlier, it was a surprise to find her sitting limply in front of the television, tears dripping down her face.

  “Are you watching a sad movie?”

  “No. Todd hates me.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to make an encouraging comment. Maybe Todd did hate Bev, although she seriously doubted his emotions ran that deep. Maybe he was done with Bev and wanted a newer, younger model. As rotten as that possibility was, she still wished that Bev would pick herself up and go home. Bev had no incentive to leave. Here, she had no duties. She hardly had to lift a finger. Everybody catered to her, trying to cheer her up. No, Bev had no reason to depart.

  As the reluctant hostess, Susan was in the awkward position of not having any legal right to ask Bev to go. She herself was merely informally subletting from Rona. They had no lease agreement. Rona could evict her as easily as she could Bev. Rona wouldn’t. So Susan stayed, but Bev stayed, too.

  ***

  Rona was lying in Edward’s bed, not sleeping. It was late, but she did not intend to spend the night with him. She didn’t want his snoopy neighbors judging her. He’d assured her that he had bought this apartment and moved in even before his wife had died. That she had never visited or lived here. It was a swanky Park Avenue co-op, the kind of place where he felt at home. Oddly, so did she, despite the implicit superciliousness of the residents. The architecture was like that of the academic buildings in which she had learned and taught all her life. Stone facades, formal layouts, and lots of dark hardwoods in classic designs. It was as if Edward lived in a college. She could enjoy living here.