Love, Louisa

by Barbara Metzger

  “How the devil are you going to get down to the beach in that getup?” was Mr. Bradford’s first question. His next was, “What do you think of this?”

  He thrust a sheaf of misaligned, written-over and crossed-out, coffee-stained, printed papers at her, then went back to his computer while she read. Louisa hoped this wasn’t some kind of test, like having her critique Hemingway or something. Mr. Bradford was in his mid-seventies, she guessed, with gray hair that had gone past thinning to one step from bald, but he had a thick white mustache. He wore heavy bifocals, a hearing aid in one ear, and kept a cane propped against his desk. Otherwise, he appeared to be in good shape, except for a slight tremor in his left hand. No wonder there were so many smudges on his manuscript. So far he seemed impatient but not impolite. She read as slowly as she dared and hoped for the best.

  “So what do you think?” he asked when she placed the pages, now neatly aligned at least, on his desk.

  “Honestly?”

  “If I didn’t want an honest opinion, I’d stick with my own. One day I think it’s brilliant, the next day it’s crap.”

  “Well, I haven’t read enough to say, but I do know it can be improved. You do not seem to understand the purposes of commas, and, here, this sentence is about a paragraph long. That makes it too hard to read, so whatever brilliance might be expressed is lost. And here”—she found the page she wanted—“when you talk about that artist D’Allessandrio, you spelled his name three different ways.”

  He waved his hand. “I always had editors to fix that garbage.”

  “Yes, but you aren’t clear about whether you liked him or not. Readers are going to want to know. This next section makes no sense, because you didn’t name the woman you met at that showing, you only use pronouns. That’s not just grammar, and no one but you can fix it. I can point out the parts that I think need your attention, though, and I can make the changes in the computer so you’ll have a clean copy to read.”

  “When can you start? Oh, and where’s the dog? Dante said you took him everywhere. I might have seen him or his sire at Westminster. That’s the worst thing about traveling around so much: I don’t get to own a dog. Always had one as a boy. Good companions, eh?”

  “The best. I’ll bring him Monday afternoon.”

  “Just make sure he doesn’t break his leg like my last companion. Or you either, young lady. I need you. And wear shorts. I like legs. If all I can do is look, I might as well have something good to look at.”

  *

  Louisa’s sister was thrilled to hear about the new job. “No, not the musty old library.”

  Louisa liked the library job. It was boring and repetitive, but peaceful in her little cubby behind the check-out desk. Everyone who tiptoed by smiled at her and welcomed her to the job and the Harbor. Annie was going on: “You’ll never meet anyone there but musty old ladies who read romance books.”

  “What’s wrong with romance novels? I’ve been reading them.”

  “Who cares?” Annie yelled into the phone. “It’s Wesley Bradford, you jerk. He’s famous!”

  “And he’s very nice, too. He lets me bring the dog and—”

  “He’s rich. I think he owns a place in Hilton Head, and I know he has a penthouse in the city. He travels all the time, and goes to every charity event you can name.”

  “How do you know all that? He’s an art critic, not a movie star.”

  “But he’s on TV a bunch, not that I watch PBS all that much, and he had a piece in one of the magazines. I remember, because it mentioned how he always summers in Paumonok Harbor. They said he got a huge advance for his biography.”

  “Well, he seems to be working hard to earn it.”

  “Just think, Lou, if you play your cards right, you could end up being a wealthy widow before you know it.”

  “Annie! What a thing to say, when I just started working for the man. Even if ours weren’t a strictly professional relationship, which it is, I think it’s dreadful of you to wish Mr. Bradford an early death.”

  “What’s wrong with wishing my sister a trust fund? You deserve it after what that bastard Howard did.”

  “I am over Howard, Annie. Forget about him. He’s dead and buried.”

  “You killed him? I know Jeff said he knew someone who knew a man…”

  “Figuratively, Annie. He’s out of my life.”

  “Oh, then what about that nephew of Aunt Vinnie’s? Are you making any progress there?”

  “Yeah, we no longer hiss and snarl at each other like dogs and cats.”

  “I told Mama nothing could come of that. He’s way too popular with the women. But Wesley Bradford, now—”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Annie. Give my love to Jeff and the kids. Bye.”

  *

  Her mother was not happy Louisa had a nice, well paying job. “Now you’ll stay in that place forever. There’s nothing for you there, sweetheart. It’s fine when you can sit by the water, go to bingo at the church and play canasta. But there’s nothing else.”

  Mrs. Waldon had just described her life in Florida, except for Bernie. “There’s lots more, Mama. I am making friends and I signed up for a dog training program. They have concerts year-round, I hear, and a community theater group.”

  “Tscha. That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  Louisa knew exactly what her mother meant. She’d been hearing the g-word since she was sixteen, it seemed. “But now I can fix the roof before it falls in. You did say you’d pay for the materials, right?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want you up on any ladders, Louisa. You’ll fall and break your neck and then I’ll never have more grandchildren.” The g-word wriggled into every conversation somehow.

  “When are you coming back to New York to see the ones you already have, Ma?”

  “Don’t be fresh. You be careful.”

  Louisa wasn’t up on the ladder; Rico was. Dante let her pay his salary, when he didn’t need him, and Rico liked working overtime, except on Marta’s day off. He needed the money, he said, to send to his wife and family. And for Marta’s day off.

  Louisa didn’t think Dante was letting her pay his workman’s full wages, but she was okay with that, because she could return the favor, if not with money, then with her time. At lunch with Francine, at which they decided that all men were worthless, and women were better off without them, Louisa realized that a lot of cast-off women were in worse shape than she was. Francine’s husband was always late with his child support payments, trying to screw her out of half the house they owned before Francine left him, and sticking her with bills and back taxes from before they separated. Fred was mean, besides being unfaithful, cheap, and stupid.

  The cashier job Francine had at the bank didn’t pay enough for her to afford college. Without the education, she’d never get a better job. She’d moved home so her mother could watch Teddy after school, but she was afraid someone was going to have to watch her mother soon. Now Francine had to worry about both her mother and Teddy, her bills, her ex-husband coming around, her future, and turning into a fat, frumpy, soon-to-be middle-aged matron.

  So Louisa made Francine skip dessert, offered to redo her makeup, and went with her to Janie Vogel’s for a new hairdo, with streaks. She drove Aunt Vinnie to the senior citizens’ center, and picked Tommy up after the rec program day camp a couple of times a week, when Dante was busy. Mr. Bradford paid the boy to swim in the pool with him, counting laps, while Louisa worked inside on that day’s pages.

  Louisa decided that her employer’s worries about swimming alone had more to do with fearing another stroke than with drowning. He was a superb swimmer, with more stamina than Louisa had. She worried about his health though, once she saw what they served at the Friday night gallery openings, the Saturday benefit lawn parties, and the Sunday charity brunches. There were also polo matches, pancake breakfasts and patio barbeques—and it wasn’t even July yet. Louisa was putting on pounds, but she was saving on grocery money. And she was
getting to wear her expensive honeymoon wardrobe.

  She and Marta made sure Mr. Bradford ate healthy foods at home, at least. He grumbled about the greenery, but he seemed pleased that Louisa cared about him. And his book was going much quicker now that someone else was helping with the editing. He also did not lose so much work to the voracious computer during his constant rewrites, once Louisa set up automatic saves and a better filing system, with multiple backups.

  “We’re a good team, Louisa,” he said one night when she drove him home from Guild Hall in East Hampton, where there had been wine and cheese afterward. “Are you sure you won’t move in here?”

  Louisa wasn’t quite certain what he was offering, but she was sure of her answer. “Positive. I love having a house of my own, watching the old place come back to life.” Her seedlings were starting to bloom, and Louisa still went to yard sales for bright new Navajo rugs and cobalt blue glasses and pottery bowls—and anything else cheap that took her fancy. When she drove Mr. Bradford to some function in the evening, she left Champ at the big house with Marta, so she had the dog for company on the way home. Between the new automatic timer lights on her house, the dog, and the nice couple with two young children who moved in for summer next door, she wasn’t half as afraid of coming back to Whaler’s Drive in the dark. She was coming back to life, too.

  “Don’t you meet any eligible men at all those parties you’re always off to?” her sister wanted to know. “Everyone goes to the Hamptons for the summer social life. You’re right in the middle of it, and all you talk about is your old man and your dog.”

  They were better company than the men she was meeting. Louisa could have been a telephone operator, so many of them asked for her number, but she felt no desire to go out with any one of them. She was busy with Mr. Bradford and the library, and cherished her time alone when she had it. She had her gardens and her books and the beach to walk on in the early mornings before anyone else was there. Besides, the party bachelors reminded her of Howard.

  They were polished and poised and groomed like Champ for a dog show. They posed and strutted as if they were in the judging circle too. The men who could afford the benefit tickets or who were on the invitation lists were all successful and talented, self-assured…and cell-phone superficial. Louisa assumed they were all looking for Ms. Right, but they wouldn’t mind sleeping with a different Ms. Left every week. They left her cold and indifferent, and unable to tell one stockbroker turned Yoga instructor from the other.

  Why would she go out for a drink with Sam Sociable when, since she was driving, she never finished the glass of wine in her hand? What would she talk about with Handsome Harry, after she heard his golf handicap? As for Douglas the Dentist— Yuck. Not even her mother could expect her to go out with a dentist.

  She stuck close to Mr. Bradford, for her sake and for his, having decided that part of her job was ensuring that no one offered him a cigarette or more than two drinks, his physician-set limit. If people chose to think she was the older gentle man’s sweet, solicitous young plaything, well, let them. At least the men stopped looking at her like a canapé.

  Dante Rivera was at some of the same parties, always surrounded by lovely women in designer labels. Louisa and he smiled, exchanged a few polite words like “roof,” “rain” and “new renters,” then went back to their companions. That was as it should be, Louisa told herself. She was working. He was working the room.

  She saw Dante at the social events; she saw Alvin at the garage.

  “Yeah, your model is ready. I was going to bring it by, but you’re never home.” Alvin sounded almost accusatory, as if she’d betrayed the common man by taking up with summer people.

  “I have a job now, helping Mr. Bradford with his memoirs. Up on the hill. And I drive him around places.”

  Alvin went into the front room of the body shop and brought back the replica Porsche. “Yeah, well I’m busy too. Going to AA meetings.”

  “That’s great, Alvin. I’m really happy for you. And I like the new tattoo. So how much do I owe you for the car?”

  “Nothing. It was fun, didn’t take no time at all, and I kind of owe you. I wouldn’t be going to meetings if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Of course you would. You’d have realized sooner or later that your health, mental as well as physical, was suffering.”

  “And I could have wrecked my car.”

  “That too.” After admiring Alvin’s meticulous handiwork, she tucked the little red Porsche, with everything spelled right, back in its box. “Are you sure I can’t pay you something?”

  “The Fourth’s next week. You could go watch the fire works with me. It’ll be no fun hanging out on the beach with the guys, not if I’m not drinking. We always get a keg, build a fire pit for burgers and ribs. Someone brings a CD player. You know.”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Bradford’s having a party that night. He says up on the hill is the best place to watch the show, overlooking the bay.”

  Alvin went back to polishing the Jaguar he was working on. “Sure.”

  Louisa took two steps toward her car, then came back and touched his shoulder, between the grease spots on his T-shirt. “Why don’t you come, Alvin? Mr. Bradford said I could invite anyone I want. Francine Minell is bringing her mother and her son and a bunch of his friends, and Rico is going to help Marta build a fire afterward, for marshmallows. The two girls who reshelf books at the library are coming, and Janie Vogel, who cuts hair. Between the two of us, I bet Mr. Bradford and I invite half the town. It’ll be fun, without all the beer.”

  Alvin said he’d think about it, the distance from his apartment over the garage to the house on Osprey Hill being measured in far more than miles. Louisa left, thinking about who else to invite to the estate for the Fourth.

  How could she not ask the man who had found her the job there?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dante was thinking about going up to Osprey Hill for the Fourth. He went every year. With the fireworks barge anchored right in the bay below, the light show was spectacular from there. On a clear night you could see the displays from Devon to Montauk and across to Connecticut.

  Then he thought about not going. Louisa Waldon was bound to be there. Hell, there were enough fireworks every time he saw that woman.

  He was seeing her more than he wanted, out and about, looking gorgeous on Mr. Bradford’s arm. And he was seeing more of her than he wanted, in the skimpy little dresses she wore with no backs, nearly no fronts, hardly any skirts to speak of. No one spoke of anything else. Wesley Bradford’s secretary was a stunner. She was also almost unapproachable, which made her even more appealing to the pricks at the parties.

  Dante heard all the whispers about her, saw the speculation in the eyes of the free-dinner Don Juans. He had put a stop to that fast enough, saying that she was a connection of his family’s, that his was the introduction that led to his friend hiring her. His.

  Dante was not exactly making a personal claim, it was understood. He hardly spent more than a minute or two in her company. It was more as though he were putting a posted sign and a fence around the woman. Louisa Waldon was off-limits, out of bounds, not fair game for the wolf pack on the prowl. She was not any fille du jour to be passed around with the hors d’oeuvres. If she’d gone flitting around the rooms, flirting through the rented tents or flouncing across the backyards of the affairs, that would have opened the field, but she didn’t, to Dante’s surprise. She stayed at Mr. Bradford’s side, listening to him and his admirers without putting herself first into the conversation. Every other woman Dante knew had to be the center of attention, the world revolving around her. When asked an opinion, Louisa gave thoughtful answers, not hesitating to contradict her employer, but always showing respect. Dante, in turn, respected her for that.

  The older man loved it. He loved the girl, he told Dante when he called to invite him to the Fourth of July party. According to Mr. Bradford, Louisa was beautiful and brilliant and the best assistant he�
�d ever had. She was twice as competent as that last twit he’d had, the one who’d broken her leg at the beginning of the summer.

  Louie?

  Mr. Bradford also said she was bossy.

  Yup, Louie.

  The older man liked that about her. He was eating better, feeling stronger, working harder, thanks to Louisa’s pushy ways. And his book was going to be a best-seller, with her help. In fact, Mr. Bradford told Dante, he was going to stay right here until the book was finished, then ask her to go south with him for the winter. She could handle the editorial revisions and the proofreading stuff he hated. Then, next year, she could go on the book tour with him.

  She might even marry the old coot eventually, Dante considered. Why not? They seemed to admire each other, and Mr. Bradford needed a secretary and Louisa needed security. A match made in heaven—he kept the sarcasm to himself—with the honeymoon in Viagra Falls. Out loud, he said, “I’m glad things worked out so well. That sounds like a great opportunity for her. She’ll be grateful.”

  So would Dante, to see her gone. So what if he’d keep looking for her short blond hair and long tanned legs at every party? He’d be better off, and better able to enjoy himself with whatever woman was at his side.

  If Louisa left, he would not have to wonder about her staying. He’d told himself to wait, to keep as far away from the coming train wreck as he could. Maybe whatever oddball attraction he felt for the female would not last until fall, but would start drooping like the summer flowers. God knew he wasn’t drooping yet, when he thought of her and that kiss they’d shared. Electric kiss or not, he had to know if she was a keeper, or if Paumonok Harbor was going to toss her back to the city, too small and small-minded to be content in the little town when the fancy tourists were gone. If she was leaving soon, why should he get involved now, enough to miss her later? He didn’t have to wonder any more.

  He did wonder why she hadn’t invited him to the party, though. They were supposed to be friends. Aunt Vinnie and Francine and Susan had calls from her, why not him? Maybe she knew that Mr. Bradford had extended the invite, but that rationale did not sit well with Dante either. He did not like thinking of Louisa and her boss as a domestic couple, chatting over who called whom, exchanging little details, sharing their everyday lives. Mr. Bradford was supposed to be sharing his memoirs with Louie, nothing else. And she! She was already sharing her time and her dog and views of her bikini-clad body with her boss.