Name Dropping

by Jane Heller

“Did you?” I said.

  “Very much,” he said. “So if it’s all right with you, I think we’ll hold onto each other on the way to the restaurant.”

  “It’s all right with me,” I said in what was clearly an understatement.

  We ate burgers and fries and onion rings and got ketchup all over our fingers, and, while I was trying to wipe mine with a napkin, Bill noticed the ring I was wearing.

  “That’s Tiffany’s Étoile band ring with diamonds set in platinum, isn’t it?” he said.

  “It is,” I said. “I wear it because I think it’s a beautiful piece of jewelry, not because it carries any sentimental value. Actually, it’s pretty dumb that I do wear it, considering my lifestyle.”

  “Your lifestyle? I would think a ring like that would be a perfect accessory for all those swell parties you go to.”

  Oops. I had let my guard down for a moment. The “lifestyle” I’d been thinking of involved sticking my hands in Silly Putty.

  “Not really,” I said, recovering. “It’s best for the interviewer not to outshine the interviewee, if you know what I mean. I learned that lesson when I did a piece on Mother Teresa a year or two before she died. There I was in this diamond ring, while a bona fide saint was speaking about poverty and hunger and the most extreme kind of need. Did I ever feel ridiculous.” Sort of the way I feel now, I thought.

  “You mentioned your ex-husband,” said Bill. “I don’t remember Joan saying you’d ever been married.”

  “No? Oh, well I was married all right,” I said, deciding to go with the truth here. What was the harm? “John and I split up, essentially because he wasn’t a very giving person. And by ‘giving,’ I’m not talking about jewelry, believe me.”

  “Then what are you talking about? Tell me, Nancy. I want to know about you, about who you are.”

  Who I am. Sheesh.

  I looked at Bill before answering, studied his face, studied his demeanor, tried to gauge what his reaction would be if I told him who I was. The man reeked of sincerity, of straightforwardness—a genuine Honest Abe. Even after a couple of dates I could sense that he wasn’t one for game playing, so how could I possibly ‘fess up and reveal all? And yet I did want him to know a part of me, the part I felt it was safe to share. I wanted him to know something about the real Nancy Stern, no matter what happened in the future.

  And so I told him about me, about growing up in Pennsylvania in a town that was devoid of possibility; about my mother who never went anywhere and my father who never minded; about my need to escape and my eventual arrival in New York; about my marriage to a man who didn’t love me.

  When I finished, Bill reached for my hand. “His loss,” he said of John. “You realize that, don’t you, Nancy?”

  “I do, although there are still moments when I wonder if there was something I could have done to make him—”

  Bill shook his head. “His loss. That’s all there is to it.”

  “If you say so.” Bill Harris was a definite ego boost.

  Later, as we drank coffee and shared a slice of cheesecake, I asked Bill to tell me his story.

  He said he grew up on the eastern shore of Maryland; that his father was a cop who had made it clear he expected his three sons to be cops too; that two of them did go into law enforcement while Bill chose retailing; that he always felt he was the black sheep of the family even though he was the one who made money; that his marriage ended because his wife had been having an affair.

  “That must have been a terrible shock,” I said, my heart clutching with sympathy pains.

  “Oh, it was,” Bill said. “I asked myself over and over, ‘How can you think you know someone and then find out you’re way off the mark?’ I have a lot of trouble with the concept. I can’t reconcile myself to the fact that I thought I knew Jill, knew the kind of person she was, and it turned out I didn’t know her in the slightest. I especially didn’t know what an amazing actress she was, playing the part of the happy little wife while she was involved with another man. Was I ever misled.”

  I wanted to crawl under the table then, just crawl under the table and slink out the door. But I didn’t because Bill continued to talk, and, since I was supposed to be such a good listener, I continued to listen.

  “You must be wondering how I was able to keep on speaking to Jill after what she did,” he said.

  I nodded, wondering how I was able to keep on eating cheesecake after what I did.

  “Simple: the kids,” he answered. “They mean more to me than she ever did. I’m not going to screw up their lives by poisoning them against her. It’s not their fault that she’s a dishonest person.”

  That did it. I put my fork down. This dishonest person didn’t deserve any more dessert.

  “What is it?” Bill asked. “You look pale, Nancy.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little tired maybe.”

  “Then I’ll get the check and take you home. Big day tomorrow?”

  “Very,” I said. Janice and I were introducing a new theme at school: How Animals Cope in Cold Weather. We were planning to focus on the bear, the rabbit, and the duck-billed platypus.

  Bill and I left the restaurant at about nine-thirty and returned to my apartment soon after.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked as we stood in my foyer. “I sense a definite climate change.”

  “I’m sorry, Bill. It has nothing to do with you. I had a wonderful time tonight.”

  He stepped closer, lowered his head, and kissed me. “Me too,” he murmured, then kissed me a second time.

  I let myself enjoy his embraces, enjoy the feel of his mouth on mine, enjoy the sensation of being held and caressed and cuddled by a man I respected, a man who appealed to me on every level.

  I could really fall for this guy, I thought as I kissed him back. He’s warm and giving and nothing like John. If only…

  “I want to see you again, Nancy,” he said, stroking my hair. “My calendar’s wide open until the kids come. Say when.”

  When I didn’t say anything, Bill kissed me again. I heard myself sigh with pleasure as he wrapped me tighter in his arms.

  “Friday night at seven?” he whispered.

  “I can’t,” I managed, my brain struggling to focus on reality, my body cleaving to his. “I’ll be out of town for three weeks on business.”

  “Three weeks?” He seemed terribly disappointed.

  “Yes,” I said, my rationale for the three weeks being that it would be close to Christmas by the time I supposedly returned. Bill would be putting in long hours at the store and then he’d be getting ready for his sons’ arrival, and he’d be so busy with all of that he’d forget about me, I figured. Out of sight, out of mind. End of story.

  “If I have to wait three weeks, so be it,” he said as he continued to hold me. “We’ll see each other the minute you get back.”

  “But you’ll be right in the middle of your craziest season at work.”

  “Seeing you will be the perfect respite.”

  “What about your sons? You’ll have to prepare for their visit.”

  “Look, I’m not taking no for an answer,” he said, foiling my plan. “Is it a date?” He asked this, then planted exquisite little kisses along the side of my neck.

  “Yesss,” I purred, foiling my own plan.

  Chapter Nine

  “You didn’t tell him? Again?” Janice demanded at school the next morning.

  “No,” I said.

  “You should have told him,” she said.

  “I can’t believe you’re being so judgmental all of a sudden,” I said. “You were the one who encouraged me to have an adventure, to take a risk. You’re Miss ‘Just Do It,’ aren’t you?”

  “Yes, and now it’s time for you to just do it. Tell him.”

  “I’ll handle the situation as soon as I come back from my quote-unquote business trip. I always figured I’d wait until our third date to tell him. The third time’s the charm. Isn’t that what they say?”<
br />
  “No. Three strikes and you’re out. That’s what they say.”

  “Why are you being so hard on me, Janice?”

  “I’m not being hard on you. I’m being protective of you. You’re like Bambi when it comes to dating—an innocent little fawn. I really hate to think of this guy carving you up into pieces of venison.”

  “No venison,” I assured her. “He’s a burger-and-fries type.”

  “I’m serious, Nancy.”

  “So am I, Janice. Bill’s not a monster. He’s kind and caring and smart and handsome, and he has an excellent job at an established, prestigious company. Plus he’s a loving father to his sons. He’s exactly the kind of man I’ve been hoping for.”

  “Really? And what if he just hasn’t shown his true colors yet? I told you, it takes a while for their neuroses to reveal themselves. You think he’s gonna be pleased when he finds out he’s been duped? Men go berserk when they think their manhood’s been threatened.”

  “What does any of this have to do with Bill’s manhood?”

  “Everything has to do with a man’s manhood. That’s why they’re so screwed up. Ask them to clear the table? You’re threatening their manhood. Ask them to stop for gas before the tank is on E? You’re threatening their manhood. Ask them to see any movie starring Meryl Streep? You’re threatening their manhood. I’m telling you, Nancy. It’s not a jungle out there. It’s a padded cell.”

  “Bill is not nuts,” I declared.

  “All I’m saying is that the longer you keep him in the dark, the madder he’ll be when he finds out the truth.”

  “He’s not going to find out the truth.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I’ve come up with sort of an unorthodox strategy, not that this whole situation isn’t unorthodox.”

  “What strategy?”

  “I’ll call him in three weeks and go out with him, just like I promised I would. When he brings me home, I’ll break up with him.”

  “And the reason you’ll give for breaking up with him is?”

  “I’ll say I can’t get involved in a serious relationship because of my job, because I do so much traveling, because it wouldn’t be practical to tie myself down.”

  “Nancy, if you’re planning to say that, why go on the date?”

  “I told you: I promised him I would. Also, I’m dying to see him again. Oh, Janice. Bambi has fallen in love.”

  She sighed. “Then why not just tell him you’re not the other Nancy Stern instead of kissing him off? That way you’d at least have a fighting chance with him.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t know Bill, know what he’s been through with his ex-wife, know how much he values honesty. He’d hate me if he found out I’d been lying to him.”

  “But you will be lying to him if you tell him you don’t want to see him anymore.”

  “Look, there are lies and there are lies. I’d rather lie about my feelings than lie about my identity, okay?”

  She shrugged. “Either way, your nose is gonna grow.”

  I put my arms around her. “Then I’ll ask the other Nancy Stern for the name of her plastic surgeon and have it fixed.”

  Fortunately, I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on the Bill problem, as the three weeks before Christmas were always hectic at Small Blessings. In our efforts to instill in the children a tolerance for all members of the human race, our holiday curriculum was multicultural, and we covered Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, even Ramadan through songs, stories, and art projects.

  During one activity—the kids were making picture frames for their parents, gluing uncooked noodles to pieces of cardboard and spraying the whole business with gold paint—Fischer Levin threw a handful of pasta at Todd Delafield and a food fight ensued.

  “Fischer! Todd! Over here! Now!” I said, arms crossed over my chest in my best drill sergeant pose.

  They trudged over, listened to my harangue, and directed a few choice words at each other.

  “Fine,” I said. “Go sit in Time-out until you’re ready to be with the rest of the class. Both of you.”

  They did as they were told, but it was Fischer who apologized first—right away, in fact—and I was pleasantly surprised by the development. Then he cupped his hands around my ear and whispered, “I’m giving you a special Christmas present, Miss Stern. Because I love you.”

  “Aw, I love you too,” I said, hugging him. “But you don’t have to give me anything, honey. All I want for Christmas is for you to behave.”

  He grinned. “Then I’ll give you two presents—the one I’m talking about and the one you’re talking about.” He high-fived me and went back to his seat.

  The next day, the class baked holiday cookies. Fischer was a model student.

  The day after that, we taught the children how to make their own Christmas wrapping paper. Again, Fischer stayed out of trouble.

  I was so optimistic about this trend that I was actually looking forward to telephoning his mother. (Janice and I had divided up the parents list and were calling everyone on it about our Christmas party on the last day of school. We were asking them to drop off a gift for their child—we put a ten-dollar limit on the gift, but we knew the clueless parents would ignore it—so that when the janitor dressed up as Santa and appeared in the classroom, he’d have a little goodie for each child.)

  I reached Gretchen Levin at seven o’clock in the evening, just as she and her husband were heading out the door.

  “It’s yet another charity gala,” she said, apologetic about having to rush. “There’s one every night, it seems.”

  Doesn’t charity begin at home? I wanted to ask but did not, naturally. “I’m calling about our Christmas party.” I gave her the spiel about the gift for Fischer.

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll have his nanny dash out and buy something and bring it to school ASAP. Let’s see, maybe Fischer would enjoy one of those Mercedes for children. I think FAO Schwarz carries them.”

  I informed her about the ten-dollar limit.

  “Oh,” she said. “I suppose that is more democratic.”

  “The idea is to have Santa send the children off on their vacations with a big surprise,” I said. “It’s very exciting for them when he presents them with a gift with their name on it. We tell them he’s rewarding them for being so good all year long. Speaking of which, we’ve noticed some improvement in Fischer’s behavior.”

  “Fischer’s behavior?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Levin. Remember when you and your husband came to school for the Thanksgiving play and I told you we’d been having problems with your son?”

  “I do, but I was under the impression that the problems had been resolved.” I could hear her husband yelling at her in the background, telling her to hurry up and get off the phone. “Miss Dibble indicated that Fischer was doing beautifully at school now. She phones us on a regular basis, to keep us up to date on how well he’s performing.”

  “Is that so?” I said, astonished not only that Penelope had been going behind my back and calling the Levins directly but that she was feeding them misinformation, just so they’d keep pouring money into Small Blessings.

  “Yes, now I really do have to run,” said Gretchen Levin, following a loud “Wouldja get off the goddamn phone!” from her husband. “I’ll take care of that gift first thing tomorrow. Thanks for calling.” Click.

  Needless to say, I marched into Penelope’s office the very next morning, storming past Deebo, insisting I had to see her boss. I’ll spare you the gory details of the meeting, but, basically, Penelope admitted she’d been sucking up to the Levins yet maintained it was none of my affair. “You teach, I fund-raise,” she said. I was really steamed and began to raise my voice in defense of all that was right and good and American about being an educator of young children. But when Deebo rushed into the office, looking as if she were about to wrestle me to the ground, I shut up. “You do your job and I’ll do my job and everything will be just fine” was
Penelope’s parting shot. I didn’t ask what would happen if I didn’t toe the line. I didn’t have to.

  When I got home that afternoon, there were four messages on my answering machine. One was from Bo, the man who had wanted to play in the sheets with the other Nancy Stern. (Apparently, he had never heard back from her.) The second was from Henry, the married man who had begged Nancy to spend a weekend with him. (Apparently, he had never heard back from her, either.) The third was from the young girl with the southern accent. (Apparently, she was too reticent to leave her name or the reason for her call.) And the fourth was from Bill, my Bill. (Thank God I hadn’t been home and picked up the phone.) He said he knew I was out of town but figured I’d probably check in for messages. He said he’d been thinking about me nonstop. He said he missed me, even though we’d only been out together twice. He said he couldn’t wait to see me and would come racing over the minute I called.

  I replayed his message five times, swooning after each listen. I couldn’t get over how sweet he was, how completely open he was with his feelings, how utterly lacking he was in that vile macho posturing I’d observed in other men. Best of all, he appeared to be mad about me. Or was he mad about the woman he thought I was?

  So as not to torture myself with fantasies about Bill, knowing the relationship was doomed and that I had designated myself as the doomer, I took the elevator down to the lobby with the two messages for the other Nancy Stern. “Would you buzz Miss Stern in 24A?” I asked the doorman, “and tell her I’d like to come up?” You can also tell her she would have made life easier for all of us if she’d listed her number in the phone book, I muttered to myself.

  The doorman buzzed her. After a couple of tries, she finally answered and gave him the okay to send me upstairs.

  Obviously, she’s not off interviewing Mel Gibson, I thought as I ascended to the twenty-fourth floor, and it’s a good thing she’s not, considering the envy that’s already built up inside me.

  When I emerged from the elevator, there was Nancy, standing outside her apartment door waiting for me, her bionic body wrapped in nothing but a towel.