THE PRESIDENT IS COMING TO LUNCH

by Nan

Libby laughed. “Don’t be silly. I can’t get married in my nipples.”

  Cal dropped her onto the pillows. “You’re saying no!” He got off the bed. “I can’t believe it. It must be catching. I’ve got déjà vu!” Cal turned away. “You’re saying no.”

  Libby went to him. She reached out and put her hands on either side of Cal’s face. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” she whispered. “I have always been married to you.”

  “Then all we have to do is make it legal.”

  “Do you really love me, Roger-Cal?”

  “I do.”

  “So,” Libby asked, very softly, “how about letting me be the Ganges once in a while?”

  Cal took her by the shoulders. “Listen, you want this relationship to work or not?”

  “You bet your ass I want it to work.”

  “Those are pretty high stakes,” he said.

  Libby stretched her hands down his back as far as she could. She smiled, feeling the stubble where the studio had shaved him for the nude scene. “Only since you put your ass on the market.”

  Cal pulled back quickly. “What?”

  “What?” she repeated.

  “Who told you?” he asked angrily.

  “Who told me?”

  “Yes. Who told you?” He sat on the bed. “Who was it? Janos? One of the waiters? I should have known it was one of the waiters. Goddamn! I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.” He was suddenly apologetic. “You’ve got to believe me, Lib. I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know how.” He took a deep breath. “The best I could get for The Desert Song was two million. I mean, who the hell is going to see The Desert Song? But then Janos comes along with some turkey called The Last Cowboy. He really wanted me and I figured I could get him up to five.”

  Libby sat next to him. “What happened?”

  Cal shook his head. “The son of a bitch offered six!”

  She began to laugh. “Six? That’s wonderful!” She hugged Cal. “No one told me that. I didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  Libby cupped her hand under Cal’s chin. “Why isn’t this man smiling?”

  “Janos wants me to sleep with Rikki.”

  “What?” She took her hand from his face.

  “He wants the world to know that Rikki had an affair with The Great Lover and still went back to him.”

  Libby didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Cal, that’s the sickest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Actually, for Janos, it’s pretty wholesome.”

  “I’m not talking about Janos! I’m talking about you. And me.”

  “This has nothing to do with you and me. It’s a deal. That’s all it is.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s a little too eighties.”

  “I can do The Desert Song for two. Or I can do Rikki for six.”

  “Are you asking or telling?”

  “Babe, it doesn’t mean anything. We’re talking in and out.” He turned away and spoke softly. “I need the six.”

  Libby stared at him. “One small fuck for man, one giant fuck for Cal Dennis.”

  “I need the six.”

  Libby rushed to the closet for her sable. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” She put the coat on and held it tight.

  Cal nodded yes. “I don’t know what happened. Or even when. All I know is it wasn’t anything big. Nothing dramatic. It never is. Maybe the limo was late or I didn’t get called back right away. It could have been as simple as someone else ordering lunch before I did. I don’t know. But the minute you think it’s happening, it’s too late. It’s already happened. You’ve lost the game. You begin playing another game. Same teams, but different rules. This time you start out as the loser. You bluff. You try to keep them from finding out what you did wrong. But the catch is, you don’t know what you did wrong.”

  “Which brings us back to Rikki,” Libby said. “You’re not just talking money.”

  “No. I’m talking six million. I’m talking my price. I’m talking what’s going to appear in the columns.”

  Libby nodded her head. She put a hand to his cheek and smiled. “But the money wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Would it hurt you?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. “Would it hurt me?” she said slowly. She opened her mouth, then hesitated. “You want the truth?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good.” Libby opened her coat. Cal rolled on top of her. “I don’t give a damn about Rikki. I just wish you hadn’t told me.”

  “Babe, it’s going to be all over the papers. If I know Janos, he’s thinking about taking ads. I couldn’t keep it a secret from you if I tried.”

  Slowly, she moved away from Cal. “But what if you could?”

  “But I can’t!”

  Libby spoke urgently, looking into his eyes as though he were the Oracle of Delphi. “What if you could?”

  “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Lib, it’s just that there are some things it’s better not to know.”

  “What if you could?”

  “If I could, I would lie to you. I would do everything in my power to make certain you never found out.”

  Even though Libby tried to smile, she felt large tears begin to fall. “I want you to remember you said that.”

  WEDNESDAY

  THE YELLOW CHEVY WITH ONE BLUE DOOR EDGED its way down Fifth Avenue amid the morning rush-hour traffic. Alfero was driving, one hand on the wheel and the other motioning a silver Mercedes to get the hell out of his way.

  Dolores sat next to Tía Rosa, whose right arm was the car’s right directional signal. Neither of the automatic signals worked. Nor did the horn. And Tía Rosa worked only if you shouted.

  “¡Derecho!” Alfero shouted.

  Dolores turned down the quadraphonic Sony CD sound system that had been blaring pasodobles since they left the Bronx. “¡Derecho!” she screamed at her aunt.

  Tía nodded. She stuck her arm out the window and spit. “¡Maricón!” she yelled at a chauffeur in the right lane.

  Alfero whooped, pressing as hard as he could on the silent horn. “Busboy! Busboy! Busboy!” he chanted, giving the finger to all of Fifth Avenue.

  Carlos and the niños joined from the back seat. “Busboy! Busboy! Busboy!”

  The car came to a screeching halt in front of Libby’s. Dolores reached over to turn off the music. Everyone stopped talking. Even the boys quieted down as they looked out at the black lacquered panels beneath the black-and-white-striped awning.

  “Ay, ay, ay,” Carlos groaned appreciatively.

  “Libby’s,” Dolores whispered as though she had arrived at Shangri-La.

  Alfero was bursting with pride. He rushed from the car and stood at the entrance, arms outstretched, his feet stamping the ground.

  Across the street, in the gray Plymouth station wagon, Special Agents Logan and Meehan shook their heads.

  Dolores had to be coaxed from the car, while the boys scrambled out eager to touch the ornate brass hinges and see their reflections in the shiny black panels. Carlos positioned Tía in front of the door. He took out his Nikon F3 and shouted for the boys to stop fighting.

  Alfero posed with his arms around Dolores. With his arms around the boys. With one hand on the door and the other signaling thumbs-up.

  Meehan asked Logan, “He’s the one?”

  Logan nodded.

  Alfero was pleading with Dolores as he rang the bell. “Por favor.” He wanted her to come inside with him. She pulled back as Kenneth, the night porter, opened the door.

  “Holy shit!” Kenneth said. “Sorry, ma’am,” he added quickly as he saw Dolores.

  Alfero shrugged. “We take pictures.”

  “Forget the pictures.” The black man raised his eyebrows. “There’s something very funny going on.” Kenneth nodded toward the inside. “I think she found out about the lamb chops!”

  But Libby was not thinking about lamb chops as she sat at the bar. Ignoring the menus, w
ork schedules, and seating charts spread out in front of her, she made note after note concerning the dozens of details any self-respecting hostess would be frantic over if the President of the United States were coming to lunch. She still hadn’t decided which china to use. Would brand new linen be too stiff? What about bottled water? Could she possibly call in a decorator and redesign the entire restaurant by Thursday? She put a hand to her forehead and gasped. “Place cards!” She took a clean sheet of paper to start on the wording for the cards. But she couldn’t concentrate. What the hell was she going to do about flowers?

  Libby reached for the phone, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was relieved at what she saw. She saw assurance. Control. Professionalism. A gray pinstripe jumpsuit with a pink silk scarf. There was even a pencil clenched between her teeth. Very Kate Hepburn, she thought. But then again, Hepburn would have had the guts to tell Cal the truth. Hepburn would have risked it. She would never have accepted love without trust. Libby sighed. It was hopeless. She was nothing like Hepburn. She was pure Lana Turner. One of those women who never meant what they said. Madame X going through life on the subtext.

  She had pretended to be upset about Cal’s deal with Janos. She played on his guilt to get through the night and it had worked. Cal hadn’t asked her to marry him again. Now all she had to get through was lunch and dinner and lunch again without Birnbaum uncovering the truth. A piece of cake. That was what she did best. She was Queen of the Star-Struck Ballroom where no one ever wanted to hear the truth.

  Libby dialed the florist, daring herself to ask whether the calla lilies were in bloom. “Sophie? Libby. Comment ça va? Oui, oui, it has been a chien’s age. Listen, chérie, I’m up to my asparagus in problems. I need a truly exquisite arrangement with tomorrow’s delivery. What do you mean what delivery? The flower delivery! Sophie, this is Libby Dennis! Oui. What? Since when?” Libby put a hand to her forehead and then buzzed for Sonny. “No, I didn’t know. Chérie, let me call you back.” Libby hung up. She turned quickly from the mirror, avoiding her own reflection.

  Victor, the bartender, was slicing lemons at the end of the bar. Libby turned to him as though they had been in the midst of an argument. “Do you know why people come to this restaurant?”

  “For the drinks,” he said. “What else?”

  “They come here because they know what to expect. There are no surprises. It’s like Rocky IV. They know what they’re going to get before they go in.” She tapped her finger on the bar for emphasis. “And that goes for the flowers, too.”

  Sonny sat down next to her. “What’s up?”

  “Your number. Unless you’ve got a damn good reason for eighty-sixing Sophie.”

  “You unhappy with the flowers lately?”

  “No.”

  Sonny shrugged. “So can I get back to work?”

  “I want to know what happened to Sophie!”

  “Same thing that happens to a lot of people. She got greedy. She kept raising her prices.”

  Victor shook his head. “Must be a real epidemic.”

  Sonny turned angrily. “The only epidemic is people with big mouths.”

  “What’s on your mind, Victor?”

  “Mixers,” he said. “Used to be, Warshefsky delivered Monday and Thursday like clockwork. Now we got some bozo who delivers once a week. Once a week maybe.”

  “What do you mean maybe?” Sonny yelled.

  “I mean like when you had to send the porter to Gristede’s for tonic.”

  “If you weren’t such a Nervous Nellie I wouldn’t have sent him. You didn’t run out.” Sonny turned to Libby. “Prices go up. I try to keep things level. So we get a delivery once a week instead of twice.”

  Victor leaned across the bar. “A customer comes in here, he wants a drink. He don’t want maybe.”

  The front bell rang. Libby jumped off the stool. She pushed aside the curtain on the door. It was Birnbaum. Libby stood in front of Door Number One. Birnbaum waved at her through the glass. She looked around. There was no Door Number Two. Her choice was the tiger or the tiger.

  “Birnbaum!” she said, unlocking the door, “Thank God you’ve come. I’m in desperate need of your help. I simply can’t make up my mind about place cards.”

  “Good morning.”

  “I don’t know whether it should say Mr. President or The President or President Sweetie.”

  “No place cards.”

  “No place cards? Birnbaum, this isn’t Russia!”

  “No place cards. We don’t use place cards for the same reason we don’t paint a bull’s-eye on the President before he sits down.”

  Libby pointed into the dining room. “You think you can hide him at the front table?”

  “The front table? What makes you think I want the President there?”

  “I don’t care where you want the President. That’s my best table.”

  He looked at his seating chart. “The President will be at 43.”

  “Are you nuts? At the entrance to the kitchen? Right next to the men’s room? The only person who likes that table is Janos. I’m not seating the President of the United States in Siberia.”

  Birnbaum stared at her. No expression. “I need six tables for the immediate circle. Then another one, two, three, four, five, six around them. Twelve all together.”

  “Twelve?” She pointed to the reservations book. “You told me he wanted to have lunch here, not rent the place for a bar mitzvah!”

  Birnbaum cleared his throat. “The President sits in the corner,” he said calmly. “At Table 43. There is a circle of tables around him. And then there is another circle of tables. Concentric circles.”

  “Impossible. You’d have to put tables in the aisle.”

  “That’s what we’re planning to do.”

  “You are nuts. You can’t put tables in the aisle. How will the waiters get out of the kitchen?”

  “They’ll use the other aisle.” He shrugged and smiled for the first time. “Concentric circles. That’s the secret of my success.”

  “Well, it’s not the secret of mine!” She took a deep breath and smiled at him. “Birnbaum, darling,” she began casually, “what is the secret of mine? Why does the President want to have lunch here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She grabbed his arm tightly. “You must know.”

  “Listen, all I’m supposed to do is die for him. He doesn’t have to tell me why he wants to have lunch here. As a matter of fact, I asked our people to intervene with the White House.”

  Libby was furious. “You what? You tried to cancel me out?”

  “I thought he should have a bagel and lox in the limo and get the hell out of the city. But he didn’t want to.”

  “You mean it was the President’s idea? He thought of it all by himself?”

  Birnbaum shrugged. “Well, you don’t get to be President these days for nothing.”

  Libby leaned forward. “What did he say, Birnbaum? What were his exact words?”

  Birnbaum paused. He put a hand to his forehead, then looked up as though suddenly remembering. “I think he said, ‘Give me Libby or give me death!’ ”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  “Or, it might have been, ‘I regret that I have but one lunch to give for my country.’ ”

  “Birnbaum, you’re not funny!”

  He stared at her and shook his head. He spoke softly. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but you’re not as much fun as you used to be, either.”

  Libby sat back. No matter how she tried to anticipate Birnbaum’s responses, there was no way to predict the pattern of his nerve endings.

  He smiled. “I sure do miss the good old days.”

  Libby’s face grew tense. “It was a million laughs.”

  He smiled. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack when you showed up at my apartment.” He shook his head. “I’m a real sucker for tough women.”

  “I need your help, Birnbaum.”

  “All righ
t! All right! Use the goddamn place cards!”

  She put a hand on his arm. “I don’t want Cal to find out.”

  “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to tell him.”

  “Birnbaum, it happened so many years ago.”

  “My mother used to say, ‘You lie down with senators, you wake up with presidents.’ ”

  Libby put a hand to her forehead and pushed aside her bangs. “It was all so meaningless.”

  Birnbaum took a pad from his jacket and a pencil from his shirt pocket. He wanted to get down to business. He started to say something but then hesitated. He looked up at her. “You know, whatever it is you’re hiding, it must be dynamite.”

  * * *

  Tessa lied to Mohammed Eli about having an early class. What she had was the key to Bud’s loft and a vow never to set foot in Brooklyn again. She stuffed all her books into a duffel and put on five layers of clothing beneath the double-breasted camel’s hair coat Daddy had given her to break up with some dumb football player whose name she couldn’t even remember now. Goddamn! Eli ought to be worth an entire Porsche.

  As Tessa opened the door to the loft, she was momentarily blinded by the sunlight, but she caught a glimpse of Bud naked on the bed, his hand moving up and down rapidly between his legs. As her eyes became accustomed to the glare, there was no doubt about it. Bud was masturbating. He waved hello with his other hand.

  Tessa waved back. She wondered what Miss Manners would say about a host who greets you while masturbating. At first she felt put off. Insulted. But as she walked toward the bed, Bud’s smile told her that she hadn’t caught him with his pants down. He was doing it to please her.

  Tessa watched politely for a moment and then let her books drop to the floor. “Careful. You’ll burn it off.”

  “I never burn anything. I’m too good a chef.”

  Tessa walked to the closet and threw her coat on the floor. She couldn’t help smiling at his expression when he realized how many layers of clothing she had on. “It’s all the rage in Alaska.” She began unbuttoning the first of her skirts. “Actually, it’s quite common in the coat check community to wear everything you own so that you never have to hang anything up.” Tessa had expected him to laugh. She shrugged and asked, “You have some music?”