Julius had told David he sold the diamonds to acquaintances, who had paid top-price, and David had been so grateful for his efforts. But Bella just said “Julius was happy because he bought them for a fraction of their worth.” No doubt in Kathy’s mind that the diamonds Bella wore about her throat were those that David’s father had given him. Julius Kohn had cheated his own cousin.
Within twenty minutes the lower floor of the senior Kohns’ home was alive with conviviality. The women were expensively dressed; most of the men wore tuxes under duress. Few of the guests resided in Greenwich, Kathy noted, and remembered Bella’s remark at a family dinner that the town was integrated until 5 P.M., when non-Jews and Jews went their separate ways. It was fine for all Greenwich ladies to share in volunteer work, garden parties, benefit luncheons and teas. After 5 P.M. the fraternization ceased.
The formal dining room, rarely used more than once a year and capable of seating thirty-six, had been dismantled for the occasion. Five tables, each accommodating eight diners, had been brought in early in the day. An extra setting for David had been laid at the family table.
Now waiters bustled about the tables, serving the elaborate meal the caterer had devised. The scent of pink, white, and red roses was almost sickeningly sweet. A quartet of musicians played in the background, in no way interfering with the lively conversation. Sitting between Phil and David, Kathy spoke little, ever conscious of David’s nearness.
“American soldiers’ wives are managing,” David said in response to a question from Bella. “But believe me,” he smiled whimsically, “without a sense of humor they’d never make it. No one can say that the Americans are welcome in Berlin.”
“In the two years since we were there, David,” Kathy asked, “has there been much rebuilding?”
“Somebody described the Unter den Linden as a mile-long coffin,” he recalled. For an electric instant his eyes met hers, and she knew he was remembering their day in Berlin. “There are efforts to rebuild, but it’s a long, drawn-out process.”
“What about the people?” Brenda’s husband Eli—the accountant—asked. “Has the war changed their thinking?”
“Most Germans consider themselves martyrs.” Bitterness colored David’s voice. “They don’t feel humiliated, as you’d expect. As they’re the first to admit, they still ‘think brown’—Braunchaus or Nazi. Except, of course, for returning Jews and a small anti-Fascist group that always hated Hitler. They’re forever complaining,” David continued with distaste, “about all they’ve lost. Never for a moment thinking of what anguish they inflicted on others. Maybe a later generation will understand. Not this one. This one says ‘that was the war, this is the peace’—and blames the Allies for everything that goes wrong.”
“What about inflation, David?” Julius asked.
“It’s so wild that Berlin doctors have gotten together to ask for a change in the German penal code regarding abortion. Right now it’s illegal, but we want to make it legal during the first three months of pregnancy because so many women are too malnourished to be able to nurse their babies when they’re born.”
“What about the schools?” Brenda asked with a touch of arrogance. “Are German children being taught about the war?”
“Not at all. Whatever is taught would have to be approved by all four Allied Kommandaturen. And nobody agrees. And talking about inflation,” David pinpointed, “it’s so bad. School books cost a fortune—one book can cost 150 marks. At the university level most students skip classes at least twice a week to work on the black market—the only way they can survive.”
“Anything great available on the black market?” Julius’s eyes lighted.
“Most Berliners who’ve come through the war with anything good—and unbroken—are selling it piece by piece just to buy food. Biedermeier furniture, fine white Meissen porcelain—”
“Can you pick up some of that and ship it to us?” Julius asked avidly.
“Julius, no,” Bella objected. “I couldn’t live with it.”
Kathy looked upon her mother-in-law with fresh comprehension. She remembered Marge’s remark that Julius Kohn “has a reputation for being the biggest wolf on Seventh Avenue.” Bella Kohn—early in her marriage, Kathy suspected—knew about her husband’s infidelities. She had built a shallow little world that allowed her to survive in that marriage.
“My wife’s so delicate,” Julius said with sarcasm and for an instant hostility threatened to break through the veneer both cultivated.
“What about theater in Berlin?” Kathy rushed to brush away the awkward moment. “I read somewhere that Three Men on a Horse is a big hit in the U.S. sector.”
“It’s been running for months,” David said. “A lot of plays are running, though the quality of acting isn’t always good, I go occasionally. It’s interesting how so many nationalities—German, Russian, American, French, British, Brazilian—can sit side by side in the theater and be so friendly. That’s not the usual scene in Berlin.”
“What’s this business with Russia and Czechoslovakia?” Milton—Gail’s husband—asked David.
“You know what has just happened.” David smiled ruefully. “Stalin has taken over Czechoslovakia. The Communists won 114 of 300 seats in the national assembly almost two years ago—now the Commies have revolted. Stalin rules.”
“The Russians are out to take over the world,” Milton said gloomily. “The handwriting is on the wall.”
“Berlin is in for bad times,” David predicted. “Stalin is paranoid about a rebuilding of Germany. He’d do anything to stop its recovery.”
“Enough of politics,” Bella decreed. “This is a birthday party. Don’t you all think Gail did a beautiful job with the flowers?”
While guests lingered over coffee, Phil brought out the latest collection of snapshots of Jesse to pass around the table. When they reached David, Kathy involuntarily turned to him. She basked in the warmth and tenderness she saw on his face as he slowly inspected each snapshot.
“You must be very happy.” David’s eyes moved from Kathy to Phil.
“Yes,” Kathy lied. Phil dropped an arm about her shoulders in a gesture of possession. For a while they were happy. What happened—what was happening—to their marriage?
“Come over to the house tomorrow before you head for Boston and see the little character,” Phil invited. “He’s something.”
“I’d like that very much,” David said softly.
Sunlight poured into the first-floor room designated “Jesse’s playroom.” While Jesse embraced his latest stuffed animal ordered from F. A.O. Schwarz by Julius, Kathy folded diapers and tried to stifle yawns. Though they had not arrived home until past 1 A.M., she had known Jesse would be wide awake and eager for breakfast in five hours. Phil would sleep till noon.
Kathy paused as she saw a limousine turn into the driveway. That was Wally driving David over to see Jesse, she thought. Her heart began to pound.
“I’ll be right back, Jesse,” she soothed and darted from the room and down the hall to the front door. She’d been waiting subconsciously all morning for David to appear. She’d discarded three blouses before she chose the tailored gray cotton that went so well with her gray slacks. Fighting for poise when she was a shambles inside, she reached to open the door. “I wasn’t sure you’d wake up in time to come over,” she said as David approached.
“I couldn’t leave Greenwich without seeing your son,” he chided. Behind that casual facade he was tense, Kathy knew. “Great party last night.”
“Yes, it was.” Small talk because there was so much they could not allow themselves to say. But as always David’s eyes spoke with such eloquence. “You chose the right time to arrive.”
“I almost didn’t come,” he said, and his face softened at the baby sounds that filtered down the hall. “Almost didn’t come to the States,” he emphasized as they walked toward the playroom. “There’s so much to do in Berlin. But the Boston convention seemed important.”
“I�
��m glad you came, David,” she said. “And here’s Jesse.” With a surge of maternal love she reached to scoop him up in her arms.
“You looked like this at his age,” David said after a moment. “The same bone structure, the same eyes, the same mouth.”
“He’s the image of my father. Of course, everybody says I look just like Dad.” Her parents and Aunt Sophie would like David, she thought. She always felt a kind of wariness in them toward Phil, despite his potent charm.
“Would he come to me?” David asked, almost shyly.
“Of course.” This was unreal, to be standing here with David this way. “Jesse, this is your Uncle David—”
David reached to take Jesse in his arms. Gently so as not to frighten him. The atmosphere in the room suddenly was unbearably tense. Without David’s saying a word she knew his thoughts. This could have been his child. Their child. But, she told herself yet again, the timing for them had been all wrong.
“I imagine Phil’s still asleep.” David chuckled. “He was always a great one for sleeping late.”
“He’s never up before noon on Saturdays.” Kathy fought an urge to reach out and touch David. “I could wake him—”
“No, let him sleep. I have to leave in a few moments. Wally’s waiting to drive me to Stamford to catch my train.” David hugged Jesse for a moment, then handed him back to Kathy. “Enjoy and cherish him. Nothing is so important as family.”
With Jesse in her arms, Kathy stood at the window and watched David walk back to the car and climb inside. Tears blurred her vision as the limousine moved down the driveway and out onto the road. She felt that a part of her had just died.
Chapter 12
AS PHIL’S TRIP THROUGH the Midwest grew close, Kathy realized that the business monopolized his thinking. Their conversation in the brief time they shared during the week was always one-sided: Phil reported on his latest confrontation with his father about some new approach for the business. With astonishing frequency Phil was winning. There was no need for her to contribute to the talk, she thought. All Phil wanted was an audience.
Now on weekends Phil would disappear for hours to huddle with his father. He always came home exhilarated. He was the little boy who was showing his father how great he could be.
Occasionally Kathy asked herself if Phil was with his father. She was too proud—too guilty at such thoughts—to check this out.
“As soon as I finish the swing through the Midwest,” he told her on a mid-March night when the threat of snow hung over the area, “we’ll start thinking in terms of a trunk show. Probably in early September, right after the New York fashion show. It works for the garment industry. Why not for furs?” It was a rhetorical question. No reply was expected of her.
She had given up trying to persuade him to postpone the trip. She worried about his flying in the sometimes treacherous March weather. But he was impatient to be out in the field. It was as though he had to show his father what an asset he was to Julius Kohn Furs.
“Remember the charity dinner tomorrow night,” she said as she brought dessert to the table. “If we do get snow, maybe you should start out early from the city. Your father and mother are going, too.”
“I doubt that I can make it.” He had forgotten the dinner, Kathy understood. “I’ll be working late with the publicity team tomorrow night.” At intervals now he remained in the city to work well into the evening, taking the train to Greenwich and coming home from the station by cab. He’d always said he’d move back to Manhattan if he had to travel by train. “Dad and Mother will go. They never miss one of those bashes.”
“I’ll call and cancel the baby-sitter.” Occasionally Clara would sit, but she admitted the years were catching up with her and she was tired the next morning.
“You can go with my parents.” All at once Phil seemed self-conscious. “They’ll pick you up and bring you home.”
“I’d just as soon not.” She debated for a moment about telling him tonight that she’d taken her road test. No, wait and see if she’d passed.
He pushed back his chair and yawned broadly.
“I’m beat. I’ll watch a half-hour of TV and hit the sack.”
While Phil went into the living room, she carried the dishes into the kitchen, washed them, and stacked them in the rack to dry. She debated about running a mop across the kitchen floor, then decided to leave it until tomorrow. On Fridays now Lottie Mae came in to clean. She smiled, remembering how Bella had brought this about. “Phil, Kathy needs a woman in to clean once a week. I’ll line someone up for her.” Her mother-in-law was accepting her. Not Julius—he still resented her facing up to him about a big wedding.
In the living room she walked over to turn off the TV. Phil was sprawled across the sofa, asleep.
“Phil—” She frowned at the glass on the floor beside the sofa. Like his father, he’d begun to take a straight shot of Scotch after dinner. It was beginning to show in that tiny roll around his waist. “Phil, wake up and go to bed—”
Later, lying awake while Phil snored beside her, Kathy worried about the road test. It would be awful if she didn’t pass. Mom, too, said she had to learn to drive. It wasn’t good to be alone in the house with Jesse without a car. Living in Greenwich wasn’t like living in Levittown. She had never exchanged more than a few words about the weather with any of the neighbors.
The following morning her driver’s license appeared in the mail. She was jubilant, yet dreading the confrontation with Phil. She’d worry about that later, she decided in a surge of pleasure. She phoned home and told Aunt Sophie she had her license.
“Good,” Sophie approved. “Twenty years ago I told your mother she should know how to drive. Why is it always the man who sits behind the wheel?” Not that the Ross family had owned a car since Dad’s second-hand Chevy collapsed of old age in the early days of the Depression.
Ten minutes later her mother called to congratulate Kathy.
“Now you won’t be stuck in the house so much,” her mother comforted. She’d never complained about that, Kathy thought, but Mom understood. “You’ll make friends out there.”
She phoned Marge, in her last week on the job before heading for San Francisco, and on impulse invited her to come out to stay for a couple of days before leaving town.
“In the middle of the week?” Marge asked, and Kathy understood she’d prefer avoiding Phil for most of the time.
“Great. I’ll pick you up at the station,” she said blithely. “We need some time together before you leave town. I’m going to miss you like hell.”
While Jesse sprawled contentedly in the playpen—installed now in a corner of the kitchen—she prepared a dinner that featured Phil’s favorite dishes. She’d set up the card table, and they’d eat before a roaring fire. She remembered the first time she and Phil had made love—before a fireplace in that little house at the edge of Paris. What had happened to the magic she’d felt then?
She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the car pull up in front of the house. The roast would have been overdone if Phil had not come home on time tonight. But he’d worked late last night, and he didn’t do that two days in a row.
Phil came into the house and down the hall to the kitchen. After the routine kiss and comment about the traffic on the Merritt Parkway, he scooped up sleeper-clad Jesse from the playpen and headed upstairs for the nursery. Kathy hurried into the living room to set up the card-table before the fireplace, lit the crumpled newspaper that laced the chunks of log and kindling wood in the grate. Phil would roughhouse with Jesse for a few minutes until Jesse’s eyes would begin to flutter in drowsiness. Then he would put him in his crib and come downstairs for dinner.
Kathy waited until they’d eaten and she’d taken the dishes out to the kitchen to tell Phil her news.
“I wanted it to be a surprise for you,” she told him. “I was scared I’d fail the test. So many people fail the first one.” Why was she rattling on this way? “But I passed it. My driver’s license arr
ived in the morning’s mail.”
“Who taught you to drive?” He was staring at her as though she’d committed some monstrous act.
“The driving school.” She hesitated, “I borrowed the money from the emergency fund. I wanted to surprise you,” she stammered.
“You took money from my emergency fund?”
“I thought it was our emergency fund.” All at once anger welled in her. Why did she have to apologize to her husband this way?
Phil reached into his pocket, pulled out his car keys. “I have another set in the car.” Now he was taking money from his wallet. “Here, you buy the groceries this week. You don’t need to drag me over to the supermarket anymore.” Radiating hostility, he tossed bills onto the coffee table, pushed back his chair and crossed to the television set. He ignored her completely for the next few hours until he sullenly went to bed.
Kathy was happy that Bella was taking more interest in her grandson. Two or three afternoons a week she drove over to spend an hour with Kathy and Jesse. Now she made an effort to bring Kathy into some of the local socializing, though Brenda and Gail continued to ignore her.
Late in the spring Bella announced that she and Julius were driving out to Southampton on Saturdays to look at houses.
“If we find a place and buy it, we’ll expect you and Jesse to come out for the summer along with the girls and their kids. Julius and Phil can commute from Southampton.”
Three weekends later Julius gave a binder on a fifteen-room house right on the ocean at Southampton. Now he behaved, Kathy thought, as though the Southampton house was his own idea. He ordered Bella to hire a decorator to furnish the house. Kathy gathered from Phil that this had been at the persuasion of their new public relations woman, who hoped for a magazine spread built around “the charming Kohn estate at Southampton.”
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