Dinner with Andrew

by Martha Williamson

  “I’m . . . not sure,” Andrew replied. “I just know I’ve seen you before,” said Jackie forcefully. She gave the distinct impression that she felt she was never wrong about anything. “Did you work with my husband? Harvey Cysse. You know, as in Cysse Petroleum? You must know that name.”

  Andrew knew of the endless chain of filling stations that stretched from one coast to the other, but he was focusing on the name itself.

  “Harvey . . .” He had encountered so many people, so many names during his tenure as Angel of Death that it was difficult to conjure up any specific name and face in an instant. After all, like Monica, he had been in service since 1938, and as Angel of Death he had come on just in time for the busy years of the Second World War.

  “Cysse,” Jackie filled in.

  Then Andrew remembered.

  The room in the hospital had been luxurious— more like a lavish hotel suite than anything you usually found in a hospital, but Harvey Cysse was so rich he was able to afford to die in very grand style. Then Andrew remembered Harvey Cysse himself, an elderly man—a man much older than his wife—a thin and pallid form in the hospital bed, the life slipping out of him like flowing water. There was a crowd of expensive doctors and round-the-clock nurses hovering around Harvey as he died, as if money could hold back the inevitability of death.

  But Cysse had died, of course, finally going with Andrew in joy and relief. “Oh, yes!” said Andrew. “Harvey! I remember Harvey Cysse. Of course . . .”

  Jackie Cysse beamed and looked triumphant. “See, I knew you knew him. Now let’s see— don’t tell me—you worked for him, right? You were one of those bright young men rising to the top of Cysse Petroleum. My husband called them ‘the shooting stars.’”

  Andrew shook his head slowly. “Well, not exactly. I didn’t actually work for him. I knew him very . . . very late in his life.”

  “That’s it! I remember now,” said Jackie jubilantly. “The hospital. You were there near the end. A doctor! I never forget a face! Never! Ask anyone.” As if the matter were now well and truly settled, Jackie felt as if she had a perfect right to commandeer Andrew. She snatched Andrew by the arm and pulled him away from Monica and Tess, leading him toward the door of the grand ballroom of the hotel.

  It was plain to Andrew that Mrs. Harvey Cysse had no idea who he was or what he was doing there in that hotel that day—but, for reasons of her own, she was determined to make use of him.

  “Well, this is just perfect,” she announced, “just perfect . . .” Jackie spread her glance over Andrew again, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. “Now, tell me again, what did you say your name was, darling?”

  Andrew had been called many things, but “darling” had not come up all that often.

  Andrew was unused to such straightforward treatment; truth to tell, he was usually the one in control of an encounter.

  “Uh—Andrew,” he said, fighting to control a nervous stammer. He could not quite think what to say, but hoped that heaven would direct his words and give him a hint as to his involvement in this bizarre situation. “A friend . . . though, not a doc—”

  That was as far as he got with the truth before Jackie Cysse filled in the rest for him. “Dr. Andrew Friend!” she exclaimed. She looked him up and down again then asked, “And tell me—and make sure it’s the truth—are you married, darling?”

  He had never been married. His answer came easily.

  “No,” he said emphatically. “I am not married.” Perhaps his answer was too definite, because it seemed to tell Jackie she was on the right track.

  “That’s good. How about a girlfriend? Anyone serious? Engaged? Going steady? Living together?”

  “Ah, no,” said Andrew.

  “Even better. Now,” she said, without missing a beat, “I guess we can assume that you don’t have any strange inclinations, no weird hang-ups, no history of stalking, drug addiction, petty theft . . . no criminal record, right?”

  It was a question not often put to an angel— Andrew had never been called upon to answer it— and it took him by surprise.

  “Uh . . . ,” he said—as if he had to think about it—“No. No criminal record. And no strange inclinations . . .”

  “Good,” said Jackie Cysse as she walked him quickly across the room, a firm grip on his arm, much in the way a bouncer might throw out an intruder at a private party. Only Jackie seemed to be forcing him into a party to which he had not been invited. At least, he assumed he had not been invited to this party. He wondered if this was part of the assignment, or if he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and was now being shanghaied by this rather pushy woman.

  “Where are we going?” Andrew asked.

  “Dr. Friend—can I call you Andy? You are about to save my life,” said Jackie, unaware of the irony of the situation.

  As she dragged Andrew toward the ballroom, he could only manage a quick glance over his shoulder, a desperate look back at Tess and Monica. Those two found Andrew’s predicament vastly amusing, and it was all they could do to suppress their laughter.

  “That boy needs help!” said Tess with a little cackle. As if agreeing with her, the parrot gave out a little screech.

  “Let’s go watch the fun,” said Monica.

  “Why not!” said Tess. The two of them followed the hapless Andrew into the ballroom.

  Chapter Two

  She grand ballroom of the Park Place Palace had been extravagantly decorated with thousands of dollars worth of flowers and greenery donated by a number of extremely pricey New York florists. These florists were shrewd businesspeople who, while anxious to support a good cause, were all the while well aware that ladies who lunch were likely to spend exorbitant amounts at the right society florists for their own private affairs. Spend a few thousand dollars in good advertising while helping a worthy cause, and everybody wins.

  As Jackie led Andrew into the ballroom, he was confronted with a room full of ladies who lunch. There were expensively dressed women simply everywhere. Some stood in small groups chatting away; others were already seated at the circular banquet tables, perched in the inevitable little chairs with the spindly gold legs; some rummaged in the “goodie bags” that were a feature of luncheons like this one. Andrew caught glimpses of the glittering tidbits. The ladies seemed to be quite pleased with the gifts from upscale cosmetics companies, exclusive chocolatiers, and with the small but expensive items like change purses, address books, and fountain pens.

  “These things are such a blessing,” he heard one of the women say. “They make perfect gifts for the help . . .”

  Jackie Cysse, it seemed, knew everyone in attendance that afternoon. As they crossed the ballroom, she never stopped waving, blowing kisses, and calling out greetings. And Andrew could not help but notice that she never seemed to pause for a response.

  “Sylvia! You look so lovely in Escada!”

  “Darling, Barbara! It’s been far too long.” She circled her finger in the air next to her ear, which apparently was the society semaphore for “Call me on the phone.”

  “Claudia! Your hair! It is nothing less than exquisite—still going to Freddy, I see. He’s such a dear!” Andrew had to admit he was impressed that Jackie had the ability to look at someone’s hair and be able to identify the stylist.

  Andrew couldn’t quite keep up with Jackie, who was spraying compliments around the room as if she were wielding a machine gun loaded with a full magazine of flattery. In the far corner of the room, some ladies gathered around a desk where an author was busily autographing books. And at her side, her publisher’s publicist was working a credit card machine. A poster next to the table announced that the title of the book on sale was Women Who Run with the Bulls: The Savvy Woman’s Guide to Meaningful, Long-Term Investment.

  Andrew was not familiar with the title. He was still taking all this in when Jackie turned her large blue eyes on him again. “It’s the Books and Bachelors Luncheon. Again, already! Where does a yea
r go?” Jackie asked the question, but did not wait for an answer.

  “Mrs. Cysse . . . ,” Andrew began uncertainly. “I’m not altogether sure that I should—”

  Jackie ignored him. “You know I really can’t be chairman every year. It’s not fair that they ask me every year knowing that I would never turn them down. Next year, though, I’m going to be firm. This is the last, absolutely the last time.”

  Jackie glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of yet another old friend.

  “Elaine! Gorgeous de la Renta! Oscar is such a genius. You look absolutely stunning! But then again, you always look stunning—one day I’ll find out your secret.”

  Jackie turned back to Andrew again. It seemed that she had not ignored him and had heard that tone in his voice—the one that suggested he was about to back out, beg off, and get out of there as gracefully but as fast as he could.

  “Anyway, Dr. Friend, I cannot thank you enough. Can you believe it? I had my bachelor all set up—Ray Hannah, the cardiologist at Lenox Hill Hospital—do you know him?”

  “No,” said Andrew. “In fact, I’m not a—”

  “Ray is absolutely the best heart man in the city, believe me,” Jackie announced emphatically. “I had him all set up, and what happens? At the last possible minute he gets paged! That little thing goes beep, and off he goes to save somebody’s life. And what am I supposed to do? Thank God you showed up!” She smiled beatifically. “I cannot thank you enough . . .” She paused a moment to up the charm to its highest level. Had she been of a different generation she might have batted her eyelashes. “Andy . . . ,” she began with a seductive smile.

  Then the coin dropped in the middle of Andrew’s brain. “Waaiit a minute,” he said, the awful truth dawning on him. “Books and Bachelors . . .”

  Jackie nodded vigorously. “It’s the League’s biggest fund-raiser,” she said. “You probably don’t read W, but if you did you’d see we’re in there every year. And Town and Country and Avenue. And the New York Times “Style” section too. But don’t tell me you’re a doctor and you haven’t heard of the Nichols BioTech Institute.”

  Before Andrew could answer, Jackie waved vigorously at a woman on the other side of the room. “Rachel! Rachel! You can call off the search for eligible men—” She pointed to Andrew. “I’ve got one. He appeared from nowhere, like an apparition or something. A genuine lifesaver.

  And he’s a doctor.”

  Andrew could only smile weakly. “Really, Mrs. Cysse, I have to tell you—”

  “Call me Jackie!”

  If Andrew’s smile was weak and wan, Tess and Monica, by contrast, were smiling broadly. Led by Tess, the two of them had walked into the ballroom as if they belonged there and had positioned themselves on a small mezzanine overlooking the room. It was a good vantage point from which to view the rituals and habits of Manhattan charity society in full gallop. Tess looked around at the elegant clothes and sniffed the expensive perfume that sweetened the air. Monica seemed a little seduced by the opulence, but Tess was not.

  “My, my, my, my, my,” she said with a shake of her head. “Aren’t they all so grand?”

  In her long career, Tess had encountered vanity in all its forms—from Caesar and kings down to these society ladies who lunched. She knew it to be an empty and pointless diversion and wondered how it could not be obvious to everybody else. Human vainglory had caused so much trouble throughout history that she wondered why people even bothered with it anymore. Still, free will was free will—and humans were free to do with their lives as they saw fit.

  Monica was a bit puzzled by the proceedings. She stopped a passing waiter, a weary-looking man who seemed to have had his fill of society banquets—even if he was getting paid for them.

  “Pardon me,” Monica asked, “but just what is a Books and Bachelors Luncheon?”

  The waiter shrugged and smiled wryly. “They eat lunch, they buy books, they auction off men,” he said. “They raise a lot of money for a good cause.”

  Monica gulped. “They auction off men?” she said with a gasp. “What does that mean?”

  “Just for the night,” said the waiter as he walked on. The old man seemed quite blasé about it, but Monica was having a certain amount of trouble getting her mind around the concept. The books she could grasp; the sale of unmarried men to a group of high-society women was another thing altogether.

  “Auctioning off men?” repeated Monica as she turned to Tess. “That’s not legal, is it?”

  Tess laughed loudly. “I’m afraid it is, Miss Wings.”

  “Well,” said Monica, “now I’ve heard everything.”

  Tess laughed again. “Honey, you have barely begun. When you’ve finished your term as a caseworker, then you will have heard everything. Right now, you’ve hardly scratched the surface.”

  Andrew managed to break free from Jackie, and he hurried over to Tess and Monica, grateful to see two familiar faces. He looked distinctly distressed by the way events were unfolding that afternoon.

  “Do you know what this is?” he asked Tess and Monica. “Have you any idea what is going to happen here?” He looked quite agitated about the predicament in which he found himself.

  Andrew might have been upset by the imbroglio, but Tess was enjoying the angel’s discomfort immensely.

  “I know what you are, Bachelor Boy,” she said with a huge smile on her face. “And remember, it’s for a good cause. That’s the important thing.”

  But Andrew didn’t care how good the cause was. He shook his head slowly.

  “No, uh-uh,” he said as firmly as he could. “I am not doing this, Tess. I can’t do it.”

  “Well, why not?” asked Tess. “Maybe it’s part of the assignment. You can’t miss part of the assignment.”

  “But what if it’s not?” Andrew countered. “Tess, it’s . . . humiliating.” The whole thing just did not sit well with him, and Andrew was definitely not prepared to enter into the auction in the spirit of fun.

  “Well,” said Monica, joining into the spirit of the game, “Tess did say it was for a good cause. Isn’t it, Tess?”

  Tess nodded vigorously. “The Nichols BioTech Institute does some very fine work. And now you’re part of it, Andrew.”

  A hangdog look came over Andrew’s handsome features, and he looked down at his elegant, thin-soled shoes. “This can’t be why I’m here.” He sighed heavily. “How did I get into this? I cannot believe this is part of the assignment.”

  “I don’t know,” said Tess. “None of us know.” She was in command now. No more joking around. “But we all got sent here, and this is what happened. There’s got to be a reason for all this. So I say ‘Go with the flow until you know,’ baby.”

  Andrew looked less than convinced. “I’m not so sure that’s the best thing to do, Tess.”

  “Do you see an alternative?” Monica asked him. “What else can you do?”

  Andrew considered this for a moment. “I could . . . run away as quickly as possible,” he suggested.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Tess, laughing. “This is something you’re going to have to go through. And besides—you never know. You might enjoy being in a bachelor auction.”

  “I’ll never live it down,” complained Andrew.

  Tess nodded. “Now that is probably very true, Angel Boy. Very true indeed.”

  And time had run out. It was too late for any last-minute maneuvers. As Andrew stood there, Jackie Cysse descended on him and, in an instant, had him in her well-manicured clutches again.

  “There you are, Andy!” she said. “Come along now. We’re starting. I’ve put you at a table with some very, very special friends of mine.”

  “Who are they?” Andrew asked miserably.

  “Oh, you’ll see,” Jackie answered. “You’ll find out in a minute or two.”

  Tess and Monica waved good-bye, their amusement at Andrew’s predicament showing plainly on their faces. Andrew was looking back at them, frowning with an “I’ll get you for
this” look on his face, as Jackie led him back through the crowd. He was not watching where he was going, and Jackie was engaged again in a round of rapid-fire meet-and-greets.

  Andrew bumped squarely into a woman in the middle of the room, colliding with enough force to almost knock her down. Andrew scrambled to catch her before she toppled.

  “I’m so sorry!” said Andrew. “My fault.”

  “That’s—” She looked up into Andrew’s face and for a moment could not speak. Andrew looked so familiar . . . yet she knew that she had never seen him before in her life.

  The woman Andrew had bumped into was dressed in a simple black outfit, a narrow chiffon scarf at her throat. Her clothing and the little jewelry she wore were less expensive and more conservative than the things the rest of the ladies were wearing, and it was obvious even to Andrew that she had paid less attention to her hair and makeup than the rest of the throng. She looked somewhat out of place in the glittering room.

  There was a reason for the difference, of course. Dr. Beth Popik, in contrast to the society ladies, worked for a living—she was one of the top researchers at the Nichols BioTech Institute, the beneficiary of the Books and Bachelors Luncheon. It was customary for a couple of the more senior women at the institute to attend the luncheon as guests of the organizing committee.

  Finally, she regained her voice. “That’s okay,” she said, attempting to sound brisk. “Please don’t worry about it.” Beth Popik was more shaken by the brief encounter than she should have been, as if there had been some kind of spark between her and Andrew.

  “My apologies,” Andrew managed to say, before Jackie ushered him away again. The woman stared after him as he went, the expression on her face a curious combination of fascination and concern.

  Then, from behind her, came a voice she recognized: “Well, I never figured you for the charity auction type, Beth.”

  Beth Popik turned and came face-to-face with Dr. Kate Calder, a fellow researcher at Nichols BioTech. Standing side by side, Beth appeared insignificant, with her drab brown hair and pale complexion, while Kate overshadowed her with a hard countenance and severe, dark good looks. Despite the fact that the women were not friends— in fact, they were intense and unrelenting rivals— Beth did manage a smile, cold though it might have been. She was not quite sure why Kate disliked her so much—they were engaged in similar research, and so Calder must have considered Beth to be a threat. But Kate’s antagonism toward her did not bother her much. As far as she could tell, Kate Calder didn’t like anyone at Nichols BioTech, and nobody who worked there ever expressed any affection for Dr. Calder.