by Min Jin Lee
Ella smoothed down her hair and stared at the brass name plaque. Perhaps she should go back home and call David to say she couldn’t make it. She pulled down the black knitwear suit jacket that Casey had selected for her. Ella thought it looked pretty, but she placed her right hand on the thick roll of fat around her middle. That was all David would see—she was sure of it. Last night, Casey had come by after work and laid out the outfit for her: a black St. John’s suit with small gold buttons, nude stockings, patent high heels, and the large Tahitian pearl earrings from her father. It had been Casey’s idea that she call David Greene to say hello. When she heard that David had asked for Ella to stop by, Casey was adamant: “Listen, just go. Say hi to your friend, Ella. You have to get out of the house. The baby’s doing great. Get out of the house. Ted is—Ted. You have to get a life of your own.” Casey had been inflexible on this point.
Ella heard steps, and she turned around. The corridors were empty. The streams of blue-jacketed boys were away for the summer. They called her Miss Shim, and when she married, it was Mrs. Kim. School was out, but its redolent perfume of tempera paints and lunchroom had lingered, making her recall all the happy times she’d had amid the school of bustling boys—amazingly different from a lifetime of girls’ schools and yet parallel in its cloistered privacy from the other sex. St. Christopher’s was the first job Ella had ever had. She couldn’t imagine working anywhere else.
The door opened before she knocked. The steps must have come from behind the door. The tinnitus in her ears had stopped a few weeks after she delivered Irene, but her hearing hadn’t returned to its full range.
“Oh, Ella! You’re here! I didn’t hear you.” David pulled back reflexively, not knowing if he should kiss her hello. Then, in a swift motion, he reached over and kissed her on the right cheek. His faint stubble and lips brushed against her skin. His breath was scented with wintergreen LifeSavers, and she detected the menthol of Bengay on his dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. David’s long torso gave him intense lower back problems, and he had to use a lumbar cushion with his ergonomic chair. At the end of the workday, she’d sometimes walk in on him doing his stretching exercises on the office floor before he cycled across town to his house on the Upper West Side.
“Please come in. I’d almost given up hope—” David smiled, feeling so happy at the sight of her that he was almost worried she’d disappear.
Ella’s shoulders stiffened, and she felt as if she were caught in his gaze. She’d almost gone straight home. But he’d opened the door. Remembering suddenly, she held in her stomach, hoping that the dark suit made her appear thinner. Casey swore that it made her look like a sexy nun, making Ella burst into giggles. For that was without question David’s type. She so wanted him to think she was still pretty.
David gestured to the Windsor chair opposite his desk, then sat at his desk chair.
Ella sat where he’d indicated, feeling disappointed they weren’t sitting next to each other on the green Chesterfield—how they used to sit when they worked together.
“You look marvelous, Ella,” David said. He couldn’t stop smiling.
Tears sprang to her eyes. How could he always be so kind?
“Oh dear.” David got up to bring her tissues. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Whatever is the matter? Oh, I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
“Oh God. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying. I think I’m just so happy to see you. Isn’t that funny?” Ella caught her breath. “You must excuse me. It must be motherhood.”
“You’re lovely when you cry.” David smiled again, wanting her to be happy. He was now alarmed; when he came to himself after her call yesterday, he grew concerned about her searching for a job. He wondered if she was okay. If things were all right at home. Perhaps Ted wasn’t attentive enough, or there was trouble with money.
Ella sniffled and dabbed her nose with the Kleenex.
“I’m very pleased to see you.” David turned to go back to his chair, then changed his mind. “Hey, why don’t we sit on the sofa? Hmm? Like we used to. Come.” He motioned with his hand for her to follow. Ella got up and sat next to him.
“There.” He looked at her directly, leaning his torso in a little. “Now tell me what’s going on. I’m all ears.” He put his hands behind his ears and pulled them forward, this thing he did with the boys when any of them came by to have a chat. He was doing his Dumbo ears for her.
Ella laughed quietly. “There’s nothing to tell, really. I thought maybe I’d look for some work. We’ve hired Mary Poppins. Laurie is just wonderful and smart. So smart. And I’d like to be of some use. In the fall. That’s all. Get out of the house a bit.” She was reciting bits of Casey’s script.
“Yes, yes. Of course you’ll have a job. You’re very good at your work. We will find something for you. I will fire myself if necessary. But you mustn’t cry. That’s completely not fair.” David would’ve done anything to take away her tears. Going to an all-boys’ Catholic school up till college, and being an athlete then, too, meant for him that women were separate and mysterious. Their actions were alien to him, and he was drawn to them, but he was puzzled by their behavior. “I can’t bear to watch you cry. Very unfair of you.” He looked stern. “Tell me what to do, please.” He put his hands behind his ears again. “Tell Dumbo.”
Ella laughed. “Oh, David. You are so good.”
“Do you need to start right away?” He paused. “Are you okay? For money, that is?” David was in many ways a quiet person, but it was said that his reluctance to talk about money explicitly was the key to his success as a development person. In his work, he never asked for money straight out. He’d say that the school had a need—for computers in the library, a new gymnasium for the little ones, a scholarship or salary increases for diligent teachers, a greater endowment for the poor boys who needed scholarships—then he’d wait patiently until the needs were met. Invariably, they were satisfied, and he was so visibly happy and grateful at any offer to help that donors couldn’t resist writing larger checks. Ella knew David’s asking her about money was not his way and wasn’t easy for him. “Because if you need anything, Ella. . . anything at all—”
“No. Oh no, David.” She was moved by his offer but kept herself from crying. She’d forgotten about his tremendous powers of sympathy, how he could care so much so quickly. “It’s not money. I think I need to work. Have a career and be a mother.” How could she tell him that Laurie was better at raising Irene for sixty hours a week? On Saturdays when Ella took Irene to the park, none of the other mothers spoke to her, and the idea of her and Irene being ignored was difficult. When Ella watched the baby sleep at home, she felt inconsolably sad, which made no sense to her.
“Yes, of course. It’s good to have a job, too. Being a mother is difficult. My mother tells me so. Did you know I had colic? Seems very hypocritical of me to tell you not to cry, then, isn’t it?” He smiled. “I should understand better than anyone if you wish to cry. Perhaps you should holler if you like.”
Tears streamed down Ella’s cheeks. “This isn’t a very good interview, is it?” She laughed.
“We are friends, Ella. We have passed that point of an interview, I think.”
She smiled and nodded.
David took her hands in his and clasped them tightly. “Finally, an Ella smile!”
She laughed just seeing his delight in her. “I must look awful,” she said, feeling very self-conscious, and he shook his head no.
“Impossible.” David reached over to his desk and handed her another tissue. Then Ella saw the picture frame on his desk she’d never seen before. In the photograph, David stood near a brown-haired woman, a red-painted barn, the kind found all over New England, behind them.
“She’s pretty,” Ella said. Her heart felt as if it were tearing up.
“That’s Colleen. My fiancée,” David said without smiling. “She’s a nurse at Mt. Sinai.”
“Oh. My father’s office is near there,” Ella
said, not thinking. “I mean, congratulations, David. I’m—so happy for you. You deserve every happiness. Truly.” This time, she reached over and kissed his cheek. Tears came to her eyes again, and she dabbed them with the tissue he’d handed her. “Now, these are tears of joy. For you. I have grown-up colic. That’s it.” She had so many questions but couldn’t ask them. She had no right.
David smiled. He didn’t let her hands go. “Are you all right? I mean, with working?” He couldn’t talk about Colleen now.
Ella brightened up a little, not wanting to look jealous. She’d talk about work. Yes. She wanted to work.
“I’ve been so isolated, I think. Just the baby and the sitter and me. Ted’s gone a lot. Work. And I thought if I could work from eight to four every day, then I might feel more—more relevant. I needn’t be something like the assistant director again. I could take something less. I don’t need much money or a title—”
“Your bargaining skills have improved. Dramatically.” He smiled. “I’m going to have to raise more funds next year if we can hire you—the shark that you are.”
David had a beautiful smile, she thought. So full of acceptance and truth. Her name was Colleen, she thought. That meant “girl,” didn’t it? She had known a Colleen once who’d told her the meaning. A brunette from her dorm. But she wasn’t David’s Colleen. David’s girl. She played with the name in her head like a kitten with a ball of yarn, because she couldn’t bear what this would mean. But what did it mean? She’d never had any claims on him, Ella told herself. It had been a schoolgirl infatuation on her side. David was the best person she knew.
“So this is what I know,” David said. “The headmaster is desperate for a new assistant. That’s not a good enough job for you, but maybe for a year. Susan, our current AD of development, will leave her position in the summer of 1997 because she is marrying her boyfriend, who is going to graduate school in Illinois. So after a year with Fitz, perhaps you can pop back here. Unless you like Fitz more.” He made a grumpy face, as though he might be jealous. “I’ve already talked to him, and he said he’d like nothing better than to see your face every morning. Who wouldn’t?” David smiled again. “I’m not insulting you, am I? I don’t know how you feel about that kind of work—”
“It’s perfect,” Ella said. “I’d love it. I can start as soon as he wants.”
“I think it’s the latter half of August, when school reopens for the school session. But he wants to talk to you whenever you want.”
“Thank you, David.”
“Hush,” he said. His long eyelashes shielded his dark blue pupils. They gave a vivid color to his pale face.
“You are a friend.”
“We are friends. Yes?”
“Thank you—”
“Hush, hush,” David said, letting go of her hands. “It’s a beautiful day outside.”
He walked Ella to the door, mentioning for no clear reason that he had to go to the bank, then pick up lunch for his mother, who had a strong wish for a turkey club on toast and Fritos. When would he see her again? he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t. How could they be casual friends? Their Friday lunches had been social but also laced with work talk. Would things be different if she was working for Fitz? he wondered. Snap out of it, he told himself. She was married, for God’s sake. She was the mother of a baby. But when he was with her, it was as though he forgot everything. It felt hopeless. And now there was Colleen. Dear Colleen—a nice Catholic girl with a big heart who watched her favorite programs on Thursday nights and liked to clean the house on Saturday mornings.
It was like David not to ask where she was going. He didn’t like to pry. Standing on St. Christopher’s marble steps, sloping inward from the weight of a century of little boys’ feet, Ella didn’t know what to do with herself. She kissed his right cheek to say good-bye, then pulled back quickly, embarrassed by her wish to linger near his LifeSavers breath. “I have to make a few calls. Gosh, David. It was so good. . .” She looked down at her shiny shoes. “Thank you—”
“None of that,” he said. “Go on.” He bobbed his head, unwilling to be the first to leave.
She hoped he wouldn’t watch her walk away, not having any idea what she looked like from behind now. Worrying about this made her feel ridiculous. His mother had cancer, he was engaged to a lovely nurse, she herself was married and had a daughter. What did thirty pounds matter, anyway? It would be better for both of them if he found her backside unattractive. Yet a part of her still worried that how she looked was far worse than she imagined. The last time Ted had caught her coming out of the shower, he’d stared for a long moment as if he were worried, then looked away.
Ella dropped a quarter into the pay phone on East Ninety-fourth and Madison.
Hugh Underhill picked up. The Asian equities sales desk shared the same extension so clients never had to wait.
“Your buddy stepped out to grab a sandwich,” he said. “Should I tell her you phoned?”
Ella shook her head no, then remembered to speak. She said good-bye and got off abruptly, then phoned her father’s office.
Sharlene, the office manager, told her that he was doing an emergency surgery, but he’d be free in an hour or two. “Why don’t you stop by, honey?” she asked. “Surprise him.” And Ella said she would try her best.
Ella walked up the block. Her father would be happy for her, she thought. He’d never thought she should quit her job at St. Christopher’s anyway. Ted would be angry. There was nothing he could say, though. He was hardly around. When they got married, he’d said he wanted five or six kids. Three Teds and three Ellas. That was the joke. But Ella no longer wanted any more children with this man. Compared with her father, Ted was inferior. He was never home, and she didn’t believe him anymore when he said he was working. Privately, she was relieved when he didn’t come home.
The herpes had turned out to be nothing, really. She hadn’t experienced an outbreak since it was diagnosed. Dr. Reeson gave her a look like “I told you so” when Ella brought it up at the last appointment. And Irene was in perfect health. All that pointless worrying. Thank God. But Ella no longer trusted Ted, and in her mind, he had done so little to make her feel reassured or to recover any lost ground. As though she weren’t worth the trouble. When they were together, they were polite to each other. In fact, Ted spoke more carefully to her than he ever had. He almost never raised his voice anymore or made her cry. They hadn’t made love since Ella was six months pregnant. That would make nine months, Ella toted up in her head. Not that she missed it. But it couldn’t be good for a marriage. When she told Casey this, she mentioned seeing a marriage counselor, but even Casey had to admit that Ted would never go to a shrink. That was for crazy people.
Ella walked briskly, ignoring the shop windows. She had no wish to buy anything for herself or for the house. Ted had given Laurie a credit card, so she did most of the shopping for Irene. Laurie frowned on fancy clothes for infants. “A complete waste of money, and it only serves the mother’s vanity. The child has no idea what she’s wearing. For stunted mothers who liked their dolls too much. The worst offenders, naturally, are working mothers who like to have well-dressed children to assuage their guilt.” All this reserve of opinion had gushed out of Laurie like a broken spigot when Ella mentioned casually that she wasn’t fond of buying clothes. Sometimes, Ella thought, Laurie believed that biological mothers were useless.
She was close to her father’s office, but he wouldn’t be there for another hour or so. Sharlene would be happy to see her, but she had enough work for two people, and she never let you help her. If she had something to read, she could go to the Austrian bakery. Her father used to bring her there as a girl when she came to his office on Saturday mornings.
It smelled wonderful in there. The woman Ella knew wasn’t working today. In her place behind the display counter was a reedy woman with dark circles under her eyes. She had pretty brown eyes.
Ella asked her for a box of pastries and began selecting a do
zen assortment. The woman’s plastic tongs automatically grabbed the items Ella pointed to: fancy pastries filled with custards, fruit jams, and whipped cream, crullers, homemade jelly doughnuts. The woman expertly tied up the white paper box with a candy cane–striped string. Ella asked her for a cup of elderberry tea, then paid the woman. The bakery had two empty chairs and a table, but she didn’t want anyone to see her eating.
When she stepped out of the bakery onto the street, a light breeze brushed against her face. Carnegie Hill always looked so spruced up and tidy, and standing on East Ninety-fourth and Madison, Ella felt horribly ashamed that all she wanted was to find a private spot to eat everything in the box and swallow big gulps of her sweet-smelling tea. But where could she go? If she returned to her apartment, Laurie might find her. Ella looked around and saw David walking right in her direction.
“Hey,” he said, “fancy meeting—”
“Hi. I was going to bring these to my father, but he’s busy in an emergency surgery—”
“My. Aren’t we good children!” David held up the sandwich and Fritos he’d bought for his mother.
Ella laughed. She no longer had any wish to eat pastries. Furthermore, she realized that what she had wanted was David. To see him. To talk to him. To have him hold her hands again on the sofa in his office.
Ella covered her mouth with her left hand, shocked by her own thoughts. “I must be holding you up,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”