“Welcome back, madam!” she said. Madam? Sandra felt totally underdressed in her spandex and denim. This might have been a big mistake. The maid stepped aside, taking Bernice’s purse, and closing the door behind them.
“Tea and sandwiches in the den, okay, Mildred?” Bernice gave the order, and the maid smiled and walked to the rear of the house. So Mrs. Smith wouldn’t actually be making the tea herself, Sandra thought. Who else worked here? “You didn’t eat a thing, and that garden salad was just for show. We will have a real meal now.” Sandra followed her, Bernice walking backward when she spoke, stretching her arm out to point at things of interest, like portraits of the boys in their youth and Jack’s tennis racket encased in a shadow box with awards surrounding it—things of interest only to the family in residence. It was a real home.
Calling the room a den was an understatement. It was at least a thousand square feet. At one end, there was a huge walk-in fireplace surrounded by beautiful leather furniture, wingback chairs, and solid tables and flanked by fifteen-foot-high bookcases. On the other side of the room was a flat-screen TV that took up half the wall. Bernice saw her looking at it.
“It’s a three-D. Those are blackout curtains on the windows. We have a theater in the basement, but I don’t like subterranean rooms.” Bernice was looking around the space, rubbing her hands together, proud of the home she’d made for her children and grandchildren. Sandra wondered how often it was used anymore.
In the center of the room was a pool table with legs covered in carvings, and three game tables—a room that a family would play in. Along the walls stood a collection of pinball machines that a connoisseur would lust after. It was an arcade! She imagined the grandchildren loved coming here. Bernice led her to the fireplace end of the room. Somehow, she had managed to make this area feel intimate and cozy, in spite of being surrounded by fun and games. How did she do it? There were two wingback chairs on either side of a high round table, a tea table. Bernice pointed to one of the chairs and told Sandra to make herself comfortable. She excused herself to change out of her suit, promising it wouldn’t take but a minute, and asked her to please not wait, to start eating without her.
Bernice was gone less than a minute when Mildred returned with a tray covered with a white linen cloth. Another worker followed, pushing a cart with the tea items, including a large silver tea service. Efficiently and quickly, they set everything up on the table. Mildred poured tea into a cup and offered it to Sandra, pointing out the sugar and cream as well as the honey and lemon. The linen-covered tray was uncovered, revealing a delicious-looking selection of sandwiches, pastries, cookies, and petit fours. Mildred, forcing her to eat, handed her a plate and presented her with the tray. She balanced the tray on her forearm and placed little cakes and what looked like a cream-cheese sandwich on her plate.
“Take more,” she said. Sandra laughed out loud. “I just ate!”
“Hogwash!” Bernice was back, looking youthful and comfortable in a black cotton outfit with drawstring pants and a short-sleeved shirt. She took a plate and piled on sandwiches. Sandra took a cream-cheese sandwich first; it was a sweet rye bread and had smoked turkey, horseradish, and cream cheese. Bernice pointed out nut bread with a gorgonzola cream cheese spread and half a fresh pear sliced on it. They were so delicious that Sandra forgot that she was in this stately mansion and ate like a starving boy. There was butter lettuce with a ham spread on white bread and a small hard roll with butter and some kind of anchovy paste on it, with a slice of cherry tomato. It was meant to be popped into your mouth.
“Is anyone joining us? Or is this all for us?” Sandra asked, smiling. Bernice told her it was just for them. She drank more tea and then started in on the desserts. The petit fours were filled with almond paste or milk-chocolate cream or vanilla custard. She ate one of each kind. When she couldn’t eat another mouthful, Bernice instructed Mildred to package up the leftovers for Sandra to take home. She would have delicious lunches this week, at the very least. They sat in their chairs then, looking out the bank of french doors, which lead out to a courtyard. Mildred had opened one of the doors, and Sandra could hear the water fountain, meant to block the noise from Broadway and Columbus Avenue. She didn’t care about that. She knew they were only a block from Central Park. She loved the city so much.
Bernice grasped her shoulder.
“Oh my God! I am so sorry!” Sandra sat up abruptly, having fallen asleep. What the hell is wrong with me? She looked up at Bernice, who was looking down at her more motherly than concerned.
“I would have let you go on sleeping, but you cried out. I was afraid you were having a bad dream,” Bernice said.
“How long was I out?” Sandra asked.
“Not long at all, about twenty minutes. You must be exhausted.” Bernice pulled up an ottoman and sat in front of Sandra.
“It was probably the anchovy paste and the chocolate cream.” Sandra said, embarrassed. “I should probably get going. I’ve infringed on your hospitality long enough.”
“Don’t go yet,” Bernice said. “I have the feeling you were on the verge of telling me something about my son.” She looked at Sandra with a penetrating gaze. The trays of food had been removed when Sandra was in nod land. She needed to empty her bladder.
“Can I use the ladies’ room?” she asked. Bernice showed her the way. The bathroom was as elegant and exquisite as the rest of the house. The tile was a work of art; the stained-glass windows, she assumed, were Tiffany; and the fabulous vessel sink of a cobalt-blue glass was hand blown, with a gorgeous goose-neck faucet.People really did live this way.
When she came out, Bernice had gone back to the den. She stood when Sandra came into the room, pointing toward the courtyard.
“Let’s sit outside, shall we? The bugs aren’t bad yet, and the traffic has died down. Sunday evening is the best.” She started to walk out. “It is surprising how rarely I do sit out here. When the boys were young, they loved this part of the house, and you could always find them here. Harold built them a tree house in that ancient oak. We thought the neighbors would sue us for harming it, but the house wasn’t really nailed to the tree. They are really such asses. We had a portable pool, not really portable, because it was in ground, but just a vinyl thing that Harold sunk into the ground, knowing that when they grew up, they would no longer use it. It was small, but they loved it.” She turned to look at Sandra. They were sitting at a round glass table surrounded by heavy wrought iron chairs. They were surrounded by beautiful statuary; what you would expect in the courtyard of a mansion in the middle of New York City. “What did you want to tell me, dear?” Sandra decided that she would not be apologetic. She would state the facts, as she knew them.
“I was having an affair with Jack. That is why he no longer spent as much time with you, not because he was angry or disappointed about anything. It was because he was with me.” There, she had said it. But there was more. She would get it out now, rather than later. Give her time to mash it through. “And I just found out today that I am pregnant. Not far, just a few weeks. But I knew right away that my life has been preparing for this moment for years. And you finding me in Big Nick’s in the middle of Manhattan was no coincidence.” She stopped, sat back, and took a deep breath. She was afraid to look over at Bernice. Of course, Bernice would be loyal to Pam. She was her daughter-in-law and Jack’s wife. But the truth, although not easy to hear, would be better in the long run. Her baby deserved that much.
“Let me think for a moment,” Bernice said. She was staring off into the night. While all of this was happening, the sun went down, and it was evening. She moved her hand under the table and must have pressed a hidden button because Mildred appeared with yet another tray, this time with a pot of coffee, cream and sugar, and two cups.
“It’s decaf,” she said. Mildred left it and Bernice poured. “Want a cup?” Sandra was a little worried that Bernice may be angry. She waited, picking up the cup and saucer, grateful for the distraction. Finally, Bernice
looked at her. “There is more to this that needs to be discussed. You have no idea the parallels in our lives. You couldn’t know. But I think we have had enough for one evening. You, young woman, have work tomorrow. Jack may have told you that I am a stickler about work. Easy for me, right, who has never punched a timecard?” She laughed out loud. “But that is neither here nor there. If it were Saturday, I would beg you to spend the night. But you must get home and get ready for tomorrow. You are carrying my grandchild; you must get rest and take care of yourself.” She stood up, wringing her hands. “I just thought of poor, silly Pam. What will she make of all of this?”
Reeling from the insult to Pam, Sandra simply stated, “She knows about me, but not the baby.” Bernice led her out of the den. She was not so much dismissing her, as trying to do what was best for her. Mildred appeared with a large brown paper bag with Whole Foods printed on it in green ink. It was filled to the brim with foil-wrapped food and plastic containers of who knows what. She would have plenty to eat this week.
“Ben will take you home. I must think about everything. You understand?” Sandra was taken aback. Acceptance must run in this family. Silly or not, Pam was the most understanding woman she had ever met, and now Jack’s mother, showing such graciousness in the face of her son’s sexual misconduct with a girl young enough to be his daughter.
“Thank you for this afternoon; it was really lovely. I am grateful for your kindness,” Sandra said. Bernice walked her to the car, the driver standing there with the door open, and Bernice kissed her cheek before she got in.
“Good-bye, my dear. Please call me tomorrow, okay? Promise!” Sandra replied, “Yes, of course. Good-bye, Bernice.”
The car sped out of the driveway. The driver seemed to know right where to go, wasting no time. She was at her door in five minutes. She said good-bye to him and ran to her door. He watched her until she was safely inside.
When her apartment door closed, she was flooded with relief. The stress of the meeting would be apparent later in the night, when she couldn’t sleep. Would Bernice be on the phone with Pam this very minute, telling her the news that her husband would be a father again? The derision of Pam by those who were supposed to love her was difficult to bear. Sandra fell on the couch in a stupor, with her head thrown back and legs sprawled apart. She wondered why she hadn’t stayed in that afternoon. She sat up and put her head in her hands. Then she looked up at the ceiling. Was this yet another part of the plan for her life?
Running into Jack’s mother like that…It wasn’t even running into her! She had sought me out on the street. How did she even remember me from the funeral? Did she have a premonition about me when she saw me that day? Why would she cross Broadway, risking her life, and chase me down in Big Nick’s? Sandra would never forget that first glance as she looked up from her menu and saw the elegant woman standing there, so completely out of place in that greasy restaurant, dressed in a beige silk suit, perfectly groomed. Sandra shuddered to think what she must have thought of her own getup—spandex, denim, and a straw hat, for God’s sake. Oh well, what a hell of a day.
21
The cab pulled up in the front of Marie’s building. She wasn’t sure where she was. Sandra must have paid the driver because he didn’t say anything to her but “Here you are.” Had she even told him where she lived?
She opened the door and got out of the cab. Slowly, she made her way up to the door of her apartment building, barely having the strength to open it. She got into the elevator and pushed her floor button, feeling like she was under water. Even the sound of the elevator motor was distant, muted. She wondered if she was having a nervous breakdown. Stumbling into her apartment, she was suddenly stricken with a stomachache so ferocious that it could only mean she must get to the bathroom immediately.
When she was finished, she was so glad she had made it home, because if that had come across her in the cab, she would have shit all over the place. She wondered what the hell was wrong. Then she remembered that she never got any food when she went out. Here she was, ill, both physically and mentally, in an apartment in Midtown with no food. There was literally nothing to eat. She would call in a favor. God knew she was always available to anyone who needed her, and now, she was in need. She picked up her phone and keyed in her mother’s number first. Nelda answered on the first ring.
“Mom, I’m sick. I need you to get on a bus and come here.” She tried not to sound whiney.
“What’s wrong with you?” Her mother was a bundle of sympathy. “It’s going to be dark soon. What on earth would I do to make you feel better?”
“Mom, I just need you to come here. I’m lightheaded, I have diarrhea, and there is nothing to eat here. I was out, trying to shop and had to take a cab home.” No point in telling her the truth, and it was almost true.
“Just drink water and go to bed. For heaven’s sake, Marie! Why do you let yourself run out of food anyway?” It was clear Nelda was not going to budge from Brooklyn.
“Thank you, Mother! I knew I could count on you.” She hung up without saying good-bye. But she did feel better already. Goddamn it, there has to be something to eat in this house! She went into the kitchen and started opening cupboards. She saw a bottle of wine. It was unchilled, but it would do.
While Marie was fixing her liquid dinner, uptown, Sandra was putting away the contents of the bag of goodies Bernice Smith had insisted she take with her.
There were foil packages of sandwiches and little cakes, several baggies of homemade cookies, plastic containers of Jell-O salad with fruit, and what looked like sandwich filling. There was also a foil-wrapped loaf of homemade bread. She decided to assemble a lunch for herself tomorrow. In the morning, it might seem like too much trouble. She took the already-made sandwiches and baggie of cookies and put them in a brown paper sack and stuck it back in the fridge. Then she put the teakettle on. One more cup before bedtime, she thought. She was exhausted, but it was a ritual she wasn’t about to skip. She needed all the comfort she could right now. Jack didn’t drink tea, and now she was glad. It wasn’t something that would have one bit of association with him.
She picked up the phone and saw that Pam had called her. Jack’s family was starting to get on her nerves. She decided to delay the return call until the next day. She would call her from work; it would give her a chance to hang up if things got dicey.
Going into her bedroom while the kettle heated up, she got out her clothes for work. She took a navy-blue suit out of the closet. Still covered in a cleaner’s bag, there were warnings printed all over it to keep it away from babies as it was a suffocation danger. She shuddered. There would be all kinds of new dangers heretofore unheeded.
She thought about her own well-being. She would be more careful from now on about eating and not skipping meals. She had a hot flash of fear, wondering how many glasses of wine she drank in the past several weeks. She sat down and started counting. Oh God, please, she thought, don’t let anything be wrong with the baby. She decided to call her gynecologist first thing in the morning and make an appointment. It might be early, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
The teakettle started whistling. She had her lunch ready, her clothes were laid out, and her tea was made. She could sit up in bed and write in her journal, for God knew she had enough for several entries. She wanted to document all the coincidences that had happened that “brought her to this place.” That phrase was her mantra. She would try not to complain about anything from this day forward; it was all part of the plan.
22
Bernice closed the door after she saw Sandra off. Mildred was in the garden cleaning up after the coffee. She told her she was going up to bed. The stairs seemed so steep that night. It was her age creeping up on her. She promised herself she would work extra hard at the gym the next day. There was no room for decrepitude now. A new grandchild would be coming in nine months. She wanted to be available to care for him or her in every way.
She giggled. What was dear Pam going to s
ay when the news of the baby came to her ears? Bernice couldn’t think of a nicer person to have this happen to. She thought of her daughter-in-law, mistaking her shyness with snobbery, even after all of these years, not knowing her character at all. It would serve her right. Once in her room, she closed the door behind her. Framed pictures of her men adorned the fireplace mantel. She picked up Jack’s picture and took it with her to her chair. She sat down with it in her lap, running her hand across the glass, tracing his face with her fingertip. She held it up to look at it, and in a clear, soft voice, she said to the image of her dead son, “Touché.”
23
Monday morning, day of new beginnings. Pam was already sick of the phrase and did her best to banish it from her thoughts and her speech. She felt horrible when she got up. Going through her routine early, before the sun was fully up, she realized how much she had underestimated her capacity for grief. She was able to go through the motions of life, taking care of her physical needs, but there it stopped. She would have to force herself through her day.
Her anger at Jack’s infidelity would ebb and flow. She lay in bed the night before with similar visions of Jack and Sandra that Marie had; a beautiful, youthful body embraced by Jack. She imagined his muscular arms, the same arms that carried her to their marriage bed again and again, carrying Sandra. Sandra wouldn’t need to keep the lights down low to keep the focus off of her aging body. The visions made Pam ill, and she punched her pillow and demanded they be gone! She was glad she was going to be busy Monday.
Pam of Babylon Page 12