“What do you think you’re doing?” Sig asked, outraged. The last time she’d seen them together they were in bed, naked. Somehow, in public and clothed, this looked almost as intimate. Montague Dunleathe, still holding her mother, stopped and looked up at Sigourney.
“You look very elegant tonight,” Montague said.
“Stop with the con, Monty. It doesn’t work on me. And let go of my mother.” Sig looked down at her mom. “It’s time to go,” she said stiffly.
“But we just got here,” Phyllis almost whined. Ah, Sig thought, that’s where Sharri got the whine from.
“Just in Time” was about to end. Monty pulled Phyllis out of her dance swoon and they stared into each other’s eyes. They were standing altogether too close.
“Excuse me,” Sig said. “I’d like to cut in.” She tapped Montague Dunleathe on the shoulder.
“I’m not leaving,” Phyllis said.
Sig looked at her mother. “You promised not to do this,” she reminded her.
Phyllis shrugged. “I didn’t do anything.”
“I believe the expression here is ‘It’s a free country,’” Monty said to Sig.
“Only for people who don’t pay their taxes,” Sig spat.
Sig reached out her hand and took her mother’s. “Who helped you? You should be ashamed of yourself. What did you do, make secret phone calls?”
“No. Sylvia made the calls,” Phyllis pointed out.
“Oh, great. You’ve turned Mrs. Katz into the nurse in Romeo and Juliet. She’s your go-between now?” Sig stepped between them and looked at Montague boldly. “Stay away from my mother,” she said. “I don’t want to see or hear from you. I don’t want you to speak to me, my mother, or Mrs. Katz. You’re a user, and a fortune hunter, a hurtful cad, and worse than all of that together. If you have any further questions about your character, you can reach me at my office.”
By now, quite a little crowd had gathered around them. Paul Cushing stood to the side, as did the useless Phillip, but Sig didn’t care. She took Phyllis by the arm and, turning her back on all the people in the room, led her mother to the elevator.
In it, on the way down sixty-six floors, the elevator music played five verses of “The Little Drummer Boy.”
Mrs. Katz confessed. It wasn’t hard to wring the truth out of her: Monty had secretly been calling for days and Mrs. Katz, who thought it was romantic, had passed messages on to Phyllis.
“What do you think you were doing, Mom?” Sig asked furiously.
“How could you do this?” Sharon wheezed at her mother.
Bruce just glared at his mother. No words were needed.
Phyllis sat up in the chair. “Okay, I see where you’re going with this line of questioning. I’ll do it your way.”
“Good,” the Sibs chimed in unison.
Sig called Paul Cushing and did a lot of apologizing about the Rainbow Room fiasco. He seemed perfectly comfortable with everything she said and proposed. He came over and took her mother and Wendy out on a carriage ride through Central Park on Wednesday night. Had dinner with Sig, Phyllis, and Mrs. Katz on Thursday. Then the four of them went to see Showboat on Friday and Paul even got an extra ticket for Mrs. Katz. Things had progressed so well that they actually spent Saturday evening with Sharon, Barney, Jessie, and Travis. They took a stretch limo down Fifth Avenue so that the kids could look at all the Christmas lights in the store windows. Wendy loved Jessie, and the feeling seemed mutual. Things were moving quickly and Sig felt as if her plan was working. So why did she feel so unhappy? It was an odd sensation, almost dreamlike, as if everything she cared about was slipping from her grasp.
Sig wriggled out of the red slacks and decided she’d wear a black skirt and dark pantyhose instead. It was only once she had dressed that she remembered that Paul had admired the red dress she’d worn earlier in the week at the Rainbow Room. Oh well. It wasn’t she who had to please him. She didn’t want to look too dressed up, so she put on boots rather than shoes. She threw open the door to her beautifully designed closet and picked not the short black boots nor the knee-high black boots but the ankle-high black ones with the turnover cuff. She actually had four pairs of black boots, she realized, as well as three pairs of brown, six pairs of brown shoes, eleven pairs of black ones, and then, of course, there were all the other, less basic colored shoes. My God, Sig thought, looking at it all. There wasn’t a pair that cost less than $200. How much money have I wasted over the years?
She sighed. Even with the temporary loan from Mrs. Katz there would be no more shoe buying, no more custom closets. Sig pushed the door shut with a bang and surveyed herself in the three-way mirror, though why she cared she couldn’t fathom. It was just another date night for Mom, and all Sig was doing was serving eggnog and Christmas cookies before seeing Mom off at the door. She gave a last look over her shoulder at the fit of her skirt. Was it a little tight across the back? She’d have to double up on her sessions at the gym after the holidays were over—at least until her membership ran out. There would be no more private workouts at David Barton’s, the best gym with the best personal trainers in town. Sig sighed again and went out to the living room.
There Mrs. Katz was glued to the love seat. It irritated Sig to see that lately she always selected that spot, when it would fit her mother and Paul cozily. Instead, they’d be forced to sit on a larger sofa, or even across from each other. Mrs. Katz was so out of it. Sig immediately felt guilty for thinking that way, especially after Mrs. Katz’s generosity. But the woman was human Super Glue, and Sig literally had to tell her to vacate the room so that Paul Cushing had some privacy when he escorted Mom home. Not that he lingered.
It was an odd thing, and it worried Sig, but Paul Cushing didn’t seem to be at all physical with Phyllis. In some way she hated to admit, Sig was also relieved by that, perhaps because of the incident with Monty. Or maybe she was uncomfortable with her mother’s sexuality. Or in the sexuality of anyone old. It was just that otherwise Paul seemed so warm. Sig worried that perhaps it meant he wasn’t as serious about Phyllis as she and Bruce and Sharri hoped he was. Well, she should be grateful. At least with Paul, she wouldn’t have to worry about barging into a bedroom and finding him naked and in bed with her mother. Sig shuddered at the thought.
“Are you cold, darling?” Mrs. Katz asked. “Maybe you should put on a sweater.”
“I’m fine,” Sig said. She looked over at the placid Mrs. Katz, sitting there with her black bag on her knees. In a way, Sig was envious of her. She didn’t read anything. She didn’t knit or do crosswords. She didn’t even watch TV. She just sat. She simply was, and it seemed enough for perfect contentment, if not a perfect house guest.
“Are you going out tonight?” Sig asked hopefully.
“It’s possible. Bernard is coming by.”
“Bernard? Bernard Krinz?” Sig repeated.
“Yes. We were going to talk more about my investments.”
“Investments?” Sig asked. “What do you mean? The only thing you put money into is your purse.”
“Oh no. Bernard has called up almost every day. He tells me about his market positions. I love his putz and calls.”
“That’s ‘puts,’” Sig corrected. “Puts and calls.”
Now what was up? Was Krinz pulling a con? No. He was a reputable world-respected architect. Still, if anyone was going to invest Mrs. Katz’s money Sig would be dipped in yogurt before she’d let it be anyone but her! She was about to investigate further when she was interrupted by the doorbell. She checked her makeup on the way past the foyer mirror and took a moment to refresh her lipstick with the tube she kept in the hall console drawer.
She opened the door. Paul Cushing was standing there. A sprinkling of snow, complementing the white hair at his temples, nestled on the broad shoulders of his blue cashmere overcoat. Despite his age he was still a very handsome man. He looked down at her. “Oh, black is your color, too,” he said, as if he remembered his compliment from the Rainbow Room.
She began to help him off with his coat when she got an almost irresistible desire to brush the snow from his hair. She put her hand up, only to pull it away in time. What am I thinking of? “Is the snow sticking?” she managed to ask.
He turned and smiled at her, nodded and then looked down her legs. “You might need boots more practical than those,” he said, and grinned the lopsided way that he had when he was teasing. “Though it would be a pity to take those off since they look so nice on you,” he added.
Sig looked down and actually felt herself blush. Maybe her mother was right—she did need a father, even at this late date, to notice and approve of her. Paul’s compliment made her feel girlish and squirmy, as if she was about to toe the floor with one boot, her hands twisting behind her back. Instead, she forced herself to calmly hang up his coat. Then she noticed he was carrying a small, light blue bag—Sig’s favorite color and the color of her kitchen ceiling glaze: Tiffany blue. Her heart began to beat faster in her chest. Had he brought a ring for Mom? Was he ready to propose? It was odd, Sig thought, how her relief was mixed with something else. What was it? Regret? Disappointment? Envy?
God, she really was getting crazy! It must be the holidays. All the sappy music, all the Capra movies on TV. She was glad she wasn’t going to see Phillip, but she’d have to try to start seeing somebody as soon as she could, before her Electra complex got the better of her. If she could afford it, she’d start up some sessions with Dr. Lefer, her old shrink.
“My mother is not quite ready,” she said. “Why don’t you come into the living room?”
Paul grinned. “Is the duenna there?” he asked.
“Mrs. Katz?” Sig grinned back. “’Fraid so.”
“Who sleeps with cats?” Paul asked.
“Mrs. Katz. And sometimes Mrs. Nussbaum,” Sig told him, echoing Monty’s old joke. They entered the living room and Paul, to her dismay, took a seat not on the sofa but on one of the leather Barcelona chairs. Sig was about to sit down on the sofa herself when the doorbell rang again.
This time it was Bruce and Todd, again along with Bernard Krinz. “Happy holidays,” Bruce said. The three men were coated with snow—the weather was getting worse. So was Todd. He looked absolutely mournful. What was it with Bruce? Was he going for an old geezer just for the money? It made Sig’s skin crawl. What was it doing to Todd?
Whatever it was, they were very festive. Bernard had a sprig of holly pinned to his conservative lapel, Todd had on a red and green sweater, while Bruce was wearing the scarf that Sig had given him for Hanukkah and was carrying wrapped boxes. “Merry Christmas,” he said. He kissed Sig on the cheek and she felt the coldness of the air outside still clinging to him.
“Bruce, you shouldn’t have.”
“I should and I did,” Bruce said. “The orders have been rolling in. I’m having the best Christmas ever. Queer Santa came through for me in the end. Once I receive payments, I’ll be in the black again. And Bernard gave me a bridge loan to tide me over!”
Bernard Krinz smiled. He looked at Sig and her brother. “Black’s a very good color for both of you,” he said. Sig tried to smile at the oily old toad, failed, and led the three of them into the living room. Bernard went directly over to Mrs. Katz and sat next to her on the love seat, while Bruce and Todd went to shake hands with Paul Cushing.
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night,” Bruce sang out and handed a wrapped box to Paul. Then he gave another to Mrs. Katz, this one a larger parcel. He gave a small gift to Bernard Krinz, another to Todd, and then handed the last box to Sig. Tve got something for Mom in my pocket,” he added proudly, before throwing himself onto the sofa, disarranging all of Sig’s carefully placed pillows. He grinned, clearly very satisfied with himself.
“Should we open them now?” Mrs. Katz asked.
“Why not?” Bruce responded. “Jews always open their Christmas gifts early.”
Mrs. Katz went first and cheerfully pulled the paper off her large box, opened the glossy cover, and looked in.
“Oh, my goodness!” she said, and lifted out a beautiful Fendi leather bag.
“I thought you might like that one,” Bruce smiled. “I think it’s the right size. And the catch on this one works.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Mrs. Katz repeated. “I’m speechless.”
“Just as well,” Bruce murmured. Meanwhile, Bernard Krinz had carefully unwrapped the package he’d been given, saving both the ribbon and the gift wrap, to reveal a Rizzoli volume of immense proportion.
“Oh, Bruce, you shouldn’t have,” Bernard said.
“I should and I did,” Bruce said again. He looked over at Sig and Paul. “It’s the International Architecture Association’s award-winning buildings. Todd took the photos. Bernard has three of his buildings in the book.”
Bruce smiled over at Paul. “And yours?” he asked. Paul looked at Sig.
“Ladies first,” he told her.
Sig picked up her small box and tore off the paper. Aside from her home and a job that made some money, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted or needed, except, possibly … she looked up. “I haven’t a clue,” she said to Bruce. Then she opened the box and there lay her emerald ring, protected by the white cotton batting stuffed beneath it. “Oh, Bruce,” she said. “Oh, Bruce.” Her eyes filled with tears. “How did you get it?” she asked. “Oh, Bruce, you shouldn’t have.”
“I should and I did,” Bruce repeated one more time, but this time he wasn’t so flippant. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t buy it at the auction. I just stopped Sotheby’s from selling it. I had to forge your name on the release, but … anyway, I also have a check for you, and it’ll equal what the ring would have brought in, less commissions and tax. At least I think so. Consider it a loan.”
“Oh, Bruce,” Sig breathed, and ran to kiss her brother.
“Enough, enough,” he said, standing up. “I better see what’s keeping Mom. She probably needs me to put on her mascara.”
“Well, wait a minute,” Paul Cushing said and opened his little blue Tiffany bag. “I have something for you all as well.” He handed Bruce a wrapped box, then handed one to Mrs. Katz. “I didn’t know you would be here,” he said apologetically to Bernard. “But I did get the Whetherall board to accept your proposal for the new headquarters.”
“A very nice gift, indeed,” Bernard said.
Then Paul turned to Sig. He took a small box out and handed it to her. Sig smiled at him. He was so kind, so generous. “This is for your mother,” he said and Sig felt disappointment well up in her chest. It must be the engagement ring. Well, why feel badly? Wasn’t this what she wanted?
Sig handed the package to Bruce. “How about you take it in to her?” Sig asked. Then, sotto voce, she added, “Ixfay her acefay while you’re at it.”
“Sure,” Bruce said, winking at her. “You open your present, Paul, and I’ll get Mom for hers.”
Paul tore the paper off the box that Bruce had handed him and pulled out a silvery fringed scarf. It was beautiful, and when he slid it around his neck it set off his high color and the gray of his hair.
Sig, admiring it, saw Bruce come out of the bedroom and go into the kitchen. She watched out of the corner of her eyes as he came out of there and went into the powder room. Then, just a moment later, she saw him move through the hallway into the library. Sig got up and started to follow him, but she met up with him in the foyer. “What’s going on?” she asked. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for Mom.”
“What do you mean, looking for Mom? She’s in my room.”
“No she isn’t. She isn’t anywhere in this apartment.”
“That’s impossible, Bruce. I’ve been here all day and she didn’t go out.”
“Well then, Miss Smarty Pants, you find her.”
Sig spun around and started toward her bedroom. As Sig passed the living room, Mrs. Katz asked, “Did you lose something, dear?”
Sig ignored her and continued thro
ugh the room. She pushed open her bedroom door and stepped into the room. Nothing. She checked out the step-in closet and then walked into her bathroom. Nothing. As she turned to leave, she saw a paper taped onto the vanity mirror. Sig picked up the note and saw that it was in Phyllis’s handwriting.
Sig came out to the living room, opened her mouth to say something, then crumpled the note and began to cry.
“What is it?” Paul asked, rising and coming to her. “Sig, what’s wrong?” She looked up at him.
“My mother ran off with Monty the fortune hunter. And she has no fortune.” Sig sobbed. They were loud, embarrassing noises, but she kept sobbing as if her heart would break. Paul put his arms around her.
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Bruce asked. Sig handed him the crushed note. Bruce read it quickly. “Come on, Sylvia. She’s probably just downstairs in the lobby, talking with Laslow the doorman. Let’s go get her.” Reluctantly, Mrs. Katz stood up and, with purse in hand, went out with Bruce.
Paul released Sig and she went into the kitchen to get a tissue to wipe her eyes and to collect herself. Maybe Mom had just been bluffing. Sig was leaning up against the counter, trying to get control of herself when Paul came in quietly and stood in front of her. “Are you okay?” he asked. He was very close. She could smell the scent of a mild soap, and something else equally good.
“I’ll be fine,” Sig told him, but then burst into tears again and, almost automatically, stepped forward and buried her face again into his shoulder. This time Paul put his arms around her more tightly and held her, patting her lightly on the back.
“This is all my fault,” he said. “I told you I had heard some scuttlebutt about Dunleathe. I should have done more. I could have …”
“You knew what he was up to?”
“No. Certainly not. But I knew that she was having a hard time after he left. That’s why I wanted to keep her busy.”
Sig lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up at him. Paul bent to her face and started to kiss her, and—for a moment—the shock of electricity from his lips to hers overwhelmed her senses and blotted out thought. It had been a long time since she’d been kissed like this—or maybe she never had. Paul’s lips were surprisingly soft, yet he kissed her with a firmness backed up by his left hand, with which he cupped her cheek and held her mouth to his. Without thinking, Sig raised her hand to his and covered his fingers with her own.
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