by Susan Isaacs
“Why didn’t you just run after you took the ring?” I demanded. “Why did you let him go off to prison? If you’d run, they wouldn’t have suspected him.”
“But then I’d have had to spend the rest of my life worrying about a knock on the door during the night and opening it and seeing the cops. This way, they wouldn’t look anymore. They had their robber.”
“You took off when I was ten months old?”
“Something like that. With the man in the diplomatic corps.” The bodyguard from the Maldives. “I went off with him, but I didn’t want to be tied down. That’s when I hitched to S.F. A thousand doesn’t go that far, and I knew I had to save it. Then I came back to the city. I lived in the Village. What else do you want to know?”
“What was I like?”
“You were all right. You know. A baby,” she said quickly, brushing off the subject.
“Give me some incidents. Is there anything you remember?”
“Look, I wish I could oblige you. No, really I do. It must have been hard on you not having a mother, but trust me, you really preferred Lil. Frankly, I was fucked-up beyond belief. You were much better off without me. If you need me to say I’m sorry, I will, but the truth of the matter is that I had to get out of there just to survive. I admit it, I was an unfit mother.”
“So you don’t remember anything about me?”
“Not really. First of all, I was in a state of turmoil. And second of all, it was better, healthier for me to forget you. There was no way I could go back without getting into big trouble for abandonment. And Chicky might’ve made a big stink about me being the one who did it. So it was better to blank out the past.”
“You never thought about me or missed me?” I was mortified at begging, but I just wanted one small gift from her. Anything.
“You know, you’re putting me in a very uncomfortable position. You’re forcing me to hurt you. The answer is no, I was so glad to be out of there that the relief drowned out anything else that might have come up. And after that, I just forgot because I started another life.”
“What do you know about me?”
“Just that you went to Harvard. My mother started going on about you but I cut her off. Trust me, she’s dangerous in her own quiet way. The only reason she’s taken you up is because she wants a do-over. I wasn’t the child she wanted. There was never a minute of my childhood that I didn’t know that.”
“Did she mention to you what I do or—”
“Look, you can call me the biggest bitch in the world, but I don’t care. I don’t want to know. I have family now. That’s my life. My whole life.”
“All right,” I said, “so let me tell you something about my life.” Her knuckles rapped nervously against the little café table, like a judge demanding order. “Stop the knocking. This will take less than a minute. All through the years, I understood I was different from my father, Lil, Aunt Linda. I had brains. I had ambition. I had a relentless work ethic. So I figured if I wasn’t like the Lincolns, I had to be like you, whatever you were. I imagined you as smart. I thought you were probably wild but courageous, in a fucked-up way.”
“What is this, a soliloquy or something?”
“No. A soliloquy would be when a character is talking to herself, without a listener—within the universe of the play. I have a listener.”
“I don’t have to take this shit from you.”
“You do. For another thirty seconds or so. The one thing I didn’t have to imagine about you is that you were morally defective. That didn’t take imagination. It was so clear from what you did. I was afraid that if things got rough with a husband or with a child, I was doomed to do what you did: take a walk. Oh, one last thing. The best part of my life has been this last half hour.”
“What do you mean, the best part of your life?” I stood, reached into my backpack, and retrieved a twenty from my wallet. I carefully smoothed out the bill on the table. “Because,” I said, right before I turned my back on her, “I learned I’m nothing like you.”
Chapter Nineteen
PERHAPS TO CELEBRATE the joy of spring, Chicky wore an azalea pink rayon shirt with a wide band of green around the collar and across the pocket. Since the first three buttons were open, he was able to display both his chest hair and a new, braided gold chain. “Eighteen carat,” he confided so softly that only about half the patrons of the Royal Athens diner could hear him.
“Really nice,” I said. “I guess if you’re talking jewelry, it means you don’t want to hear any more about my mother.”
“Amy babes, listen, from the minute I heard Phyllis ditched you, I knew someday you’d decide, Hey, I gotta find her. So I’m glad you did what you had to do and it turned out okay. Personally, I wish she’d’ve dropped dead in agony in 1974. That’s after you were born in ’73, because she had to be around for that. But in ’74, it would’ve been great if she died screaming in pain with no medicine before she copped that ring. Anyhow ...” He hooked his thumb under the chain and lifted it so it could better catch the light. “You see some guys and they look like they’re gonna choke to death in their chains because they’re so tight. You know why?”
“Because the guys gained weight?”
He stuck out his lower lip and rocked his head back and forth weighing that possibility. “Yeah, maybe. But most of the time it’s because they’re cheap. They buy it just long enough so it’ll close. I’ll say this for Fern, when she gives, she gives good.” Then he winked at me. “Remember what I used to tell you about my mother? Lil’s got quality with a capital K. Well, Fern gives quality with a capital Q.”
Fern, however, was not generous with a capital G with my father’s allowance, so I ordered my usual dish of ice cream. He had his usual malted. For a few minutes, we became unnecessarily intent on eating, me scraping the spoon across my scoop of peach for minimouthfuls, he taking sips and swishing the malted around his mouth thoughtfully, like an oenophile checking out a burgundy.
“Chicky, listen, I need to talk a little more about my mother. I know you don’t want to hear it but—”
“S’okay. When was it? Oh, I remember. When I got out after serving my time for that Lincoln Continental business: I had this girlfriend, Cindy Lou. She always used to say, ‘Chicky, I gotta ventilate.’ That meant like getting it off her chest. So I get what you need to do. It’s okay. Talk about her, that ... I know you’re grown up, but you’re still my kid. So I won’t say what I want to call her even though you know what I mean.”
“I don’t blame you,” I told him. “What’s such a relief for me is that having met her, I see there’s nothing in her to love. I can’t whip it up to hate her for what she did to me because I look at myself now and think, You did a pretty good job raising yourself whenever Chicky wasn’t around. You turned out okay. But I do hate her for what she did to you. Stealing the ring, conning you into keeping quiet by saying she’d hire the best criminal lawyer.”
“Amy, what can you do? Shit happens. More times than you ever know.”
“I agree. There are times shit is unavoidable. Floods. Earthquakes. Getting caught up in some horrible political situation.” Bosnia came to mind but I wasn’t sure whether Chicky would have heard of it. So I said, “Look at Iraq. For years, hundreds of thousands of people were murdered. They couldn’t say, Hey, I don’t want to be tortured and murdered by Saddam, so I’ll keep out of his way.”
“Yeah. Like with Hitler. I get that.”
“But what happened to you was avoidable. If my mother had just hocked the ring and run off, everything would have been okay. The police would have known it was she, not you. She could have disappeared. She did disappear. How long do you think they’d look for her? And you wouldn’t have gone to prison. Chicky, think back. You were holding down a good job as a mechanic back then.”
“It wasn’t so good. Mostly Fords. Crap cars, except some of them look nice.”
“It was a good job because it was honorable work. You recognized it was your responsibil
ity to support your child. Don’t put down what you did. It takes training and intuition to be a mechanic. I couldn’t do it. The job wasn’t going to make you a millionaire, but you had a right to be proud of it. I hate her because once you served that first sentence, you were never able to hold a job again. I know how hard you tried, but I think that besides betraying you, she caused you to be injured in a way you were never able to recover from. You’re a good man, Chicky, and what she did was more than bad. It was wicked.”
My father made two fists; when I’d been little, he’d try to lighten any dark mood by saying, Put up your dukes, kid. Though the only thing either of us ever punched was air, he inadvertently taught me self-defense was not just acceptable, it was necessary. I put up my dukes. Chicky landed a fast left hook about an inch away from my chin. Then he sat back. “I don’t know about her being wicked. Whenever I hear that word, it’s with witches. Who knows? Maybe that’s what Phyllis was, someone who came into your life just for the fun of fucking it up. But this is the thing, babes. No matter what she did and how bad her leaving was for you, it would have been worse if she stayed.”
“I know that now.” I planted my spoon into the half scoop of ice cream that was left and watched as it slowly keeled over. “I worry about you a lot, Chicky.”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Fern’s not such a dog. Most of the time it’s pretty good with her. She can cook and we get out a lot. You should see us do the Latin dances! Salsa, merengue. And if God forbid she got run over by a truck tomorrow, I hate to say it, but there are other Ferns in the world. You don’t need to be worrying about me. I’m too old and I’ve been in the slam too many times to do something dumb again that would put me back in.”
“Good. That’s a huge relief to me.” I paused. “Chicky, I’m about to hit thirty.”
“Isn’t it funny, me with a thirty-year-old kid?”
“It is. But I’ve got to face facts. My clock is ticking and I don’t know if I’ll ever meet the right guy. Except I do want a family.”
“Kids?”
“Kids. Or kid. It’s important to me that they know you. And speaking of family, I need you in my life.”
He made right angles with his thumbs and index fingers to frame his face. “Here I am.”
“I’d like you to find something to say to Fern so you don’t have to sneak out to meet me. I wish I could see you more than every few months. I want to be able to call you without saying I’m Amy from the Probation Department.”
“You think I haven’t tried to think up something? See, the big problem is she thinks I’m thirty-six. Plus even if I say I gotta meet my cousin Amy or my niece Amy, she wouldn’t believe me in one million years. You know how they say I’m at a loss? Well, I’m at a loss. I’m in a situation with her. I got it pretty good, for me. I’m no bargain. I’m a lazy guy. I admit it. I’d rather live off a Fern and get my wake-up coffee in bed and have fun than haul my ass to some job at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“Chicky, I’m sure you’ll find something to tell her.”
“I’ll work on it,” he assured me.
“Did you ever consider the truth?”
He shook his head vehemently. Then he paused midshake and leaned against the back of the booth, smiling. “The truth?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“I don’t know about that. But I’ll tell you what, Amy. I’ll think about it.”
The gingerroot Tatty picked up from the street cart was so long and thick it looked like the branch of an ancient tree. “A ginger wedding cake?” I asked. It was a Thursday night in Chinatown. The narrow streets were packed with people seeking long beans, golden elephant rice, and the odd pig part for the weekend.
“It’s his second marriage. He adores ginger and he’s very very rich, so she adores ginger, too. She’s twenty-three. Anyway, they want it tiered, with traditional white icing. Snore. But they love the idea of decorating it with crystallized ginger and gold foil and icing—all swags and bows and sparklies. Garish in a tasteful way. Like them.” She hefted the root in one hand then sniffed it. “Lovely. This is as fresh as you could get in Peking.”
“Beijing.”
“Who cares?”
“Apparently they do,” I replied. “Oh, I think that store with those little embroidered purses—the ones you can use for evening bags—is right around the corner. They’re about four bucks. I’ve been thinking about getting one in turquoise because it would be weirdly wonderful with that purple silk dress.”
“Do you have some big event?”
“Not even a little event. Although Steve Raskin, the lawyer with nothing wrong, has definite big-event potential. But since we’re down here, I figure I might as well go for it.”
“You’re a wild spendthrift,” Tatty observed. She paid the street vendor for the ginger. There was a three-second flirtation between the two of them as he stuffed the root into an orange plastic bag. As we walked to the turquoise purse store she said: “I have to admit, my heart sank when you said, ‘I saw my mother.’ I also have to admit I almost fainted when you told me that at the end you put down a twenty-dollar bill and walked out without getting change.”
“I’m a different woman. Seriously, I feel that way. I’m Amy Lincoln, the Sequel. I’ve exorcised my mother. My soul is out of her clutches. I know it sounds very The Devil’s Advocate, but I feel lighter. Frolicsome.”
“Frolicsome? That’s the first time I ever heard someone say that word. It’s only in books. I bet there are a million words nobody’s ever said out loud. Wait.” I waited. “I have one! Peripatetic. I think that’s how you say it. But I forget what it means.”
“It describes someone who moves from place to place.”
We strolled into a huge Chinese general store, meandered past a table piled high with packages of rice noodles, walked down the aisle between incense and incense burners and canned fish, then up the stairs. “Did the turtleneck your mother was wearing have very wide ribbed cuffs, about six inches long?”
“I know I’m a perpetual disappointment to you, but I didn’t notice.” We’d been together for almost a half hour, and Tatty had said nothing about the man she had met. “Why aren’t you telling me about Troy the textile conservator?” I asked.
“He’s fine. You know I went out with him Saturday night. Right? Right. Well, I saw him again on Tuesday. The parents were out, so I asked him to dinner. Extremely simple, no elaborate presentation. So don’t think I was trying to seduce him with salmon in puff pastry with citrus beurre blanc. Just grilled vegetables and Arctic char with caramelized onions and raisins.”
“That’s all?”
“A napoleon filled with strawberries and whipped cream.”
“Isn’t a napoleon puff pastry?”
“Yes. I had some in the freezer, so don’t think I cooked all day for him.”
“You cooked all day for him,” I said.
“I swear I didn’t. I arranged flowers for an hour. Then I had my hair and nails done.”
I spotted the silk purses down the aisle and headed toward them. “So is he in love with you yet?”
“No,” Tatty said. “Don’t look so surprised. He left without trying to sleep with me, even though he’s a hundred percent definitely not gay, because we did some good kissing and it was ...” She straightened her index finger and poked it toward the ceiling a couple of times. “I thought his restraint was wonderful. So Age of Chivalry.”
“How was his ... ?” I mimicked someone glugging down a drink.
“For your information, he had one small single-malt scotch neat and two glasses of pinot noir with dinner.”
“Practically a teetotaler.” We reached the purses, small silk envelopes wrapped in noisy cellophane. I couldn’t find the turquoise, so I decided bright orange would be fine with dark purple. Tatty took one in black, white, silver, and some sick-looking beige that could have been left over from an old ladies’ underwear factory. “Listen, Troy sounds like an interesting guy—p
otentially decent. I like that he didn’t want to rush you to bed without knowing you well.”
We looked around for a cashier, couldn’t find one, then decided to try downstairs. “I’ll tell you what else was good,” Tatty reported. “He didn’t get all wide-eyed at the size of the apartment and two minutes later start asking me innocently what my father did for a living. We talked the whole time. About textiles—Fortuny mostly. And growing up in New York versus growing up in Des Moines. Did you know Halston came from there, too? And his marriage and my marriages. He wore a wonderful pair of old cordovan loafers, just the least bit scuffed, so they didn’t look like someone just polished them, which is always awful.” She pulled open the drawstring of my backpack and found my Altoids. “While we’re on the subject of men,” she continued, “are you going to be stupid and hold off Steve until after the 2004 election? Because that’s what you said in 1999 about 2000. Trust me, you can fit a new boyfriend and a president in the same year.”
“I know. And maybe it’s not Steve. Except I just don’t know where else to begin.”
“Take your own advice. You hate hanging out in bars and clubs, so that’s out. Go places. Call everyone you know, which is about one million people, unfortunately mostly Democrats. Say you’re available. You want to get fixed up.”
“I don’t.”
“If Steve doesn’t work out, then yes you do. The sooner you meet someone who can make boring intellectual conversation about PCBs or PBS, the quicker you’ll get over you-know-who.” We waited in line to pay for our purses. “You need someone in your life for the long haul.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean a husband, Tat.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I just happen to enjoy getting married. But on nine-eleven, remember, Roy and I were separated? The first separation, before we went back for those five months. I woke up late, as usual. So did the parents, also as usual. And then we heard what happened... . You know how it was. We were shocked beyond belief. Panicked. We felt what everybody else felt. I called you and couldn’t get you and finally you called me. Once I knew you hadn’t gone down to the Trade Center to interview someone or whatever, I relaxed a little. Well, not relaxed. I was less terrified. The parents and I sat in front of the TV watching it happen over and over. All of a sudden D started shaking.” Without mockery, she imitated a person with quivering arms and head. People stared. She didn’t notice them. “I never told you this because I didn’t think you’d believe it. No one who knows him would. But he was so broken up. He knew lots of people who worked down there. He understood some of them probably died terrible deaths. M went and sat on the arm of his chair and I got up and sat on the other arm, and we took his hands and just sat there holding hands a long time. Finally he said, ‘I am so grateful to have you both in my life.’ And, believe it or not, as appalling as my parents are and always will be, I felt the same way about them. Amy, it’s time to find someone who will feel that way about you and you about him.”