In the Age of Love and Chocolate

by Gabrielle Zevin

  “Hiring someone to assist you is not the same as being rescued. I thought we’d settled that years ago. It’s plain good sense. We can only do the jobs we can do in this life. What happens here is important and will determine what happens in San Francisco with Leo, and in Japan, Chicago, Seattle, Philadelphia, and everywhere else. We have to go inside in thirty seconds.”

  I didn’t like being forced to do anything. And I wasn’t sure that he was even right.

  “Fifteen seconds. One last reason. I am certain that I am the cause of this situation. Do you want my wife to hate me? My son? What good is being mayor if your family hates you? Can I leave the love of my son’s life to defend herself?”

  “That isn’t true, and I’m not even sure it’s rel—”

  “Five seconds. What say you?”

  * * *

  The hearing was open to the public, and when I got inside, the crowd that had gathered astounded me. Half the city seemed to have taken an interest in this little proceeding. Every seat was filled in the mezzanine and the balcony, and people were standing by the doors. Mouse and people from the Family had come, as had Theo, Simon, and most of my staff from the Manhattan and Brooklyn clubs. In the very back of the mezzanine, I saw Win and Natty. I hadn’t even told them about the hearing, but somehow they had gotten here, and quickly. There was a certain amount of press, but most of the crowd consisted of what appeared to be regular people—that is to say, the kind of people who came to my club.

  “This is a hearing to discuss the club on Fifth Avenue at Forty-Second Street in Manhattan County, New York. Today’s hearing is largely discovery, and everyone who would like to speak will have a chance. At the end, we will determine whether the Dark Room should be allowed to remain open. This is not a criminal proceeding though in fact a criminal proceeding may follow depending on what is revealed in this forum.” The head of the board read the complaints against the Dark Room and its president, me: essentially that I was serving chocolate illegally, that some patrons at my club were obtaining chocolate without prescriptions, and that cacao was actually chocolate. “By calling chocolate ‘cacao,’ Ms. Balanchine, who is the daughter of a deceased organized-crime boss and still maintains connections to that family and other known international crime families, has introduced what is little more than a term of art to shield her criminal dealings. Though the city has chosen to look the other way for some time, it has become increasingly apparent that the Dark Room is a front for illegal activity.”

  A chorus of boos from the gallery.

  Mr. Delacroix spoke first. He offered our legal justification for the business (chocolate was not served at the club, cacao for health benefits was not illegal) and asserted that we were not in violation of any laws or ordinances of the city. “On a personal note,” Mr. Delacroix said, “I find the timing of this to be suspicious. Why now, after the club has been open for three years, in the middle of a mayoral election? This whole proceeding is offensive. The Dark Room is a credit to this city. It has created hundreds of jobs and brought in innumerable tourists. The entire section of Midtown around the club is reinvigorated. This young woman, who I have worked with for the past four years, is a credit to this city, too, and should not be subject to persecution because of who her father was.”

  I thought Mr. Delacroix was being a bit grandiose, but that was his way.

  At that point, the hearing was opened to the public for thoughts and opinions. Theo went up to the microphone first. He spoke about the health benefits of cacao, and the ethical way the cacao was grown. Doctor Param, who still worked at the club, spoke of the precautions he and the other doctors took, and then he went off on a rant about the stupidity of the Rimbaud Act. Mouse spoke of the Balanchines’ attempts to turn the Family to legal operations, and how I had spearheaded that. Lucy spoke of the standards we had implemented to keep the recipes as healthful as possible. Natty spoke about how hard it had been for me when we were young and how it had always been my dream to legalize chocolate. Scarlet, who was getting to be known as an actress, spoke of the fact that I was godmother to her son, and the most loyal person she knew. Win spoke of the sacrifices I had made for my family and how important the club was to me. And those were the people I knew! Little old ladies spoke about the transformation of the neighborhood around the club. High school kids talked about how they liked having somewhere safe to go. It went on for hours. Amazingly, not a single person spoke against the club or me.

  “But the connection to organized crime cannot be denied,” one of the board members said. “Look at who we are talking about. She is an accused poisoner. As a teenager, she went to Liberty multiple times. She is her father’s daughter. I notice that Ms. Balanchine has not spoken a word during these proceedings. Perhaps she is worried that, if she speaks, she might impugn herself.”

  Mr. Delacroix whispered to me, “You don’t have to let yourself be baited. This is going very well. Everything that needs to be said has already been said.”

  I am certain it was good advice.

  I stood and went up to the podium. “Yes, it is true. My father was Leonyd Balanchine. He was a mobster and he was a good man. He went to sleep one day, and when he woke up, the business his family was in had become illegal. He spent his whole life trying to figure out how to run a chocolate business legally, but he never could. He died trying. When I became an adult, I took up the cause. I did not have a choice. Mr. Chairman, you say that the difference between cacao and chocolate is little more than a ‘term of art.’ And I suppose this is true. The fact is, I would not have gone into cacao if not for who my father was, and so the connection to chocolate is there. As much as I have tried to in my life, I cannot escape it. But what I know—what I know in my soul—is that the club is good for New York. We who work there want nothing but the best for the public. We are not motivated by money or the desire to trick the system. We are citizens who want our city to be healthy and safe, to have sensible laws that protect the people. I am a mafiya daughter. I am my father’s daughter. I am a daughter of New York.”

  I was about to sit, but then I decided I had even more to say. “You shut down the club because you thought there were people in there without prescriptions. Well, I don’t know if this is true, but what I do know is that there shouldn’t have to be prescriptions. The city or this board should grant any establishment that wants to serve cacao a cacao license, and that should be the end of that. You want less crime? Make it so there are less criminals.”

  And then I really was done.

  * * *

  The board voted to allow the Dark Room to remain open: seven yeas, two nays, and two abstentions. There would not be a criminal case brought against me.

  I shook Mr. Delacroix’s hand.

  “You ignored my advice,” he said.

  “I ignored some of your advice. But thank you anyway for being there to give it.”

  “Well, I won’t make the mistake of ignoring yours. If I manage to become mayor, I will look into amending the Rimbaud laws in the city.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “I’d do that because it is the right thing to do. Now go celebrate. Your sister and my son are waiting for you.”

  “You won’t come with us?”

  “I wish I could, but the campaign calls.”

  I shook his hand again. And he put both his hands around mine. “This may sound condescending, but you know that I have come to think of you as my daughter. And it is in this context that I find myself wanting to say how very proud I was of you today.” He stood up straight. “Go have some fun, will you? I am very much rooting for a happy ending when it comes to that loyal boy of mine and you.”

  “How sentimental.”

  “I am certainly more invested in the outcome of this little high school romance than I ever thought I would be. But I care about the characters, and forgive me for wanting everything to turn out for the plucky heroine.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

  * * *

  We
went to dinner at a new restaurant near Penn Station. “I didn’t expect to see you two at the hearing,” I said to Natty and Win.

  “My father called me,” Win said. “He told me he was going to be representing you and that you could use support. I asked him what I could do to help you, and he said that I should get on a train to New York and round up as many people as I could find who might have kind words to say about the club and you.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “It wasn’t. Almost everyone I called was willing to come. Theo helped me. Dad thought the hearing would become a referendum on what people thought of you.”

  “My character.”

  “Yes, your character. That if the city believed you were good, they would believe the club was good.”

  “And you dropped everything to do this?”

  “I did. You probably think less of me.”

  “Win, I am older now. I take help when it is given, and what’s more, I say thank you.” Hadn’t I learned that lesson six hours ago?

  I leaned across the table, and since I was feeling in high spirits, I kissed him on the cheek. How long had it been since I had kissed that boy?

  I should say, that man.

  Just on the cheek, friendly-like, but still.

  Natty began to chatter about a project involving the extraction of water from garbage. She’d been working on this for years. It was probably going to save all of us, but I wasn’t paying any attention.

  Win smiled at me, a bit ruefully.

  I smiled at him—Don’t read into this.

  He cocked his head at me and I felt like I could read his mind—Are we going to do this?

  I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders a little—I still don’t know.

  He put his hands on the table, palms up—Hurt me. Go ahead and try, my girl. I’ve got the thickest and the thinnest skin imaginable when it comes to you. I’m half rhinoceros, half baby bird.

  I folded my hands in my lap—I’m old, Win. I’m a widow. I’m beaten up. I’m a little scared to try this again. The last time was disastrous. Don’t you like being friends? Don’t you like sitting here civilly, smiling at each other and having dinner? Are you so eager to sign up for another round of pain? Being with me has never made a single person happy. Not for very long at least. I think I’m good alone. And why do people need to be in couples anyway?

  He shrugged his shoulders—I wish there was someone else for me. I honestly wish there was. But you get to hurt me, because you, I love. I love you. So I’ll be sitting here. Maybe forever. Looking like an idiot. And it’s okay. I’ve made peace with it. Love me or don’t. I love you either way. ’Cause I am the one boy who can’t get over the girl I met in high school. I’m that dumb, hopeful boy. I’ve tried, my girl. Have I tried. Don’t you think I’d rather be in my dorm right now reading Gray’s Anatomy? But I have to be here with you, the best, worst girl in the world. The only girl in the world as far as I’m concerned.

  A second rueful smile from Win.

  But maybe this exchange was only in my head.

  No one was speaking and so I turned to Natty. “And you! You should be in school.”

  “I had to tell them what a good sister you are.”

  I turned to Win. “You called her?”

  “Annie, I am allowed to call who I like.”

  “Still—you should both be in school.”

  “We’re going back tonight,” Win said.

  * * *

  I walked them over to the train station, which was a manageable distance for me. “Hey Win,” I said when Natty was buying gum. “Might I do a favor for you sometime?”

  “Like what?”

  “I mean, you’ve helped me a million times over. It seems one-sided. I’d like to do a good turn for you.”

  “Listen, Annie, I’ve been lucky in my life. As unlucky as you’ve been, I’ve been lucky. Life works out for me.”

  “Probably I’m the unluckiest thing that ever happened to you.”

  “Probably so.” He took off his hat. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “I’ll see you when I see you, okay?”

  “Win,” I said, “there are other girls, you know. Ones with fewer issues than me.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only girl in the world, Annie, and I think you already know that.”

  XXVII

  A FINAL EXPERIMENT IN ANCIENT TECHNOLOGY; I LEARN WHAT AN EMOTICON IS AND I DON’T LIKE IT

  anyaschka66: Hey Win, people don’t end up with the boys they meet in high school.

  win-win: Yes, I got home safely. Thanks for asking. The train wasn’t too crowded.

  win-win: Some people do, Annie. Otherwise it wouldn’t be such an enduring cliché.

  anyaschka66: I’m not a happy-ending person.

  win-win: Sure you are.

  win-win:

  anyaschka66: What’s that?

  win-win: Didn’t your nana teach you about emoticons?

  anyaschka66: It’s creepy. I feel like it’s looking at me.

  win-win:

  anyaschka66: Ugh, what’s it doing now?

  win-win: It’s winking.

  anyaschka66: Gross. I wish it wouldn’t.

  win-win:

  anyaschka66: When someone looks at me the wrong way, I start reaching for my machete. I’m very damaged, Win.

  win-win: I know, but you’re sturdy, too.

  anyaschka66: Good night, Win. See you at Thanksgiving.

  win-win:

  XXVIII

  I SPOT A TULIP IN JANUARY; WALK DOWN THE AISLE; HAVE MY CAKE

  BECAUSE LIFE IS CURIOUS, long if you’re lucky, and filled with twists, I found myself at City Hall on a bitterly cold afternoon in January, having a lunch meeting with the newly inaugurated mayor of New York City. When I arrived, I had been told by his assistant that my former enemy had no more than a half hour for lunch. “The mayor is a very busy man,” she said, as if I did not know that already.

  At lunch, the mayor and I spoke of my business for a while, and of his plans to introduce legislation to amend the Rimbaud laws. We spoke of his son briefly, though I would not have minded a more detailed report as far as that was concerned. About five minutes before lunch was over, my old colleague looked at me with a very solemn expression.

  “Anya,” Mr.—now mayor, though always Mr. Delacroix to me—Delacroix said, “I did not summon you to lunch purely for chatter. I have a request.”

  I braced myself. I had known some unpleasant requests from this man in my life. What might he demand from me now that he was so much more powerful than he had been?

  He looked at me steadily; I did not blink. “I am getting married, and I would like you to be my best woman.”

  “Congratulations!” I reached across the table to shake his hand. “But who is she?” Mr. Delacroix had always been secretive about his personal life, and I had not even known he was dating anyone.

  “She is Ms. Rothschild. The former Mrs. Delacroix.”

  “You are remarrying Win’s mother?”

  “I am. What do you think?”

  “I think … Frankly, I can think of nothing more shocking! What has caused this turnabout?”

  “Last summer, during my failed attempt at matchmaking for you and Win, I succeeded in matchmaking for Jane and me. Had I not sent you to that farm, which necessitated my going there myself, I doubt very much that I would be telling you this tale. Jane finds me to be less fearsome and selfish than I once was. She thinks it might have been your influence, which I have informed her is absurd. And for my part, I love her. I never stopped loving her. I have loved that woman my whole life, since I was fifteen years old.”

  “And even though she knows what you are like, she still wants to marry you again?”

  “I am not sure if I should be insulted by that question. But yes, she does. As strange as that may seem. She forgives me and she loves me. Despite the fact that I am awful. Perhaps she thinks that life is better with company. Anya, you are crying.”


  “I’m not.”

  “You are.” He reached across the table and wiped my eyes with the sleeve of his dress shirt.

  “I’m so happy for you,” I said. And how could one not be happy when presented with evidence that love could bloom from ground once considered barren? I threw my arms around Mr. Delacroix and kissed him on both his cheeks. He smiled boyishly, and it reminded me of Win.

  “What does Win say?” I asked.

  “He rolled his eyes quite a lot. He said that we—and particularly his mother—were crazy. He will, of course, walk Jane down the aisle. The wedding is in March. It will only be a little affair, but you still have not said if you will stand up for me.”

  “Of course I will. I am honored to be asked. Am I truly the best friend you have?”

  “Yes, just about. It’s been a lonely life. And Jane and I are grateful to you. In a strange way, she thinks you belong to us, though I told her that Anya Balanchine belongs to no one except herself. In any case, we could think of no other we wanted standing beside us more, except our own daughter, had she lived.” He held me to him, and I tried not to cry again. (Aside: How much of this book—nay, my life—have I spent “trying not to cry”? When I think of the wasted effort!)

  His assistant came into the office. The half hour was up. He shook my hand, and I went back out to the street. The January air was cold and bright, and it seemed as if the colors of the city were more vivid than before.

  In the gutter, a yellow tulip improbably pushed its way through the mud and the trash and the ice. Apologies for the cliché, but I must tell it like I see it. The tulip was there—it is not my place to speculate why or how such miracles occur.

  * * *

  The wedding was in March though the day felt more like May. Win’s parents were not young people and they had already done this before, so it was not a grand wedding—only a justice of the peace at the Dark Room, Manhattan. Aside from Win and myself, the only other people there were a few of their colleagues, including Theo, who had brought Lucy. Rumor had it that Theo and the mixologist were engaged, but Theo and I didn’t discuss these matters. Natty had wanted to come, but she couldn’t get away from school.