Читать книгу For Better Or Worse - Jill Amy Rosenblatt - Страница 21

On a bright, sunny Saturday morning Elizabeth and Karen got off the subway at Lexington and Eighty-sixth and strolled toward Park Avenue. They each had a Starbucks coffee cup and Elizabeth had an oversized double-chocolate cookie.

“Thanks for coming,” Karen said. “I know she loves me, but I just can’t face telling her alone.”

“She’d do anything for you, Karen. I’ve never seen her refuse you.”

“Only because I’ve never asked for anything she would consider unacceptable.” They strolled in silence for a moment. “We’ve never been at odds. She may be my mother but she’s also the woman who burned my father’s priceless collection of first editions in place of logs in the solarium fireplace.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “That was about your father, not you. By the way, how’s Larry, the unfortunate thespian?”

“Back among the living,” Karen said. “And we finally found our Hickey character. His name is Alfred. His last role was playing Jesus in Godspell. He’s been a source of great comfort to Larry.”

“Maybe he thinks if you kill him off again, Alfred will be able to raise him up,” Elizabeth said.

Karen chuckled.

Elizabeth held out the cookie; Karen broke off a piece.

“S-o-o-o—anything new since you passed out in Ian’s apartment?” Karen asked.

Elizabeth gave her a sharp look. Karen waited patiently.

“I’ve seen him. We keep meeting. Serendipitously, of course. I should just let Emily download my daily schedule from my BlackBerry and give it to him.”

“And yet, you never turn him away,” Karen said.

Elizabeth struggled for words. “He’s just so…annoying,” she finally blurted out.

“That’s a good reason to continue to talk to someone.”

“I always think I know myself, until I see him. He’s always so calm, nothing bothers him. It’s maddening.”

“He’s at peace, that’s a basic Taoist principle. I’m impressed.”

“His peacefulness is driving me crazy.”

“That’s because attraction, which is what you have, is not a Taoist principle.”

Elizabeth gave her a sideways glance. “He thinks he has control. And he’s wrong. I’m in complete control. He doesn’t have the upper hand.”

Karen gave a blank look in response.

“Oh, come on, Karen. You’re the offspring of a thirty-year power struggle.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to live like that. Robert and I don’t have a power structure.”

“Trust me, you don’t have a choice. There is one. Since you don’t know about it, Robert has the edge. Ian thinks he has the upper hand. I can’t let him win.”

“We’re talking about attraction and connection, not a pissing contest.”

Elizabeth didn’t answer.

“It could just be the accent.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Possibly. It is charming, and he’s always a perfect gentleman.”

Karen choked on the cookie. “Really…why?”

“It’s a European thing. They’re so formal. The next time we ‘meet,’ I’ll tell him I can’t stay. Then he’ll know that I have the upper hand and it’ll be over.”

“And you’re sure you can do that?”

Elizabeth handed her the rest of the cookie. “Absolutely. I will not be outmaneuvered.”

They reached Karen’s mother’s building; the doorman held the door and they squinted, adjusting to the gloom of the lobby. They stood in silence at the elevator until the chiming of the bell sounded and the doors opened.

“What would the Tao say about this meeting?” Elizabeth asked.

“The secret to the path is to be still. Then you’ll know when to act and when to yield. Then the only true path will present itself. It’s time to act. It’s the right time to tell her.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Well, here’s a practical word of wisdom. Remember she’d do anything for you, even believe there really is one man in this world who is worthy of you. But if this flops and becomes a disaster, you’ll have to guilt her.”

Karen smiled as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

When they stepped out, a dour looking woman in uniform was holding the door open.

“What happened to the last one?” Elizabeth whispered.

“She only lasted two months,” Karen answered.

Suitcases littered the receiving room. They passed through the living room, Karen’s favorite spot in the apartment. Each piece of Art Nouveau furniture was placed carefully, giving the room a calm, orderly feel. Passing the Gallé cabinet, Karen ran her fingers over it, tracing the carved floral design as she had when she was a child. Her mother’s voice cut through her reverie.

“Mary, for God’s sake, are you slaughtering the pig? Am I expected to starve?”

“It can be comforting to know in a world of change some things are constant,” Elizabeth said, heading for the kitchen.

Karen inched open the bedroom door, peeking inside.

Sitting up in bed, Margaret wore Bulgari Lucea white-gold pendant earrings and an elegant, gray La Perla bed jacket and gown; her flawless complexion glowed, her auburn hair sculpted in thick waves.

“Mon petit cadeau,” she gushed, thrusting her arms out toward Karen. She fingered Karen’s shoulder-length hair, sweeping her hands across her forehead. “What are we to do about this peasant look? These bangs hide the devastating pools that are your eyes.” She sighed. “Although, I must say, you do wear it beautifully.”

“How was the tour, Mom?” Karen asked.

“The whirlwind never ceases. Louis continues to pester about the next novel. He simply does not understand, words do not appear out of thin air. Books are not composed by divine inspiration, but by work. For an editor, he can be such a child.”

“Mom, Louis is forty.”

“That’s practically pubescent, my angel.”

Margaret indicated the newspaper lying open on the bed, a picture of Parker and Emily on Page Six. “Miss Emily has learned a hard lesson about dabbling in the culinary arts. She’ll feel much better after the divorce.”

“Mom, she’s not getting a divorce. She’s redoing the townhouse.”

“That may work just as well.”

Karen arranged herself on the bed, leaning on one elbow as Margaret picked through the pile of invitations and letters littering the pristine white silk coverlet.

“Now,” Margaret began, “I have given some of your work to Henry. You haven’t met him yet. He is a brilliant producer and you are a brilliant playwright. He’s in love with you already.”

“How does he know I’m his type?”

Margaret laughed. “Excellent, sharp as a tack. Good for you. Now—”

“Mom,” Karen broke in.

Margaret swept out of bed without waiting for her to continue, disappearing behind a white satin changing screen. The jacket sailed up into the air, followed by her gown, both landing draped over the screen. “You are the next Simon, Williams, Stoppard of Broadway. Your work must be seen. I won’t allow you to languish in summer stock with some…farmer.”

“Robert’s from Long Island.”

“It’s the same thing. With Henry you will not be putting on a show in the barn. Cows may provide a service to humanity but they cannot understand dramatic irony.”

“I’m marrying the farmer, Mom.”

Margaret emerged from behind the screen, wearing a dazzling white and cream Ralph Lauren ensemble, and a look of astonishment.

Karen sucked in a mouthful of air. “We’re engaged. We’ve set a date. We’re getting married next June.”

Margaret stroked Karen’s hair and grasped her hands in her own. “You know he will only disappoint you,” she said, her eyes misting.

“I don’t set expectations, Mom.”

“Excellent, my darling. He can’t meet them anyway. Oh, Karen, after everything…” She sighed. “Your father’s been recycling material I wrote during our marriage and using it in his books. The lawsuit has already been filed. You are looking at your future. This, my darling, is what you will have to deal with. Wouldn’t you prefer taking a nice trip instead? Someplace exotic. Everyone is going to Thailand these days.”

“You’ve sent me there already.”

“Have I?”

“Twice.”

“Karen, I don’t want you to experience your partner as a lesser man in almost every sense of the word. You cannot waste yourself. I cannot allow this.”

“Mommy, I love him.”

Sinking down on the bed next to her, Margaret brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Well,” she said, “life is about change.”

“That’s what Daddy said.”

“You’ve seen your father? Good. All daughters should spend time with their fathers, indulging them in the myth that man is invincible. That is a daughter’s greatest gift.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “He still owes me a Prada wardrobe.”

“We discussed that. Mommy, what do you mean, you won’t allow this?”

“Miss Elizabeth!” Margaret sang out, ignoring Karen’s question. “I see you lingering there.”

Elizabeth appeared in the doorway. “I was just visiting my old room.”

“I provided room, board, nutritional and emotional sustenance during your time of crisis, and this is how I’m to be repaid? I leave my girl in your care and come back to find her affianced to a Clampett. What have you to say for yourself, young lady?”

“I missed a meeting?”

Margaret narrowed her eyes at Elizabeth. “And who have you been spending your time with?”

“An Impressionist-style painter who should be drinking absinthe in Montmartre,” Karen piped up.

“Interesting choice, considering your history. Anyone else?”

“A lawyer.”

Margaret stood up. “It’s so refreshing when a profession explains the man.”

“Mommy,” Karen broke in, “what do you mean, you won’t allow this?”

Margaret chucked Karen under her chin. “My buttercup, you know your father and I disagree on—everything, except marriage. You know we’ve made it our mission—our raison d’être, if you will—to do what we can, in our own humble way, to prevent these tragedies.”

“Mommy, you can’t object at my wedding.”

Margaret raised her eyebrow at Karen. “I ask you, my nutmeg, what greater act of love can a parent bestow than to save their child from imminent destruction?”

Karen felt herself shrinking, her body curling into a fetal curve. “By objecting at my wedding?”

Margaret patted Karen’s knee. “Muffin top, someone must stop the madness.”

“But…but you won’t need to object. You’ll like Robert.”

“Oh, that’s irrelevant, darling.”

Karen stared at Elizabeth. “My parents are going to object at my wedding.”

“I heard.”

Karen grabbed her mother’s hand. “I want to get married.”

Margaret sighed. “I know, my sweet. It’s all that spiritual training. We should never have encouraged you.” She swept to the bedroom door, stopping before Elizabeth. “By the way, do you love the painter, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Absolutely not,” Elizabeth answered.

Margaret raised her eyebrow in response and kept walking.

“You didn’t ask if I loved the lawyer,” Elizabeth said.

Margaret laughed. “Of course not, dear, why would I?”

Karen lay back on the bed and Elizabeth flopped down next to her, listening to Margaret’s booming voice fill the apartment.

“Mary, you wretched woman, you’re getting your wish. We are going out to eat! Come along, my little buttercups! These are deep waters we are to traverse today!”

Karen lay staring up at the ceiling and sucked in a deep breath.

“So this is the part where you yield?”

“Did I have a choice?”

“What now? You just relax and do nothing and it all works out right, that’s the Taoist way?”

Karen turned to stare at her. “Taoism never met my mother.”

“True,” Elizabeth said, “very true.”