Schmidt Steps Back

by Louis Begley

  There is a small detail, he replied. They’ve given me no reason to think that they want me there. And now you really must go.

  XII

  THE LONG YEARS Renata had spent listening with her third ear to supine patients had not been wasted. She saw right through Schmidt: he yearned to see Charlotte but would not go to Claverack unless he was invited, and he wasn’t about to fish for an invitation. This was a problem she could solve. As though by chance, Charlotte called Schmidt the very next day.

  Dad, she announced, you should come to visit in the country before the baby’s born. That way you’ll also get to see the house, I mean our house, and also the Rikers’ house, if you like. They’re both great. Renata thinks it’s a good idea. You’ll understand why Jon and I like Claverack and hate the Hamptons. There is just one thing: next weekend is Memorial Day weekend, and we have some people Jon works with staying with us here, so we can’t have you. Is there another weekend that suits you?

  Why that’s considerate of Renata, replied Schmidt, wondering what had happened to Charlotte’s intelligence of which he used to be so proud. I’d be very happy to see you, but I’d rather come during the week. I’d arrive in the morning, we’d have lunch, and after lunch I would leave. A light and airy visit!

  Maybe that’s best, she replied. On weekends Jon is so bushed that he needs to relax. He wants to see friends and his family. Absolutely no one else.

  Schmidt made no reply.

  Well, can you tell me when to expect you? She made no effort to conceal her irritation.

  What about a week from tomorrow? Schmidt asked. I could be there at noon.

  That’s fine, she replied. You know how to get to Claverack, don’t you? I’ll send you directions so you can find the house.

  Click. She hung up.

  It wasn’t long before the telephone rang again. It was Renata.

  You were right to say you wouldn’t spend the night, she told him. Twenty-four hours of exposure to your pent-up hostility might have been too hard on Charlotte. As it is, she’s making a big effort to work through it. She deserves to be rewarded!

  Thank you, Renata, he answered. I am certain that you will find something suitable.

  As this was obviously only the beginning of her attempted family therapy, he told her: I really can’t talk now. You caught me as I was going out the door.

  We’ll talk again soon, she replied, after your visit.

  He decided to spend the night in the city before driving out to Claverack. Lew Brenner was free. He arranged to have dinner with him at the club. When they met, Lew apologized for his wife. Tina would have been so happy to see Schmidtie, but she was spending the week in the country.

  They drank their martinis at the bar and then moved upstairs to the dining room. After they had decided what they would eat and what wine they would drink, Lew told Schmidtie he wanted to give him a heads-up. After the election of new partners in June, Jack DeForrest will come under strong pressure. The young Turks are up in arms about him.

  I wonder how you feel about this, Schmidtie, Lew continued. You and he were so close when we were all associates, but I’ve had the impression that after he became the presiding partner there was tension between you, more tension than one assumes will always be present in dealings with el supremo.

  That’s a difficult subject, Schmidt said, but you’ve got it pretty much right. Tell me the sins of which Jack stands accused and who is likely to succeed him.

  If only it were so simple! But that is a difficult subject too. There is no specific charge. You know the general situation just as well as I: the Dow has been moving in the right direction, the unemployment figures too, but there aren’t enough big deals. That makes the kiddies nervous. They go around saying things like I’d kill for a deal. Thank goodness that’s not the picture in my neck of the woods. I have big transactions going, and everyone working with me is very, very busy. But the picture in the rest of the firm isn’t that positive, and Jack, instead of being a cheerleader for the firm, acts like Mr. Gloom and Doom. He’s fixated on numbers: are the billable hours up or down and by what percentage? Same with receivables, and all those per partner and per lawyer statistics. He should be talking about our tradition of service to clients, the fun of working together, and so forth. All that morale-building stuff that old Dexter Wood was so good at. So even though Jack has two years to go in his term as presiding partner, chances are that he will be pushed to step down.

  Well, Lew, you’ve always had interesting work, and lots of it.

  As he said that, Schmidt realized that W & K’s office politics and personalities had receded far enough from his mind to make it possible for him to feel only a trace of the former envy of Lew and his with-one-hand-tied-behind-my-back prowess and successes.

  I’m lucky, Lew said, that’s all. And I’ve had good help. Just like you. Take someone like Tim Verplanck! They will probably want to reach far down, into the younger ranks. If you have any suggestions you should let me know.

  Ruminating, they sipped their wine.

  Apropos of Tim Verplanck, Schmidt said, I went back to Paris and had lunch with Hugh Macomber and the rest of the gang.

  Good man, young Macomber!

  He told me he wasn’t any too sure of hanging on to the clients brought in by Tim—the ones who are still there. As you know, there have been defections. He mentioned some sort of problem with that friend of Tim’s, Bruno.

  Yes, there is a problem. A real problem. Both Macombers—his wife, Molly, even more than he—are wonderful people, but basically they’re American provincials. There’s no other word for it. If you say “investment banker,” the picture that comes up before their eyes is that of any one of Hugh’s Princeton classmates who’s now a partner at Morgan Stanley or equivalent, married to a wife just like Molly, with two kids, one at Chapin and the other at Buckley. So when they come face-to-face with Bruno, it’s the wrong picture, and all they see is that he’s queer. There’s no wife, there aren’t any kids, so what kind of an investment banker is he? An aberration. He makes them uncomfortable. He’d fit into their conception of life if he were a painter. Or a society hairdresser! What they forget or don’t see is that there are many Princeton graduates who were members of the same eating club as Hugh who are now bankers at Morgan Stanley and similar firms and are just as gay as Bruno. Or Jewish like me!

  He paused, apparently expecting Schmidt to say something. Seeing that Schmidt was going to remain silent, Lew continued: The point is that what you do in bed doesn’t make you any better or worse at mergers and acquisitions.

  Yes, said Schmidt, only it’s too bad for the Paris office.

  I’m trying to pitch in, Lew said. Bruno’s very sophisticated. He sees through Hugh and doesn’t hold against him the way he has reacted. He knows it’s cultural, involuntary. The problem is with referral of clients and encouraging clients to stay even though Tim is gone. All that would be easier, and come more naturally, and Bruno would do it gladly, if he and Hugh had a warmer relationship.

  Of course, said Schmidt. By the way while I was in Paris I saw Alice again.

  He’d said it! Schmidt’s sole purpose in talking about young Macomber had been to lay the groundwork. He didn’t want her name to come out of the blue.

  You could put your time to much worse use, said Lew, and raised his glass to Schmidt. She’s a lovely woman.

  Yes.

  If she’s free, she’d be perfect for you, Schmidtie. She’d understand you; she’d fit in. She’s someone you could be proud of.

  I’m fifteen years older!

  If you say so. I haven’t done the arithmetic, but I don’t think it matters. You’re in good health, you don’t look your age, and you’ve got a nice life—especially now that you’re running Mike Mansour’s foundation. I’d give it some real thought provided, as I said, she’s free.

  There’s no indication she isn’t, but how would I know! I do hope to see her again, though, when I’m in Paris next month.

 
Great idea, replied Lew. Tina and I will be there for a week. If we overlap, the four of us should have dinner together.

  The route to Claverack was distantly familiar. Before Charlotte was born, Mary and he went up to concerts at Tanglewood on occasional weekends, staying either with a Radcliffe friend of Mary’s married to an architect who had a house in Hillsdale, just west of the Massachusetts line and about twenty miles from Lenox, or a W & K partner, a litigator for whom Schmidt had written a series of memos, whose house was in Great Barrington. They had less fun staying with the litigator, but the drive from his house to Tanglewood was only half an hour, instead of the hour it took to get there from Hillsdale, and staying with the litigator was probably good for Schmidt’s career. Having served as FDR’s envoy in Lend-Lease negotiations, the litigator was convinced of the indispensable value of government service for bright young lawyers. Evidently he thought that Schmidt was one and expounded to him and Mary the need for Schmidt to shake himself free of the shackles of W & K for a couple of years, perhaps four, and work for the good of the country. He must do it, he would say, if only for the sake of his New York Times obituary! It was easy for the litigator to talk: he had a rich wife. Schmidt didn’t; in fact Mary had just gotten her editorial assistant’s job, which paid next to nothing. In Hillsdale no one preached to them: Mary’s friend was a great cook; the other houseguests, like the hosts, were all roughly Schmidt’s contemporaries; and on Saturday, because there was no afternoon concert, they all flew elaborate kites provided by the architect in the beautiful field behind the house, which, standing on the brow of a hill, was favored with a breeze even on sultry summer days. The litigator died two years after Schmidt became a partner and had a celebrity’s treatment in the press; the expert cook and the architect divorced. The house in Hillsdale was sold, and Schmidt and Mary never saw the architect again. They continued to see the expert cook until she remarried, moved to Oregon, where she opened a restaurant, and died of cancer like Mary, only some years earlier.

  Wrung out by memories of old friendships and death, unbearably excited at the thought that in two hours he would see his daughter, so beloved and so alienated from him, he found his way through the new and renamed roads that finally put him on the Taconic and stepped on the gas. The Volvo was incomparably more powerful than his old Beetle. It shot forward as if outraged. Conscientiously, he slowed down to sixty-five, which he thought unlikely to irk any of the cops lurking on the richly planted shoulder or median, turned on the radio, and to his surprise found that he was still within the reach of WQXR’s signal. That, on top of the Volvo, was a distinct improvement over the old days.

  The house, a two-story white clapboard affair with black shutters, stood in a field, in the fenced portion of which grazed Aberdeen cattle belonging, as he found out later, to the nearby farmer who had sold the property to Charlotte and Jon. Charlotte met him at the front door. Less than two months had gone by since he last saw her, in the Tuileries. That chic and svelte young woman had undergone a transformation. Here she was, in a blue-and-white-striped gingham dress that was not designed to conceal the huge belly. Would the baby be huge, too? She was actually smiling. He kissed her on both cheeks and then once again, for good measure.

  I am so very happy, he told her.

  When they sat down in the kitchen after the tour of the house, she asked him what he thought.

  It’s lovely, he answered, very well renovated, in the best taste, exactly what I would expect from you. And I think the baby’s room is just right. He will like it.

  Actually, she said, Renata deserves ninety percent of the credit. She has a good eye and knows how to deal with workers.

  I’m not surprised, Schmidt answered. I recall that their apartment on Fifty-Seventh Street is very handsome, very well done.

  You’ve only been there once!

  He wasn’t sure whether that was to be taken as a taunt or an expression of regret. It was better not to inquire. Instead he asked whether he could have a drink: a bourbon or a gin and tonic. There was no bourbon, but the gin and Schweppes tonic water were produced. Since she told him to help himself, he made it strong. By the time he got back on the road, it and whatever else she gave him to drink at lunch would have been metabolized, and if not he would pull over to the side of the Taconic and take a short nap.

  There is something I would like to ask you, she said, and I hope it won’t make you fly off the handle.

  Go ahead. I’ll try to control myself.

  I’d like to hire a live-in combination baby nurse and housekeeper. Someone flexible and experienced, who could help me out now just with coping and would be good with the baby when he comes. I’ve got someone with good references, who I think would be right. I wonder if you would pay her salary and social security and the rest of that stuff.

  I think it could probably be managed.

  Then he added, he really couldn’t help it: Did you get her through Renata?

  If you must know, yes. She called the agency in New York she has always used. I suppose that nixes it. I mean if something has to do with Renata or Jon, it’s immediately verboten.

  Not necessarily, he answered, it depends on what they’re up to. What salary does Mary Poppins command?

  Live in, both here and in the city, six thousand. She gets one month of vacation, so I’ll need someone to cover.

  I think I can swing it, said Schmidt, both her and the substitute. Provided, of course, she is also selected by Renata. When can Poppins start?

  Next Tuesday, right after Memorial Day, if I let her know today.

  Go ahead and tell her she’s on. I’ll give you a check for the first month’s salary right now.

  He drew his wallet out of his pocket. There were always two blank checks in it, evidently just for this sort of occasion. His head felt just a bit light: effect of the second gin and tonic he was working on, or of check writing? No, it came from the exquisite clarity of the situation. First, Jon makes the big grab: Listen up Albert, it’s time to set up a trust for little Myron. That tanks, so master tactician Renata decides to go for the smaller stuff: a mere six thousand per month! That’s just the first step. But he would give twice as much, with good grace, if Charlotte explained her and Jon’s mysterious finances, if she asked him nicely, if the Rikers could keep their mitts off his dealings with his daughter. He handed her the check. While she examined it, he felt in his coat pocket the present he had for her: a turn-of-the-century French pendant in the shape of a butterfly, suspended on a chain. Give it to her right now? He decided to wait. There was no telling how the visit would end.

  After what seemed like a long silence, she said, Thanks! I will tell Renata to call this woman. Do you mind if I call her?

  He shook his head.

  There must be a special number for Charlotte’s personal use that rings in Renata’s consultation room. At twelve-thirty, she should be in the middle of some patient’s fifty-minute hour. But she picked up at once. Schmidt heard her say, Hello sweetie! How is it going? OK, his daughter replied, he’s given me the check. You can call Yolanda when you get a chance. Yes. Love yah!

  “Love yah” indeed, Schmidt remarked silently. The high intelligence, its mysterious disappearance has already been noted. And the good manners, so carefully instilled by Mary, by Aunt Martha, and even, believe it or not, by him! Where had they gone? It would be hard to say that some sort of street smarts had taken their place, because a truly street-smart girl would know better moves than this dropout from the upper classes.

  You want to eat? she asked.

  Yes, he replied, but perhaps it would be easier if I took you out. Some place in Claverack or Hudson?

  I’ve got some food ready.

  She put dishes, glasses, and forks and knives on the table, leaving it to him to organize them, brought from the pantry a half-empty bottle of a California red, and from the fridge a bowl of Niçoise salad. There was bread on the sideboard, and she put it on the table as well.

  Charlotte, said Schmid
t, audibly choked up, this was your mother’s favorite summer dish, and you’ve followed her recipe. Thank you!

  You’re welcome. I suppose you thought I’d order in a pizza. Of course, I’m not nearly as good a cook as your girlfriend Carrie.

  Ah, that meal Carrie prepared so generously the one time they met has stuck in her craw, mused Schmidt. How too damn bad.

  I don’t know, he answered, I haven’t tasted enough food that you’ve prepared. But I do see that you haven’t kept up with developments. Carrie has married a lovely guy who runs a marina in East Hampton, and she expects a baby next month.

  That must have burned you up!

  Not really. As I said, he’s a lovely guy, he’s the right age for her, and I think they’ll have a good life together.

  That’s a new generosity, Dad. Wow! I haven’t noticed your being so broad-minded and kindly about Jon’s and my marriage.

  Goodness, replied Schmidt.

  What was he to do? Talk about Jon’s cheating on her and his unethical or, if not unethical, then surely reckless behavior that led to his expulsion from W & K, not to mention his disgraceful refusal to return her rightful property when they broke up? Remind her that Jon, who owed to Schmidt’s support his partnership at W & K, never passed up an opportunity to needle the old man? Talk about how, in a grotesque replay of the story of Ruth, she had ostentatiously turned away from him to follow her mother-in-law? Or her and Jon’s truly remarkable lack of gratitude for the tons of money she had already received from him? What use would any of that be?

  Goodness, he said once again. We mustn’t have a debate about that while I’m eating your delicious salad. I don’t suppose you drink coffee these days?

  She shook her head.

  If you don’t mind making it, I’ll have some. Very strong, and at least one big cup.

  Soon afterward he left, the gold and lapis lazuli butterfly still in his pocket. His mind was made up: he would give it to her, but only when he came to see his grandson for the first time.

  It was after six when he reached Bridgehampton. Sy was in the house, which was as it should be; he had recommended that Bryan shut the kitty door so that he couldn’t go out when Bryan wasn’t there to answer cries of distress. The enthusiasm of Sy’s welcome, however, was at such a high pitch that Schmidt sensed that something had gone awry. Indeed, the kitty litter box, on the cleanliness of which Bryan prided himself, had not been changed, and without question Sy was starved. First things first: he picked up the cat and assured him of his devotion, fed him, and took care of the litter. Recompensed by grateful purring, he opened the kitty door and watched Sy’s infinitely prudent exit into the garden.