Rules Get Broken

by John Herbert

  “Did you have any trouble finding me?” Nancy asked.

  “No, none whatsoever. Your directions were fine,” I stammered, trying to regain my composure.

  “So where are we going?”

  “A place in Locust Valley called Caminari’s,” I answered. “I think you’ll like it. If you like Italian food, that is.”

  “I do,” she responded enthusiastically. “I’m part Italian.”

  “Then I guessed right. Shall we?”

  Nancy said yes with her smile, and I followed her down the walk to my car.

  As I opened the car door for her, I saw that my new friend across the street had not yet resumed cutting his lawn, but rather had watched everything Nancy and I had done up to that moment.

  “Quite a watchdog you’ve got across the street,” I said as I slid behind the steering wheel.

  “What do you mean?” Nancy asked.

  I indicated the guy with a nod of my head. “He stopped cutting his grass the minute I arrived, and he’s been watching me ever since.”

  “I guess he’s not used to seeing a man come to my apartment,” Nancy suggested.

  I looked over at her as I pulled away from the curb to see if she was serious, but she was staring straight ahead, so I couldn’t tell for sure.

  The scent of soap and shampoo and perfume filled the car while I waited for traffic to allow me to turn onto Roslyn Road. This is crazy, I thought. Here I am, thirty-four years old, sitting next to a woman probably ten years younger than I am—admittedly a very lovely woman, but still probably ten years younger—and a perfect stranger, and I’m taking her out to dinner, and my wife died two weeks ago this morning. I must be out of my mind!

  I made my turn onto Roslyn Road and began to accelerate.

  I don’t believe I’m doing this. I really don’t. But it’s too late to worry about it…so I won’t.

  A quick look over at Nancy again, then back to the road and the traffic in front of us.

  God, she smells good.

  Fifty-Four

  Caminari’s was the perfect spot for the type of evening I had planned—an upscale restaurant with thick carpet, heavy draperies, starched white tablecloths and soft lighting—known for good food, attentive service and, most importantly, the kind of quiet, subdued atmosphere that the locals demanded and that was ideal for conversation. Caminari’s was located on the northeast corner of the only intersection in Locust Valley, a delightful little village where employees of the wealthy came to shop for their employers, and where the wealthy came to browse through its antique shops, dress shops or saddlery—or to eat at Caminari’s.

  This was a Sunday night, so the restaurant was even quieter than usual. The maitre d’ showed us to a table for four in the far left corner with a window on either side looking out onto the streets that formed the intersection. He pulled out a chair for Nancy in front of one of the windows, and I took the chair in the corner. He unfolded our napkins for us, placed them in our laps, welcomed us to Caminari’s and asked if we would like something to drink.

  “What’s your pleasure?” I asked Nancy.

  “I don’t know,” she answered tentatively. “What are you going to have?”

  “I’m going to have a scotch on the rocks,” I replied.

  She thought for a second, and then looked up at the maitre d’.

  “I’d like a Tom Collins, please.”

  He turned to me.

  “And a J & B on the rocks with a twist.”

  He gave a slight bow and was gone. We were alone.

  I watched him walk across the dining room towards the bar and turned to Nancy. “So how long have you been living in Roslyn?” I asked.

  “Four weeks as of yesterday.”

  “Oh, you just moved in,” I said, immediately wondering why I had just stated the obvious. “And before that you were living at home, right?”

  “Yes,” Nancy replied.

  “Then this is a whole new experience for you. Living on your own, I mean.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I do. Very much. Don’t get me wrong. I love my parents, and I love our home, but I thought the time was right for me to be out on my own.”

  Neither of us said anything for a moment.

  “I gather you work in Manhattan?” I asked, afraid to let the silence go on for too long.

  “Yes,” she answered with a smile that I took to be tinged with a little bit of pride. “For National Geographic magazine.”

  “What do you do there?”

  “I’m the administrative assistant to the Eastern advertising manager. It’s not what I expected to be doing with my life, but it’s exciting, it’s fun and it pays well. So I’m not complaining.”

  “What did you expect to be doing?”

  “Well, I was a biology major in college. And my plan was to become a veterinarian. But I dropped out at the end of my sophomore year.”

  Nancy looked around the dining room for a moment, seeming to consider whether or not she should continue. “Then I went to Katharine Gibbs and enrolled in their executive secretarial program. The day after graduation I had my first interview—at National Geographic—and they hired me. And that’s my story.”

  Something about the way she said “And that’s my story” signaled that she was finished talking about her job and the path that had led her to it, so I decided to change the subject.

  But before I could think of a new topic, Nancy started to speak. “My mother tells me you’re a boater.”

  “Yeah. Have been most of my life, really.”

  “Do you have a boat now?” she asked.

  “Yeah. A sailboat.”

  “That’s cool,” she said with a smile. “What kind? Not that I’d know what you’re talking about, I guess. I don’t know anything about sailboats. Our family has always had powerboats.”

  “Well, mine is a sloop, which means it has one mast. And it’s an O’Day. Not the best or most expensive, but a good boat.”

  “How big?”

  “Thirty feet.”

  “Wow, it’s a real boat then. Not a Sunfish you sail off the beach.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “No, it’s a real boat. With bunks, galley, dining area, head with shower. The whole nine yards.”

  “My family’s been boating ever since I can remember,” Nancy said, “and my childhood centered around the water and boats. In fact, my parents are still boaters. But I’ve never been on a sailboat.”

  “Well, maybe sometime I can take you out on mine,” I said without thinking.

  She looked at me, seemed to consider saying something, changed her mind and then nodded, barely noticeably. She seemed to pull back.

  Now why did I say that? I thought. Totally inappropriate. What the hell is the matter with me?

  Fortunately, before the silence could go on for too long, a waiter brought our drinks. Nancy pulled the wrapper off the top of the straw in her glass and was about to take a sip when I proposed a toast. I raised my glass to hers, and she hesitantly brought hers to mine.

  “Thanks for saying yes to tonight,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied uneasily. Then, “So…how are you doing?”

  I knew she was going to ask me that question at some point in the evening, and I had prepared a safe response—one that wouldn’t be totally honest, but at the same time, one that wouldn’t make me come apart in front of a complete stranger. Unfortunately, I forgot what I had planned to say.

  “I don’t know, to be perfectly honest,” I said instead. “I know that sounds weird, but looking inside where I’d find the answer is too painful. So I don’t. Look inside, I mean.” I scanned the dining room slowly as I spoke. I knew if I made eye contact with Nancy, I’d lose my composure before I could answer her question.

  “I go to work. I come home. I have dinner with my kids and my parents. I put my kids to bed. I look at TV with my parents. I go to bed. The next morning I get up and do it all over again.
That’s the way things have been since a week ago Thursday when I went back to work.”

  Nancy nodded in understanding. “May I ask you another question?” she said after a few seconds of silence.

  “Sure. What?”

  “Why did you call me?”

  “Why did I call you in particular, or why did I ask you to join me for dinner?”

  “Both.”

  I took another sip of my drink and watched the ice make tiny eddies in the amber liquor as I tried to think of an answer to her question.

  “I don’t know why I called you,” I finally said, still staring into my glass. “I really don’t. I just saw your name on that blood donor list…”

  I looked up at her, and our eyes met. “…and something told me I should call you. I know that was totally inappropriate, not the right thing to do at all, but…”

  Without intending to, I sighed.

  “As to why I asked you to join me for dinner…the truth is, I didn’t mean to. That wasn’t my intent when I called you. Then I heard your voice, and the next thing I knew, I was asking you out. But that doesn’t answer your question as to why, does it? I guess the answer is I needed…need…someone to talk to. Someone who isn’t affected by my wife’s death. Someone who’s not emotionally involved. I can’t talk to my folks because, quite frankly, they’re wrecks. I can’t talk to my friends because they’re too caught up in the whole situation and have their own issues to deal with. And I can’t talk to co-workers because I have none in the usual sense. I’m the boss’s son.” I waited a second before continuing. “I don’t know why I thought I could talk to you. But I think I was right.”

  Nancy took a sip of her drink. “I almost cancelled,” she said.

  I smiled sadly. “I’m not surprised. Why?”

  “A lot of reasons. First…” she hesitated before continuing. “First, your wife died two weeks ago. And I said to myself, this is just not right. I don’t know why John Herbert is calling me or what he expects from me, but no one should be doing what he’s doing. No one. And I certainly shouldn’t be part of it. Then I thought about how much older you are. And I wondered how I could possibly talk to you.” She shrugged and looked down at her drink. “I guess I didn’t feel experienced enough or mature enough. I don’t know. I was just terrified I’d sit here and not know what to say.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “Because I felt so bad for you. And because I knew you were a nice guy.” She stopped and gave me a little smile. “And because something told me I should,” she continued. “Like what you said. I knew this wasn’t right, but something wouldn’t let me cancel. Something told me this was…okay. Even if it didn’t seem okay.”

  I started to take another sip of my drink but realized my glass was empty. “And what about now?” I asked. I looked at my watch. “I realize we’ve only been together for an hour, but what about now? Are you glad you came?”

  Nancy looked at me thoughtfully before answering. “Yes,” she finally said. “I’m glad I came. And I’m not terrified anymore.”

  We looked at each other, and as we did, different feelings washed over me, one after another, all in the space of those few seconds. Happiness first when I realized how much I was enjoying being with this woman, then contentment at how comfortable I felt with her even though I barely knew her, followed by guilt because I knew I shouldn’t be feeling either of those things—and culminating in sadness, a deep, deep sadness, because the good feelings of a moment ago had just been shattered.

  But I was experiencing something else, I realized. A sense of being out of place. A sense of inappropriateness, for lack of a better word. I didn’t belong here tonight. I belonged home with my kids.

  “Would you like another drink?” I asked, anxious to move away from where my thoughts were taking me.

  “Please,” Nancy replied, finishing the Tom Collins in front of her with two long swallows.

  I caught our waiter’s eye and signaled him to bring us another round.

  Nancy leaned back in her chair with her hands in her lap. “You mentioned before you were the boss’s son. What do you do?”

  “I work in a family-owned manufacturing company called Herbert Products. We make equipment for the printing industry. Accessory equipment. I’ve worked there twelve years now.”

  “Is it a big company?”

  “No. Not really. We employ seventy, seventy-five people.”

  “That’s big. Big to me, anyway. What’s your position there?”

  “Well, my father’s president of the firm; I’m executive vice president. I manage new product introductions, pricing, product design. I work with our sales force and our VP of sales. I handle our advertising, marketing, trade shows. And I get involved a lot with customer service.”

  “Do you like your job?”

  “I do. Like you, I’m not doing what I thought I’d be doing with my life, but I enjoy my work.”

  “Now it’s my turn to ask you,” Nancy said. “What did you expect to be doing?”

  “I was going to be a doctor. A surgeon. At least that was the plan when I went to college. But my grades weren’t good enough to get me into medical school. So, when the last rejection came in from the last school, I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to be a doctor and went to work for my father while I waited to be drafted and sent to Viet Nam. Which didn’t happen, thank God, but that’s another story.”

  “Tell me about your children. Jennie and…?”

  “John.”

  “That’s right. John. The Tom Collins must be hitting bottom.”

  “Well…what can I say? They’re both great little kids, but completely different from one another. John’s nine months old and always has this great big smile on his face. He’s the happiest little guy you can imagine and needs almost no attention from anyone. Plop him down; he’ll find something to amuse himself with. And Jennie…” I smiled at the thought of Jennie. “Jennie’s the most beautiful little girl in the world. Everyone says that. And she’s my angel. But she’s very serious and very grown up, even though she just turned three. So on the one hand, I have my happy-go-lucky little guy; and on the other hand, I have my very serious, very grown-up china doll. Quite a combination.”

  I thought about the kids, at home tonight with their grandmother and grandfather, and that made me think again about where I was. I needed to change the topic.

  “So, let’s get back to you,” I said more abruptly than I’d intended. “What made you leave college, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I don’t mind. I’m just a little sensitive about not having finished.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I pressed.

  “A couple of reasons. I guess number one was that I was an A student in high school. I was on the honor roll all four years, in the Honor Society, graduated thirty-third in a class of six hundred ten. So I thought I was pretty smart. Then I went to Lebanon Valley College and started getting C’s and D’s for the first time in my life. In my major, no less. I felt like a total failure.”

  She stopped talking for a moment and looked past me, a faraway look in her eye. “Reason number two was…my family was in turmoil. My father had dreamed all his life of owning his own business, and when I was a junior in high school, he quit his job of thirty years as a salesman for a restaurant equipment manufacturer and used his life savings to buy a convenience store up in Swan Lake, New York. Near Liberty. Without ever telling my mother, I might add, until the night he came home to announce he was now in business for himself.”

  She shook her head sadly. “Looking back, it was the dumbest thing he ever could have done. Swan Lake, that whole area, is a vacation spot for orthodox Jews from New York City. And here was my dad, as Norwegian as Leif Erickson, trying to make a living running a kosher delicatessen serving orthodox Jews on their vacations. Anyway, he couldn’t run it all by himself during the summer vacation months, so for four years my mother, my brother and I spent our summers working eighteen-hour d
ays, trying to help him keep it afloat.

  “But finally, after four years and a horrible fourth summer, he admitted defeat and gave up. Gave up, locked the door and came home to Huntington. Never tried to sell the business. Just emptied the shelves of everything we might be able to use at home and walked away. He lost every cent he paid for it—which was everything he had. So here I was, at home at the end of summer vacation, about to start my junior year, still feeling like a total academic failure, not sure I still wanted to be a veterinarian; and here my family was, almost broke, my father without a job. So I decided not to go back to college. Decided I needed to step back. Reassess my goals. I knew I hadn’t been happy at Lebanon Valley, but I didn’t know what other direction to follow.

  “So I took out a loan—my parents were in no financial shape to help me anymore—and I enrolled at Katharine Gibbs as a kind of stepping stone. I figured at least I’d be able to find work while I tried to sort out what I wanted to do with my life. And things worked out. Even at the ripe old age of twenty, I knew happiness doesn’t just come to you. You have to go out and find it.”

  “And you liked Katharine Gibbs?”

  Nancy nodded enthusiastically and smiled. “Oh, yeah. I was a round peg in a round hole. I loved every minute, and what other girls struggled with, I breezed through. Effortlessly. I graduated number one in my class, and as I said before, I went into Manhattan for my first job interview—at National Geographic—the day after I graduated. When they saw my skill levels, they offered me the job right then and there and asked if I could start the next day. I’d already fallen in love with Manhattan, so I said yes. And I’m still there, and I still love it.”