by Rona Jaffe
She told Margot her silly problem, but Margot didn’t laugh. “Now you know,” Margot said. “The greatest thing in my whole relationship with Kerry is knowing he’ll be there in the morning to have breakfast with and that he’ll have dinner with me every night.”
“You mean I’m not weird,” Nikki said.
“Not weird. Just single. In our culture, food is a social event. Breast-feeding, mama love, and all that. I did a little story on it once on the show. The thing about how old people living alone won’t cook and get malnutrition. They just get so damn depressed that they don’t care.”
“I still buy too much in the supermarket,” Nikki said.
“That’s better than what I did before Kerry. I didn’t buy anything. I lived on cottage cheese and ice cream.”
“One night I’ll take the two of you out to dinner,” Nikki said. “On my expense account. You can tell Kerry I’m trying to steal him from his publisher.”
“We’d love it.”
Rachel Fowler called and said she wanted Nikki to try her new gym. Nikki signed up for twice a week in the mornings before work. Rachel had an enviable wandlike body, but she wasn’t very graceful. Nikki had twice as much energy as she did. They signed up for the same classes anyway. Their companions were two sixty-year-old women who had been going to exercise classes all their lives and were better than they were. Nikki loved getting up early to go to the gym and care for her body instead of getting up to commute. She had become so accustomed to waking at six that she always woke up before the seven-o’clock alarm rang.
She liked Rachel, particularly in a leotard looking embarrassed because she couldn’t touch her toes. “Listen,” Nikki told her, “if I looked as gorgeous in a leotard as you do I wouldn’t care if I couldn’t touch my knees!”
“I’d rather be smart than pretty,” Rachel said.
“I think you’re both.”
Rachel actually blushed.
Sometimes when Rachel’s husband was working late she invited Nikki to their apartment for drinks. That still left the problem of dinner though, so Nikki asked Rachel to go out to dinner with her.
“You mean, leave Lawrence alone?”
“Why not? He’s out with the boys, you can go out with the girls.” Nikki giggled, a habit she’d gotten into years ago to cover up when she was being tough. “Let him know you have a life of your own. We’ll have more fun without him.”
“Oh, I’d really like to,” Rachel said tentatively.
“Let him miss you a little.”
“He wants me to have friends.…”
“I’m your friend. Come on. I’ll be your date.”
They went to a restaurant where Nikki was known. They ate fattening things, shared a bottle of wine, and split the check.
“I never eat like this,” Rachel said, sounding both pleased and horrified. “I’m always on a diet, all my life.”
“This is good for you once in a while,” Nikki said, this time using her mother voice. “You’re too uptight. You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen and one meal won’t hurt it.”
“I’m really having a good time,” Rachel said. They were lingering over the last of their coffee. She glanced at her watch.
“Don’t keep thinking about him,” Nikki said. “You’re allowed to stay out late. You’re a big girl.”
“I feel so guilty.”
“Why? Does he feel guilty when he leaves you alone?”
Rachel shook her head, no. “I guess it’s different. He’s out supporting me.”
“Well, let me tell you about business, my dear girl. Half those meetings are bullshit. They’re together because they want to be. They could transact business in the office in the morning. But the drinking and the eating and the telling funny stories is all part of the game they invented to get away from their wives.”
“Why do they get married, then?” Rachel said.
“We’re convenient.”
“I thought you had a very happy marriage.”
“I do. It’s just that I’ve been working most of my adult life and I know about married men.”
“It’s as if you and I are on opposite sides of the moon,” Rachel said. “I see them when they’re putting on one act and you see them when they’re putting on another. The only man I’ve ever known who’s completely honest with me is Lawrence. When he ignores me at least he’s being honest.”
“Oh, husbands ignore their wives all the time,” Nikki said.
Rachel looked at her in some surprise. “I never really knew you before, Nikki. There’s a lot of anger in you, isn’t there?”
“Sometimes.”
“How does your husband feel about your having a life of your own in New York?”
“He hates it.”
“But you do it anyway.”
Nikki shrugged and grinned at her. “If one of us is going to be mad, it might as well not have to be me.”
“I really admire you,” Rachel said.
She says “really” every other sentence, Nikki thought. I wonder if she’s “really” as dumb as she seems.
When they got out on the sidewalk Rachel immediately looked for a cab. The restaurant had no doorman. It was a nice night, not cold. “Let’s walk,” Nikki said.
“Walk?” Rachel said in horror.
“Yeah, walk. You can work off some of those calories.”
“We can’t walk around here at night,” Rachel said.
“I was planning to walk home. I do it all the time.”
“Nikki, nobody walks around New York City at night.”
“Who are all those people, then? Apparitions?”
“We’ll walk to the corner and get a cab and I’ll drop you off at your house.”
Nikki thought it was funny how Rachel kept looking around while they walked to the corner. You’d think someone was going to materialize from behind a garbage can and pounce on her. They got a taxi and drove to Nikki’s building first.
“I didn’t know you don’t have a doorman,” Rachel said.
“Rachel, you may not know it, but most people don’t have doormen. Most people don’t have chauffeured limousines either.”
“Don’t make fun of me. I can’t help it if I married a rich man.”
“Then you can pay for the cab,” Nikki said and laughed. She kissed Rachel good-night. “Tell Lawrence you had a terrific date tonight.”
“I did,” Rachel said. “I really did.”
Nikki was still smiling while she let herself into the building and ran lightly up the flight of stairs to her apartment. Forty-two years old and not a bit out of breath, she thought proudly. She was just in time for the ten o’clock programs on television. Her favorite was on tonight, the one that Robert detested and always made her turn off if they were watching TV in bed together. There were certain advantages to living alone!
She had just started to put her key into the lock of her apartment door when she noticed that the entire lock was loose. She touched it and it moved in her hand. Her heart turned over. It had all seemed unreal, like statistics, but now … Someone had tried to break in and had been frightened away, or maybe had broken in. Maybe he was still in there. She was suddenly flooded with rage. How dare anyone intrude on her life, mess up her things, the things she loved? Nikki pushed the door open and entered the apartment.
No one was in the living room, nor had ever been. She went into the bedroom, the kitchen, and looked into all the closets. The adrenaline stopped pumping and her rage subsided. Nothing had been touched. What the hell was she going to do now? She couldn’t call Robert, he would have a fit. She’d better call the locksmith. They had a twenty-four-hour number for emergencies.
She called the locksmith and he said he would be over in about an hour because he had to come from Queens. “You just put this lock in, you know,” Nikki said. “It cost me fifty dollars.”
“You ought to have a plate that bolts onto the door over the lock,” he said. “Then nobody can tear the lock out.”
“I usually wait till they ask.”
“Bring it,” Nikki said.
She sat down to wait. It occurred to her that it was a dumb thing to do, just sit here, because the burglar might come back. He wouldn’t want to waste the nice job he’d done on her fifty-buck lock. She put a cassette into her little player so he would know the apartment was occupied and poured herself a big glass of white wine. God, anybody could just walk right in. She decided to call Margot. Margot could come over and bring Kerry, then there would be a man around. But Margot’s phone rang and rang. They were either out or screwing. What a pain. Who else could she call? Ellen owed her a favor for getting her the job, but she lived on the West Side, even farther away than Margot, and by the time she got dressed and came over the locksmith would be there—or the burglar. She would call Rachel. She didn’t like making Rachel come out again right after getting home, but she didn’t like sitting here all alone either.
“Oh, my God!” Rachel cried. “Go ring your neighbor’s bell and wait there till I come.”
It had never occurred to Nikki to ring her neighbor’s bell. From the moment she had moved into this apartment her greatest joy had been the privacy and anonymity the building afforded. She didn’t even know who her neighbors were. She drank down the last of the wine and went out into the hall. She didn’t like leaving her apartment alone, she preferred staying in there and guarding it. There were three other apartments on the floor. She rang the bell of the one nearest hers.
No answer. She rang again. She heard the scrape of the peephole cover being pushed aside. “Who is it?” asked a quavery voice.
“Nikki Gellhorn, your next-door neighbor.”
The door opened a crack, held to by a stout chain, but Nikki couldn’t see anyone inside. Then she looked down and there was a tiny old woman, about four feet tall, about eighty years old, looking at her with suspicious little eyes like a wizened monkey.
“What do you want?”
“Somebody tried to break into my apartment.”
“Ooh. Did they rob you?”
“They got scared off, but they might come back and I—”
Crash! The woman slammed her door shut before Nikki could even finish her sentence. Furious, Nikki rang the woman’s bell again, hard.
“Call the police,” the old voice called through the peephole. “The police.”
“Well, now I know about one of my terrific neighbors,” Nikki muttered. She wouldn’t bother with the other two. She would save them for something really important, like when the burglar stole her phone.
The elevator door opened. There was Rachel, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed. She rushed over to Nikki and grabbed her in a big hug. “Oh, Nikki, I was scared to death! Why are you in the hall?”
“It’s too long a story to tell without a drink,” Nikki said. She led Rachel back inside her apartment.
“I’m so glad you called me,” Rachel said. She tossed her mink coat on the couch. “I would have been hurt if you’d called anybody else.”
“I did call the locksmith.”
“Oh, you know what I mean. I mean I really feel that you and I are friends now.”
“And what else are friends for?” said Nikki, and giggled.
She opened a new bottle of white wine. Rachel sipped at hers. “You’re so calm,” Rachel said. “I feel like we’re having a party.”
“Well, we are.”
Rachel inspected the lock without touching it. “Maybe the police can get some fingerprints off it,” she said. “Life is a mess, isn’t it?”
“I think it’s usually fun,” Nikki said. “This isn’t so bad. It’s kind of fun. You’re here.”
“I admire you so much,” Rachel said. “I always have.”
“Well, thank you.”
“When I got home, Lawrence was in his den working. He didn’t want to talk. I’m glad you called. I missed you.”
I don’t believe it, Nikki thought. She’s got a crush on me! I wonder if she’s gay. I always thought half those jet set people were bisexual.
“What are you thinking?” Rachel asked.
“Nothing,” Nikki said. “I’m just thinking I’m glad you’re here so I don’t have to be all alone.” Why do I do this? I shouldn’t encourage her. But I like that she has a crush on me. Nobody ever did before.
Rachel wondered if she’d been too pushy. Having a best friend was so complicated when you were both grown-ups. The secrets you shared were different, so guarded. When she was a little girl she’d sat in her tree house with her best friend and confided, “I hate my mother,” and her best friend had whispered, “I hate mine too.” You’d say you loved each other and swear it in blood. But now you and your new best friend had a lifetime of dissembling to keep you apart, and if you came right out and told her you loved her, she would think you were desperately lonely and would draw back.
She knew she didn’t know Nikki well enough to love her, but she thought about her all the time. She would have liked to be able to see life through Nikki’s eyes, to be so independent. Rachel felt now that she had wasted her life. Making Lawrence comfortable was not enough. He could hire people to do that. She should have been somebody in her own right, not just an echo. But it wasn’t too late. Nikki was older than she was and had grabbed the moment. She was going to grab the moment too and become a real person. Lawrence would be glad … no, she had to stop thinking about herself through his eyes; she would be glad.
The doorbell rang and they both jumped. Nikki had put the unlocked door on the chain. “Locksmith,” a cheerful male voice sang out.
Nikki let him in. He looked the lock over and lit a cigarette. “Maybe you ought to have an alarm lock,” he said.
“Not with my neighbors,” Nikki said. “They’d just crawl under the bed.”
“Y’see, this is a good lock. He had too much trouble trying to pick it, so he just tried to yank it out. I’ll give you one of those plates that bolts right through the door. Nobody can get them off—the harder you try, the more resistance you get.”
“Good,” Nikki said. “Do it.”
“Now you’re safe unless you let somebody in,” Rachel said, smiling at Nikki. “You know enough not to let a stranger in, don’t you?”
“I let them in all the time,” Nikki said sarcastically. “I ask them right off the street. Especially the guys in the tight jeans. I may be a Wilton housewife but I’m not a hick.”
When the new lock was installed Nikki wrote out a check and the locksmith left. Rachel felt drained and tired. “May I use your phone?”
“Do you have to ask? You saved me.”
Rachel called the limousine service and told them to send a car right away. Nikki was looking at her with amusement. Maybe it was silly, but it was late, and that was the way she lived. She told them what apartment the driver should buzz when he arrived.
“What did your husband say when you dashed out of there?” Nikki asked.
“I left him a note on his pillow with your phone number. I said you were having an emergency. He probably thinks it’s something emotional. I’m not the type people call when they have a real emergency like a burglary.”
“I don’t know why not. I’ll refer you to all my friends.”
Margot took the phone out of the closet and turned the bell back on. She would call her service another time. Kerry was standing over the dying fire. He turned and looked at her. “Another log, love? Or do we go to sleep?”
“I hate to go to sleep,” she said. “I feel as if I’m missing all those hours when I could be with you.”
“You are with me.”
“I know, but I’m asleep, so I don’t know it.”
He yawned. “I vote for sleep.”
We used to stay up all night and talk, she thought. She felt the smallest warning. They’d had almost three months together. She was hopelessly in love with him. But he couldn’t be tired of her, not so soon. She was resigned to it happening some
day, but not this soon. He probably really was tired. She wouldn’t be surprised, the way he used up all that energy and the way he hardly ate anything. She went out of her way to go to gourmet shops to buy him wonderful treats and then he had no appetite. That was why he had such a beautiful body. It wasn’t just youth, it was the way he lived. Or maybe he loved her as much as she loved him. She had very little appetite now too. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night and look at her, and hug her, and say, “Oh, Margot, I love you so much.”
Moments like that she carried with her for days, until they happened again. Sometimes lately she could even go through a whole day with a feeling of safety, that he wouldn’t abandon her, that together they could stop time. She would give anything for that, do anything, if only she knew what to do.
April 1975
Jill Rennie knew her mother was on the prowl again. She had broken up with the gray-faced man, and he phoned often, at dangerous times, when the whole family was home. Jill had answered the phone a few times and had been sorry for him when she recognized the desperation in his voice. He was a gray mouse, that was what he was.
“For you, Mom,” she would say cheerfully.
“Who is it?” her mother would ask.
“I don’t know,” Jill would lie. Then she would go into her room and listen on the extension. They had a lot of push-button phones in that apartment. One number was for her parents, the other was for Jill and Stacey to spend hours talking to their friends. Her father liked push-button phones and he also liked the kind where you pushed little square buttons instead of dialing. Her mother said they were too expensive and they couldn’t afford them any more, but her father insisted. Jill thought that was great. She loved gadgets.
She had lost six pounds and was down to eighty-five. People had begun to notice. First, of course, it was her sister.
“Jill, you look horrible,” Stacey said. “You look scary. How much do you weigh?”
“What difference does it make if I feel all right?”
“Do you know what happens when you starve? Your body starts eating its own protein. You’re eating your muscles. Then you’ll eat your spinal column, and then you’ll die.”
