by Karen Quinn
Ahhhh! I thought as I rested my weary bones in a chair and gazed at the symphony of multicolored twinkling lights. The girls ran around exploring the topiary and flirting with the maître d’ at the front door.
A hostess approached me. “Excuse me, are you Ms. Ames?”
“Yes?” I said, certain that they were about to kick us out for free-loading on their beautiful patio.
“Your table is ready.”
“Oh, but we aren’t eating here. We were just resting our feet, if that’s okay.”
“It’s fine, but you see, a gentleman came by and reserved a table for three in your name. He’s taken care of the bill.”
“You’re kidding! Who was it? What did he look like?”
The hostess laughed. “Now, I can’t tell you that. He wants to remain anonymous.”
This was rather exciting. A mysterious stranger was treating the girls and me to dinner. Will wonders never cease? Could I have a secret admirer who saw me sitting here and thought I was pretty? I fooled with my hair and smiled at no one in particular. If I’d known we were eating at Tavern on the Green, I would have dressed better. Oh, well, let’s just enjoy the unexpected treat, I thought to myself.
We were escorted to our table, where a bottle of Veuve Clicquot was already chilling on ice. Three gifts were waiting for us. What in the world . . . Kate and Skyler couldn’t contain their enthusiasm. “Can we open our presents?” they both asked.
“Sure,” I said, looking around to see if someone I knew was watching us. I didn’t see a soul. This was beginning to feel creepy. How could someone know we were going to be at Tavern on the Green when I hadn’t even planned to be here? The girls tore into their packages and practically wee-wee’d with glee when they realized they’d each been given the Fendi book bag that Skyler had been salivating over all year. Not one of the fakes you buy on Canal Street, I might add. The real thing. “Swee-eet,” Skyler said.
My box contained a Prada periwinkle python-print bag. Inside, there were ten crisp $100 bills along with a note:
Dear Ms. Ames,
I know how tight things can get over the holidays. Hope this helps you make your daughters’ holiday wishes come true. More show of appreciation to come, of course, when Moses is admitted to the right school. Don’t let me down.
Sincerely,
Buck McCall
I don’t have a secret admirer. I have Buck McCall. Damn him for doing this. The money and gifts made me feel cheap, like a hooker. And it made me feel ashamed because I knew I would keep them.
9. An Unexpected Gift
On Christmas night, it was me all by myself. Cadmon had the girls for the holiday week. Faith and Steven had taken their kids on a photographic safari to Africa. Archie was visiting his parents. Philip would most certainly be with Sassy. According to her, they were practically married.
As it turned out, Buck McCall wasn’t the only client who remembered me at the holidays. That was nice. Tiny and Willow sent a yummy bottle of wine accompanied by a card that Jack Henry made. Omar gave me a flat-panel plasma-screen TV that was probably stolen. Stu sent a gift certificate for dinner at La Côte Basque, a nice gesture that would have been nicer had the place still been in business. Ollie mailed me a $50 gift card from Macy’s that I knew she couldn’t afford. The Radmore-Steins sent a clock with Lilith’s ghastly portrait covering most of the face. It gave me a chuckle whenever it was 9:15 or 3:45. That’s when the hands of the clock formed a big black mustache right under Mrs. Radmore-Stein’s nose, so artfully photographed by Annie Leibowitz.
I went to Blockbuster, but it was closed. Returning home, I noticed that Philip’s lights were on. There were people in his apartment. Sassy’s Land Rover was parked in front. I guess she was slumming. As soon as she snares Philip, he’ll be living on Park Avenue in my old apartment, I thought sadly. With his help, maybe she could afford the place.
Trudging up the stairs, I let myself in. Faint sounds of Christmas music and laughter could be heard from below. I made brownies. I was lonely, and eating a pan of them would ease the pain. Uncorking the wine Tiny and Willow had sent, I settled in for the evening to drink, think, and sing the blues. Sitting on the sofa, I dug into the brownies with a spoon. Why bother cutting them when I’d be the only one eating? This is ridiculous, I thought. I refuse to feel sorry for myself tonight.
I went down to Kratt’s for dinner. It was quiet, and Michael was cleaning up behind the counter.
“You don’t look so good,” he said when he saw me.
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean, you look kind of sad.”
“I am. The girls are with Cad and I miss them. I thought I’d come down for dinner.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re about to close.”
“Oh. Oh, well.”
“Why don’t you come upstairs and let me make you something to eat?”
“Really?” I said.
“Really.”
“That would be so nice,” I said. I meant it.
We walked upstairs to his apartment. It was the first time I’d been there. When I tell you it was beautiful, I mean it was très exquisite. He had two stories. The whole bottom floor was one big open living room, kitchen, and dining area. There was this hypnotic sheet of water that flowed like glass down a black granite wall in the entry. The floors were light oak. The beautifully designed furniture was simple and inviting at the same time. There was no clutter. Michael’s bedroom and library were upstairs, he said. And there was a roof deck with a Japanese garden that he promised to show me when the weather was warmer. The feng shui felt perfect, and I wondered if Master Li had helped him place his furniture.
“I love your place,” I said. “It’s so harmonious.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s not what I expected,” I added.
“You mean it’s not what you’d expect a deli owner to live in?”
“Michael, will you ever get over our evening at the Knickerbocker? Everything I said that night came out wrong. And how many times did I say I was sorry? Like fifty, not to mention the flowers.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t bring it up again.”
“The reason your apartment isn’t what I expected is because it’s in such an ordinary-looking building,” I explained.
“That’s the thing about New York,” Michael said. “All over the city, there are buildings you couldn’t imagine living in because of how they look on the outside. Then someone invites you inside and they turn out to be showplaces. You have to look past the façade, you know?”
“You’re so right.”
Michael walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “How do you feel about pasta with a lobster marinara sauce?”
“You eat shellfish?”
“Shhh. Let’s keep that between us. It’s classified information.”
“Now I know two secrets about you. You’re a kosher-deli owner who eats shellfish and you used to be in love with that slutty shiksa from Little House on the Prairie. What else are you hiding?”
“If I told you all my secrets, I’d have to kill you,” he said, smiling. “How about some wine?” He opened the door to a small, cool room that contained hundreds of bottles from all over the world. I selected my favorite, Conundrum.
Michael prepared the meal while I watched, sipping my drink. As he worked, I put on a Harry Connick, Jr. CD. The food was as delicious as any I’d ever eaten. And being with Michael was relaxing. “You are one surprise after another, do you know that?” I said.
“I am? How?”
“You can cook, play the piano. Your apartment is beautiful. You collect wine. You’re charming. And yet you’re a deli-man. You’re just not what a deli-man is supposed to be.”
“Excuse me? You made me promise not to bring that up, and now you did. You obviously don’t know deli-men, Ivy. What do you think they’re supposed to be like?”
“Well, they’re supposed to be simple, family-oriented, overweight, living in apartments that haven’t been upda
ted since 1955. And they smell like lox.”
“So I’ve disappointed you.”
“No, not at all. In fact, I propose a toast. To Michael, the Renaissance Deli-Man.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said. We touched our glasses and took a sip. “And to Ivy, my coffee cake angel.”
“It was a pleasure to help,” I said.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked.
“Okay. I’m not the greatest dancer.”
“Don’t worry, just follow my lead.”
We danced to the music of Bobby Caldwell. Michael was surprisingly easy to follow. I didn’t step on his toes once. I fit snugly next to his body, too. Truth be told, I melted like butter into his arms and when Bobby started singing “Old Devil Moon” I had this irresistible urge to kiss him. Was it the wine?
“You are beautiful, you know,” he said.
“No, I am not beautiful. I’m anything but beautiful.”
“Is that what you think?”
“That’s what I think.”
“Well, at least you’re pretty. Would you concede that?”
I laughed. “Thank you.” I needed to be careful. This was the kind of conversation that could lead to romance. And I wasn’t attracted to Michael that way.
Too late. Michael brought his face to mine and kissed me, parting my lips with his tongue, moving it slowly around in my mouth. Then he began to bite my neck lightly. “Oh, God,” I moaned. A warmth was spreading from the top of my chest to the depths of my crotch.
The next thing I knew, we were lying on the rug in front of the fire-place. I don’t remember how we got there. Michael was looking into my eyes and touching my face. He gently kissed my eyes, my mouth, my neck. He unbuttoned my shirt one button at a time, revealing more and more as he slowly moved down my chest. Then he helped me take the shirt off. I removed the rest of my clothes while he watched. “I knew you would have a beautiful body,” he said. I looked around the room. Was he talking to me?
“Do you have protection?” I asked.
“I do,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He ran upstairs, leaving me naked on the rug. But the room was warm and I was buzzed from the wine. I didn’t even notice time passing. Michael was back, standing in front of me and taking his clothes off. This time I watched, curious to see what his body looked like. I was not disappointed.
Michael lay next to me and began stroking my body. “Your skin is so soft. And you smell like lemons,” he whispered. He lifted his face and brushed his lips to mine. I kissed him back, then moved down his body, nuzzling my face into his chest, exploring every inch with my hands and eyes. Mmm, he had just the right amount of hair, enough for me to run my fingers through, but not one of those thick rugs like Omar Kutcher’s. Gaah! Do not think about work. Be here now. Center yourself. I did. Soon, I was attending to his hard-on with my tongue. It was the first time I ever enjoyed giving a blowjob. I never liked them with Cad. Stop! Do not think about Cad. Pleasure him slowly. Relax. Be at one with the penis. Will you look at that? Michael had a little brown discoloration on his right ball. Didn’t Michael Jackson have some kind of mark on his private parts? Stop! Do not bring Michael Jackson into this. Concentrate on the blowjob. The blowjob is all there is. There is nothing else. Wait, yes, there is. I turned my attention to the rubber lying next to us. Opening it, I placed it over his erection and rolled it down as erotically as I could.
Michael sat up and helped me lie down. He reached between my legs and slipped his fingers inside. I can’t remember ever being this wet. Not with Cad. Not with Philip. Hel-loow. Don’t think about other men. Re-laaaaaax. Mmmm, that’s good. Michael moved on top of me and we began to fuck, first slowly, then harder and harder. We varied positions I don’t know how many times, a nice change from the six ways Cad and I always did it. The experience was almost spiritual, like eating chopped liver. For God’s sake, Ivy, forget Cad. Forget chopped liver. Focus on Michael being inside you. Be conscious of his weight. Fuck mindfully. Fuck reverently. Have your-self a mer-ry little orgasm. Stop singing. Let go. Let go. Let go. I came. Then Michael shuddered and collapsed on top of me. Oh, for Heaven’s sake, he’s crushing me. Would it be rude to push him off so soon? Wait one minute. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi . . . I moved my head to the right, locating an airhole for my nose. Finally, he rolled over and lay next to me.
Michael looked at me and smiled. “Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Mmm, happy Chanukah,” I replied.
10. On Second Thought
Big mistake. I never should have done it with Michael. I knew it the minute I woke up on December 26th. He was my good friend, and this was bound to change everything. If we had a relationship and then broke up, that would be one more neighbor I’d have to avoid. Plus, as much as I wished this weren’t true, it bothered me that he just owned a deli. If he wanted to expand and open a chain of Knisheries, that would be one thing. But he was perfectly content with his one location on Delancey and Orchard streets. Michael was amazing in hundreds of ways. But he wasn’t the power-house I needed.
Maybe I could keep having sex with him until a more appropriate candidate showed up. No, that would be sick and wrong.
I went down to the Knishery to say what needed to be said, praying that Michael wouldn’t take it too hard.
As I sat in my favorite booth, Michael caught my eye from behind the counter. He smiled, poured me a cup of coffee, and brought over some cinnamon rolls. Before he sat down, he kissed my cheek.
“How are you this morning?” he asked.
“I’m fine. That was wonderful last night,” I began.
“It was, you animal,” he teased. Then we both started talking at once. “You first,” he said.
“No, you,” I insisted.
“Okay.” Michael came to my side of the booth and took my hands in his. He’s gonna say he loves me. Be gentle. He’s a good guy. Do not break his heart.
“Ivy, last night was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a woman who lost herself so completely during sex. You made me feel like there was nothing in the world except the two of us. It was unforgettable, really. But I don’t think we should take it further.”
“What!” I couldn’t believe my ears. Michael was dumping me? “Is it because I have children?” I asked. It had to be something like that. It couldn’t be me personally.
“No, I love your kids. I want children of my own. The problem is, at the end of the day, I know I could never marry you. So I don’t think we should even start a relationship.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No. I realized it some time ago. That’s why I wanted to make up with you. Last night, I got carried away. The wine. The food. You.”
“But what’s wrong with me? I’d be perfect for you.”
“No, no, you wouldn’t. You’re a wonderful person, but our values are too different.”
“I’ve got good values. What’s wrong with my values?”
“Nothing is wrong with them. They’re just different from mine. You care more about material things than I do. You want to live a big New York life. I know you don’t have that right now, but if you were given the chance to get it back, you’d take it in an instant. I’d never choose that. I’m comfortable living on the Lower East Side, managing my deli, hanging out in my apartment, working in my garden. I love seeing the Goldofskys every Sunday. I enjoy cooking and baking. I’m happy with my simple life. The two of us don’t want the same things, Ivy. So, let’s just agree to be friends, okay?” He smiled at me. Lord have mercy on my soul. Those dimples.
“I can’t believe what you’re saying,” I said. The lump in my throat made it hard to speak.
“I’m sorry, Ivy. Trust me. This is best for both of us.”
“But the sex was so good,” I whispered.
“I know,” he agreed.
“Do you think we could just have sex sometimes?” I asked. “It could be meaningless.”
Michael laughed and ki
ssed my hands. “Ivy, it pains me to say this, but no. It would be too awkward. We live in the same building. We see each other all the time. Let’s just be friends, please?”
I nodded. Tears were streaming down my face. Don’t ask me why. This is exactly what I’d wanted.
11. Happy New Year!
I spent New Year’s Eve with my furry date, Sir Elton. And another pan of brownies and a spoon. The phone rang. I answered it right away in case it was the girls.
“Ivy, it’s Stu.”
Oh, what good news. Exactly the guy I didn’t want to talk to on a lonely New Year’s Eve.
“Stu, it’s a holiday. I was taking the night off,” I said. What nerve to call me tonight of all nights! Does it not occur to this megalomaniacal Neanderthal that I might have important plans?
“Well, since you picked up, you can answer my question.”
“Fine, what’s your question?” I asked, trying not to sound too impatient.
“Once Veronica is in kindergarten, what should we be doing to build up her résumé so she’ll get into a top college like Harvard or Yale?”
“You called me on New Year’s Eve for that?”
“Yes, I need to know. I’m writing Patsy and Veronica’s life plans tonight, along with my own. It’s something I do every year at this time. I want to get this into our long-term goals. Do you think I should get her started in a hospice? Maybe we should train her for speed skating so she can be in the Olympics. Or do you think competing in triathlons would be enough? We need to find her a hook for college, and the sooner we start, the better.”
