Summer in the City

by Irene Vartanoff

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Rona said, with more enthusiasm in her voice. “Come out with me tonight. My mother has sent another would-be boyfriend-slash-husband, and I promised to go to dinner with him. We’ll leave Bev alone to fend for herself.”

  “Is your mom still matchmaking? I thought she’d finally given up on that.”

  “She doesn’t want me to die an old maid,” came the deadpan reply.

  Susan had to laugh at that. Despite Rona’s big love affair with the senator, she had spent most of her life sampling the sexual wares of one man after another. Rona’s mother was oblivious. She was eighty-seven years old and lived with her son, as a Chinese mother should, in Newton, Massachusetts, just outside Boston. Her hobby was meddling in people’s lives. Usually, she messed with her son’s business, but Paupau had never given up on seeing Rona married. Every few months, Paupau found a new prospect. She’d send the new man to New York with orders to meet Rona, hoping Rona would marry him. Rona took it in good grace. She always arranged a dinner date, then promptly dismissed him.

  Tonight, the charade sounded like fun. Susan hadn’t been buying any show tickets because Bev was staying with her, but Bev was not the kind of relaxed company Susan preferred. “Okay. I need some time away from emptying wastebaskets filled with wet tissues.”

  “She has you cleaning up after her? That’s outrageous.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” She didn’t have to do it, which made all the difference.

  She redoubled her efforts to get all her manuscript reading chores done at the office, since she couldn’t work at home now. She still couldn’t write a review to save her life. She always made notes, and then she delivered her reviews orally. She could tell that the editors didn’t like an oral report. They preferred to deal with the written word. Maybe that was why they emailed each other. She wondered why they even bothered to commute in, since they avoided human contact.

  Publishing was stranger than she had suspected. Other businesses had switched to telecommuting. Editorial work was ideally suited to it. Each day the editors dragged in from whatever tiny little apartments they inhabited, and sat squished in tinier cubicles or closet-sized offices to do all their work by computer and phone. It made no sense. Curiously, the editors she had asked seemed to take pride in that, too. People in publishing relished being behind the times. For all she knew, there was someone in the office still writing with a quill pen.

  She left promptly at five o'clock. On a good day, she could do the commute home in under half an hour. She usually diverted herself with shopping along the way. She rarely came home without some prize or without the pleasure of having wandered into and explored a new store. She was in Manhattan, after all. She wanted to experience it to the fullest. Today she hurried to a deli and picked up some cold cuts and rye bread. Bev didn’t seem interested in cooking. Actually, Bev didn’t seem interested in anything beyond phone calls and crying.

  Bev was in mid-fight with Todd when Susan arrived at the apartment. At least, she thought it was with Todd, since Bev was screaming into the phone.

  “You goddamn bastard! How dare you say that! I hate you!” She clicked off and made to throw the phone at Susan’s favorite new green vase.

  “No, Bev, no!” She was just in time. Bev stopped with the phone in her fist, ready to hurl. Bev didn’t have good aim, but she was too close to miss. Yesterday, Bev had thrown the phone at a piece of pottery and turned it into shards.

  “Bev! Snap out of it.”

  “Oh! I didn’t mean to!” Bev immediately collapsed in sobs.

  Since crying was what Bev did all day, there was no point in attempting to get it to stop. Instead, Susan went about putting the food away. She returned to the living room, where Bev sat staring at the television.

  “I’m going out tonight,” Susan said.

  Bev burst into tears.

  Susan took the green vase from the end table and walked with it to her bedroom. She put it on the dresser. Better safe than sorry. Feeling mean, she went back to the living room and offered to make sandwiches from the deli meats. Bev roused herself enough to accept.

  A while later, with the sandwiches done and herself showered and changed, she came out of her bedroom dressed for dinner. Bev still sat slumped in front of the small television. Technically, this was an improvement. Too many times in the last two days, she had found Bev sitting staring at nothing.

  “Bev.” She had to press to get her guest’s attention. “I’d like Louis to come over and fix the holes in the walls.” With so many people sharing the apartment, the breach of privacy had become an issue. “Are you okay with that?”

  She had to repeat herself before Bev answered.

  “Huh? Sure. Whatever you want.” As usual, Bev seemed to be paying attention to nothing. When she wasn’t fighting with someone on the phone, she was limp and listless. Or crying.

  “All right, I’ll give him a call.”

  She went back into her bedroom and gently closed the French doors, to which she had added privacy curtains even before Bev had arrived. Now, she was grateful she had done so. She called Louis and explained the situation.

  “I can come over tomorrow afternoon,” he promised. “How is Rona?”

  “Less tense, I think.” After she had said it, of course she realized that sex with Edward could have been the reason for Rona’s recent lack of tension. Oops. Well, at least she hadn’t told Louis that.

  They soon hung up, and she checked her clock radio. Time to head downstairs and meet Rona.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours,” she told Bev as she was leaving. Bev didn’t respond. She was still staring at the TV.

  On the way downtown in a cab, Susan took time to examine her best friend. Rona did look better, more rested. Maybe confession is good for the soul. Or maybe it was the sex with Edward, although Rona always had an active sex life.

  She always looked chic and put together, and tonight was no different. She wore a black sheath with a filigree necklace and had slung a white shawl loosely around her arms. She had strappy silver sandals on her feet. They didn’t look like Manolos, nor did they have the signature red soles of Louboutins. Susan’s eye wasn’t sharp enough to recognize any other designer’s style yet. Rona hardly needed big name designer shoes to look sexy. She already looked glamorous and sophisticated.

  Susan had donned a splashy yellow-and-white sundress, with big yellow plastic earrings and a big matching bracelet. The bright effect was toned down nicely with a small white cotton jacket. She needed something to cover her shoulders in restaurants. They were always kept so cold. Rona never seemed to notice it, but she did.

  Rona still hadn’t remembered their aborted shopping trip. She hadn’t said a thing about Susan’s clothes when they met at the stoop in front of their building, either. Perhaps Rona had gotten over the shock of her suburban style of dressing. More likely, she was preoccupied with thoughts of Edward. She was silent as they rode downtown.

  Susan wanted the fashion advice promised. “Do you remember we were going to go shopping sometime?”

  “That’s right,” Rona broke out of her reverie to answer. “I’ve been so crazy. We can go this weekend.”

  “Wonderful. I have a book party to attend next week and I want to look good.”

  “Got a hot date?” Rona had been teasing her idly, but then saw the flush and the embarrassed look on her face, and pounced.

  “You do! You’ve got a date. Tell all,” she demanded, smiling.

  “It’s not a date,” she replied, trying to play it down. She was uncomfortably aware that it looked like one. Perhaps Michael Sheppard thought it was a date.

  “Who is he? Where’d you meet him? At work?”

  “No, the theater.”

  “You, Little Miss Proper, picked up a strange man? I’m impressed.”

  “It wasn’t a strange man,” she protested.

  “So give.”

  Under continued pressure, she told Rona all about her night at the theate
r and the happy coincidence of meeting Michael Sheppard there.

  “I remember him. He’s Bev’s old buddy from grade school.” She remembered something else. “He’s married.”

  “Divorced,” Susan countered.

  “He must be nearly ten years younger than you.”

  “It doesn’t matter, since we’re not dating,” she repeated with emphasis. Was she trying to convince Rona, or herself?

  “Sure, honey,” Rona said dryly. “Forget the new man for a sec. Let’s talk about you. You’re married.”

  “Well, I…I didn’t quite tell him that. I implied that I was separated.” At Rona’s jeering noise, she said defensively, “Technically, Rick and I are. We’re living hundreds of miles apart, and we can’t talk to each other on the phone or send letters.”

  “Ha!” Rona said. “You’ve lived apart from Rick for a few months before. You didn’t step out on him then, so why now?”

  Why had she been holding out on Rona, her closest friend? Maybe because life had been going so spectacularly wrong for so long now. She sighed. “Rick specifically told me I should date this summer. Even have an affair if I wanted to.”

  “He wasn’t drunk at the time? Or yelling at you?” Rona’s tone conveyed her shock.

  “Rick never yells.” Here she was defending him after he had been unfaithful to her. She felt so guilty about her own behavior of the last several years. It was humiliating to admit that their marriage was so messed up. “I can’t explain the details right now. I truly am separated.”

  “I’m stunned,” Rona sat back. “Don’t make it worse by dating some other man. You’ve never had an affair before and you don’t know how.”

  “I’m only exploring the possibility of a new friendship,” she said weakly, knowing that she was not being honest. She half-hoped something would develop with Michael Sheppard. Although she wasn’t ready to articulate what that might be.

  Rona gave her an impatient look. “Keep telling yourself that, honey, but don’t forget the condoms.”

  Making a face, Susan tried to fend off Rona’s concern by saying, “At least there’s no fear I’ll get pregnant.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. She could see that it plunged Rona back into her black mood regarding Edward. The rest of the cab ride was endured in silence.

  Rona got her laugh back as they dined with Perry Mason Chang, a charming, articulate, thirty-year-old stockbroker. Like Rona, he was Chinese American. He complimented their outfits, admired Rona’s Jimmy Choo shoes, and recommended the best menu choices. Plus he kept them entertained with tales of his first years in the city and the terrified reaction of his mother when he’d try to tell her any of his milder adventures.

  “Paupau kept urging me to come home.”

  “She’s your mother. Of course she wanted you safe,” Susan commented, easily sympathizing with his mother’s worries about her son in the big city.

  Rona didn’t see it that way, “She must have some adventurous instincts. She named you after a famous lawyer-detective, Perry Mason, right?”

  Perry smiled ironically, “She wanted me to become a slick society defense lawyer. Instead, she proved she was psychic.”

  Rona understood, but Susan was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  Rona nudged her. “Honey, Perry’s gay.”

  “Oh?”

  “Raymond Burr famously played Perry Mason on TV and he was gay. In the closet for decades, but eventually it was known.”

  “Ohhhh…”

  Rona grinned at Perry, gesturing with her fork at Susan, “You’ll have to forgive my country cousin here. She usually spends all her time in Ohio, a state that gays flee for New York.”

  “So true. A lot of people I’ve met are from there,” Perry said.

  “Really?” Susan asked, wide-eyed. “Then maybe that would account for the lack of gay people back home.”

  Rona and Perry looked at each other in disbelief. Rona nodded solemnly, “Yes, she’s that naïve.”

  “What? What did I say?”

  She came across as an unsophisticated yahoo. Maybe because she was one. She smiled with forced cheer. “I hope I didn’t offend you, Perry.”

  Perry shook his head. “Don’t worry. No offense taken. Just, we don’t all choose to live here in Sodom and Gomorrah.”

  “Why does Rona’s mother think you and Rona should date, if you’re gay?” she couldn’t help asking.

  “I haven't told her. I didn’t want it getting back to my own paupau.”

  “Now who’s being naïve?” Rona asked wickedly.

  “I’ve never told Paupau, and I’m not ready to come out to her.”

  “She must know,” Rona said, “Otherwise, why would she insist that you meet a woman old enough to be your mother?”

  Susan chimed in hesitantly, “I think Rona may be right. Mothers do sense things. You don’t date girls, do you?”

  “Not since high school,” Perry replied.

  “There you have it, honey,” Rona said. “Of course she knows. Although I can’t imagine what she wants me to do about it. Adopt you?”

  Susan choked on that, and Perry laughed again.

  They decided to hit some bars that evening. Rona was shocked when she discovered it would be Susan’s first time bar hopping.

  “Oh, honey, I’ve been falling down on the job,” Rona said as she led the way out of the restaurant. Perry got them a cab and directed them farther downtown.

  “Remember, I don’t drink. Plus I have to work tomorrow,” she said.

  “You can order orange juice. As for a publishing company summer half-Friday, nothing to it,” Rona waved away the concern. “Do you work hard on Fridays, Perry?” she asked.

  “Not if I can help it,” he grinned.

  “Since I don’t have any classes to teach tomorrow, I vote we take in Images, Velvet Velvet, and Your Mama’s House,” she recited the names of clubs glibly.

  “Good choices,” Perry said, obviously familiar with the club scene himself. “Velvet Velvet gets wilder the later you go. Let’s do it last.”

  She gulped silently. What were they about to get into? “Are we dressed suitably?” she asked, half-hoping she wasn’t.

  Perry gave them both a critical once over. He had already ditched his tie and unbuttoned his shirt several buttons. “You should take off your jacket, Susan. Maybe pull down your bra a little so the girls show better.”

  She was so shocked she did not reply. Rona came to her rescue.

  “Uh-uh, Perry,” she shook a chiding finger at him. “She’s not on the market.”

  “Spoilsport. Have it your way,” he replied. “Do lose the jacket, girl. It’ll be hot as hell in these joints.”

  “Carry it in front of you as we push through the crowds, and you won’t give anybody any free feels,” Rona suggested.

  Susan had forgotten about being groped. Good. She was adjusting to city life.

  Soon they arrived at the first club, an unimpressive, badly lit black steel door on a bleak industrial block. A line of people waited to get in. Perry and Rona didn’t hesitate and walked right up to the bouncer. He waved them through, even as he shook his head at Susan. “You sure she’s with you?” he grinned.

  “Now Bobby, be nice,” Perry replied. “She’s my aunt from Ohio. On the other side of the family.”

  Rona guffawed.

  Inside was exactly the sort of dark cave she had expected. Only it turned out to be a writhing dark cave, as the tiny dance floor was filled with people who thought they were dancing. Undulating was more like it. She had seen moves like these two weeks ago at an eyebrow-raising performance of Carmena Burana. She wondered if anyone else from that wretched ballet was going to appear. Like Satan.

  Rona and Perry decided to dance and invited her, but she wasn’t interested in undulating or writhing. Those two were experts at it, she could see right away.

  Clubs had never been her thing. She wasn’t a drinker. At least the ban on smoking inside bars and clubs mandated in
New York made this one more tolerable. She tried to ignore the screeching music and the din of a hundred people talking, shouting more like. Rona had told her that the etiquette was to place her order at the bar, so she got an orange juice and settled in to watch the goings on. The light was so dim she could barely see Rona and Perry now. They were chatting with some other people while they danced.

  “Are you here alone?” a man asked her. He was about her age, and standing too close to her. “No. Are you?” she asked, to be polite. She hoped he wasn’t thinking she was here looking for a man.

  “Not anymore.” Then he moved in front of her, even closer, blocking her view of the dance floor. “What say you and I get to know each other better?”

  She looked at him carefully, deciding he wasn’t drunk. She then said, in a kind voice. “I’m sure you’re a nice person, but I am a married woman here with some friends.” When he continued to grin at her hopefully, she thrust out her arm that had the drink in it and pointed to them, “See, there they—oh, dear! I’ve spilled my drink all over you! I am so sorry!” She made a fuss over the spilled orange juice, turning back to the bar and getting napkins to hand to him, and generally making him the visible butt of an embarrassing moment. The man retreated, muttering an excuse.

  She hardly had time to draw a sigh of relief. Another man around her age approached. This one didn’t stand as close. “I saw you spilled your drink. Can I buy you another one?”

  “No, thanks.” She’d already been thinking she might as well join Rona and Perry on the dance floor. Now she was sure. Before the man could say anything else, she said, “I’m going to join my friends. If you need a place by the bar, it’s all yours.” Clearly, she was parked on a busy landing strip. Time to get away. She writhed her way over to Rona and Perry.

  “Hi, honey. You changed your mind.”

  “No, there were too many hot-to-trot men at the bar,” she said with asperity.

  “Don’t look now, but one of them is following you,” Perry warned.

  She gave a quick look behind her anyway. Sure enough, it was the second man from the bar again. She almost stopped her writhing motions in annoyance. She turned back to Rona and Perry. “Now I’ll have to stomp on his foot or something. This is too much like hard work.”