“Lots of pancakes,” said the Governor.
The eight of them started back for the stairs. “I think we look like a painting,” said Judy happily. “One of those French paintings…”
“Goddesses and warriors,” said Andrew.
“Flashing breastplates and diaphanous gowns,” said Sally.
“Fabulous vistas,” said the Governor, enjoying the way Judy had triggered everyone’s imagination, “and puffy white clouds.”
“That’s just what I meant,” said Judy.
The house was full of the smell of bacon frying. Cynthia was in the kitchen attending to it on the stove’s built-in griddle. She seemed a different person. Her hair was pulled back and tied with a sky-blue ribbon. She was wearing nothing but a long black apron, with “Rome, Paris, Nantucket” in large white letters down the front. “When the fat splatters, it hurts,” she explained.
“Of course,” said Rosemary sympathetically.
“I looked out an upstairs window and saw you all leaving. Nudity seemed to be the uniform of the day.” Definitely a new day, Andrew said to himself. Whatever demons had possessed Cynthia the previous evening seemed to have been exorcised.
“I burn,” said Rosemary. “I have to put on clothes before the sun gets any higher. I hope the rest of you will join me so I won’t be self-conscious.”
“Oh, all right,” said Joe.
“I’ll finish the bacon first,” said Cynthia. “Then the men can do the pancakes.”
Andrew followed Rosemary into the servant’s room to get dressed. “Do you think he knows?” said Rosemary.
“Are you thinking what I am?”
“Regarding Judy?” said Rosemary.
“Yes to all your questions. You can see it in the way he speaks to her, the way he doesn’t look at her.”
“Do you think she knows?” said Rosemary.
“I’d say not. Janis says she’s a blurter, and there hasn’t been a hint.”
“Do you think he’s going to say anything? Do you think he wants to? You know him better.”
“He wants to but he won’t,” said Andrew. “He hasn’t yet. For a man with his reputation, he’s remarkably self-disciplined.”
“He funded her scholarships?”
“Unquestionably.”
“Should we do anything?”
“If a deal is meant to happen, it will happen,” said Andrew. To be honest, he didn’t know the answer to Rosemary’s question.
“Time to make pancakes,” she said.
The thing about pancakes, Andrew reminded himself, is that you can’t make enough for everyone at once, so there have to be people eating while others have nothing. So there is the issue of what order people get served in. If people are polite, they won’t sit down because that amounts to asking to be served ahead of others, so there is a lot of milling around. Needless to say, assigning seats is impossible.
Rosemary extracted a large carving knife from the knife block and began cutting oranges in half. Joe had bought dozens. Sally began pushing them down on the electric squeezer. Janis started setting the table.
Joe appeared and started reading the instructions on the box of pancake batter. “I happen to be good at making pancakes,” he said.
“He is,” said Cynthia, coming in. “And good at eating them.” For the first time all weekend, she looked like she was on holiday. “I’ll mix, you pour and flip.” She searched under the counter and found a bowl.
“You’ve done your part with the bacon,” said Joe. “Pancakes are men’s work.”
“Eggs are in the refrigerator,” said Sally. “Maple syrup’s in the pantry.”
“Should we warm the plates?” said Judy.
“That’s always a good idea,” said George.
“Plates are still in the dishwasher,” said Sally. “Shiva, out of the way. You do not belong in a kitchen.”
“No, he doesn’t,” said Rosemary. Shiva backed off as far as the door, but everyone wanted to be in the kitchen, it appeared.
As Joe produced pancakes, three plates of three at a go, Andrew handed them out. “If you’re fast,” he said to Joe, “we may eventually get everyone sitting down at once. I sense that Cynthia wants to say something.”
“I agree with you,” said Joe, hurrying up. “Let’s see if we can get enough done to sit down ourselves.”
The tide of people and second helpings flowed back and forth. Joe piled up a final platter. He and Andrew took the last of the plates out of the oven and went in. As people will, most of his guests had returned to the seats they’d occupied the night before, but Cynthia had elected to sit next to Sally, displacing Judy, who hadn’t decided where to go.
If truth wants to manifest itself it will. “Here,” said Andrew, pulling out the chair between himself and the Governor, “sit next to your father.”
He’d been thinking about Eleanor, he told Rosemary later. “I was distracted. Being hated is painful,” he explained.
“She doesn’t hate you,” said Rosemary. “It’s just displacement activity from some other issue. Anger often is.”
“You’re a wise woman,” Andrew told her, earning a quick smile. She knew what he was doing but she still liked it.
But that was later. Andrew’s unplanned announcement made Judy gasp; for a moment she appeared shocked and confused, but then she smiled broadly. Joe exclaimed, several others dropped their forks, and the Governor of Massachusetts looked for just a moment like he might get teary. “See?” said Judy, looking around at everyone. “I have a father.”
“Who is very proud of you,” said George, as Judy wrapped her arms around his neck.
It took about five minutes for the laughing and sniffling around the table to stop. Judy explained that she’d had a suspicion that George was her father since she was fifteen.
“Why was that?” asked George.
“Well, for one thing, my mother voted for you when you first ran for Congress. She never voted for Republicans.”
This made everyone except the Governor laugh. “I won a lot of swing voters in that election,” said the Governor.
“There’ve been other hints over the years, but when my Justice told me I was moving back to Boston to join your staff, I was pretty sure,” Judy continued. “And then there was this impulsive visit to your famous family’s house.”
“A family Judy is part of,” Janis added.
“You’d figured it out too?” said Judy.
It seemed to Andrew that Janis hesitated for half a second before she responded. “No,” she said.
Pretty soon everyone was talking at once. All the women kissed Judy, including Cynthia. All the men congratulated George. “Does anyone want more pancakes?” Joe said finally. No one did.
“Would anyone mind if I said something?” said Cynthia. “About yesterday.”
“Today is better than yesterday,” said Andrew.
“Today will be famous,” said Judy.
Cynthia took a deep breath. “I just wanted to apologise.” She looked at Joe. “To all of you,” she added. “I lost my balance for a while.” She paused again. “I suppose I should explain…”
“Not necessary,” said George.
“We probably all have things to apologise for,” said Rosemary.
Andrew realised that George was looking at his daughter.
“We’ll talk,” said Judy.
“So let’s call it even,” said Rosemary.
There was a general murmuring of agreement.
“I wondered if I could leave early,” said Cynthia.
“You certainly don’t have to,” said Andrew.
“And I’m afraid it isn’t possible,” said the Governor. “The boat that brings the papers and the milk has come and gone. There isn’t another ferry until the afternoon, and that won’t get you to New York before the plane I assume Andrew has booked you on this evening.”
Janis spoke: “We also thought we might make some promises to each other about confidentiality.”
&nbs
p; Cynthia thought about that for a moment. “That would be good,” she said. And then: “So, let’s do the dishes.”
That would have brought down the second-act curtain, but as everyone was beginning to get up from the table and carry their dishes to the kitchen, the front door opened and Andrew’s errant wife, the primary Cathy, walked in.
12
Cathy had come on the ferry that brought the milk and Sunday papers and gotten a taxi to the house. She was wearing clothes Andrew had never seen before: a short skirt of some silver fabric that danced around as she moved, a light blue tee shirt with no bra, ballet slippers, a lot of silver bracelets. The overall effect was more feminine than anything she’d worn in years – or would have been except that she had had her hair cut so short it just lay down.
Cathy walked briskly around the room, introducing herself and shaking hands: “I’m Cathy. I’m Cathy. You must be Shiva.”
“And you must be Ariel,” said the Indian.
“Being set free,” said Cathy.
“So this must be the end of the play,” said Shiva.
It was clear to Andrew that Cathy was engaged in an enormous act of will. She had decided to be a different person. She could be charming and cheerful when the spirit moved her, but she was never this brisk and bold. And she never dressed to call attention to herself. What was going on?
When Cathy got to Sally she kissed her on the cheek. “How did it go?” she asked.
“All right, I think,” said Sally. She introduced Cathy to Joe.
“Andrew told me I’d be impressed,” said Cathy, looking the billionaire up and down as if she were flirting with him.
“It was quite a party,” he said. Andrew didn’t think Joe knew what to make of Cathy. But then, he didn’t know what to make of women generally.
“My pleasure,” said Cathy, as if she’d arranged it all.
When she got to Andrew, though, she just stood and looked at him. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Rosemary had come around the table and was standing next to him. She had slipped her hand into his, which Cathy would have seen. “Eleanor was trying to reach you,” he said. “You left your phone here.”
“I know,” said Cathy. “I bought another one. She’s fine.”
“You said she was having a minor crisis. But then, you said you’d gone to Germany to see her and you obviously haven’t.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Cathy.
“We need to talk,” said Andrew. There were too many spectators for the talk they needed to have.
Cynthia approached, stopped a few feet away and waited for a break in the conversation – like a six-year-old on a school playground trying to make a new friend. “I’m Cynthia,” she said, advancing a step.
“I know,” said Cathy. “I like waking up with you. Watching you on television, that is.”
“I like your outfit,” said Cynthia.
“It was a mistake,” said Cathy.
“But you’re beautiful,” said Cynthia.
“No I’m not,” said Cathy. “Did Andrew tell you I was?”
“He didn’t tell us anything,” said Cynthia, taken aback by Cathy’s tone. “He pretended Sally was you.”
“You did?” said Cathy, looking at Andrew and then at Sally.
“It seemed like a good idea,” said Andrew, not letting go of Rosemary’s hand.
“What exactly did you say, Sally?” said Cathy.
“I told Andrew that you’d gone to see Eleanor. Not a serious crisis, but your sense of responsibility as a mother compelled you to go. That sort of thing.”
“But you were supposed to tell him I’d gone away to… think about things. You were supposed to…explain.”
Andrew could see that Cathy was getting embarrassed. She didn’t know Rosemary, who was holding her husband’s hand and watching the scene unfold. She didn’t know Cynthia, even if she recognised her from television.
“Did you show him the note?” Cathy said to Sally.
“The note permitted various interpretations,” said Sally. She wasn’t the least bit defensive, Andrew noticed. “It seemed to me that another speed bump on your daughter’s road to adulthood would throw him less off balance than confronting the truth about your sexuality. And to tell the truth, I thought it would be fun to pretend to be you. And make him pretend as well. You have a nice house. I wish it was mine.”
“You thought you’d audition for the role?” said Cathy. “Since I was leaving the company, that is.”
“It was a long shot, but yes.”
“It didn’t work, I see,” said Cathy, looking down at Andrew and Rosemary’s intertwined hands.
“No. But it’s been an interesting weekend.”
“How long did you get away with it? Did you have to sleep with him?”
“Cynthia discovered the fraud,” said Sally, not answering Cathy’s questions.
“I found pictures of you,” said Cynthia.
“Dressed rather differently,” said Rosemary.
Rosemary squeezed Andrew’s hand, which he took as an instruction not to intervene.
Cathy looked around the room. “But there aren’t any pictures at all,” she said. “Did you throw them out, Andrew? That wasn’t fair.”
“Sally hid them,” said Rosemary. “So she could pretend to be you.”
“Well, I hope you enjoyed it,” said Cathy. “The position’s available. I’m not me anymore, as I expect everyone can see.”
“You’re the same person,” said Cynthia softly. “All this” – she gestured at Cathy’s clothes – “it’s just wardrobe.”
Andrew decided the previous evening’s release of emotion must have been cathartic for Cynthia. She’d been soft and feminine all morning. She was seducing Cathy, if you came down to it. And it was working. At some level Cathy liked it, even if she didn’t know how to respond and was in consequence as abrasive as ever.
“I suppose they wouldn’t let you look like this on the air,” said Cathy. She laughed, presumably at herself. “I’m not sure it even works in my own home – if this still is my home. Is it, Andrew? You’ve cleared away the photographs. Have you sold the house?”
“There hasn’t been time,” said Rosemary. “And you’re the one who left.”
Andrew felt it was unnecessary of Rosemary to intrude, but Cynthia spoke before he could. “I like the hair,” she said. She spoke as if she and Cathy were alone. “Your head is a good shape,” stroking Cathy’s head almost unconsciously. “But no, my audience definitely isn’t there yet.”
“Where do you plan to sleep?” asked Rosemary. “I’ll change the sheets.”
“I think that’s Sally’s job,” said Cathy curtly, not looking at the “au pair.” It wasn’t clear whether it was Sally or Rosemary she was trying to put down. Both of them, probably.
“I’ll help you,” Rosemary said to Sally.
“Maybe we can talk later,” said Cynthia, still trying to soothe Cathy.
“What about?” said Cathy. She had more anger and adrenaline in her system than she could cope with, Andrew could see.
“Wardrobe if you like,” said Cynthia. “I’m an actress, remember?”
“I thought you were a journalist,” said Cathy.
“Not to my friends,” said Cynthia. Having planted the seed, she then drifted away. Wardrobe, Andrew repeated to himself. Cathy had made Sally try on her clothes, which involved removing clothes. Cynthia intended to do the same with Cathy.
Cathy and her startling costume continued around the room. “This explains a lot,” said the Governor of Massachusetts. Andrew was close enough to hear the conversation.
“You mean my refusing to let you kiss me?” said Cathy. “I was thirteen, remember.”
“That and other things,” said George. “I’m a politician, remember. I have instincts. Andrew is my oldest friend. Do I need to say more?”
“No,” said Cathy.
“Then let me introduce you to my daughter.”
Cathy looked
surprised and then laughed. “Oh, George,” she said.
“Thank you for having me,” said Judy, looking at Cathy without embarrassment.
“Where’s Lydia?” said Cathy.
“Being angry with me,” said George.
“Tell her it’s a lousy strategy,” said Cathy. “Not that I’ve got a better one.”
“I gave up trying to persuade her of that a long time ago,” said George.
“I’m going to help wash dishes,” said Judy.
“I gave up trying to be married to Andrew forty-eight hours ago,” said Cathy. She must have known he could hear her, Andrew decided.
“Why did you come back?” said George. They’d known each other forever. He could ask that question.
“To talk to Andrew, I guess.” She didn’t look at him.
George looked around. “There are a lot of people in the way just now.”
“I knew that would be the case. I was counting on Andrew’s billionaires being here, to be honest, so as to make my announcement irrevocable. I guess that was the point of this stupid outfit too. I’ve chickened out a number of times in the past – about talking to him, that is.”
“Perhaps you and Andrew should go for a walk,” said the Governor. “We can manage without him for a while.”
There comes a point when the string-players tire and the music slows. Having sat in silence, the horn then sounds its sad notes. Cathy closed her eyes for a moment. “All right,” she said.
Andrew let go of Rosemary’s hand and took a step in Cathy’s direction as casually as he could.
“Lighthouse?” he asked. “Sun at our back coming home.”
“I guess,” she said.
They’d walked on that beach many weekends, often holding hands. They didn’t hold hands this time. They didn’t speak. Andrew waited for Cathy to initiate. He figured she was the one who needed to offer an explanation. He was angry, of course, if relieved. He’d absorbed a lot of rejection over the years.
“I’m angry too,” she said at last, reading his mind.
“Clearly,” said Andrew, more sharply than he intended.
“Not at you, sweetie, though of course I am. There’s nowhere else to put the anger. But what I’m really angry at is having wasted so many years not having love.”
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