by Jan Surasky
As she reached her desk, the other stenos were just piling in, murmuring their “good mornings” in sleepy voices. She pulled her typewriter up from the drawer it was packed away in. The sunbeams danced across her desk. She was certain that was a good omen.
Chapter Forty
Cathy huddled in the corner of the booth at Lindy’s. Lunch was short today. She had to pack. She needed to unearth all her woolens, because Russia and eastern Europe were at the height of their winter.
“I can’t believe you’re going, Cath. It sounds exciting.”
“It’s far from that, Jen. It’s a lot of tough work with little equipment.”
“You’re lucky it’s Rich Morelli you’re going with. He’s a pretty laid back guy.”
“Yeah, maybe. But, he’s bringing his wife and two children this trip. That means babysitting as well as working into the night to transcribe.”
“I hope you get some sightseeing in. Gee, I wish I was going as well. I could get some photographs in if I worked it right.”
“Not too much time for that. It’s mostly meetings and meetings and trains and bad transportation.”
“Just the same, maybe you’ll get some good shots of the major sights.”
“I’m not much of a photographer, Jen. I leave that to you.
“Mostly, I’ll be cataloguing and cross-referencing. I’m ready to start my own firm. I can’t wait. But, I don’t have the resources yet. How does “Kusovich and Anderson” sound?”
“Oh, you’re kidding, Cathy. What would you want me for? I don’t have a head for business.”
“You’re good with people, Jen. And, the art of the deal often involves people a whole lot more than it does graphs and charts.
“I can just see us now. I do the number crunching, and check out the global politics and the razor-sharp stats of the trade, and you get the contract clinched in a dimly-lit restaurant over a fantastic dinner and drinks.”
Cathy’s determination moved Jenny. Despite a permanent limp and an inexplicitly lost love, Cathy pushed on, her perpetual loneliness buried beneath a cryptic exterior.
“I’ll get the check. Here’s to the future of Kusovich Import Export.”
“I’ll get it, Jen. You’ve got a kid.”
“Thanks, Cathy. Put it on the tab. When we get rich, we’ll leave a ten-spot, instead of fishing for change in our purses.”
“You have that right, Jenny.”
Cathy led them through the tangle of shabby tables and upholstery-torn booths to the front of the restaurant. Her slender figure was the envy of many, judging from the sidelong glances that followed them as they walked. She pushed the finger-smudged doors with a determination Jenny was used to seeing.
As they breathed the warm, summer air, slightly musty and mixed with the carbon-monoxide of the heavy New York traffic, Jenny glanced at her friend. She wondered if Cathy would achieve the ambition she so desperately sought. But, as she saw through the cynical mask Cathy wore almost as a trademark, she wondered how she could ever have doubted it for a moment.
Chapter Forty-One
Jenny walked the streets of her Brooklyn neighborhood, her SLR slung over her shoulder in a new black camera bag. She would photograph Brooklyn, and then the world.
Brownstones lined the streets, tall row houses made of brick stretched from corner to corner. Tricycles and roller skates punctuated the dirty grey cement of the sidewalks.
Drab front stoops were empty. Windows were open to let in the fresh air of a Sunday morning. The typical sounds of Sunday filled the air.
“Hey, Mabel, quit sittin’ around on yer keester and get breakfast on the table.”
“Quit yer bellyachin ya lazy drunk and mind yer own business.”
Rosa tagged along, contentedly pushing Josh in the stroller. Dee was busy with her new main squeeze, Denny Houlihan, or her “big, Irish cop,” as she called him. They had met at McGinnity’s when Denny had stopped in for a couple of doughnuts and a hot, black coffee late at night on the midnight shift. They had been inseparable ever since.
“Birdie, birdie,” screamed Josh, his chubby index finger pointing to a small, brown sparrow splashing in a puddle of yesterday’s rain. The bird, oblivious to the rapture, continued his bath.
Jenny crouched for a shot. She framed the bird in the lens, setting the aperture as she had been taught in her ten-week class at the local high school.
The bird, now surrounded, took its last splash and flew to safety on the telephone wires above, taking its place in the long row of sparrows all alike. Josh squealed with delight. Jenny bent down to fix his sweater and pull a new toy from the bag hanging on the back of the stroller.
“Wanna take pictures,” said Rosa.
“This is my camera. But, maybe you’ll get one for your birthday and then you can take pictures. I bet Mommy would think you’re old enough to get one of your own.
“Say, how about we go to the park. It looks like it would be fun to play on the swings and in the sandbox. I even took a few pails and shovels of our own for the occasion.”
Rosa let go of the stroller handle and jumped up and down, the camera a thing of the past. Jenny headed for the nearby main drag, restaurants and shops looming in the distance. As they reached it, the shops closed and the weekday hustle replaced by the indolence of a Sunday afternoon, Jenny hailed one of the few cabs slowly trolling for fares on the other side of the street. The cabbie stopped, jumping out to fold up the stroller. Jenny climbed in the back, putting Josh on her lap and pulling in Rosa beside her.
“Where to, lady?”
“Prospect Park.”
“Good call. The heat’s rising.”
“Thanks. Take us to a spot by the lake.”
“Will do. How about where the carousel is?”
“Fine.”
As they got out, and Jenny paid the cab driver, she looked round for a spot of shade. A family had just left a place under a large elm on top of the tree’s gnarled roots. Jenny hurried, dragging Rosa and the stroller after her. She spread a very thin blanket over the roots.
“Can I play in the sandbox, Jenny?”
“Of course. That’s what we came for. How about a new red and green pail and shovel?”
Rosa squealed with glee, grabbing the loot out of the bag Jenny was holding and running for the sandbox to carve out some territory. Jenny trailed after, putting Josh in the sand next to her.
As Jenny returned to the blanket, facing herself toward the lake and so she could keep an eye on the children, she looked about her. Families with picnic baskets were everywhere. Children in all kinds of dress tumbled about and chased each other across the sun-filled grasses.
Jenny wondered what she was doing here. Despite the wonder of the human-made lake she was facing, it didn’t begin to give her the thrill she felt from her earliest memory when she gazed at the crooked lake the Native Americans had called Keuka. And, where were the meadows and farmlands?
And, the beautiful wildflowers flowing toward the horizon, depicting the season with the indigenous hues of their blossoms.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
Jenny looked up to see a slender, well-dressed young man standing over her.
Startled, she blurted out a surprised “oh” without thinking.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“That’s all right. I should have been paying attention anyway.”
“It looks like you’ve got the best seat in the house. Do you mind if I share some of that shade?”
“Of course not. After all, it’s a public park.”
As he settled his lanky frame on the roots of the large, old tree, she noticed a certain reserve about him despite his seemingly forward manner.
“Are you here to watch a young one?”
“I’m here with my niece. My sister is a widow. I try to help her out on weekends.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I mean, that’s nice of you to do that.”
“My name is Jeff. What’s yours?”
>
“Jenny.”
Jeff put out his hand. “Nice to meet you Jenny. Are you a native Brooklynite?”
“Oh, gosh no. I’m fairly newly planted here. From a little town along the southern tier of upstate New York.”
“I’m from a little town, also. Lyndonville. But, it’s plunk in the middle of Iowa. Corn and corn for miles.”
“That’s nice. I have a friend from Iowa.”
“Where from?”
“Jessup.”
“I know where that is. Maybe someday we’ll meet. What brings you here to Brooklyn?”
“A divorce, cheaper digs than The City, and an in-law free environment.”
“I see. Where do you spend your work days?”
“An import export firm on Madison. I’m a steno.”
“Well, you picked a posh strip of the Big Apple.”
“Yes, it’s well-appointed. But, hectic. And, you?”
“I’m on Lexington. Harrington, Mueller, Harter and Seagrove. Real estate law firm, dealing mostly with the likes of big-time commercial entrepreneurs. But, I just do the ordinary homes on Long Island. No big movie stars.”
“Well, it sounds interesting. How old is your niece?”
“She’ll be five in October.”
“I have a neighbor’s five-year-old with me. Maybe they’d like to play together.”
“That sounds fun. She’s kind of isolated. Jill could only find a place way out. No kids.”
As Jeff rose to find his niece, Jenny found herself thinking of Jake. How easy he was with the little ones, his brothers and sisters. How they had looked up to him. She wondered what he was doing now.
“Jenny, this is Delia. I found her hiding behind that tree over there. Maybe she’d like to play now.”
“Hi, Delia. Maybe you’d like to meet Rosa. She’s over in the sandbox. Do you like to play in the sand?”
Delia, dressed in nicely ironed blue cotton overalls and a pink tee shirt with ruffled sleeves nodded shyly, her finger still in her mouth. Jenny pulled out a new pail and shovel and headed for the sandbox, Delia dragging along behind her. Rosa, delighted to have a new playmate, pulled her in by the hand to sit next to her and the big pile of sand she had appropriated. Jenny returned to Jeff.
Chatting with Jeff was almost like chatting with Jake. But, not quite. Jeff was filled with a midwestern reserve that the wide-eyed ambitious young Mennonite farmer never knew. Jeff was satisfied to stay an associate in his high-powered firm, perhaps never making partner. But, his devotion to his sister moved Jenny. She decided to invite him to the mid-summer blast she and Dee had been planning for weeks.
“How about attending a mid-summer picnic in a sweltering Brooklyn apartment? Nothing fancy.”
“Gee, I’d like that. Can I bring Jill and Delia?”
“Of course, I was hoping you would.”
Inviting a complete stranger to join them was risky, she knew, but Denny Houlihan was very protective of Dee, and he was off that Sunday. Jenny knew she would find out more about Jeff than she probably wanted to know.
Jeff glanced at his watch. “Whoops. Gotta go. I promised Jill we’d be back for Sunday dinner. She’s definite about family traditions.”
He turned to Jenny. “Thanks for the invite.” He pulled out his card hastily. “Here’s my number in case you want to call with the details. Thanks for taking pity on a reclusive midwesterner. And, thanks for looking so lovely under that tree.”
As Jeff scooped up Delia and wandered off to the parking lot, Delia’s sand pail in hand, Jenny looked up at the sun, still fairly high in the sky, shining down on the mass of bodies taking refuge from the humdrum work week. Though there was an air of friendship, or at least an acceptance of human existence that flowed like electricity through the tumbling bodies of the children and the parents, the men now drowsy with drink and the women packing up the morsels of the leftover crumbs of a picnic lunch hard won with checking the parts on an assembly line or endless sewing in a clothing factory, Jenny knew this would never be home. She was part and parcel of the fields she knew since birth and still endlessly missed.
Jenny saw Rosa and Josh had migrated toward the swings. She hastened over to give them one last push, cautioning them to hold on tight to the heavy steel chains, the newly-painted battleship grey slat seats sending them skyward, as they had countless children before them. She bought them a quick dinner at the concession stand and hailed a cab. The ride back was swift, the cabbie wanting to scout extra fares before his shift was up on a very slow day. Both Josh and Rosa fell asleep on her lap.
PART TWO
Chapter Forty-Two
Jenny put her feet up on the beautiful new cherry wood coffee table she had just purchased not even a week ago. She was weary of watching every footprint and fingerprint in an apartment she did not feel comfortable in yet. She had moved there to be closer to her work and to avoid the long commute to Brooklyn so she could spend more time with Josh. But, she had to admit she missed the shabby old apartment in Brooklyn and a landlady that didn’t care whether she was a painter or a photographer and allowed her plenty of latitude to do both.
The new apartment was not far from Central Park. She and Josh could walk the ten blocks on a Sunday when Jenny was free. She had been able to quit her job at Mallory, Hollander & Wexler to work for the fledgling company of Kusovich Masters owned equally by Cathy and Jeff. They had become a couple almost from their first meeting at Jenny’s apartment and business partners not long after.
Both Cathy and Jeff felt guilty since Jenny had seen him first. But, Jenny was only happy for them. Jeff tried to compensate by fixing her up with a steady stream of lawyers and acquaintances, but nothing had ever taken. Despite a few longer relationships which lasted the better part of a year, Jenny was happy as an independent.
Josh was twelve and growing very quickly. A gawky twelve, he spent most of his time at his studies. The only exception was basketball where as the tallest of his friends he excelled as center for his team.
Jenny was by now known in magazine circles for her excellent photography of faraway places and their cultures. She had travelled the world for import export and had combined photo shoots of the most interesting places as well. Some of her work had even appeared in The New York Times, most recently as a spread on the turmoil of politics in places like Kosovo, but mostly she preferred the slick beauty of the Italian countryside and the villages nestled into mountaintops or the stark green and brown of Wales, where she could envision the people of centuries ago inhabiting the same turf. It often reminded her of what she still considered home, where the Native Americans had navigated and fished the same waters she walked along, or had chased buffalo along the same fields that now sprouted wildflowers or bent to the plow of farmers like Father.
Josh was at Coney island with Dee and Denny and their brood which now numbered five plus Rosa. Jenny used the time to paint. A summer trip to Jerusalem had jogged her memory on her long ago determination to paint which somehow had gotten lost in her efforts to forge a life for herself and Josh in New York. She was determined to make up for lost time.
Josh had been disinherited by the Andersons when as an eight-year-old he had shown no interest in the car agency. Bud had not intervened. Josh’s future was now solely up to Jenny.
“Hi, Mom.” Josh burst through the door of the apartment, followed by Rosa and the rest of the gang. “Rosa made it through the roller coaster without screaming once. But, she turned white once we hit the ground.”
“Well, Rosa’s a young lady now. I’m not sure a roller coaster is going to scare her. How about it, Rosa?”
Rosa turned red and looked like she wanted to shrink under the carpet.
Jenny changed the subject. “When does school start, Rosa?”
“Two weeks.”
“You’re going to be in an upper class now. I bet you can hardly wait.”
“I don’t like school all that much. But, I’ll be better than the freshmen. That’ll give me an edge ou
t on the baseball field.”
Dee burst through the door, four small children in tow, Denny holding the fifth, a newborn infant all dressed in pink with ruffles on the sleeves and a pacifier to suck on. Dee threw her arms around Jenny.
“Long time no see. Fancy digs. You’ve come up in life.”
“I don’t know. I miss the earthiness of Brooklyn, the down and dirty. But, this cuts out the commute. Time to paint, and more time to spend with Josh.”
“We’ve got dibs on the first Brooklyn brownstone you paint.”
“Well, I hadn’t thought of it, but I’ll consider it a commission.”
“Great.”
“How’s your mom?”
“Mom’s fine. She keeps trying to get me to get you out there for a spaghetti dinner. She says you’ve always been too thin.”
“Well, I wish I could look as good as you after six kids.”
“No problem. Chasing after six kids does keep a girl in shape.”
“Hey, Denny, how’s the job?’
“Great, Jen. I’m working more days. More time with Dee and the kids.
“And, how’s it going with you? Kinda lonely around here? I’ve got a great new guy on the force who’s single.”
“Thanks, Denny. But, I like it how it is for now. Time to paint, and time to look after Josh.
“Say, how about some coffee or tea or anything stronger? And, some soda for the kids?”
“Thanks, Jenny. I’ll help you set the table.”
As Jenny laid out the polka dotted paper napkins and the paper plates, she thought of the first times she entertained. Sparky was her first guest, way back in Syracuse when Bud was at practice. They had attended the art show then at the Syracuse gallery.
Now Sparky was married to Cliff. A few years by now. The ceremony had been magnificent. Typical Sparky. It had been performed at dawn, symbolic of the new beginning. A seminary friend of Cliff’s had flown in to perform the rites. Sparky had been radiant in a simple, long linen dress dyed in yellow, the color of the buttercups that filled her meadows and the fields behind her crops. Her hair was tied back with a length of yellow baby roses that made the gleams of sunlight that settled along it look like chunks of gold, and she held a beautiful bouquet of the wildflowers that dotted the countryside. Aunt Gert had provided the silky ribbons that held them together.
