Schmidt Delivered

by Louis Begley

  Oh, intoned Mr. Mansour, forgive me, Schmidtie, please forgive me, do you think you can forgive me? I behaved so badly and didn’t mean to. Can you forgive me, can we go back to the way we were?

  I think the question is whether I can continue to know you. I haven’t got the answer.

  Even after I said I’m sorry? I lost my head. Look, she’s a fabulous, sexy kid. You’d have to be a saint to keep your hands off her. Come on, Schmidtie, you know this better than anybody.

  Nonsense. This wasn’t like kissing a friend’s wife at a party. You set it up. Planned it in your head. You asked her to spend the night in your apartment. Then you made a pass. Then in the morning you offered her money for sex. How dare you ask me to forgive you?

  Because I’m sorry. Schmidtie, be reasonable. Haven’t you ever fucked up and been caught?

  What has that got to do with you and me?

  Because we’re both human, so we can both fuck up. Then life goes on. Look, Schmidtie, we’ve talked for hours. You know how I am. I’m not all bad. Go on, Schmidtie, say you’re not mad at me. If you don’t, I’ll get Jason to break your arms and legs. He’ll do a good job, I’m telling you. It is no problem. By the way, I’m just kidding. OK. Have you ever fucked up?

  If you mean to ask whether I have betrayed friends, the answer is no.

  Jesus, Schmidtie. I haven’t betrayed you. I made a pass at your girl. You’re Sicilian or something? You’ve never cheated on your wife?

  Schmidt had been waiting for that question. The way Mary had found out about Corinne, Charlotte’s having known and remembered with such bitterness that he was carrying on with Corinne in the room off the kitchen while she was supposed to be asleep in her nice white bed in her nice room, the women he’d pick up at bars on business trips—what kind of Tartuffe was he? Hating Mansour was fair game, except that he didn’t hate him but the high moral tone!

  Michael, where is this conversation supposed to lead?

  To your saying, It’s all right, I have forgiven you, and here is my hand. Don’t you understand, you boob, that you’re the best friend I have? Can’t you get that into your head?

  Then I feel sorry for you.

  You should. I am very lonely, and this really hurts. I screwed up—when I tried to be so good and to be your friend. I told you over and over: Carrie needs to have a life. The question is, How can you give it to her, if you keep her here cooped up with you? What about the next guy who’s after her and doesn’t fuck it up? Answer me that one.

  How I live with Carrie is my own business.

  How can you say that? It’s my business, because I’m talking of your good now. Don’t you understand that? You’re more important to me than Carrie.

  I think you had better leave now.

  I’m not. I’m not going anywhere until this is settled. When it’s settled, we’ll be even better friends, because you’ll stop being so distant. You don’t realize it, but that’s your big problem. You don’t let anyone get near you, except maybe Gil Blackman. That’s why you’re so lonely, even lonelier than me, because at least I have all these zeros you see at my house waiting to lick my ass. By the way, I don’t want you to talk to Gil about any of this. Promise?

  I believe Gil has gone to L.A. No, I’m not going to call him there to discuss you or your behavior.

  That’s right, I know he’s out there.

  For the first time, Mr. Mansour sounded discouraged and sat down. He chose the settee that was also a swing and set it in motion.

  I don’t suppose you realize this, he continued, after a pause, but I’m having a major influence on Gil’s career. I don’t mean just my money and investing in his films. It’s my artistic input. He needs my judgment on a number of issues. The money is important too. I give him freedom he wouldn’t have otherwise. Those meetings he’s gone to, I set them up. I was going to fly out today to join him, but sitting with you was more important to me. I don’t want this business about Carrie to interfere with Gil. You have to promise me that.

  I don’t see how I can.

  You can. Don’t tell him, or if you tell him, say you understand how it happened and that we’re better friends now than before. You know, that could just help him work through some problems. Schmidtie, I know you realize that I’m a very exceptional person. I don’t want to boast, but there is really no one like me.

  Mr. Mansour leaned back, looked up at the ceiling, and rolled off the names of other notable takeover artists and raiders, his colleagues and peers.

  My question is how I should use my power and my wealth. That’s what I’m working on now. One plan I have is to let you take over my foundation. I’d still give it the intellectual leadership, but you would run it and get exposure to a new world: social issues, science, really large people. With Gil, I know what to do. I’ve decided I and he are going to work as partners. Then the sky is the limit. Pas de problème. What do you think of that!

  Nothing at all.

  That’s because you’re still confused. I want you to come to lunch. That’s the reason I came over. Come just as you are. It’ll be just the two of us. Manuel will make something special. You’ll see.

  It’s out of the question.

  Goddamn it Schmidtie, I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ve begged you to forgive me. I know that in your heart you have forgiven me. So stop sulking. Jason will pick you up at one and drive you home after lunch.

  The rain had turned into the sort of drizzle that could go on all day and then the next. Was Charlotte going to call? The voices he could hear on the other side of the house told Schmidt that the cleaning women had arrived. Mansour had tired him to the point that the prospect of paying bills had become a longed-for relief, and yet he made no move to leave. In fact, Mansour had sat down and put his feet up on the glass coffee table. Tiny feet in some sort of white loafers. Like all his clothes, they looked as though they had never been worn before. Yellow linen trousers and a red silk shirt. That was something you’d expect to see on Gil. Did Mansour buy Gil’s shirts, or was it the other way around? Mansour’s ankles were tanned, or perhaps he used artificial coloring. To hell with him, his yellow trousers, his worry beads, and his yellow Rolls.

  Look, said Schmidt. My mind, my feelings, don’t work like yours. The way I’ve been taught to behave is different. Until now, I haven’t known people like you. I mean socially. I am expecting someone to telephone. Someone important to me. I don’t want you around when I take that call. Why don’t you leave?

  Because we haven’t finished talking. You wouldn’t treat me like this if I was one of your old friends. That’s the truth, isn’t it? Let me tell you, I wish I had old friends, but I was thrown out of my country. I had no time to make friends. I had to take over from my mother and father and build the business. My first wife was a mistake—not a big mistake like my second wife but still a mistake. You don’t know I have two kids, do you? They’re about the age of your daughter. I had them right away. They live in Israel, can you believe it? With all the opportunities I can give them! They don’t care about what I’ve accomplished. Can you believe it, they could go right to the top and they still refuse to work with me. So I’ve no family life. I can tell you one thing: in the next life, no children. Then there’s Judy, second wife. With her, it was dinner out every night. With the same queers. Without exception! Queers putting on Off Broadway plays for queers! Queers who photograph road kill! In my position, I don’t need that. I don’t mind having dinner with Gil Blackman and his crowd, or even people like you, but that was too dull for Judy. You’ve been to the parties at my house. What do you think of that? Except for you and Hillel, it’s the schmucks who work for me or want to work for me or want me to give them money without working for me. It’s all the same thing. Do I need it? Now you understand how I could lose my head and behave badly? Don’t look like that, I know you do. By the way, these things about me, I’ve never told them to you before. You see? We’re better friends already. I’ll see you at lunch.

  There is
no chance of my having any sort of relations with you, never mind going to your house, before I’ve talked about it with Carrie. That won’t be before this evening. Lunch is out of the question.

  Schmidtie, you’re wrong if you think I’ll give up. I’m going to change you—all the way inside. Letting you run my foundation may do it. All right, be good. You are both coming to my dinner on Sunday and I want you to come to lunch tomorrow. Talk to Carrie. She’s a smart girl. We’ll drink good wine and clear the air.

  He held out his hand.

  Come on, pal. Shake my hand.

  What was he to do? He took the hand, whereupon Mansour enveloped him in a big embrace. You’re a great guy, he cried out. You don’t even begin to know how much you mean to me.

  The Polish ladies had left in a profusion of farewells. Schmidt licked the last envelope. As usual, he hadn’t enough stamps. The rain had stopped. If he was going to the post office, shouldn’t he have a bite at the counter of the candy store? Sit down between two sets of grandfathers and grandmothers feeding kids in jodhpurs their grilled-cheese sandwiches and chocolate milk shakes? He didn’t think he could bear that. The checks could be mailed the next day or the day after or next week for all he cared. At the rate Charlotte’s life was falling apart, there would never be a grandchild for him to take to lunch. Sardines and bourbon in the kitchen were going to be just fine, and then a nap until just before Carrie returned. He wasn’t going to sleep all that hard. If Charlotte called, she wouldn’t realize that she had awakened him. He was still working on his second drink when the telephone rang. Two-thirty. She was at the office, unless she had quit her job or simply not gone to work. Pray God she hadn’t rushed into anything foolish. He picked up the receiver and said, I’ve been waiting for you.

  This was the wrong way to begin the conversation, he realized immediately, but he hadn’t intended any sort of reproach. Fortunately, she didn’t take it too hard.

  Gosh Dad, I don’t think I said what time I’d call.

  I know, I know. It’s perfectly all right. We’ve had rain, so I’ve been hanging around the house, that’s all. How are you?

  How do you suppose? Rotten. I go to the office this morning and he gets into the elevator with me. He had the nerve to kiss me. I almost hauled off and punched him.

  I’m glad you didn’t. Will you be here on Friday? I’m all excited about it.

  Dad, I don’t think so. Something’s come up. Renata wants to see me. She and Myron are on vacation in Claverack, so she’s coming into the city specially. I guess it’s important.

  Oh.

  Why it was important for Charlotte to see the mother of the husband she was in the process of divorcing, more important in any event than to see her own father, was not immediately clear to Schmidt, but he didn’t think he would gain much by asking. Realizing once more how little he knew, he ventured, Come to think of it, where are you staying? I suppose you’re no longer in Mr. Polk’s apartment?

  Are you kidding? I got out of there the day he told me the great news.

  To where, sweetie? I don’t believe you’ve told me.

  I’m staying with a girl who works here. Marcia Schwartz. You don’t know her.

  I see. Not in your own apartment.

  Dad, are you kidding? Jon’s living in it.

  Goodness, he said. I take it then you haven’t agreed on the financial settlement, and so forth. But the lawyers are working on it?

  We haven’t gotten anywhere. I don’t want alimony from Jon or stuff like that, so that’s no problem, but he doesn’t want to sign over the place in the country and still doesn’t want to leave the apartment. His parents are right next door to the place in Claverack. That’s why he says we should share it. I don’t get it. I’ve filed for divorce, whatever that means.

  I don’t get it either. And these loans you signed together with Jon. Who’s paying them?

  He says he can’t just now. So I guess I am. I was going to ask you to help.

  I see. What does your lawyer think of all that?

  Joe Black? He says we should go to court. That’s why he filed those papers. I think that’s what Renata wants to see me about.

  Have you talked to Mr. Black about seeing her? Does he think it’s a good idea? Normally, one would leave negotiations of this sort to one’s lawyer.

  Dad, it’s my life, remember? Renata’s always been a good friend to me. The best I’ve ever had. When I told her how Harry dumped me, the first thing she said was I should move back to the apartment.

  To live there with Jon?

  I guess so. She said it was his idea. He always said I should move in anytime I wanted. Anyway, I’ve got to go now. Have a good weekend.

  It seemed to Schmidt that she was about to hang up before he had had a chance to reply. Perhaps that would be just as well. The words on the tip of his tongue—For God’s sake, haven’t you had enough of the Rikers?—were of no use. Even he knew that. But he wouldn’t let go.

  Not so fast, Charlotte, he cut in. I am not being nosy, or trying to meddle, not really, but in fact it’s extraordinary, now that I think of it, that until a moment ago I didn’t know where you are living. Or where you stand with your divorce. You can’t say the divorce is none of my business, and that’s not just because you are my only child. The divorce is tied to financial issues, to the money your mother left you and to the money you got from me.

  You haven’t given me any money. Gee, I’m wrong. Excuse me, Dad, I beg your pardon, how could I forget the allowance you used to give me before my salary was raised and the Christmas and birthday checks! I’m really stupid.

  Oh!

  He should have let her slam down the receiver. Now it was too late. If he said, as he was tempted to, All right, all right, let’s not quarrel, and took it upon himself to end this odious conversation, there was no telling when they could talk again. He would be leaving her in the hands of the Rikers, mother and son.

  Look, Charlotte, he continued, you’re getting this all wrong. Either cool down so we can talk now or find time to see me tomorrow. I’ll come to the city to see you.

  Tomorrow is no good. I’m in client meetings.

  Then shut the door to your office and listen to me now.

  A grunt of assent, a pause, and another grunt that sounded like OK.

  Thank you. I wanted to give you my share of this house, so it would be all yours, yours and Jon’s. Your mother would have wanted me to. You decided you wanted money instead. That is why I bought your share. If I had given you the money, I would have paid almost the same amount on top of the gift in taxes. At the time, you understood this. Certainly Jon did. I was happy to give you that money, and I will be happy to leave to you whatever I can when I die, including this house. The house I live in, where you spent every weekend and holiday until you married Jon.

  You mean you might if I play my cards right leave to me what you don’t give to Carrie or whoever else you pick up!

  It’s quite possible that I will leave money to Carrie or to Harvard or to whomever else I choose, but it’s my intention to make sure that you are more than all right. Please listen to me carefully. Just a while ago, you asked me to give you a very large amount of money so that you and Mr. Polk could start a new business. You weren’t very nice about it, but never mind. I said all right. The reason I haven’t sent the money is that you and Mr. Polk didn’t set up the account to receive it. That’s just as well, because it would have been a mess. Yesterday, you called me all broken up about Harry Polk and what you told me broke my heart too. Not because of Mr. Polk, obviously, but because of you. Yesterday, you also said you needed—or wanted, I can’t remember which it was—to see me here, at home. Today, you’ve told me it’s more important for you to stay in town to see Renata Riker.

  That really ticked you off, didn’t it?

  It did. I wanted to see you.

  So you could talk to me like this, only longer? Like two days in a row?

  I’ve almost finished. Charlotte, you’ve also ju
st told me that your lawyer has made no progress getting Jon to return what’s clearly your property. That is absolutely outrageous. He has no right to the house or to the apartment you have paid for. At the most, at the very most, you might take over the loans if it’s really true the money you borrowed went to pay for them. I am sure that Mr. Black has thought of that.

  Yeah, he’s talked about it.

  To you or to Jon as well?

  He’s talked to Cacciatore.

  And?

  And nothing. Jesus, Dad, I’ve told you they haven’t gotten anywhere.

  All right, here is the conclusion of my boring speech. I think it’s foolish of you to talk to Renata Riker about the terms of your separation from Jon and about your property, if that’s what she wants to do. It’s a setup. They’re going behind your lawyer’s back and that’s outrageous as well.

  Nobody’s going behind anybody’s back. I resent that.

  I hope you’re right. I also hope that you are not going to move into the apartment with Jon or, what’s more important, take up with him again unless there is first a settlement of your property rights, and by that I mean that you get your property back. This is a question of basic honesty.

  Thanks, Dad, and good-bye.

  This time she really did hang up.

  The rain had stopped altogether. In fact, the sun had come out. Schmidt opened the kitchen windows and the door outside the door of the mudroom, which lay beyond the pantry. Then, a fresh drink in hand, he went around the downstairs of the house throwing open the front and back doors. Not satisfied, he opened every window in the house, downstairs and upstairs, even in the never-used guest rooms and in Charlotte’s room. The pool house deserved an airing too. He found the door locked, went back to the kitchen and got the key, opened the windows of that now useless structure, and, for good measure, opened the garage doors. His garden, he noted, looked positively jolly, every leaf, every blade of grass, glistening with raindrops. Laughing, winsome nature. It was great good fortune, he thought, to own such a fine place and to have maintained it in absolutely top condition. At the same time, he noted a weakness in his legs and arms, as though he had been running hard, in heavy clothes, on some hard surface. He also noted that his armpits felt moist. This was unusual for him, as he rarely sweated, but in fact his shirt was wet and clinging to him, under his arms and in the back. He went into the house, put on a fresh shirt and a sweater, because suddenly he felt a chill, and made coffee. Against his custom, he drank it with sugar. There was, he remembered, in the refrigerator, an open package of Hershey’s chocolate kisses that Carrie had used for making a mousse. He ate a handful of them, and wrote to Charlotte: