by Louis Begley
Caroline, Schmidt muttered under the cover of the huge voice, did you hear what Joe said to me just before we sat down?
She nodded.
I don’t know what to make of it. Why should he attack me? What have I done to him?
Nothing at all. It’s best not to pay attention. Half the time, he doesn’t even know what he is saying. He might have meant he’d rather be at home working. Or something like it.
She laughed.
Excuse me, as you know I haven’t read your masterpieces, thundered Mr. Mansour. Just the beginning of the novel I had on the plane, before I had to work the phone. Elaine says your first book is the best. Is that what you think?
Does it matter what I think if you haven’t read it?
Although Canning had spoken, only Caroline, who had to live with him, and Schmidt seemed to have heard what he said. His voice was low, and he took no trouble to force it.
So what’s your answer?
I just gave it to you.
Joe, intervened Caroline, Mike Mansour didn’t hear you. Nobody can hear him, Mike. He said that it doesn’t matter what he thinks because you haven’t read his novel.
He’s got a point there, said Mr. Mansour and laughed.
Caroline laughed too. Ha! Ha! Ha! replied Elaine and Gil, Elaine throwing in an extra Ha! Ha! as soon as Gil subsided. She had always been a very attentive hostess.
Is that where you describe sex with little girls?
Oh, young girls. Very artistically! If you do read me—I don’t especially recommend it—you’ll see. You might find it amusing, replied Canning, apparently convinced that he was shouting.
Amusing! said Elaine. Don’t listen to him. He’s a great writer. You know, he reveals so much! Gil’s always thinking he should film one of his novels.
He’s never mentioned it to me and I’m his partner. I will want to be consulted. These revelations Elaine just talked about. I mean I’m sorry to ask you while your wife’s right here. Are your books autobiographical?
I write novels.
But if you’re revealing so much it must be because it’s you, what you’ve done.
Not necessarily. I could have just dreamed it, don’t you think? Why do you care?
Gil, let’s you and I talk another time about what we do with your friend Joe. Maybe our people could put together a package. Lay it out, so I can focus. And Mr. Canning, thank you for your courtesy.
Afterward, on the back porch, Mansour put his arm around Schmidt and said, I just hate this guy. Canning. He was trying to put me down. That doesn’t go down well with me.
He’s prickly.
You mean he’s a prick. I think he’s an anti-Semite too.
There you may be wrong. He’s one hundred percent Jewish.
Jesus, with that name! All right, so he’s an anti-Semitic Jew. The wife, she’s something else. Superb! That’s the kind of woman you should be with, Schmidtie, do you get what I mean? A real class act. You can go anywhere with her.
Yes.
I have an idea she’s OK in bed too. I’m psychic about that. Ha! Ha! Just like you. But she’s got it all. She’d be OK even for me. How did a schmuck like that find her?
That’s what I’ve been asking myself too. Dumb luck.
I hear you. I want to change the subject. With all due respect, the question is, Why did you turn me down on my foundation? One, I need you; two, you’ve hurt my feelings.
But I haven’t, Mike, really, I didn’t mean to. I guess I felt overwhelmed.
All right. Then you’re on. I’ll have Holbein send you the paperwork. When can you start? Early in the new year? Whatever suits you.
Mr. Mansour’s arm reclaimed its place on Schmidt’s shoulder. He continued: You’re coming to my place for the holidays. Let’s say right after we get back. And listen, I’ve got to talk to you about you know who. I’ll call you.
He returned Mr. Mansour’s squeeze and said, Thank you, Mike, thank you very much. You can’t imagine how happy this makes me.
Carrie’s little BMW wasn’t in the driveway or the garage when he got home, but the house was lit up, haphazardly. He went from room to room turning some lights off, turning others on. There was still hope; any moment he might hear her car wheels on the gravel. Another half hour passed. He went to bed.
XIII
HOW WAS the movie? he asked the next morning. She had no class, but she was up anyway, and the breakfast table was set.
OK. No, it wasn’t OK. It was lousy. How was your dinner?
He laughed. Mediocre. No, midway between mediocre and OK. Food was OK. The usual Chinese dishes. Gil and Elaine were OK minus. There was another couple I think Gil invited to take your place. Two for one, I guess. She’s a nice woman, but I’ve never been able to stand the husband. He went to work for an insurance company after college and stayed there until he retired, but when he turned fifty-something he began to write novels. Many people find them unpleasant. Politically incorrect and so forth with great sex scenes. If you like that sort of thing. And of course Mr. Michael Mansour. He was OK plus. First, he got into a literary discussion with the novelist, and then he offered me a job. I think the offer is real. He wants me to run his foundation! I’m supposed to start right after the Dominican holiday. We have to talk about this, honey. I’ve kind of told him I’ll take it, but it will mean making some changes in the way we live.
Yeah. I guess.
Her face shut down. It had been a mistake not to speak about the foundation before, but he hadn’t wanted her to know he’d made a fool of himself when the job first seemed to have been offered and then feared making a fool of himself if he revealed that he still hoped it could be salvaged. Besides, with everything between him and Carrie so up in the air, he hardly knew how to put any plan forward, especially one with so many contingent outcomes.
What I mean is that I will probably have to get some sort of apartment in New York and be there during the week—anyway, some weeks, perhaps most weeks—and will have to travel to visit offices overseas. That sort of thing. Mike said he wants me to take a look at their offices in Europe right after I begin. I said I would, because it makes sense. But these won’t be really long trips. I can break them up and come home for rest and recreation.
He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. It could be that she was going to sulk.
I don’t think you would really mind being here alone during the semester, he continued. The rest of the time, you could come to New York or travel with me. Think of all the places we might get to visit!
A quick glance to see how she was taking this. No change. She might just as well have been in a lotus position, meditating. Schmidt poured another cup of tea for himself and a cup of coffee for Carrie and returned to the newspaper. Suddenly, she spoke.
You won’t need to get an apartment. There is one for you to use, on Park Avenue. It goes with the job. It’s furnished, but you can bring your own furniture or they’ll redecorate.
The information about furniture was proffered in a voice so flat that it could signify either considerable respect for the munificence with which he was about to be treated or scorn.
How do you know that?
Jason told me. He’s been to see it with Mike. Mike wanted to make sure it was good enough for you.
Oh. When was that?
First time they went over? I don’t know, before Thanksgiving. And as soon as he got back from L.A. They’re redoing the bathrooms. He wants you to have a bidet.
For heaven’s sake! What else do you know?
Plenty. Like Jason talks to Bernice. Shit, they all talk to each other.
Bernice was Michael Mansour’s head secretary, known to Schmidt principally on the telephone and from the Thanksgiving lunch, on which occasion she had seemed to be in charge of the household, rearranging the place cards on the table and giving orders to Manuel.
She said Mike is real worried about you and this job. He thinks you can do it all right, and it would be good for you.
&
nbsp; What’s he worried about then?
Who knows? He says maybe Schmidtie’s got used to not working. He might quit or something.
I guess I’ll have to watch my step and prove I’m still an eager beaver. Carrie, why haven’t you told me these things before?
She played with her Krispies and poured herself another cup of coffee. Jeez, Schmidtie, I don’t know. You didn’t talk to me. Isn’t it sort of the same?
That was surely right. He nodded.
All right, at least we’re talking about it now. It’s OK with you? I mean being here alone during the week?
At once she was at his side and put her arms around his neck. Hey, move, dopey. The table’s in the way. I want to sit in your lap. OK like this? Schmidtie? You’re not going to get mad or anything, are you?
Why should I? What’s happened or what have you done?
Like the way you go crazy about Bryan.
It was so good to have her against him, her breath on his cheek when she talked, that he only managed a shrug.
He hasn’t fucked up, I swear.
All right. Tell me anything you want. I’m ready.
You know, it’s kind of hard to know where to start. Bryan’s been living in Springs, doing odd jobs. Like all summer he was washing windows and refinishing decks. He’d rent this power machine that sprays water and gets all the mold off and then he sands down the wood and paints it with a finish.
No, I hadn’t realized.
Yeah, he made good money this summer and got some good customers. Like people who have bought houses and don’t have anybody steady working for them. He’s watching houses when they’re away, the way he used to, doing the trim or taking care of their cars. Shit, he can do anything with his hands.
Yes, yes, he and his hands.
Schmidtie, you’re not fair to Bryan. He’s changed. Honest.
She wiggled in his lap.
I knew you were going to be like this.
All right. I won’t. Please go ahead.
OK. If you promise. OK. Bryan’s been working for this guy who’s got a marina in Three Mile Harbor. Helping him with the dock and the workshop and also with the boats. You know, things that need to be fixed. He can do that too, like if you don’t need to take the boat to a real boatyard. This old guy wants to sell his business, or maybe take in a partner or a couple of partners and let them buy in, over time. He’d even help the new guy get established. It’s a good business.
I can imagine that it might be. Have you seen the place?
Yeah, with Bryan and Jason. It’s cool.
And how old is this guy?
Oh, he’s real old, maybe sixty-five. But is he strong! His wife’s got arthritis so they want to like go somewhere warm, maybe Arizona? Her voice turned up at the end of the sentence, signaling they were in the realm of invention. The thing is if you keep boats for customers, you’ve got to be here in the winter. That’s when her arthritis is real bad. This guy’s got no kids.
Lucky bastard, thought Schmidt.
So Jason thought if he had that marina he’d build the business, maybe get some boats he could rent out, on charters, and maybe give lessons, you know, driving motorboats and sailing. All the summer people want to do it.
Ah, he’s a sailor as well as a trained killer.
Cut it out, Schmidtie, Jason’s from Nova Scotia. He was brought up to be a fisherman. That’s what his folks do. It’s real cool. So what do you think?
Perhaps this was it. Steady, he said to himself, it’s not the time to get out ahead of them or to scare them off. Easy does it. This has to be their show, and if they are going into business they should use their brains.
What do I think? As I said, I can imagine that it’s a good business. It obviously helps that Jason knows boats and boat repair and can do these other things, like running a motorboat or sailing on the side. But he’s got to think this through. Giving lessons, you know, is not a one-man job, particularly if you’re also taking care of boats. You’ve got to have a staff, insurance, maybe even a license. I don’t know about the license part, I’ve never looked into it.
His speech had turned out to be pompous, not friendly, but it didn’t seem to matter.
Jason has thought about it. He’s been real careful.
That’s terrific. Then there is the business part of the deal. What does this ancient guy really own, is there a mortgage and what kind, how much is the marina really worth, and so on. Probably Jason has thought about this too. There is one thing that does bother me. Bryan. How come Jason wants Bryan in this business with him? A kid who has pushed dope and gotten himself into some sort of trouble in Florida? How does that fit with Mr. Clean? That’s part one. Now part two. How much does Jason know about you and Bryan? Nothing? Everything? Somewhere in the middle? If he knows, does he mind? If he doesn’t, what kind of surprise will he get and what will he do about it? Please answer the question, Miss Gorchuck.
Gross, Schmidtie, I knew you’d get pissed about Bryan. OK. All right. Yeah, I’ve told him. I’ve told him everything, like I’ve told him about you. So there. And I’ve told him about Mr. Wilson. Jeez, sometimes I can’t figure you. What do you think I am?
A magnificent young woman. It’s just that these things are tough to talk about so almost anyone might be tempted to play them down. It wouldn’t have been good policy in this case. Now explain to me why Jason wants this guy.
All right. Bryan’s clean now. He’s OK. Jason says so and he should know. He was in the narcotics unit. This stuff in Florida was chickenshit. Like nothing. He’s looked into that too. Jason wants him because the guy really knows how to work and knows what he’s doing. How is that?
Chickenshit. That was the expression Bryan used. Schmidt resisted pointing out the coincidence and said: Pretty good. I’ve got to hand it to you. Thank you.
You’re welcome.
She wiggled off his lap and moved back to her chair across the table. Hey, you want to hear something? Mike Mansour said if Jason sets this up he’s going to buy a big speedboat, you know, and let him take care of it. Wouldn’t that be something? You know, like being able to say to a customer, You got nothing to worry about, Mr. Mansour himself keeps his boat here!
Not bad at all. So Mike knows about this plan.
Yeah, Jason talked to him. Mike said he’d get some of his people, like an accountant or something like that, to check on the books. Just like you said.
He should rejoice but couldn’t. Final judgment had been entered in the remaining great case of his life. As though that did not suffice, Mr. Mansour’s powerful, long arm had shoved him aside. These young people already had all the advice he could have given.
Good for Mike. Is he going to invest in this business?
He says that if Jason needs it he’ll make him a loan. I don’t know. Jason thinks he can get money from the bank.
That’s simply terrific. I guess I have to ask you one other question. What will this plan mean for you personally?
Schmidtie, I want to live with Jason. Mr. Mansour said if he gives notice now he can let him go before Christmas. We’d go to see his folks. It sure will be cold!
In Nova Scotia? I don’t think so. Not so bad as all that. Anyway, you know what they say: “I’ve got my love to keep me warm!”
Yeah. Then I’m going to help them, like do things around the office. I want to finish college too.
Well, that seemed to be it. It was he who got up this time, waddled ponderously over to her chair, and planted a kiss on the top of her head and then another. She hugged him, as if in response. All this is so strangely chaste, thought Schmidt. In this kitchen, in this house. When he looked at her he saw she was crying. Don’t, sweetie.
It’s OK. I’m going to get a Kleenex.
Her face, when she returned, was a beautiful blank.
Hey, can I say something?
He nodded.
Schmidtie, I didn’t sleep with Mike Mansour. Never. Isn’t that something? What a weird guy! He really turned me off. I
guess I was real lucky.
He held out his cup, pointing to the coffeepot, which was almost full. To hell with tea!
She busied herself with the coffee, filling their cups, getting milk for hers.
Hey, I guess you and I aren’t going to make it anymore either. That’s too bad for the little guy. Huh, Schmidtie?
He nodded again.
So what do you say? Now you can do it. That’s if you want to.
Of course, there it was, the change in circumstances. He should have understood right away. Whatever he did, he was on his own and so was she.
Sweetie, he said, I think I owe you one million American dollars.
You really meant it! You’re going to do it!
Of course. I’m putting my money where my mouth was.
Oh! Oh! Oh!
It was she who began to laugh first, but then he laughed too, uncontrollably, the marvel of it being that he had begun to feel pretty good. In fact, he had misread the holding of the judgment; he too had been delivered.
Look, he said, I can get that money to you very quickly. I’d like to. Is this money going into the business? Should I talk to Jason? I want to see him anyway—offer my congratulations. Why not, over a bottle of champagne. We could break one, like when they launch a ship.
I haven’t told Jason. Schmidtie, if you really do this, don’t you think it should be kind of between you and me? Like it’s something I can tell him later. You know, the marina’s OK. He and Bryan don’t think they need any money for it. Could you like set it up so it’s for me? She giggled. Invest my money for a rainy day?
For a retired financing lawyer, he was spending an unusual amount of time setting up trusts. With his own money, too. At last, though, he had a contented beneficiary. This was the holiday season, when for as long as Schmidt could remember, whether by reason of the ever longer lunches, carol singing, and other such useful activities, combined with the demands of inconsiderate clients intent on squeezing in tax-saving gifts before the end of the year, having postponed until the last minute the pain of parting with their funds, Dick Murphy and his other Wood & King trusts and estates colleagues were unwilling to do any work at all. The very thought of it provoked a fit of foul humor. Especially if it was work for retired partners. Schmidt resorted to the ultimate threat—he would take his will and Charlotte’s trust, and therefore his estate, away from Wood & King. What other firm might want a client like him, who wasn’t going to make any lawyer rich, he had no idea. But he had pressed the right button. Murphy didn’t relish the prospect of Jack DeForrest’s mentioning the matter at firm lunch. Partners might ask questions, for the pure pleasure of needling Murphy, even if they didn’t give a hoot about Schmidt, alive or dead. A week later he drove into the city with Carrie—not that it was necessary to take her to see Murphy, there being nothing for her to sign except investment authorizations and bank cards that could be handled by mail, but to make her feel that what he had done was quite real and irreversible, meriting a special expedition. He wanted to have fun too. Let the receptionist and Murphy take a good look—why not DeForrest too, he thought at first and then relented. Really, Carrie didn’t deserve that, although the notion of showing her off to that horse’s ass about to taste for himself the joys of retirement was almost irresistible. She looked as good as the million dollars he had just handed over to her, far better in fact than an equal amount in any currency. No stack of cash had ever smelled so sweet or had a body that exuded such nice even warmth. When you slid your hand under her arm, just above the elbow, for instance to guide her along the corridor, you wanted to stop, take her by the shoulders, turn her toward you, pry her lips open with yours, and drink from them until the world ended. He was thrice and four times blessed. Still, even dying swans must eat, before they head for the East End of Long Island. He decided he would take her to lunch at his club, where she had never been, and, he supposed, would not have occasion to visit in the future. Rituals and greetings to soothe the bruised soul: shake the hand of the jovial hall porters, introduce to them Miss Gorchuck, and enter Miss Gorchuck’s name in the great guest register; wave to acquaintances with whom he used to lunch at the members’ table; mount the green-carpeted stairs to the dining room, pausing on the way to point out to Carrie the club’s memorabilia and portraits of its past presidents and other notables glistening in their good black broadcloth.
