A Woman of Intelligence

by Karin Tanabe

  “I feed on activity,” she said finally. “I get a sense that you do, too, even if you haven’t had much of it lately. That’s why I sent you to meet dear old Max.”

  “Max,” I repeated, louder than I expected to. “He certainly provided … activity.”

  “And he can provide more than that, if need be. Which is why I wanted you to meet him. In this world, it’s good to have both a gas pedal and a brake.” Ava leaned her weight on the armrest and inched closer to me. “It was you who dropped the envelope, yes? From Max?”

  “It was. I was hoping to find you home, but you weren’t and I had the boys with me. I’m sorry I had to slide it under your door. It probably wasn’t the right thing to do. But it seemed important.”

  “Did you read it?” Ava asked. Despite the darkness, I could see the change in her face.

  “I did,” I admitted. “He was so upset, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to give you anything that would upset you, too. But all I really gathered is that he wants you to travel to Cuba instead of Russia. I didn’t know you were planning on going to Russia,” I lied, trying to sound unconcerned.

  “I am,” she whispered excitedly. “It’s been on the table for some time now. It was all Jacob’s idea actually. He thinks I could make a real difference here in the U.S. party, but to do that, I need to learn from the Soviets first. He’ll come over, too, when his health is better.”

  “Is he unwell? He seemed so vivacious when I saw him.”

  “Oh, you know Jacob,” she said, sitting back. “He always seems vivacious. And he is, he still is actually quite vivacious, he’s just a bit run-down at the edges. He works too much, as I’m sure you’re aware. So that’s where I come in. I want to help shoulder the responsibility.”

  “But Max does not want you to go.”

  “Yes, I know he doesn’t. He’s a dear,” she said, smiling. “He worries about me. He doesn’t think an American woman can handle being in Moscow on her own. That I’ll be safer in a place like Cuba because it’s so close to our own shores. And since he travels there quite frequently, he knows all the good hiding places. But he doesn’t understand what I’m made of. I need to go to Moscow for Jacob, but also for me. I need to do something that lays the path for our future. You understand that, surely?”

  I nodded, truthfully. “I do. But Cuba could help lay that path, no? Castro? ‘History Will Absolve Me’?”

  “Not in the right way. Max knows my heart is not in Cuba, but he’s still convinced that it would be better for me. He’s just too scared to tell Jacob.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” she said, not able to hide her surprise, “Jacob is one of the only men in America who is allowed to give Moscow orders, instead of the other way around. That’s why I know I’ll be okay in Russia, because everyone associates me with him.”

  I thought back to the wild look in Max’s eyes as we sped down the highway. What was waiting for Ava in Russia? She seemed quite sure that her association with Jacob would protect her, but I was starting to have serious doubts. “When will you leave?”

  “Soon,” she said, grinning. “But not too soon. We’ve only just met. We must have some fun first.”

  “Fun … three-letter word … I feel like I’ve heard it before.”

  “You’re desperate for it, I know,” she said, laughing. “Come on, why not start now?”

  Ava Newman was effervescent as ever, but I was sure that there was more to Max’s message than a simple coin toss between reporting to Moscow or hiding out in Havana.

  We found two seats in the front row and watched the rest of the upper balcony fill up. As an attractive Negro man came in, Ava raised her eyebrows.

  “For a moment, I thought that was Turner Wells. But Wells is even better-looking, isn’t he?”

  I smiled and said nothing.

  “Really, don’t you think Turner is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen?”

  I thought she was going to add “for a Negro.” Or “if that’s to your taste.” But she didn’t. She just reached into her bag, removed the flask, took a swig, and gave it to me.

  “He has a lot of presence,” I said diplomatically. I pulled on the flask to keep myself from saying anything else.

  “Oh, is that what we’re calling it these days?” she murmured.

  “That’s what we’re calling it,” I replied, laughing.

  The man who had almost lost his wallet came in, waved to Ava, and sat across the aisle from us.

  “Think how many people we could feed if we stole that man’s wallet.”

  “Ava—”

  “Oh pish, Katharina. I’m kidding.”

  She clearly wasn’t.

  “My sister Ginger always got caught when she shoplifted. She had the dexterity of a panda. Then she’d start crying and look at me and I’d pretend that she wasn’t quite right in the head and we’d get away with it. But she’s gotten better in her old age. Steals from her husband all the time, though she claims she has no choice. Her priorities, of course, are rather Connecticut.”

  “But here you are. The Connecticut priorities long gone.”

  Ava started to laugh. “Do not get me wrong, Katharina Edgeworth, I can’t shake Connecticut completely, try as I do. I love broiled salmon, I have an extremely accurate backhand, and I look exceedingly good in tennis whites—or so I’ve been told. But other than a meal at home with Dad and my sisters, that town, the lifestyle, and certainly the morals are dead to me.”

  “What about your sisters? Are they in the party, too?”

  “Dear God, no. Not those two vanilla milkshakes. My father had enough common sense to only confide in me.” She paused. “They will die clutching not their pearls, but their money. But I was always different. Or that’s what Daddy says anyway. What do you think they do, my sisters?”

  “They’re housewives.”

  “Exactly. Overeducated housewives. My sister Tracy was first in her class at Bennington. An absolute science whiz. She was all set to study chemistry after graduation, was even admitted to Johns Hopkins, and then William Kennedy Thayer proposed. A man she simply couldn’t say no to. So now she lives with him in Cos Cob; they have three children, two dogs, one shared drinking problem, and the only kind of chemistry she performs is in the kitchen, perfecting her mother-in-law’s baked Alaska recipe, which, frankly, is and will always be inedible. Tastes like ice cream wrapped in a gym sock.”

  “And the other sister?”

  “Ginger? Less drinking, more children. How does that saying go?” Ava said reflectively. “‘Shall I buy a dog or have a baby? Depends, do you want to ruin your carpet or your life?’”

  “Is that how the saying goes?”

  “That’s how it goes.”

  “Got one about pickpocketing?”

  “Nope. I’m trying to be a good communist, remember? I owe it to the world, after being such a good capitalist in my youth.”

  She lay back in her seat and closed her eyes, showing off perfect winged eyeliner.

  Ava clearly believed in all the party espoused, was even willing to risk her life going to Moscow, ignoring Max’s somewhat tamer suggestion. Still, I couldn’t help but feel as if communism had simply found her at the right time. I imagined that she’d grown terribly tired of the sweaty young men trying to paw at her, of another bowl of ham and pea soup at so-and-so’s debutante ball, of facing a future of raising children who played tennis instead of kick the can, and who had homemade chocolate mousse instead of fire in their bellies.

  Ava opened her eyes and looked out at the crowd, taking them in with the same enthusiasm as she did everything.

  “We should pickpocket that one,” she murmured as a stout woman with an alligator purse and large diamond earrings walked in.

  It seemed like one day Ava had just started choking on entitlement. The unfairness of it all, but also the boredom that came with it. It was a great fight to acquire wealth. Something to wrap your life around, but once you had it, the only thing
to focus on was living rich. And that, I had quickly learned, could be a surprisingly dreadful bore.

  I’d been around the Edgeworths for less than a decade and about once a week I started to choke on their entitlement. I didn’t fault them for being rich. Someone in that long line of Edgeworths had worked very hard to get there. What I couldn’t stomach was how the future generations felt they deserved all their money, their lives of comfort. Admittedly, Tom was different—I would never have fallen in love with him if he weren’t. But the rest of them—well educated, attractive, moneyed—were just so sure that they deserved everything about their good life. I understood how someone like Ava, who looked at the world defiantly, could get to a breaking point and say, “Now how about we go about this differently?”

  As the lights dimmed to almost nothing, readying the room for the movie to start, Ava leaned my way and hissed.

  “Yes?” I said, laughing.

  “I just wanted to say, before we lose ourselves to the picture, that I have the utmost respect for you, taking care of those tiny human beings. I bet you’re glad to be away from it for a few hours.”

  “I’m pretty sure this cinema is heaven.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know how my father did it.”

  “Even without knowing him, I can tell you that there aren’t many like him.”

  “How do you deal with the quirks of it all? Of motherhood?” she asked, lowering her voice even more. “Or parenting, I should say, to include my dear old dad.”

  “The quirks … that’s a diplomatic way to put it. I suppose you just do, because the quirks you’re dealing with have heartbeats. So late at night, when the world is asleep, you take a bath, have a martini, and continue.”

  “That really is the only advice mothers need, isn’t it?” she said, pausing to light a cigarette. “‘You take a bath, have a martini, and continue.’”

  “It’s served me better than anything else,” I replied dryly.

  “And the good parts? Holding a sleeping baby and all that?”

  “It can be wonderful. It is wonderful. But…”

  “There’s an asterisk? No one tells you there’s an asterisk. Certainly not my sisters.”

  “You know how every year there is some movie that is supposed to be the best picture ever made? As in so good that you’ll watch it and never be the same again.”

  “Citizen Kane. Casablanca.”

  “Right. Movies like that. Anyway, you go to the theater, and you’re so excited to see it. You’ve been meaning to go for weeks, life has gotten in the way, but you’re finally there and you’re thrilled to experience what everyone has been talking about.”

  “And then?”

  “And then it’s wonderful, it is. But because you’re supposed to love it so much, you feel like you don’t love it enough. Because you’ve been told that Orson Welles hung the moon, you’re a little disappointed by his performance. Maybe what he hung was more like a shooting star.”

  “You feel about holding your babies as you do about Orson Welles on-screen?”

  “In a way. It’s magical to hold a sleeping baby, but I don’t think it’s the most magical feeling I’ve ever had. I’ve experienced things that were just as good.”

  “Like—”

  “The Communist Party?”

  “I was going to say sex,” Ava said. “Or falling in love. No, sex.”

  “Like all of that,” I replied.

  “Sometimes, and really only very occasionally,” she said thoughtfully, “it makes me sad that I don’t want to know that feeling. Like I’m simply wired wrong.”

  “You’re not wired wrong,” I countered. “Sometimes it makes me sad that I’ll never not know that feeling.”

  “That, and you don’t know what it’s like to steal,” she whispered.

  “I imagine it’s terrifying.”

  “Depends what you’re stealing. Information, instead of things. Ideas. It’s different, right?”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “And besides,” she said, flashing her million-dollar smile, “it’s rather thrilling to be terrified.”

  CHAPTER 25

  My head was swimming with Ava Newman when I exited the Fifth Avenue subway station and rushed to the apartment.

  As I did, I saw Carrie coming out the door.

  “Carrie,” I called to her as she headed uptown. She didn’t turn. “Carrie,” I said again, louder this time.

  I watched her pause and finally turn to look at me. She was not smiling.

  I looked at her in her pretty red dress, her expensive beige alligator shoes. She was the picture of Upper East Side perfection.

  “You don’t have Alice,” I said.

  “I don’t. I’m going to the hairdresser.” She looked at me, up and down and back again. Not in the way that women lovingly appraise one another. Her expression was full of disdain. “And you don’t have the boys.”

  “I don’t. The Edgeworths’ housekeeper, Jilly, is here. She came to watch them again so I could get some air.”

  “What kind of air?” she asked flatly.

  “Fresh?” I said, laughing.

  “Fresh. Clever,” she replied. She looked down at her watch, but I could tell she wasn’t registering the time. She was trying to make it look like she was in a hurry.

  “Carrie, is something the matter?” I asked.

  “With me?” she said, raising her right eyebrow. “No. Of course not. There’s nothing wrong with me. But I must be going, Rina, I’ll be late to the hairdresser.”

  Even though we were the only ones on the sidewalk, she pushed past me, clipping my shoulder with hers. I stood there stunned, before turning to follow her.

  “Carrie, stop, please. What’s eating you? You’re clearly upset with me.”

  “I’m not upset. I’m late,” she insisted.

  “Then give me the short version.”

  “Fine. The short version is that my sister Grace is here visiting,” she said coolly.

  “How lovely,” I replied uncertainly. “Where is she in from?”

  “San Francisco,” Carrie said, glaring at me. “I haven’t seen her in many months. Her husband teaches at Stanford and they’ve had quite a packed schedule. So to catch up properly we decided to go to dinner together at Tavern on the Green and then have a nightcap with friends at the Beresford. We decided that on such a nice night, it would be a crime not to walk there.”

  I nodded innocently as a bead of sweat slipped down my back.

  “Enough. Just stop the act, Rina. I saw you,” she said, hissing my name like it was an insult. “I saw you with that man,” she added angrily.

  I opened my mouth to say something—anything that could calm her down. A lie. Another lie.

  She kept going. “We could have just walked up Central Park West, but the sun hadn’t quite set, so we stayed in the park, on the path. Our shoes were getting dirty and we were about to move to the sidewalk when I nearly fainted, Rina. Because there you were, practically sitting in a Negro man’s lap.”

  I took a step toward her but stayed silent. Still unable to find the words.

  “Save your lies, Rina,” she said, stopping me. “Please don’t say, ‘He’s an old friend,’ or ‘I know him from the United Nations.’ Sex, lust, love, whatever you want to call it, what I saw wasn’t friendship. So don’t deny it, Rina. It won’t work.”

  Carrie took a step toward me, so close that I could smell her rose-scented perfume.

  “You’re cheating on your husband with a Negro man, Rina? What in the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed.

  “I’m not.”

  “Don’t waste your breath. And please don’t offend me by speaking to me like I’m Alice.”

  “I’m not having an affair with that man,” I repeated.

  “Rina, I saw you. I stood there. I watched you.”

  I didn’t protest further. “Are you going to say anything to Tom?” I asked quietly instead.

  “I haven’t decided. I certainly shou
ld. What is for certain is that I’m done saying anything to you.”

  She turned away and hurried up Fifth. I watched her until her red hair and graceful form disappeared.

  Never alone. I was still never alone. In a town of nearly eight million, there were still familiar eyes on me.

  I sat on a bench, running my fingers across the slats. Carrie could judge me, threaten to tell my husband—hell, she could even tell Tom for all I cared in that moment. It might put me in a prison of Tom’s making for the rest of my life, it might be what finally brought our divorce, but it wouldn’t change what I’d felt that evening. Something so strong, so tangible, that it was even visible in the dark.

  CHAPTER 26

  I inhaled sharply and approached apartment 5C. The door was open.

  I peered in, expecting the apartment to be empty, but Jacob Gornev was right there, asleep on his couch. I looked down at my watch. It was the right time, I was sure of it. I knocked on the door, in an attempt to rouse him, but he didn’t stir.

  I stepped softly inside. The living room was sparsely decorated, anonymous. As if he’d just moved in and might be leaving soon.

  Turner had called me two hours earlier. He’d met with Jacob the night before. Jacob had wanted to catch up, which was code for asking a hundred and one questions about me. “I think I did okay,” said Turner, who had, of course. “But now he wants to see you. He asked me to be the messenger. I’ll have Sarah Beach come, and you’ll go to Jacob’s. Yes?”

  “Yes. Though I do hope Sarah Beach attends classes sometimes.”

  “I’ll relay that message, too,” he’d said. I’d hung up the phone, but my hand lingered on the receiver for a minute afterward, the closest I could get to the man Carrie was certain I was having an affair with.

  I took another step inside the apartment. I looked down at Jacob’s face. He was much paler than the last time I’d seen him. He was sweating around his hairline and his mouth was open, as if he was desperate for more air. Ava was right; he looked unwell.

  “Jacob,” I whispered. He didn’t budge. Finally, I crouched down and touched his shoulder, then shook it. He jumped up and knocked me over.