“Uh-huh,” she said, dabbing the corners of her eyes, laden with ninety-two coats of blue mascara.
I whispered now in her ear so only she and Millie could hear, “At night? I press a button and it flips to reveal a trapeze.”
“It does?” she said, like the poster girl for blond jokes.
“Yep, but don’t tell Mother, okay?”
“Amazing! You can’t even see the seams!”
Trip handed me my bouquet, Millie smiled, and, by the time we all filed out, Frances Mae had neck strain and had eaten all the lipstick from her lower lip.
We stood assembled in the hall. Trip took Mother and then Frances Mae to their seats. Millie stayed back with me.
“What? You think I’m gonna run out the door?” I giggled to her quietly.
“No. Just making sure we don’t have no uninvited company, that’s all.”
“Like Lois?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Lois, Richard’s first wife, who up until yesterday tried to talk Richard out of our wedding. I knew all about her campaign of phone calls and letters, but I also knew that Richard wasn’t interested in her. She drove him up the wall. On the other hand, Richard hadn’t been exactly forthcoming with Lois either. He’d never told her about me or us. She had no idea we were getting married until the invitations arrived three weeks ago at our friends’ homes. Some bigmouth told her. Anyway, I doubted that she would try to break in here and stop the ceremony. Even Lois wasn’t that brave. She was just a yenta with acrylic nails.
“I think you just want to see me walk in on Trip’s arm, right?”
“Right!”
Millie’s eyes twinkled in the low light of my foyer. I could see they were misty and she wanted to tell me something she couldn’t find words to say.
“Out with it,” I said, “we don’t have all day.”
“Okay,” she said, “look in your bouquet. I put a little gris-gris bag in there. I dream about chickens all last night and that ain’t good. Keep that man faithful to you! Got everything in there you need, including a piece of Adam and Eve root.”
“What?” I dug into the flowers and pulled out a two-by-three-inch red bag with a drawstring. This was too much. “Now, Millie? You think it’s right to try to manipulate the fidelity of my husband?”
Trip came to take my arm. “Come on, sister, we gotta go!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said to Trip and then turned back to Millie. “Well?”
“Don’t you want him to behave?” She was dead serious.
I had no doubt of the potency of Millie’s magic. I had seen it work all my life. So I said, “Millie? I really appreciate this, but no. If my marriage is going to work, I don’t want it to work this way. It’s not honest.” I handed the small bag to her. “But you know I love you for thinking of me, right?”
“Lord, you got a hard head,” she said, then gave me a kiss on the cheek and sighed like only Millie could.
Suddenly, I was in a terrific free fall, hurling through the emotional tunnels of my heart. Walking through my foyer would never again be so life-changing. Doubt began to nag at me. Did we love each other enough to make a life together? Did we know each other well enough? Maybe it was arrogance or maybe it was nerves or maybe I didn’t want to appear the fool. I began to tremble from head to foot, thinking I was going to faint from this sudden terror that filled and racked me like a tropical fever.
I was a Wimbley and therefore I would muster the wherewithal to proceed as planned. No matter what. I accepted my bourbon-breathed brother’s arm, walked bravely into our living room, where our musicians played Vivaldi with great passion, and married Richard—married him over the gulping sobs of Frances Mae, despite the serious reservations of my mother, and without the magic of Millie.
MISS LAVINIA’S JOURNAL
All right! Here I am in this infernal city, it’s one in the morning, and I can’t sleep. Nothing but horns! Don’t these people ever go home? It’s a good thing I brought my own bourbon—the mini bar’s empty! Can you imagine such a thing at the Pierre Hotel? At least they have goose-down pillows, which is more than I can say for Amtrak.That little sleeping car I had was no better than a jail cell! Moreover, now my only daughter is Mrs. Levine. I wonder if she’ll raise her children Jewish? He doesn’t seem to be religious. At least she’s got some spiritual side to her. Well, she’ll find her own way with this just like I did. She did look beautiful today. Oh, Nevil! Do pray for her! Pardon me while I pour. . . .
Five
Skirmish in Paradise
1987
OUR marriage was divine until our wedding night. I don’t remember how it came up or who started the conversation, but it was well after our reception at Le Perigord Park. We walked home; after all, we lived next door at 565 Park Avenue and the reception was at 563 Park Avenue. My arm was looped through Richard’s. I think I was making some dumb joke to him about all the money we saved on limousines and wouldn’t I be the thrifty wife. I could tell he was a little drunk. That was okay. Getting married was stressful, to say the least. Even I had had three glasses of wine. We were both bone tired. Eddie the doorman greeted us.
“Dr. and Mrs. Levine! Welcome home and congratulations!”
“Thanks, Eddie,” Richard said, and handed him a bottle of champagne we brought home for him.
“Aye! ’Tis indeed a night for celebrating!” he said. “When I married Mary Madeleine, we had the whole blooming pub to our family and friends! Twenty-five years and I still recall how we danced! Ow! My feet ache just remembering!”
It was obvious to me that old Eddie had already been celebrating something, probably sundown. But, God bless him, he was so sweet. He followed us to the elevator and pressed the button for us. “So, it was a good party?” he said.
“It was wonderful!” I said. “Now, you take that home and be sure to share it with your wife!”
The door opened and he held it back so we could enter. He looked at the bottle, heaved a heavy sigh of theatrical despair, looked up at us, and winked. “Wedding night!” he said. I knew what he was thinking. On tiptoes, I kissed Richard’s cheek and blew a kiss to Eddie as the door closed. Then I got the giggles.
“Well, Dr. Levine? Are you going to ravage your wife?”
“He’s a cheeky fellow, isn’t he?”
“He’s a cheeky fellow,” I said, imitating his English accent, and he pinched my bottom. “Ouch! Hey! I asked you a very important question and, as your wife, I demand an answer!”
“Oh, do you now? Well, I prefer to show and not tell!”
With that he pulled me to him, put his delicious mouth on mine, slid my dress up to my waist, and tried to pull down my panties. It was great fun, it just wasn’t cool, because when the elevator door opened unexpectedly on the seventh floor, Mrs. Jacobson nearly fainted. She scowled at us in horror.
“I’ll take the next car!” she said in disgust.
“You’re very kind, Mrs. Jacobson,” Richard said, with his usual politeness, and I scrambled to cover my legs. When the door closed he said, “Come back to me, woman!”
“No way!” We were both laughing now, wondering if Mrs. Jacobson would report us to the co-op board for lewd behavior.
“I’ll bet she does,” I said.
“Oh, let her and then I’ll tell the board that she forages the waste bin on the corner every morning when she walks that horrible little dog of hers.”
“Does she really?” I said, eyes wide.
“Of course not, but I’ll say on my honor that she does!”
The door opened on nine and we stepped out into the hall.
“Well, Mrs. Levine,” he said, “shall I carry you over the threshold?”
“Absolument!” I said, using most of my French.
Richard unlocked our door, swooped me up, groaning, and carried me to the bedroom where he unceremoniously dumped me on the bed so hard that I bounced.
“I’m going to close the door,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”
“Such as?” I
said, twisting my new wedding band on my hand. It was the most wonderful feeling to know I was finally Richard’s wife. I was so happy, but he was staring at me with the most peculiar expression.
“I’m going to pour myself a lovely big scotch while you celebrate captivity.”
Captivity? It didn’t ring right with me. He had been saying things like that ever since we decided to have a wedding. Somewhere along the line I had sort of unconsciously decided to ignore them. I heard the freezer door close and the liquor cabinet door shut and then silence. I waited for a few minutes and when he didn’t return I got up to find him. He was in the living room, in the dark, looking out of the window. I went up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, leaning into his back with the side of my face.
“You smell so good, sweetheart,” I said, “tell me what it is and I’ll buy you a barrel of it!”
Silence.
“I love you, Richard,” I said, my heart sinking a little, feeling he was troubled, “what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “May I just tell you straight out?”
“Of course! Do you want to sit on the sofa?”
“Sure,” he said, crossing the room and turning on a reading lamp. “Come sit by me.”
I sat on the end cushion and said nothing, but looked at him, trying to read his thoughts. I reached out to take his hand in mine and he covered mine with his other.
“Caroline,” he said, arching his eyebrow, “there are things about marriage that I love. I love having a partner, I love coming home and knowing that someone who loves me is waiting, someone who wants to share my life.”
“That’s me! I love you forever, Richard. You know that.”
“Yes, darling, and I love you forever as well. But there are other issues involved in marriage which, to me, seem pedestrian and unrealistic.”
“Such as?” I knew I was not going to like what I was about to hear.
“Well, this business of the wife obeying the husband. It’s arcane, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I mean, if you and I had a disagreement over something like, I don’t know, health care? And you liked one policy and I liked another, I wouldn’t go to the mats over it. I’d do what you thought was best.”
“You would?” he said, and took a long drink. His face was skeptical. “You surprise me! I thought you were, I don’t know, more modern.”
“I am modern but yes, I think I would support your decision. Richard, I know I married a brilliant man. I have great regard for your intellect and I trust your judgment.”
“Humph,” he said, getting up and walking toward the kitchen.
I followed him. He opened the freezer and dropped some ice cubes in the crystal tumbler, then poured himself another liberal dose of Dewar’s.
“What’s this really about, Richard? Money? You know I intend to work. I quit my job at the bank because it was boring. I already have three clients and I’ve only been in business for a month.”
“Well, that’s good because I believe every woman should have her own money. You shouldn’t have to ask me for everything you ever want for the rest of your life.”
“I agree with that. So, Richard”—I took the drink from his hand and put it down on the counter—“what’s this really about? It’s not about respect or money. What can it be? Fidelity?”
“Ah!” he said, taking the glass back and taking a long drink, “that old nasty bit of ancient lore! Don’t you agree that it’s rather had its day?”
“No,” I said, “do you?”
“Oh, come now, Caroline,” he said, walking back to the living room. He kicked off his loafers and untied his bow tie. One by one, he dropped his cuff links and studs into the small Steuben bowl on our glass coffee table. With every clink against the heavy crystal I felt the growing weight of stones on my chest. He put his feet up on the coffee table and looked up at me, smiling. “You can’t be serious?”
I stood before him in my wedding dress and bare feet, wondering if I was making too much of this. “Before I remind you that this is a helluva conversation to be having on our wedding night, may I just assure you that I am very serious about fidelity.”
“Darling,” he said, lifting his chin to me, “please don’t use vulgar language. It demeans you. But you’re right, perhaps this isn’t the best moment to bring this up.”
“Sorry to offend you, Richard, but it’s true. And this is the perfect moment, because once you harvest the corn it’s time to make grits. Or polenta. So let’s have it out right now.”
“Caroline,” he said, and reached out to pull me to his lap. I went along with it and sat down right on him, but then slid back a bit so that we were at opposite ends of the sofa facing each other. “The last thing I want is to scar our wedding night with a silly argument. You are the most adorable woman I have ever known, simply the most divine creature, and I love you with all my heart. There is no other woman I would like to sleep with besides you.”
“Good.”
“What I meant was, that in the grand scheme, over the next thirty or forty years of our life together, that if you stepped out a little or if I strayed a bit, it would bear no reflection on my feelings for you or about us. Do you understand?”
“Of course I understand, but I would never do such a thing.”
“And I’m sure I wouldn’t either,” he said, pulling me over to his chest. I curled up on him and exhaled. “Shall we make our way to the marital bed, sweetheart?” he whispered to me and kissed the top of my head, stroking my hair.
He spoke with such tenderness that once again I felt stupid and naïve. I didn’t know what it was that he had said that upset me so. Probably my own exhaustion, I decided.
When I returned from the bathroom in the beautiful white chiffon and lace nightgown I’d splurged on at Saks, he was passed out cold. Good, I thought, I didn’t really feel like making love anyway. Our conversation had annoyed me and, besides, every bone in my body ached. I took off my nightgown, hung it on the padded hanger, and pulled an old white cotton nightshirt over my head. As I had done forever, I brushed my hair up into a ponytail. I covered him up with a comforter and hoped his passing out and neglecting his connubial duty wasn’t going to become a habit. He would be so embarrassed in the morning!
I went to the guest room, the room that I hoped would one day become a nursery. My conversation with Richard was kind of a joke, really. Every anniversary I could give him a hard time about our wedding night. He would accuse me of driving him to drink with my schoolgirl innocence and I’d tell stories about how I wound up in bed alone. Oh, sure.
I tossed the bolster cushion on the floor, pulled back the white comforter, and fluffed the pillows as I took them from the cabinet. I loved this little bedroom, with its mirrored walls and economic use of space. It was like the inside of a miniature ship, every square inch used for a purpose. Cozy but crisp because of the white linens and reflections of chrome fixtures. I slipped under the sheets of the trundle bed and turned to the mirrored wall before I switched off the light. God, did I look tired.
I decided I didn’t have anything to worry about, that Richard was just letting the alcohol talk. He was just overtired and rambling on. I thought about Richard a little more. Maybe he was right about the business of an occasional fling. Maybe it had nothing to do with the marriage. After all, I was only twenty-six and he was thirty-seven. He had done a lot more living than I had and he knew things.
I was glad that Mother and everyone else had stayed at the Pierre. My wedding night story would be a secret I could share with Millie, but never with Mother. She would never understand.
MISS LAVINIA’S JOURNAL
I wish I understood why Caroline’s rushing to have a baby. Oh, Sweetie tells me that she should because of osteoporosis or some fool thing, but what does she know? Sweetie’s not a doctor! Caroline and I call each other all the time and she tells me little things. I don’t think she should have a child yet, but I never could tell her a thing! I
f she has a baby, what will happen to her little business she’s trying to build? What kind of mother can she be if she’s running around all the time doing errands for clients! I shouldn’t allow these things to put me in a state of agitation, but when I think of the life she could have had! If only Nevil were alive! Maybe Millie will have some advice for me. I just hope that man Richard is good to her.
Six
Taking the Good with the Bad
1987
WE all know my wedding night failed to produce heirs, but it wasn’t long after that. It was just in September, I’ll never forget it. Married life had been pretty easy until then. We had found our rhythm and happily life rolled along.
Richard continued to teach at Columbia and was building a list of patients. My little decorating thing was growing like a weed! For some reason, I wound up with retail clients—it was all that gentrification going on in SoHo and Tribeca. If there was a nasty old warehouse available, somebody was turning it into either a home furnishing store, a greenhouse, or a restaurant. My name got around somehow and my phone rang all the time. The constant phone ringing was my first clue that I wasn’t charging enough, but I didn’t change my rates because I liked being busy. It was nice to have a little money of my own too. My closet bulged with new black this, and new black that, all bought on sale with my money. Richard would’ve died if he knew what I earned or how I spent it. He was a wonderful man in many ways, but like my daddy used to say, he was tighter than a mole’s ear.
I was on a job at a new store in SoHo. It was called Om. Yes, another retail outlet for everything on the planet designed to help you relax and contemplate the universe. If you wanted to massage somebody, they had tables with head holes and chairs that wiggled and kneaded your back muscles like bread dough. They even sold bedroom slippers that massaged your feet while you walked around (batteries not included). There were kits to turn your bathtub or shower into Jacuzzis or into steam rooms. Everywhere you turned there was a small fountain designed for indoors. They had produced their own line of bath and body products, curious combinations of flowers and herbs, even sold by the slice! Some days the herbs and flowers reminded me of the ACE Basin and I would wonder what kind of spells Millie could produce with them.