The Misfortunes of Others (11 page)

“He looks like he’s already dead, Weezy.”

She picked out some lettuce and ate it delicately. “Well, yes, he does, but fortunately that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the show. He could be a zombie from outer space, and as long as he ran this wonderful gallery, it wouldn’t matter. Do you see what I mean?”

“You have no morals at all, Weeze.”

“Not when it comes to my work.” She took a large bite of her sandwich. “Not when it comes to my work. Harold always said I was a monomaniac on the subject. Of course Harold was a complete moron when it came to art. A moron. He didn’t have an artistic bone in his body.”

“Go figure a doctor wouldn’t be artistic.”

“It doesn’t necessarily follow. Look at Somerset Maugham. Look at the director Jonathan Miller. Look at Monty Python. I think one of them trained as a doctor. And you don’t have to be an artist to appreciate art. You just have to be a joyous person. Art brings joy.”

“Harold was not joyous?”

“No.” She picked another piece of lettuce out of her sandwich and chewed on it reflectively. “No. He was not a joyous person. So few doctors are, don’t you think? He was worried all the time.”

“About his patients?”

Weezy snorted, a long horsey whinny. “His patients? No. How delightfully naive of you. No, he was worried about getting ahead, you know, in the medical hierarchy. Making money and making a name for himself. There’s a whole structure there, a pecking order in the hospital, that we as civilians know so little about, but it’s life and death to the people involved. I suppose that’s true in any profession, but somehow with doctors I’d like to think …”

Her voice trailed away.

“Yes?” said Snooky.

“Oh,
God
.”

“What?”

“Don’t turn around.”

Snooky instinctively lowered his voice, although the diner was so loud that he could barely hear himself. “Who is it?”

“Oh my God, it’s Harold.” Weezy sounded lost between laughter and tears. “It’s Harold and his little chickadoo. What in the world do I do now?”

“Sit tight and ignore them.”

“I can’t do that. You know me, I can’t avoid confrontations. Oh, God, I knew I shouldn’t have been talking about Harold. It called him up, like some kind of demon from hell. Like a syllabus, or whatever that word is.”

“I think you mean succubus.”

“Whatever. It’s bad luck even to talk about him, it summons him up, like the accursed spirit that he is. Well, never mind. Are you coming, for support?”

“Of course.”

Harold and his girlfriend were eating at a small table nearby. Weezy stood up and strode over regally.

“Harold.”

He looked up in surprise, flushing as he saw who it was. “Weezy. Weezy! How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. This is my friend, Arthur Randolph.” Weezy took Snooky’s arm.

“This is …” Harold cleared his throat, “this is Gabriela Loeser. Gaby, this is Weezy Kaplan.”

There were murmured hellos. Harold’s girlfriend’s face was flushed scarlet. She glanced at Weezy, lowered her eyes, then looked back again, as if fascinated.

Snooky took advantage of the opportunity to put an arm around Weezy. “We have to go, darling.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Stay just a minute. How are you, Harold?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“The medicine business going okay?”

“Oh, yes, yes.” He covered his mouth with a napkin and coughed violently into it, as if to expel all the stress from his body. “Yes, going fine. Very interesting, very busy, as always. You remember how it was, Weezy.”

“I certainly do.”

“And how are things going for you?”

“Just fine, thank you. I’ve moved out of the city, did you hear?”

“No … no, I didn’t.”

“The most charming little town. Ridgewood. Ridgewood, Connecticut. An hour and a half away, but it’s another world. My blood pressure has dropped dramatically since I left.”

“And your work? How’s your work going?”

“Oh, not bad, thanks. That’s why I’m here today, actually—I have an exhibit coming up.”

“Oh, yes?”

“At a little place around the corner from here. You wouldn’t have heard of it, but it’s very exciting for me.”

Harold, as if suddenly remembering his manners, got awkwardly to his feet. He was as tall as Snooky, more solidly built, with long dark hair and a European-looking face. He had a beaked nose and thin, sensitive lips. “That’s nice. I’m happy for you, Weezy. I really am.”

“Thank you.”

Harold’s girlfriend was looking at Weezy with great interest. She had thick straight blonde hair which fell to her shoulders, a fair complexion, huge dark eyes and a full mouth which was accented with bright red lipstick. Now she spoke.

“The Genuardi Gallery?”

“Why, yes. The Genuardi. You know of it?”

“Oh, yes, yes. I’m a big fan … really a big fan, Ms. Kaplan. I love your work.”

Weezy paused. Her eyes flickered over her appraisingly. “That’s good of you to say.”

“It’s true.”

“Well, Harold, it’s been a pleasure seeing you again. I’m sorry to bother you over lunch. Take care.”

“You, too.”

“Come on, Arthur. Good-bye,” she said to Harold’s girlfriend.

“Good-bye, Ms. Kaplan.”

The last Snooky saw of Harold, he was getting back into his seat with a flustered, apologetic expression on his face.

“What’s this ‘Ms. Kaplan’ deal?” Weezy said later, patting her hair. “Am I her second-grade teacher, or what?”

“I don’t think you’re being fair. That wasn’t easy for her. Stop kicking me.”

“I’m not kicking you, Snooky. It’s the motion of the train.”

“You are too kicking me.”

They were on their way back to Ridgewood, seated opposite each other at the window of the train. Their legs were entwined familiarly, and Weezy was once again checking her reflection in her little pocket mirror. She sighed, put the mirror away and looked out the window at the countryside rushing past.

“I enjoyed being your boyfriend for thirty seconds,” said Snooky.

“I thought you would.”

“Do you think Harold was deceived?”

“Oh, no, no.”

“What’s the point, then?”

“Appearances.” Weezy waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Appearances, Snooks. I needed a boyfriend, and there you were. It will leave a doubt in his mind, at the very least.”

“I see.”

Weezy propped her chin on her fist and leaned on the window. “So that’s his little mouse. That’s what he calls her, you know. His little mouse. Is that nauseating, or what?”

“Gabriela, huh?”

“Yes. She’s very pretty. Exotic-looking.”

“Not as pretty as you are,” said Snooky loyally.

“Shut up, Snooky. She’s much prettier than I am. She didn’t seem like a bad person, either. I liked that trapped expression she got on her face. Another woman might have gotten bitchy. She actually tried to be nice.”

“What does she do for a living, other than preying on other women’s boyfriends?”

“She’s a journalist. Works for some magazine. He met her at a news conference at the hospital.” Weezy sighed deeply. “Did I make a fool of myself, going over to them?”

“No. You were brave.”

“Brave, or stupid?”

“Brave.”

“Did I look terrible?”

“You know you looked very nice. You were all dressed up for fish face at the gallery.”

“I’ve always looked good in green.”

“You look beautiful.”

Weezy wet her finger and drew absentmindedly on the window pane. “She’s much more attractive than I am, and she probably has a better disposition. I’m sure she doesn’t throw tantrums or sulk for days, the way I did. It’s hard to know why he left.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have.”

“Are we talking about you?” Weezy drew a stick figure on the window, then absentmindedly drew a line through its neck, decapitating it. “This is the most horrible thing that’s ever happened to me. Here I was having a wonderful day in New York, and a ghost from my past has to surface. Just when I was starting to get over the whole thing. Just when I was starting to build a new life for myself.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I think you ruined their entire day. I saw his face when he was sitting down again. I don’t think his home life is going to be too serene for a while. You could be wrong about the tantrums. She looks to me like she could have a temper.”

“Not like mine,” Weezy said dourly. She did not say another word until the train pulled into the Ridgewood station.

When Snooky let himself in the house, he found Maya and Bernard sitting in the living room. Maya was propped up on cushions, her feet were on Bernard’s lap and they were both absorbed in a TV show.

“Life in the fast lane,” he said. “Did you miss me? Did absence make the heart grow fonder?”

“We did not miss you. Did we, Bernard?”

“No.”

“You’re looking a little better, Missy.”

“So are you. Have a good time in the big city?”

“A weird time. I’ll tell you all about it later. What’s on?”

“Something called
Attack of the Killer Cucumbers
. It’s very funny.”

The three of them watched in silence. The dog wandered into the room. Snooky picked her up and fondled her silky ears. She settled down in his lap, giving a low grumble, her equivalent of a purr.

“There’s the head cucumber destroying Manhattan,” said Maya.

“Just lucky I escaped in time,” said Snooky.

“How was it today?”

He briefly recounted the meeting with Harold.

“Oh, how weird. I’ll have to call Weezy. How’s she handling it? Is she okay?”

“Not bad. She was very courageous, going right over to them.”

“Weezy never shirks from confrontation.”

“No.”

“Is Harold everything she said?”

“Frankly, I don’t see the fascination she has with him. How did the two of you spend your day?”

“It was wonderful, Snooks. The sun was shining at last. I did some gardening and we took a long walk.”

“You, Maya? You did some gardening?” Maya’s garden was one of her great passions. “You must be feeling better.”

“Somebody has to look after the garden. You and Bernard are hopeless at it. Remember the time I sent the two of you out to weed the patch near the sun room, and Bernard cut down the smoke tree?”

Bernard shifted his weight on the couch. “Not all of it.”

“Enough of it, Bernard. Enough of it. It was mutilated. It was never the same afterwards.”

“You weren’t there,” said Snooky. “The trunk looked dead. Bernard and I agreed it was dead before he cut it down.”

“You could have looked up and seen the new branches. It’s not hard, the whole tree isn’t much taller than you are. I don’t know what the two of you were doing near the smoke tree anyway. I sent you out to weed, not to rape and pillage.”

“Pay attention,” said Bernard, patting her foot. “The cucumbers are winning.”

Maya paid attention for a while. Then she curled up on a pillow and went to sleep.

“What’s for dinner?” asked Snooky, yawning. “Or should I just ask which cans you intend to open?”

Bernard, on Snooky’s day off, had volunteered to cook. His eyes were glued to the screen, where the cucumbers were storming their way down First Avenue toward the United Nations Building. “Coq au vin.”

“Come on.”

“You heard me.”

“Oh, right. From a frozen TV dinner?”

“No. Fresh. I made it myself.”

“This I find hard to believe. Coq au vin takes time, and more importantly, talent.”

“Nobody’s asking you to believe it, Snooky. Or to eat it, for that matter.”

“No, no, no, I can’t wait. Coq au vin by Bernard. Have you ever heard of such a thing, Misty?” he asked the dog, slumbering in his lap. He lifted her so that her head and silky ears lolled downward into his face. “Have you ever heard of such a thing? I can’t wait. Listen, Bernard, make sure to wake me up in plenty of time for dinner.”

Then he, too, curled up in his chair and went to sleep. Bernard watched with a frown. He himself often had trouble falling asleep. He would toss and turn in bed, cursing silently, his brain nattering away at him. When he took a nap during the day, it was usually from exhaustion, and he would wake up feeling worse than before. Both his wife and Snooky, however, had the ability to fall asleep anywhere, at any time, and to awake refreshed from their catnaps. Now the two of them slept peacefully in the waning light of the afternoon. Even the dog was asleep. On the TV screen, tiny figures of people ran screaming before enormous cucumbers.

“What do you think of the coq au vin?” Maya asked later.

“I’m tactfully not saying anything, Missy.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it? I think it’s delicious.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“You’re going to hurt Bernard’s feelings. He slaved over this all day long.”

“With time out to watch one of the worst TV movies I’ve ever seen.” Snooky leaned back and hooked his arms around the chair. “Besides, Bernard has no feelings to injure. His heart is made of steel.”

Maya glanced at her husband, who was happily shoveling in his third helping of coq au vin. He did in fact seem oblivious to the conversation.

“So what’s wrong with the chicken?”

“Well, first of all, Missy, coq au vin is (as you can tell from the name) supposed to be made with wine, not beer, which is apparently what Bernard used. Also, the chicken should be browned with minced salt pork, not what seems to be Bac-O-Bits. There are supposed to be spices other than salt in it. And I believe you should add about two tablespoons of flour to the sauce, not (as Bernard has so generously used) two cups. Other than that, it’s just the way I would make it. If I were on drugs.”