The Prodigal Daughter (22 page)

Richard left
Bloomingdale’s with yet another pair of gloves, dark blue, leather, with no
pattern.

The following
day he told his father he was still in New York becauie he had to gather some
data from Wall Street to complete a paper. As soon as his father had left for
the bank, he headed off to Bloomingdale’s. This time he had a plan for ensuring
he spoke to the other girl. He marched up to the glove counter fully expecting
Maisie to rush up, when the other assistant came forward to serve him.

“Good morning,
sir,” she said.

“Oh, good
morning,” said Richard, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Can I help
you?”

137

“No-I mean yes.
I would like a pair of gloves,” he added unconvincingly.

“Yes,
sir.
Have you considered dark blue?
In leather?
I’m sure we
have your size-unless we’re sold out.”

Richard looked
at the name on her lapel badge: Jessie Kovats. She passed him the gloves, He
tried them on. They didn’t fit. He tried another pair and looked toward Maisie.
She grinned at him encouragingly. He grinned nervously back. Jessie Kovats
handed him another
,pair
of gloves. This time they fit
perfectly.

“I think that’s
what you’re looking for,” said Jessie.

“No, not
really,” said Richard.

Jessie lowered
her voice and said, “I’ll go and rescue Maisie, Why don’t you ask her out? I’m
sure she’ll say yes.”

“Oh, no,” said
Richard. “You don’t understand. It’s not her I want to take out-it’s you.”

Jessie looked
totally surprised.

“Will you have
dinner with me tonight?”

“Yes,” she said
shyly.

“Shall I pick
you up at your home?”

“No. Let’s meet
at a restaurant.”

“Where would you
like to go?”

Jessie didn’t
reply.

“Allen’s at
Seventy-third and Third?” Richard suggested.

“Yes, fine” was
all Jessie said.

“Around eight
suit you?”

“Around eight,” said
Jessie.

Richard left
Bloomingdale’s with what he wanted and it wasn’t a pair of gloves.

Richard couldn’t
remember a time when he had spent all day thinking about a girl, but from the
moment Jessie had said “Yes” he had thought of nothing else.

Richard’s mother
was delighted that he had decided to spend another day in New York and wondered
if Mary Bigelow was in town. Yes, she
decided,
when
she passed the bathroom and heard Richard singing, “Once I had a secret love.”

Richard gave an
unusual amount of thought to what he should wear that evening. He decided
against a suit, finally selecting a navy-blue blazer and a pair of gray flannel
slacks. He also spent a little longer looking at himself in the mirrx
)r
. Too Ivy League, he feared, but there wasn’t much he
could do about that at short notice.

He left the
house on
Sixty-eighth
Street just before seven. It was
a crisp, clear evening and he arrived at Allen’s a few minutes after
seven-thirty and ordered himself a Budweiser. Every few moments he checked his watch
as the minute hand climbed up toward eight o’clock, and then every few seconds
once it had passed the agreed hour, wondering if he would be disappointed when
he saw her again.

He wasn’t.

She stood in the
doorway looking radiant in a simple blue dress that he assumed had come from
Bloomingdale’s, though any woman would have known it was a Ben Zuckerman. Her
eyes searched the room. At last she saw Richard walking toward her.

“I am sorry to
be late-” she began.

“It’s not
important. What’s important is that you came.”

“You thought I
wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t sure,”
Richard said, smiling. They stood staring at each other.

“I’m sorry I
don’t know your name,” he said, not wanting to admit he had seen it every day
at Bloomingdale’s.

She hesitated.
“Jessie Kovats. And yours?”

“Richard Kane,”
fie said, offering her his hand. She took it and he found himself not wanting
to let go.

“And what do you
do when you’re not buying gloves at Bloomingdale’s?” asked Jessie.

“I’m at Harvard
Business School.”

“I’m surprised
they didn’t teach you that most people only have two hands.”

He
laughed,
already delighted that it wasn’t going to be her
looks alone that would make the evening memorable.

“Shall we sit
down?” suggested Richard, taking her arm and leading her to his table.

Jessie began to
study the menu on the blackboard.

“Salisbury
steak?” she inquired.

“A hamburger by
any other name,” said Richard.

She laughed and
he was surprised that she had picked up his out-of-context quotation so
quickly, and then felt guilty, because as the evening progressed it became
obvious that she had seen more plays, read more novels and even attended more
concerts that he had. It was the first time in his life he regretted his
single- trii nded dedication to studying.

“Do you live in
New York?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said
as she sipped the third coffee Richard had allowed the waiter to pour.
“With my parents.”

139

“Which part of
town?” he asked.

“East
Fifty-seventh
Street,” Jessie replied.

“Then let’s
walk,” he said, taking her hand.

Jessie smiled her
agreement and they zigzagged back across town on their stroll toward
Fifty-seventh
Street. To prolong their time together,
Richard stopped to gaze into store windows he would normally have passed on the
trot. Jessie’s knowledge of fashion and shop management was daunting.

Richard felt
sorry that she had not been able to finish her education but had left school at
sixteen to work in the Baron Hotel before going on to work at Bloomingdale’s.

It took them
nearly an hour to cover the sixteen blocks from the restaurant. When they
reached
Fifty-seventh
Street, Jessie stopped outside a
small, old apartment house.

“This is where
my parents live,” she said. He held on to her hand.

“I hope you will
see me again,” said Richard.

“I’d likc that,”
said Jessie, not Sounding very enthusiastic.

“Tomorrow?”
asked Richard diffidently.

“Tomorrow?”
queried Jessie.

“Yes. Why don’t
we go to the Blue Angel and see Bobby Short?” Hc took her hand again. “It’s a
little more romantic than Allen’s.”

Jessie seemed
uncertain, as if the request was causing her a problem.

“Not if you
don’t want to,” he added.

“I’d love to,”
she said in a whisper.

“I’m having
dinner with my father, so why don’t I pick you up around ten o’clock?”

“No, no,” said
Jessie. “I’ll meet you there. It’s only two blocks away.”

“Ten o’clock
then.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. It was the first time he
was aware of a delicate perfume. “Good night, Jessie,” he said, and walked
away.

Richard began to
whistle Dvotak’s Cello Concerto and by the time he arrived home, he had reached
the end of the first movement. He couldn’t recall an evening he had enjoyed
more. He fell asleep thinking about Jessie instead of Galbraith or Friedman.
The next morning he traveled with his father down to Wall Street and spent a day
in the Journal’s library, taking only a short break for lunch. In the evening,
over dinner, he told his father about the research he had been doing on the
stock exchange into reverse takeover bids and feared he might have sounded a
little too enthusiastic.

After dinner he
went off to his room. He made sure that no one saw hirn slip out of the front
door a few minutes before ten. Once he had reached the Blue Angel he checked
his table and returned to the foyer to wait for Jessie.

He could feel
his heart beating and wondered why that had never happened with Mary Bigelow.
When Jessie arrived, he kissed her on the check and led her into the lounge.
Bobby Short’s voice was floating through the room:

“‘Are you
telling me the truth or am I just another lie?”‘

As Richard and
Jessie walked in, Short raised his arm. Richard found himself acknowledging the
wave although he had seen the artist only once before and had never been
introduced to him.

They were guided
to a table in the center of the room and Jessie chose the seat with her back to
the piano.

Richard ordered
a bottle of Chablis and asked Jessie about her day.

“Richard, there
is something I must-”

“Hi,
Richard.”
He looked away.

“Hi,
Steve.
May I introduce Jessie Kovats-Steve
Mellon.
Steve and I
were at Harvard together.”

“Seen the
Yankees lately?” asked Steve.

“No,” said
Richard. I only follow winners.”

“Like
Eisenhower. With his handicap you would have thought he had been to Yale.” They
chatted on for a few minutes. Jessie made no effort to interrupt them. “Ah,
she’s arrived at last,” said Steve, looking toward the door. “See you, Richard.
Nice to have met you, Jessie.”

During
th
~ evening Richard told Jessie about his plans to come to
New York and work at Lester’s, his father’s bank. She was such an intent
listener he only hoped he hadn’t been boring her. He enjoyed himself even more
than the previous night and when they left he waved to Bobby Short as if they
had grown up together. When they reached Jessie’s home he kissed her on the
lips for the first time. For a moment she responded, but then she said “Good
night” and disappeared into the old apartment building.

The next morning
he returned to Boston. As soon as he arrived back at the Red House he phoned
Jessie: Was she free to go to a concert on Friday? She said she was, and for
the first time in his life he crossed days off a calendar. Mary phoned him
later in the week and he tried to explain to her as gently as he could why he
was no longer available.

Fhe Past:
1934-1968 141

When the weekend
came it was memorable. The New York Philharmonic, Dial M for Murder-Jessie even
seemed to enjoy the New York Knicks. Richard reluctantly returned to Harvard on
Sunday night. The next four months were going to be long weeks and short
weekends. He phoned Jessie every day and they were rarely apart on weekends. He
began to dread Mondays.

During tile
Monday morning lecture on the crash of 1929, Richard found he cou~ldn’t
concentrate. How was he going to explain to his father that he had fallen in
love with a girl who worked behind the gloves, scarves and woolen hats counter
at Bloomingdale’s? Even he couldn’t understand why such a bright, attractive
girl could be so unambitious. If only Jessie had been given the opportunities
he had had... He scribbled her name on the top of his class notes. His father
was going to have to learn to live with it.

He stared at
what he had written: “Jessie Kane.”

When Richard
arrived back in New York that weekend, he made an excuse to his mother about
running out of razor blades. His mother suggested that he use his father’s.

“No, no, it’s
all right,” said Richard. “I need some of my own. In any case, we don’t use the
same brand.”

Kate Kane
thought this was strange because she knew they did.

Richard almost
ran the eight blocks to Bloomingdale’s. When he reached the glove counter,
Jessie was nowhere to be seen. Maisie was standing in a comer filing her
fingernails.

“Is Jessic
around?” he asked her breathlessly.

“No, she’s
already gone home-she left a few minutes ago. She can’t have gone far. Aren’t
you... T’

Richard ran out
to Lexington Avenue. He searched for Jessie’s face among the figures hurrying
along. He would have given up if he hadn’t recognized the flash of red, a scarf
he had given her. She was on the other side of the street, turning toward Fifth
Avenue. Her apartment was in the opposite direction; somewhat guiltily he
decided to follow her. When she reached Scribner’s at
Forty-eighth
Street, he stopped and watched her go into the bookshop. If she wanted
something to read, surely she could have picked it up at Bloomingdale’s? He was
puzzled. He peered through the window as Jessie talked to a sales clerk.
who
left her for a few moments and then returned with two
books. He could just make out their titles: The Affluent Society by John
Kenneth Galbraith and Inside Russia Today by John Gunther.

Jessie signed
for them-which surprised Richard-and left as he ducked around the comer.