Chapter Twelve

Tuesday morning, December 27, nine a.m. All of Manhattan, including Laura, was back at work. Laura felt like a hero having made her way to the office in the late December muck and sleet, and the idea of having to apply herself after the struggle to show up here struck her as completely outrageous.

This was too far removed from her holiday, from the delicious absorption in her own concerns, from relating in a personal way with other persons. She knew that she and about three million other workers were sitting down at just that very moment within a radius of twenty-seven miles with exactly that same sense of rebellion. She was awestruck that society didn’t collapse.

But about twenty seconds later, all three million of them remembered Friday’s (or Wednesday’s, or the last day of the month’s) paycheck, and put their minds and hands back where their hearts were not. About two-million-eight-hundred-thousand forgot for the rest of the day that they’d had second thoughts about their occupations. Laura and one-hundred-ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred-ninety-nine others did not forget.

These were: social workers who could no longer stand listening to their clients’ endless problems, writers editing other writers’ books, singers employed as computer programmers, astrologers working on Wall Street, painters buying and selling objects d’art. They, and Laura, almost quit their jobs nine times that day.

Tuesday evening, Laura was able to take a class again and scolded herself for going three days without the proper exercise. Maxwell saw her and said she looked like a plump pigeon because she had put on weight. Which was true—all of two pounds. Laura went without supper but had a cup of coffee and was up half the night.

Wednesday, Laura was well settled into the grind. She forgot she’d ever known freedom and that she was starting to get nearsighted from working at the computer. She took a class and saw Dante, which made her feel very, very weird. He asked her if she had forgotten their date, and she said she was looking forward to it. His presence was all over her like a perfume for an hour after he had walked away.

She got home at ten-twenty or so and found a note in the mail: “Dear Laura, I didn’t forget this. I don’t feel comfortable about the amount, but we can settle up again in a few weeks. If it doesn’t seem right, please let me know. If I can do anything otherwise, please call me. Thank you, to say the least. Love, Richard.” This went with a check for two-hundred-and-fifty dollars, which covered services rendered, year to date.

Two-hundred-and-fifty dollars for falling in love. Two-hundred-fifty dollars, a growing collection of jewelry, a nervous stomach, and two pounds gained and lost. She put the check in the box with the earrings and locked these in her desk drawer at home. Richard had been moderately generous, but not overly. His investment hadn’t paid off yet.

Thursday night, she skipped class and went with two fellow dancers, a man and a woman, to see the American Ballet Theatre. The seats had a slightly obstructed view and the audience had winter colds, but Laura didn’t regret a penny of the two-hundred dollars it had cost her. Her friends insisted she go see Theatre Dance Collection and the teenage Indonesian Nureyev post haste.

She arrived home at eleven and her parents called, asking where she had been—they had tried to call her the last two nights. They wanted her to come home for New Year’s since she had that extra day. She explained that she couldn’t, she had a date, and they suggested she break it. They didn’t ask if it was with someone she was interested in. She was glad to hang up.

She felt angry at everyone. Why hadn’t Richard called? Didn’t he miss her even one-quarter as much as she missed him? She was devastated to be without him, without the possibility of some simple, casual touch, a look, a word. And that note! Was it loving or was it cold? She read it again. Money. Richard, you’ve betrayed me, she thought. I love you and you’ve left me alone.

Friday was a blessed relief. Laura walked around at work like a zombie, but she styled the text given like the skilled robot that she was. Never fear, America, you’ll see your trash mail in time for EXTRAORDINARY SAVINGS! she assured her eager public. She walked out at four o’clock as if she were a two-million a year executive.

She rushed through the club and jogged to class, then danced magnificently, like a Pavlova, or a Paulette. She bubbled with accomplishment and life. She debated all the way home and all the while she cleaned her apartment, but she finally dialed Richard’s number.

Richard didn’t pick up his cell. Laura was angry and disappointed. She called Lillian, who didn’t answer, so she left a message. “I’m engaged. Call me.” She sat at home and watched Ghostbusters for the fortieth time on a free HBO trial.

Saturday, Lillian called and wanted her to go to Bloomingdale’s, but Laura refused. They met instead at a Japanese restaurant on Fiftieth Street. Laura had four, yes, four, yellowtail rolls and ate all her ginger. Lillian ordered broiled trout and toyed with it.

Saturday afternoon, John called and wanted her to go dancing that night, but she excused herself, agreeing to go with him the following week. Later, she felt lonely and wished that she’d accepted the date. She dialed Richard, but again he didn’t answer so she hung up when the message came on. Maybe he was making up for lost time with Elise. (Or some other woman.)

Since the Studio had been closed that day because of the holiday weekend, Laura stayed at home and worked out. Then she sat for the rest of the evening and drew pictures of Richard. None of them came out quite right and she went to sleep rather early.

Sunday she was at a loss as to what to do. The day was darkish, dreary, and threatened snow. She went to the club, then came home and did her laundry in the basement. She met a young chemist who had about thirty pair of socks and a blanket to wash. (Maybe he didn’t wear undershorts.) He didn’t have a date that night for New Year’s Eve, he told her. Did she want to go out? She had a date, she said. He was nice, she supposed, but he talked too much about his work and she completely tuned him out after about five minutes.

She made a sketch of Dante, for some reason, that caught him just right. She was pleased and decided to bring it to him. He looked deliciously like a young girl’s daydream. Laura wanted to write across it, “Beware of the lover.” She put it on a piece of board and placed a tissue over it.

She took a nap, and then got up and exercised until time to shower and dress. She chose a cream-colored denim pantsuit and tied her hair back with a ribbon. She put on her rawhide jacket for the first time since it had been cleaned, but it didn’t feel exactly right. She had a brown-suede coat of her mother’s that worked. And beige vinyl boots and a brown velvet hat. No makeup.

She left fairly early since she had to take the train to Brooklyn, then find the Brooklyn Academy of Music, which wasn’t too hard to do. The night was cold though, and the wind almost kept her from turning the corner. She had to hold her hat and clutch at her coat at the same time to keep herself together. She was early and waited in the lobby for almost twenty minutes.

Then he was there in a heavy wool coat a little too large for him that he said had once been Maxwell’s. “Everyone gives me presents,” he added. “What are you going to give me?”

She almost said, “Nothing,” but then remembered. She took the sketch out of her duffel bag and gave it to him. He liked it, too, and, for him, seemed rather touched. He kissed her on the cheek and put his arm around her waist. She felt quite enamored once again. He gave her the sketch back and told her to carry it.

During the performance, he took her hand several times and kept it for a minute or two before thrusting her away. At intermission, he slipped his arm around her and held her close for much longer than usual without speaking. He was being strangely affectionate, and Laura was grateful. His warmth was special and dear to her.

The second half of the program suited Laura’s taste well and she applauded with enthusiasm. Dante shook his head at her. “Cheap thrills,” he shouted above the crowd’s noise. “I thought you weren’t that kind.” She stuck her tongue out and he grabbed at it with his hand, which she in turn kissed. She was terribly excited by his presence again.

“Do you mind if we split the cab?” Dante asked her afterward. “I’m more broke than usual. I’ve gotten my own apartment at last. Thank God. Thank God, I don’t have to be afraid to go home anymore. This should protect what’s left of my virtue, don’t you think?” This made her wonder how many women he had spent the night with, simply wanting to have a place to stay.

In the cab he said, “You’re precious. You’re truly precious. I ought to stick with you, shouldn’t I? You’re a good woman. If only you could cook. Later you can come back and see my apartment. Right now we’re going to somebody’s party. That’s right though, you actually know her. I forgot. It’s that model, Elise. I ran into her in Vermont. She wanted me to come back to her room, but I didn’t. I said I’d come to her party tonight anyway. She’s not my type, you know.”

This was the biggest shock Laura had experienced since she’d discovered that the man she was supposedly engaged to, but wasn’t, had an unacknowledged daughter. Now she might be about to run into that man, with whom she was in love, at his probable lover’s apartment, while she was with a man whom that woman was trying to seduce. And she was from the Midwest, not totally attuned to New York City lifestyles. Laura trembled.

Dante saw her shiver and placed his arm around her shoulder. He kissed her face three times and whispered the word “Buttercup” in her ear. She vibrated violently. He held her hand a while and stroked it. “I promised to leave you alone, didn’t I?” he said. “I want to be good. We shouldn’t see one another like this. I’m incorrigible.” At least he was honest, unlike other men she knew.

Elise’s apartment was on East Fifty-fifth. This evening, it was crowded with glamorous, high-fashion types. Laura felt underdressed, which she was, and plain, which she supposed she wasn’t. She lost Dante at once and stood in a corner. She didn’t see Richard or anyone she knew, not even Elise, whose roommate had answered the door.

The doorbell continued to ring and people poured in, and, better parties to attend, poured out. Laura smiled politely at everyone who glanced in her direction but, since she wasn’t anybody, was never spoken to. Dante flashed by once or twice and brought her a vodka and tonic, which she sipped.

She closed her eyes and remembered the dancers she had seen earlier. They were fixed in her memory in that moment in time, but by now they too were, no doubt, at similar noisy parties, trapped between alcohol and insincere eyes.

A strong hand gripped her wrist, startling her. Laura looked up straight into Richard Decter’s handsome and familiar face. “Oh, it’s you,” she gasped, and smiled happily.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. He was angry or something.

“Dante brought me. He met Elise in Vermont and she asked him to come.” Laura became nervous and swallowed at her drink.

He scowled at her. “You shouldn’t be drinking.” He took the glass right out of her hand.

“Whyever not?” She was dumfounded. He didn’t answer her.

Dante came by again. He seemed to have been drinking also, not that he was drunk. He put his arm around Laura and smiled at Richard more with his teeth than with sincerity. He pulled Laura to him and she blushed. “Has that bad man taken your drink? I’ll get you another one.” He dropped his arm and left her.

Richard didn’t take his eyes off her. He had turned more aloof than angry now. She returned his gaze evenly. She hadn’t done anything, yet, to be ashamed of. Dante brought her another drink and she sipped it almost defiantly. Richard gave Dante the angry look this time around. Dante looked bored. He left them and began talking to a much older woman.

Richard tried to take the second glass away, but she didn’t let him. “I’ll do as I please,” she snapped. He let go of the drink.

They stood and watched the partiers. The noise made speaking difficult, and Laura didn’t know what to say to him at this moment, anyway. Dante returned and swept her off to dance. “I don’t know what you see in him,” Dante whispered in her ear.

“What makes you think I see anything in him?” she hissed back.

Part of his answer was lost. The rest sounded like “…a diabetic in a candy shop.” She didn’t know what he meant by that.

He pulled her into another room. The noise level was down in here, and people were talking. Laura was impressed by Elise’s apartment. This was an old building with high ceilings and large rooms, arched doorways, richly polished wooden floors. Dante left her again, then brought her the third drink of the evening. Laura caught sight of Elise, stunning in something that displayed three-quarters of her body modestly.

Dante left Laura soon to talk to the much older woman. In a few minutes, Richard wandered into the room and approached her. Laura stared at her drink, then continued to sip at it. “I tried calling you several times this week, but didn’t leave a message,” he told her, annoyed. She didn’t tell him she had tried him also or that she hadn’t seen his number on her caller ID.

“Busy as usual,” she said. “I met the dearest little fellow in the laundry room of my building. What fun.” It could be that she was becoming drunk.

Dante returned. “Now, which of us kisses her at midnight, Richard?” he asked. Laura blushed, and Dante, amused, looked at his watch. “We’d better decide. Laura, you pick. Never mind, Laura. Richard, you take care of this. I have another date at the moment. Did you see the woman I was talking to, children? She’s the ace of the 4A ladies. Do you know how many big national commercials she casts a year?” Dante was slightly drunk; he kept bumping into Laura.

“I thought you were a dancer,” said Laura, vexed.

“Yesterday I was a poor dancer. Next week I’ll be a rich one. Don’t you think that’s an awfully good idea?” He smiled a very sober and unpleasant smile.

“I think that’s an awfully horrible idea,” Laura said, furious. “Whatever you’re planning on.”

“I’m planning on deserting you, as I always promised I would. But you see, as things are, this won’t be painful. You have Richard to watch out for you.” He kissed Laura lightly on the cheek, then held her close and caressed her.

The anger burned in Laura’s eyes. She was so angry at him for hurting himself, she couldn’t stand it. Maybe she was still in love with him enough to want him to maintain his self-respect. Yes, yes, she loved him in a maddeningly special way. Even with Richard standing right there. It was Richard’s fault, actually. Because he didn’t take her for himself. “Where are you going?” she demanded of Dante.

“You know.” Dante squeezed her. “With the lady.” His hand lay against her face then. “I didn’t say I was going to do anything bad.” He seemed reluctant to leave Laura, to take his hands away from her. Then he let go with a smile of regret. Laura felt her regard for him tear at his withdrawal. She hadn’t believed what he could be. Now she saw it was so.

Dante had played this scene as if Richard were part of the furniture. Now he turned to his “rival.” “Good night then. Say good-bye to Elise for me, if you manage to grab her. Ta ta.”

Laura took hold of Dante’s arm and shook him. “Don’t you dare go off with that horrible woman,” she told him quietly with all her pent-up anger. Her reaction was from a desire to protect him, surely, rather than jealousy.

Dante pulled away. “You don’t have to worry about me, darling. I’ll get by.” He didn’t look entirely as if he would. He seemed fatigued.

“I’ll give you money if you need it,” Laura said.

“I know,” agreed Dante. “I’m just doing this to be perverse. It’s not altogether as you see it. I never do what doesn’t suit me.” He bent and lightly brushed her lips with his. “Thanks all the same.” He signaled a second farewell to Richard and left them.

With Dante gone, Laura regained some of her composure. She knew full well that Richard must be thinking the worst. That she had demeaned herself because she was so in love with Dante. That she had been insanely jealous and had gone so far as to offer him money. Yet Richard’s undoubted conclusion wasn’t the truth, so she was determined not to let it worry her.

Richard hadn’t said a word throughout that entire business. Neither had he left. Laura was somewhat miffed. He ought to have stopped Dante from going off. He should have behaved heroically in some way.

“Well,” said Laura. “Don’t you want to dance with me?”

“If you like,” answered Richard. He was quiet but totally present and alive. She couldn’t read him.

They pushed through the crowd toward the other room. Laura began to feel overheated. But that was all right. She wasn’t as destroyed by Richard as she had been. Dante had been a help with that, pulling her away from her preoccupation with Richard and some of that powerful attraction, giving her the self-confidence she hadn’t been feeling.

They were playing the sort of music you could go either way with, slow or fast. Richard brought her into his arms and the feeling that came with the dance was just what it had been before. This time they kept on dancing though. He held her close enough so that all thoughts vanished.