Ark (15 page)

In fact, running came later. First, there was the next decade, in which Rebecca and Laura continued to meet every few months. Their list of restaurants expanded, but their topics of conversation remained at one: Oliver. Laura could speak of nothing else. Even a whole nine years later, her diction was the same.

“The thing is, I tried. I did.”

“I know you did.”

“It was that he wasn't ready to love again. Divorce can be very painful.”

“Sure. Yes. I understand that.”

Laura's recapitulations confused, even frightened, Rebecca. Did Laura know she was repeating herself? This was what old people did. Laura was only in her mid-fifties then. But her relationship with Oliver had aged her prematurely. Or perhaps just rotted her head. Either way, these dinners exhausted Rebecca. And did they have to meet again? No. No, Rebecca wouldn't do it.

But then, a month later, Laura would telephone Rebecca. And after another cycle of messages and unreturned calls, Rebecca's conscience would buckle, and she would dial Laura.

On one occasion, Laura said it was good that she had—she wanted to take Rebecca to Barney's. Yes. And she could buy anything she wanted. So she should be there tomorrow at noon.

The following day, they met outside the department store, on Madison Avenue. Right away, Rebecca began to apologize to Laura for having taken so long to be in touch. Laura, with a white sun hat, cream-colored linen suit, and a red leather clutch under her arm, was telling the young woman how there was no need to apologize, that she understood, because they went back so many years.

“It's true, you've known me since I was a little girl,” Rebecca said. “But I'm not a little girl anymore. You realize that, don't you?”

Laura said, “Well, yes. Sure I do.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Good, Laura. Then I want you to listen to me. I don't want to talk about my father anymore. All right? I can't do it. From now on, let's stop all that. Please.”

“Oh. Oh yeah. Yeah, that's fine,” Laura said, flashing a knee-weakened look.

“It's not helpful for me, or us, or you.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

“Let's talk about anything else.”

Laura raised a hand in the air, pausing. Half her face trembled and her small brown eyes looked upward to the sky. One tear fell, and then another. She said, “I've spent ten years in therapy speaking about your father. And you know what, I've also had enough of it. You'll never hear me mention him again.”

“Laura, you don't have to—”

“No! No, I'm sorry. You're right. I'll never talk about your father again.”

Her position was extreme. But let her begin with extremes, thought Rebecca, then work her way back to some better place.

After shopping, they dined at the same Italian restaurant owned by Laura's friend. It turned out, when not hearing about her parents' divorce, her father's hang-ups, or how Laura had really tried to make the relationship with Oliver work, Rebecca found the food actually very good. There was still plenty to discuss. Laura's plans to build a home upstate, for instance. Well, it hadn't been so interesting to Rebecca. But she was grateful that Laura had changed subjects. An hour later, after espresso and tiramisu, Laura explained that she could use Rebecca's assistance with her new iMac. She didn't understand computers. It was something she attributed to helping a college boyfriend dodge the Vietnam War. The truth, Rebecca decided, was unimportant. She said she would be happy to show her father's ex-fiancée how to use the computer.

She returned to Laura's home a week later. An open house was underway in the apartment across the hall. Laura told Rebecca that the owners were asking four million.

“Can you believe that?”

“I guess you don't have to worry about money,” Rebecca said.

“Well, no, everyone has to worry about money, Rebecca, particularly those who have it. Take your father. He has money, but he was raised rich, and wants as much of it as he can get. I wish I'd had more. I gave him as much as I could.”

“I know,” Rebecca said.

“I didn't have any more to spare.”

“I understand,” said Rebecca, offering a simple, cool nod.

They went to Zabar's. At the fish counter, admiring the smoked salmon and sturgeon in the display case, Laura said she would like to eat everything in the store but that she was trying to stay lean.

“I've come to realize that if you don't take care of yourself, no man will look at you. So I work hard to keep myself in shape. It leaves a person feeling more mentally fit, too. After your father left me, it was like I gave up, you know? I ate so much junk and put on all this weight. It was very hard to care.” With her chin lowered, using all her power to show she was in control now, she said, “But your father, you know—”

“Yes—”

“He did a number on me. I went away afterward. One month at a rehab facility.”

“I know. And I'm sorry.”

“Oh, I wasn't going to make it on my own. I needed help. That was a tough thing I went through. You remember. You were there.”

“I was.”

“That night.”

“Yes—what a night. And I am sorry about it.”

“It left me very…damaged.”

Rebecca had no doubt about that. “I wish it hadn't happened,” she said.

“That woman your father ran off with…Mindy. No, Mandy. It hurt me. It still does.”

“I'm sure,” said Rebecca. However, she wouldn't be taken advantage of for another second. She spoke up. She said, “Laura, I came today thinking we wouldn't discuss my father. Let's not do it.”

Laura's head moved up and down. “I know. I'm sorry. You're right, we don't need to talk about it. We don't need to.”

The fish slicer called their number, and Laura encouraged Rebecca to order a few of pounds of everything.

“You like sable?”

“No,” Rebecca said. “Thank you.”

“Oh, don't be shy. She'll take a pound of nova, a pound of whitefish, a pound of sturgeon, a pound of kippered salmon…”

On Broadway, Rebecca, her hands overwhelmed by shopping bags, said goodbye. Before she could get away, though, Laura promised that she would do better next time. She wouldn't talk about Oliver even once. It wouldn't be difficult. She'd only needed a little practice. And now that she'd had it, consider her ready to go. Rebecca said she looked forward to it. She wouldn't tell Laura that their days of shopping and dining were over.

But one day, four months later, Rebecca was reading in Washington Square Park. By then she was enrolled at NYU Law School. Beautiful late spring weather, and thousands of students out with the sun. Rebecca was sitting on a bench not far from the arch, having a coffee. Suddenly, Laura was standing right in front of her. The appearance of his father's ex-fiancée greatly startled Rebecca, who gathered her things and stood.

“Laura! How are you?”

Laura looked much older now. This was in large part due to her hair being cut to within an inch of her scalp. “Rebecca, hello. Surprised to see you here. Yeah, I'm doing well.”

“That's great,” said Rebecca.

“You know, I've called you ten times. You don't call me back.”

Rebecca, zipping up her bag, beginning to walk, hid nothing. She said, “I told you I didn't want to talk about my father. But you couldn't help yourself.”

“I know it upsets you, Rebecca. I know.”

“Well, we can't meet again.”

“We can't?”

“No, I don't want to see you.”

“You mean that?” Laura said.

Rebecca considered how many times her father had broken things off with Laura. Now she was doing the same. She felt bad for the woman. But she wouldn't back down. She said, “I mean it, yes. We won't be seeing each other anymore.”

“So that's how it has to be?”

“Yes.”

“You're serious?”

“I am, yes.”

Laura released a short, violent grunt. “Well, I guess I'll see you around then.”

“No, you won't, Laura.”

“You know what,” the woman shouted, “you're just as bad as any of them!”

“Please. Just stay away from me!”

“So long!” Laura screamed.

Rebecca didn't believe this was the end of Laura. Why should she? Her father's ex-fiancée, desperate for any sort of contact with Oliver, would find a way of talking herself back to the phone, and dialing Rebecca. And yet, over the eight years that followed, Rebecca heard nothing from Laura. On several occasions, and for no apparent reason, Rebecca would think of Laura and a private celebration would break out within her. It had been such hard work getting rid of her.

And now?

Rebecca heard a door close—Oliver was stepping out onto the sidewalk. She saw that her father had put on his checkered suit and combed his gray hair straight back. He looked exhausted. But he had spent the past three weeks in that dark room, and here he was outside, in the sun, and this in itself was an achievement. He unfolded a pair of black sunglasses, slipped them over his eyes, brought his fingers through his hair, and said, “Shall we?”

Rebecca said, “Let's.” But at once she wondered,
How much will I give him a month? Four thousand to start. That's going to make things tight. No more spending on anything but the very essentials. No matter, I'm happy to do this. What a thing to be able to do. He supported me the first twenty-five years of my life. That's a long time. I owe him this. Just happy to do it. Anything to make things easier on him. Look how calm he seems
.

She threw her arm around her father's waist and pulled him tightly to her side. “I'm glad to see you out. It's a big step.”

He kissed her on the head. “Thank you,” he said.

They turned onto bustling Canal Street. Rebecca could feel her father's body slightly lift, the Citibank now in view. To herself, she was saying,
But why shouldn't he be excited? It's nice to be supported, if you can find someone to do it. You'll give him whatever he needs, Rebecca. He's your father
.

Yet now she was saying, “Dad, before we go on…,” and she took Oliver by the arm. “You have to promise me you won't speak to Laura.”

With the sunglasses slid halfway down his nose, Oliver said, “I can't stand her.”

By answering in this indirect way, Rebecca didn't know if she had to ask again for him to promise. However, they couldn't remain here. The sidewalk was thronged with tourists buying knock-off leather bags from black-market vendors. She said to her father, “I don't want you to let her get involved in any lawsuits.”

“No—”

“Or for you to have anything to do with her.”

“I won't.”

“This is the start of intelligent decisions.”

“Rebecca, I have to do what's best for me. There's still a lot I mean to do. I have to get a new record label going, make my own money, support myself. I can't let people like Laura take up my energy.”

“She's not well.”

“And I have to be smart.” He was becoming somewhat impassioned now, using his whole body to speak. “This is my life we're talking about. I can't let anything get in the way of my health or my business.”

“Right,” said Rebecca, still waiting to be satisfied. “You'll have to start working very soon.”

“I plan on it. I have to earn money.”

“You do. That's right, Dad. Because I can't afford to support you for too long and keep my apartment. My mortgage is a lot, you know?”

“I understand,” he said.

“But for now,” she told him, “let's set up your account. Come on.”

“Okay, honey. Just one more thing.”

“What's that?”

“I'd like it…” he said. “I'd like it if we didn't tell my wife about this.”

Rebecca had been holding open the door to the bank, but now she let go and asked her father, “Why?”

“It's just that Sheila wants to make all my decisions for me—and I'm done with it. She doesn't even live here, you know? And it's just, it's my life. And I don't need her, or anyone, telling me what to do. I know what's best for me. So that's just it, Rebecca. You know what I mean?”

She had no idea what he meant. But she said to him, “I suppose I do, Dad. But after you move out of the loft, won't Sheila want to know who's paying the rent for your new apartment?”

“She already thinks Laura will be paying for it.”

“And she's all right with Laura paying?”

“She is.”

“How can that be?”

“Because,” Oliver said, “Sheila has no money to give me. And I have no money of my own. So she has no choice but to be all right with it. You understand?”

“No. I can't say I do,” Rebecca said.

“Well, don't get yourself upset over it.”

“But will you still tell Sheila that Laura's paying your rent?”

Bending deeply at the knees, Oliver sighed. “That's what I was planning on doing. Unless you have a better idea.”

Rebecca thought for a moment. However, nothing came to mind, and she shook her head and told her father, “It's not constructive to lie to your wife about this.”

“I agree,” he said. “I totally agree.”

“It's just that all of a sudden Sheila might think you can ask Laura for more and more money, and I want to eliminate the very idea of that from the start.”

“You're right. You're absolutely right.” Oliver looked far down Canal Street at cars lining up at the entrance to the Holland Tunnel. Slightly withdrawn, he said, “We'll tell her it's a watch, then.”

“Dad.” She glowered at her father. “Don't just humor me. I'm being serious.”

Oliver said, “I'm not just humoring you. We'll tell her it's a…a couple of watches. My grandfather's watches.”