50 by Avery Corman Page A

adult. Doug and Bob stood on the sidewalk hugging, in a zone of intimacy neither was familiar with, and they did not want to let go, they held each other a long time, holding onto the moment, not caring who might see.
    A few weeks later Doug met Jerry Broeden, Susan’s new husband, for the first time. On a Sunday night Doug was returning from the supermarket, and as he was about to enter the building the children arrived with the dog for their two weeks. Broeden had driven them there, and he came out of the car to introduce himself. Doug had expected a movie star. Broeden was a slim, unexceptional-looking man of five feet eleven, light brown hair, brown eyes, dressed seriously in Ralph Lauren, the tweed sports jacket, the Shetland sweater, the twill slacks, the Ralph Lauren loafers Doug knew to be out of his price range. And Broeden was young. This may have been the Main Idea here. He appeared to be several years younger than Doug, possibly younger than Susan. He looked 40, nearly.
    “I’m Jerry Broeden.”
    “Doug Gardner.”
    “I guess we’ll be seeing each other now and then.” He called out to Karen and Andy, “So long, guys.”
    They waved, carefully watching the interchange between Broeden and their father. Aware of their concern, Doug played it elegantly and gave Broeden a warm smile and a handshake.
    “Good to meet you,” Doug said.
    “Same here.” And Broeden returned to his car.
    Doug didn’t have a car and had never owned a car. I could have a car, I suppose, but I don’t really need one. Since Doug didn’t own a car and didn’t care at all about cars, he didn’t know exactly which model of Mercedes Broeden owned. It was black and large, as large a Mercedes as Doug had ever seen. The kind of Mercedes he imagined would have been used by Hermann Goering.

7
    S USAN AND BROEDEN APPEARED so frequently in Women’s Wear Daily, Doug wondered if their marriage was being represented by a press agent. Jeannie mailed him clippings, Susan Brook creating a Mexico Week for Saks, Broedenco commissioning designers to create a high-fashion look in denim, Jerry Broeden and Susan Brook at the opening of Sparta, the new hit nightclub in SoHo.
    “Maybe I shouldn’t be letting you know about these things,” Jeannie said to him.
    “No, I’d like to read about these whiz kids. I’m not sure why, exactly.”
    He changed his mind when Jeannie sent him yet another clipping, Susan gorgeous in a sumptuous gown with Broeden in a tuxedo at a fashion-industry fete, and he decided he knew enough about their stardom. Susan continued to use the name Brook in business but was now Mrs. Broeden in her personal life. Doug phoned the apartment for the children and a Spanish-accented female voice said, “Mrs. Broeden out. Children back soon.” This was Carmen, the Broedens’ live-in housekeeper from Venezuela. Andy said he spoke Spanish to her and this was going to help him with Spanish for school. Doug was preoccupied with the live-in aspect.
    “How big an apartment is that?”
    “Twelve rooms,” Andy said.
    Apparently even Harry had his own room, a separate laundry room in the apartment, and the dog slept there at night.
    “He’s so cute,” Karen said. “He just gets up at some point at night and walks all the way to the other end of the house and goes to sleep.” Doug attempted to visualize the size of an apartment where you would say, “All the way to the other end of the house.”
    “Flash Broeden” he was now referred to in the media. Susan and Broeden expanded from Women’s Wear and now were mentioned in column items in the New York Post and the Daily News. Broeden opened several retail stores, calling them “Flash,” stores projecting exactly that. Doug had to pass one every day on the way to the subway, Broeden’s investment invading Doug’s landscape. Flash on Broadway was on a site that had been a supermarket, the place now a tribal gathering place for young people, largely teenagers and slightly older,