apartment building. People coming home from work glanced at the car with fake indolence. Chance loved the attention, but Billy was indifferent. Riding to the fifth floor in the small self-service elevator, she practically shimmied with anticipation.
“I cannot wait to see it!” she said.
I caught Chance nervously watching the floor numbers click upwards. I could read his mind: PRODUCER AND WIFE PLUNGE TO DEATH IN CREAKY ELEVATOR .
“Okay,” I said, pulling the keys from my pocket and unlocking the three locks on my apartment door. We stepped inside.
“Now, this is super, don’t you think, Chance?”
“Very nice,” Chance said. He walked through the rooms looking skeptical. He and Billy live in a penthouse on Park Avenue; Billy once told me that he rarely ventured south of Fifty-sixth Street, that he cannot bear the squalor of her studio, that he feels unsafe without a doorman, elevator man, and marble lobby.
“I wish I had some furniture, so I could invite you to sit down,” I said, babbling. “Let’s see, this is the kitchen, of course…” I let loose a crazy giggle. “Here’s the living room—I thought I’d put my couch here, my stereo here…”
“Wonderful. And it will get the morning light,” Billy said, grinning.
“What’s this, the fifth floor?” Chance asked, pressing his face to the sooty window, doubtlessly looking for the fire escape. He pulled back, and there was a smudge of black dust on his forehead. It was so incongruous on his pink skin, I nearly laughed. Billy licked her fingers and wiped it off. My doorbell rang.
“Oh, that must be Rudy,” Billy said. Rudy was their chauffeur. “I asked him to bring something up.”
I buzzed Rudy in, but before he came up in the elevator there was a knock at the door.
Joe Finnegan stood in the hallway. “Who’s the brass?” he asked.
“My producer,” I said coolly.
“Nice car.”
“Look, why don’t you come back later, Joe?” I felt as unwilling to introduce Joe to the Schutzes as I would to introduce an unsuitable boyfriend to my father. Just then Rudy stepped out of the elevator carrying one of Billy’s bulky pots.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Joe said. “It’s a fucking birdbath.”
“Shut up, Joe,” I said, standing aside to let Rudy in, then closing the door in Joe’s face. He stopped it with his foot.
“Okay, okay, I’m going. I just wanted to invite you up later, to welcome you into the house. For a nightcap.”
I let him peek around the door. “As you can see, I’m not moved in yet. I’m still living at my other place.”
“When’re you moving in? Listen, I can get a crew together and get you in here in one morning. I’ll even supply the truck.”
Closing on the apartment and a heavier-than-usual shooting schedule had kept me too busy to think about movers. “Who are they?” I asked.
“Guys from the warehouse and my brothers. The kids are in college—slip them a couple of bucks if you feel like it.”
At the mention of brothers I warmed to him. I couldn’t help it. The idea of a close family appeals to me more than anything.
“Okay, Joe. I’ll think about it.”
Joe smiled at me and walked away. I noticed he was wearing a heathery tweed jacket, rare apparel for a New York businessman. Even my father, who had lived in Connecticut, had worn only dark suits.
Inside, Chance and Billy flanked Billy’s pot like dignitaries at an awards ceremony. Rudy, in his black uniform with gold braid and tasseled epaulets, stood solemnly in the corner.
“To our dear friend, Una,” Billy said, her blue eyes sparkling with tears. “May you be as happy in your home and your life as we have been in ours.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said, starting to cry. The idea of Joe’s brothers, so close to him that they would help move in a stranger, and the sight of Chance and Billy, still deeply in love, made me feel sorry for myself. My father was dead, my mother was insulated in a haze of watercolors, one sister lived
“I cannot wait to see it!” she said.
I caught Chance nervously watching the floor numbers click upwards. I could read his mind: PRODUCER AND WIFE PLUNGE TO DEATH IN CREAKY ELEVATOR .
“Okay,” I said, pulling the keys from my pocket and unlocking the three locks on my apartment door. We stepped inside.
“Now, this is super, don’t you think, Chance?”
“Very nice,” Chance said. He walked through the rooms looking skeptical. He and Billy live in a penthouse on Park Avenue; Billy once told me that he rarely ventured south of Fifty-sixth Street, that he cannot bear the squalor of her studio, that he feels unsafe without a doorman, elevator man, and marble lobby.
“I wish I had some furniture, so I could invite you to sit down,” I said, babbling. “Let’s see, this is the kitchen, of course…” I let loose a crazy giggle. “Here’s the living room—I thought I’d put my couch here, my stereo here…”
“Wonderful. And it will get the morning light,” Billy said, grinning.
“What’s this, the fifth floor?” Chance asked, pressing his face to the sooty window, doubtlessly looking for the fire escape. He pulled back, and there was a smudge of black dust on his forehead. It was so incongruous on his pink skin, I nearly laughed. Billy licked her fingers and wiped it off. My doorbell rang.
“Oh, that must be Rudy,” Billy said. Rudy was their chauffeur. “I asked him to bring something up.”
I buzzed Rudy in, but before he came up in the elevator there was a knock at the door.
Joe Finnegan stood in the hallway. “Who’s the brass?” he asked.
“My producer,” I said coolly.
“Nice car.”
“Look, why don’t you come back later, Joe?” I felt as unwilling to introduce Joe to the Schutzes as I would to introduce an unsuitable boyfriend to my father. Just then Rudy stepped out of the elevator carrying one of Billy’s bulky pots.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Joe said. “It’s a fucking birdbath.”
“Shut up, Joe,” I said, standing aside to let Rudy in, then closing the door in Joe’s face. He stopped it with his foot.
“Okay, okay, I’m going. I just wanted to invite you up later, to welcome you into the house. For a nightcap.”
I let him peek around the door. “As you can see, I’m not moved in yet. I’m still living at my other place.”
“When’re you moving in? Listen, I can get a crew together and get you in here in one morning. I’ll even supply the truck.”
Closing on the apartment and a heavier-than-usual shooting schedule had kept me too busy to think about movers. “Who are they?” I asked.
“Guys from the warehouse and my brothers. The kids are in college—slip them a couple of bucks if you feel like it.”
At the mention of brothers I warmed to him. I couldn’t help it. The idea of a close family appeals to me more than anything.
“Okay, Joe. I’ll think about it.”
Joe smiled at me and walked away. I noticed he was wearing a heathery tweed jacket, rare apparel for a New York businessman. Even my father, who had lived in Connecticut, had worn only dark suits.
Inside, Chance and Billy flanked Billy’s pot like dignitaries at an awards ceremony. Rudy, in his black uniform with gold braid and tasseled epaulets, stood solemnly in the corner.
“To our dear friend, Una,” Billy said, her blue eyes sparkling with tears. “May you be as happy in your home and your life as we have been in ours.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said, starting to cry. The idea of Joe’s brothers, so close to him that they would help move in a stranger, and the sight of Chance and Billy, still deeply in love, made me feel sorry for myself. My father was dead, my mother was insulated in a haze of watercolors, one sister lived
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