Connecticut?”
“Sure. With a daughter who was angry at everything and everybody?”
“Still is. Poor Bethy. Curious, isn’t it, how we used to live in each other’s pockets! How do friends get divorced?”
Shari said, “Did you know I divorced Alex?”
Did I know that? wondered Lucy. “That’s sad.”
“Yes, well,” said Shari, “not really.”
Lucy knew that a single mom with children six and three must be wanting to have her free afternoon to herself. “I remember I’d throw Benedict a ball and think, I have my head to myself for the time it takes him to run, retrieve the ball, and roll it back to me …”
“Yes!” said Shari and laughed. “Yes, yes!”
“What apartment number did you say the birthday party was at?”
“The apartment number?”
“Of the birthday party. What’s the number of the apartment?”
“The Camerons’ apartment? It’s Eleven-B.”
“Dear Shari, lovely to see you, really it is!” The two women, the old one and the young one, embraced.
“Somebody at the door for you,” the birthday boy’s mother said to little Max’s grandmother.
“Can’t be. Who knows I’m here?”
“She’s asking for you.”
“Who is?” Ulla followed Eileen Cameron into the foyer where the woman standing in the door with the birthday party rampaging and hallooing around her would have been Lucy Friedgold if Lucy could be imagined to be standing in the Camerons’ foyer holding a very large plastic bag. The bag had weight, judging from the angle at which her body leaned to create the counterbalance.
“Hello, Ulla,” said Lucy. “Shari said I’d find you here.”
“Oh, I see,” said Ulla, but didn’t.
“Is there somewhere we might talk?”
The birthday boy’s mother said, “The magician is about to do his thing.” It puzzled her good manners: Was it the hostess’s business to welcome the elderly newcomer with the oversize bag who was advancing into her foyer, or was she supposed to protect little Max’s grandmother from her?
“This won’t take five minutes.” With the hand that was not holding the bag, the intruder opened a random door. It happened to lead into the dining room. The table was covered with crimson crinkle-paper, slices of ruined chocolate cake on clown-face paper plates, birthday candles withblackened wicks, blasted party favors, rags of exploded balloons. The old woman with the bag seated herself on one of the dining chairs, obliging Max’s grandmother to sit down also. “Five minutes, I promise!” The urbane smile, a certain distinction of face and dress partly reassured Eileen Cameron; she walked out but left the door open.
Lucy and Ulla had a clear view of the magician in a purple shirt and comical green tie that hung to his knees. He said, “Is there anybody here who can count to ten?”
“Me-e-e,” shouted the little boys and girls.
The magician said, “Everybody, all together: One. Two. Three. Thursday. Friday. Saturday …”
“No-o-o!” shouted the children: The magician, who was a grown-up, had made a mistake! That was funny!
“That’s the days of the week,” a girl in a frilly blue dress explained to him.
“Oops!” The magician hit himself on the forehead.
Lucy said, “I sent Maurie the story I wrote after Bertie died, which Maurie has neither accepted nor rejected. It’s called ‘Rumpelstiltskin in Emergency.’ ”
“Maurie is in Saint Petersburg,” Ulla said.
“Try again! Everybody, all together,” the magician said: “One. Two. Three. April. May. June …”
“I sent it to him in October,” Lucy said. “This is July!”
The children were laughing. It broke them up: The magician had made another mistake! Only the child in the blue frills frowned.
“Those are the months of the year !” she told him. She walked toward the magician, who hit himself on the forehead.
“Another Oops! Anybody counting the oopses? What’s your name?” he asked the little girl. Her name was Jennifer.
“Lucy!”
“Sure. With a daughter who was angry at everything and everybody?”
“Still is. Poor Bethy. Curious, isn’t it, how we used to live in each other’s pockets! How do friends get divorced?”
Shari said, “Did you know I divorced Alex?”
Did I know that? wondered Lucy. “That’s sad.”
“Yes, well,” said Shari, “not really.”
Lucy knew that a single mom with children six and three must be wanting to have her free afternoon to herself. “I remember I’d throw Benedict a ball and think, I have my head to myself for the time it takes him to run, retrieve the ball, and roll it back to me …”
“Yes!” said Shari and laughed. “Yes, yes!”
“What apartment number did you say the birthday party was at?”
“The apartment number?”
“Of the birthday party. What’s the number of the apartment?”
“The Camerons’ apartment? It’s Eleven-B.”
“Dear Shari, lovely to see you, really it is!” The two women, the old one and the young one, embraced.
“Somebody at the door for you,” the birthday boy’s mother said to little Max’s grandmother.
“Can’t be. Who knows I’m here?”
“She’s asking for you.”
“Who is?” Ulla followed Eileen Cameron into the foyer where the woman standing in the door with the birthday party rampaging and hallooing around her would have been Lucy Friedgold if Lucy could be imagined to be standing in the Camerons’ foyer holding a very large plastic bag. The bag had weight, judging from the angle at which her body leaned to create the counterbalance.
“Hello, Ulla,” said Lucy. “Shari said I’d find you here.”
“Oh, I see,” said Ulla, but didn’t.
“Is there somewhere we might talk?”
The birthday boy’s mother said, “The magician is about to do his thing.” It puzzled her good manners: Was it the hostess’s business to welcome the elderly newcomer with the oversize bag who was advancing into her foyer, or was she supposed to protect little Max’s grandmother from her?
“This won’t take five minutes.” With the hand that was not holding the bag, the intruder opened a random door. It happened to lead into the dining room. The table was covered with crimson crinkle-paper, slices of ruined chocolate cake on clown-face paper plates, birthday candles withblackened wicks, blasted party favors, rags of exploded balloons. The old woman with the bag seated herself on one of the dining chairs, obliging Max’s grandmother to sit down also. “Five minutes, I promise!” The urbane smile, a certain distinction of face and dress partly reassured Eileen Cameron; she walked out but left the door open.
Lucy and Ulla had a clear view of the magician in a purple shirt and comical green tie that hung to his knees. He said, “Is there anybody here who can count to ten?”
“Me-e-e,” shouted the little boys and girls.
The magician said, “Everybody, all together: One. Two. Three. Thursday. Friday. Saturday …”
“No-o-o!” shouted the children: The magician, who was a grown-up, had made a mistake! That was funny!
“That’s the days of the week,” a girl in a frilly blue dress explained to him.
“Oops!” The magician hit himself on the forehead.
Lucy said, “I sent Maurie the story I wrote after Bertie died, which Maurie has neither accepted nor rejected. It’s called ‘Rumpelstiltskin in Emergency.’ ”
“Maurie is in Saint Petersburg,” Ulla said.
“Try again! Everybody, all together,” the magician said: “One. Two. Three. April. May. June …”
“I sent it to him in October,” Lucy said. “This is July!”
The children were laughing. It broke them up: The magician had made another mistake! Only the child in the blue frills frowned.
“Those are the months of the year !” she told him. She walked toward the magician, who hit himself on the forehead.
“Another Oops! Anybody counting the oopses? What’s your name?” he asked the little girl. Her name was Jennifer.
“Lucy!”
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