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Authors: Kate Gilmore
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can imagine.”
“Can I ever,” Bob said, and then with growing comprehension, “Oh, Lord, girlfriends! You poor kid. You really could have a problem there.”
“Let your imagination roam,” Bren said. “Conjure up a few pictures of what could happen. That’s what I’ve been doing, and each new scenario is more gruesome than the last.”
“You’ve met someone?” his father asked cautiously. “Someone you would theoretically like to bring home?”
“It’s not so much that I’d like to bring her home,” Bren explained. “It’s that I don’t see any way out of it. She’s hopelessly curious, which is one of the things that makes her so neat, and we live so close to each other. Apart from telling her the whole house is infected with smallpox, I really can’t think of an excuse.”
“I’ll put my mind to the problem,” Bob promised. “After all, it’s not as if I lack experience. Young executives with large houses are expected to entertain. Remember the time those two senior vice presidents and their wives came to dinner?”
Bren shook his head. “I was at camp, but I heard rumors when I came home.”
“Your mother, to be fair, tried quite hard,” Bob went on, “and looked absolutely gorgeous. We cleared out the fortunetelling stuff, and Rose actually stuck to her cooking and did one of her better things, grumbling and casting black looks, but nothing beyond what a slightly eccentric old lady might do. Luna was locked in the studio. The salamander was evicted from the bathtub. Madame was persuaded not to practice for one night. The only uncontrollable factor was Louise, and of course, where there’s a weak link in a chain, that’s where it’s going to snap.”
“You can’t influence Louise,” Bren said. “She’s a force of nature.” He had heard this story before, but never from his father’s point of view.
Bob proceeded with gloomy relish. “All went well until we were gathered in the living room for coffee—all nice and genteel and boring as hell, I have to admit, but still, just the way I wanted it to be. Then the door bangs open and there’s our friend in full fig—purple dashiki, orange turban all covered with those funny signs. To make it worse, she decides to go into an Aunt Jemima routine: ‘Oh, Missy West. Ah sho’ is sorry. If Ah’d knowed you all had company, Ah nevah would come in like this.’ Your mother now makes a fatal mistake and puts on her gracious monarch turn: ‘Never mind, Louise, dear,’ she says, ‘but perhaps whatever it was could wait?’ ‘Wait it cannot,’ cries Louise—the black queen challenging the white queen. ‘The spell be wound, the fire burns, the twin smokes rise, and not a pinch of henbane do I have. But don’t you stir, my lady. Just give me the key to your cupboard, and I’ll fetch it myself.’ ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort,’ your mother says and marches dear Louise right out the door. Unfortunately, the damage had been done, and when there was an opening farther up in the company, those two VPs were strangely reluctant to consider me.”
“Awful,” Bren said, “but only money and a job. I’ve got a girl, or at least I think I do.”
His father laughed and scrambled to his feet. “Play it by ear, Bren,” he said. “Just play it by ear, old son. That’s what I always had to do.”
Chapter Eight
Alone in the big apartment she shared with her father, Erika sat on the covered radiator in the living room window and watched the sun set over the Hudson. It had been a long day with nothing to do but look forward to the evening. Now, almost against her will, she thought about Bren. It’s too soon, she told herself sternly. I hardly know him. All we’re going to do is have a neat date, see something I want to see on a fall evening in New York. But in a different part of her mind she already knew that Bren was not just another boy. There had been plenty of those in Philadelphia, where she had lived the stormy,
“Can I ever,” Bob said, and then with growing comprehension, “Oh, Lord, girlfriends! You poor kid. You really could have a problem there.”
“Let your imagination roam,” Bren said. “Conjure up a few pictures of what could happen. That’s what I’ve been doing, and each new scenario is more gruesome than the last.”
“You’ve met someone?” his father asked cautiously. “Someone you would theoretically like to bring home?”
“It’s not so much that I’d like to bring her home,” Bren explained. “It’s that I don’t see any way out of it. She’s hopelessly curious, which is one of the things that makes her so neat, and we live so close to each other. Apart from telling her the whole house is infected with smallpox, I really can’t think of an excuse.”
“I’ll put my mind to the problem,” Bob promised. “After all, it’s not as if I lack experience. Young executives with large houses are expected to entertain. Remember the time those two senior vice presidents and their wives came to dinner?”
Bren shook his head. “I was at camp, but I heard rumors when I came home.”
“Your mother, to be fair, tried quite hard,” Bob went on, “and looked absolutely gorgeous. We cleared out the fortunetelling stuff, and Rose actually stuck to her cooking and did one of her better things, grumbling and casting black looks, but nothing beyond what a slightly eccentric old lady might do. Luna was locked in the studio. The salamander was evicted from the bathtub. Madame was persuaded not to practice for one night. The only uncontrollable factor was Louise, and of course, where there’s a weak link in a chain, that’s where it’s going to snap.”
“You can’t influence Louise,” Bren said. “She’s a force of nature.” He had heard this story before, but never from his father’s point of view.
Bob proceeded with gloomy relish. “All went well until we were gathered in the living room for coffee—all nice and genteel and boring as hell, I have to admit, but still, just the way I wanted it to be. Then the door bangs open and there’s our friend in full fig—purple dashiki, orange turban all covered with those funny signs. To make it worse, she decides to go into an Aunt Jemima routine: ‘Oh, Missy West. Ah sho’ is sorry. If Ah’d knowed you all had company, Ah nevah would come in like this.’ Your mother now makes a fatal mistake and puts on her gracious monarch turn: ‘Never mind, Louise, dear,’ she says, ‘but perhaps whatever it was could wait?’ ‘Wait it cannot,’ cries Louise—the black queen challenging the white queen. ‘The spell be wound, the fire burns, the twin smokes rise, and not a pinch of henbane do I have. But don’t you stir, my lady. Just give me the key to your cupboard, and I’ll fetch it myself.’ ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort,’ your mother says and marches dear Louise right out the door. Unfortunately, the damage had been done, and when there was an opening farther up in the company, those two VPs were strangely reluctant to consider me.”
“Awful,” Bren said, “but only money and a job. I’ve got a girl, or at least I think I do.”
His father laughed and scrambled to his feet. “Play it by ear, Bren,” he said. “Just play it by ear, old son. That’s what I always had to do.”
Chapter Eight
Alone in the big apartment she shared with her father, Erika sat on the covered radiator in the living room window and watched the sun set over the Hudson. It had been a long day with nothing to do but look forward to the evening. Now, almost against her will, she thought about Bren. It’s too soon, she told herself sternly. I hardly know him. All we’re going to do is have a neat date, see something I want to see on a fall evening in New York. But in a different part of her mind she already knew that Bren was not just another boy. There had been plenty of those in Philadelphia, where she had lived the stormy,
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