say, Isabel, you seem to know everyone. That is jolly,” Alexander interrupted. “Come, do sit down and have some drinks and a snack.”
The stewards filled the glasses, and fortunately, the three men started to talk. All Isabel had to do was listen. It gave her a chance to pull herself together. For years she wondered how she would behave seeing Anthony again. The years went by and she stopped worrying about it, then more years went by and she rarely even thought about him, and now here he was. He had been her great love, the man who ultimately changed her life long aftershe had left him. It was over long, long ago, but seeing him now she realized that she still loved him.
The stewards brought plates, knives, forks and antique Russian caviar spoons. The long straight handles were of ivory, and the bowls and tips of the handles were made of an ancient and rare wood that was as hard as stone; the color and pattern of the wood was not unlike bird’s-eye maple. The Russians always preferred wooden spoons for caviar, never metal, no matter how valuable that metal might be.
All the trimmings were brought for the caviar, along with a platter of hot, fluffy scrambled eggs. There were also tiny sandwiches — smoked salmon and
pâté de foie gras
— on thin brown bread.
A great deal of champagne was consumed along with the delicious food, and over the small cups of hot sweet Arab coffee, fruit and chocolate, it was decided that André and Alexander would have a six-game tournament of backgammon, the prize a case of Mouton Rothschild ’66. The backgammon table was set up at the end of the cabin near the cockpit.
Isabel and Anthony, meanwhile, huddled over a selection of movies that had been recorded on video tapes. Isabel suggested that he select the movie he wanted, for she would watch only for a short time, and then go on to the study and have a sleep before the aircraft landed in Cairo.
Anthony chose an old Bogart/Bacall film,
To Have and Have Not
. He had never seen it and had always wanted to. The steward asked if it was convenient for them to take the pair of chairs set together at the end of the cabin nearest the dining room, since the cassette recorder and TV set were already in place there. He pointed out that it was the best place because the chairs had their high backs to the rest of the room and they would not be disturbed by the players or the light at the other end. They agreed it would be fine and the steward said whenever they were ready, just to let him know.
The three men and Isabel sat a while longer over their wine and coffee, and eventually the two players went off to their end of the cabin to start their tournament.
All through supper Anthony had said nothing meaningful to Isabel. He was utterly charming, and on the one or two occasions when his eyes met with hers, her heartturned over while her mind drifted back to the years when they loved one another. Then, she had wanted nothing more than to make him happy. Those were the years in New York together during the late fifties and early sixties, when he had painted better than he ever had, or ever would again.
Isabel thought about those years. Were they the happiest? No, in retrospect she had to admit they were not, but they were exciting.
New York at the time of the nation’s great transition: America’s moment of external Fascism was over; the American dream was having yet another revival. The so-called second-class citizens of America — artists, writers, movie people, anyone creative and with a bit of courage — were becoming America’s new first-class citizens.
The time when they could form such obscenities as the Un-American Activities Committee to investigate Hollywood writers, painters or anyone that might influence another human being against the American way of life had just ended. Political discussions began to reappear on the college campuses. University professors, who were afraid to speak for fear that they might be
The stewards filled the glasses, and fortunately, the three men started to talk. All Isabel had to do was listen. It gave her a chance to pull herself together. For years she wondered how she would behave seeing Anthony again. The years went by and she stopped worrying about it, then more years went by and she rarely even thought about him, and now here he was. He had been her great love, the man who ultimately changed her life long aftershe had left him. It was over long, long ago, but seeing him now she realized that she still loved him.
The stewards brought plates, knives, forks and antique Russian caviar spoons. The long straight handles were of ivory, and the bowls and tips of the handles were made of an ancient and rare wood that was as hard as stone; the color and pattern of the wood was not unlike bird’s-eye maple. The Russians always preferred wooden spoons for caviar, never metal, no matter how valuable that metal might be.
All the trimmings were brought for the caviar, along with a platter of hot, fluffy scrambled eggs. There were also tiny sandwiches — smoked salmon and
pâté de foie gras
— on thin brown bread.
A great deal of champagne was consumed along with the delicious food, and over the small cups of hot sweet Arab coffee, fruit and chocolate, it was decided that André and Alexander would have a six-game tournament of backgammon, the prize a case of Mouton Rothschild ’66. The backgammon table was set up at the end of the cabin near the cockpit.
Isabel and Anthony, meanwhile, huddled over a selection of movies that had been recorded on video tapes. Isabel suggested that he select the movie he wanted, for she would watch only for a short time, and then go on to the study and have a sleep before the aircraft landed in Cairo.
Anthony chose an old Bogart/Bacall film,
To Have and Have Not
. He had never seen it and had always wanted to. The steward asked if it was convenient for them to take the pair of chairs set together at the end of the cabin nearest the dining room, since the cassette recorder and TV set were already in place there. He pointed out that it was the best place because the chairs had their high backs to the rest of the room and they would not be disturbed by the players or the light at the other end. They agreed it would be fine and the steward said whenever they were ready, just to let him know.
The three men and Isabel sat a while longer over their wine and coffee, and eventually the two players went off to their end of the cabin to start their tournament.
All through supper Anthony had said nothing meaningful to Isabel. He was utterly charming, and on the one or two occasions when his eyes met with hers, her heartturned over while her mind drifted back to the years when they loved one another. Then, she had wanted nothing more than to make him happy. Those were the years in New York together during the late fifties and early sixties, when he had painted better than he ever had, or ever would again.
Isabel thought about those years. Were they the happiest? No, in retrospect she had to admit they were not, but they were exciting.
New York at the time of the nation’s great transition: America’s moment of external Fascism was over; the American dream was having yet another revival. The so-called second-class citizens of America — artists, writers, movie people, anyone creative and with a bit of courage — were becoming America’s new first-class citizens.
The time when they could form such obscenities as the Un-American Activities Committee to investigate Hollywood writers, painters or anyone that might influence another human being against the American way of life had just ended. Political discussions began to reappear on the college campuses. University professors, who were afraid to speak for fear that they might be
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