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Authors: Deborah Schwartz
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back to the life we had known before cancer. We were truly the most grateful people alive. My grandmother had a Yiddish expression, “Scare me God, but don’t punish me.” Well, we had been scared but we had not been punished. We picked up our lives as if we had just been married, with the same excitement and hopefulness. We made love as if we had just discovered each other. Jake said he felt so appreciative to be back at work, doing what others might consider the same old thing but Jake could never again take for granted.
SPRING 1995
CHAPTER 8
May
L en began inviting me to dinners with his friends, most of whom were investment bankers with whom he worked.
One night we were to have dinner at a small but very exclusive French restaurant in New Jersey with Thomas, a tall and strikingly handsome man. Len would hint to me at the extent of Thomas’ wealth but never give flat out figures.
“He donates millions every year to charity,” Len declared.
Thomas was accompanied by Linda, his beautiful wife and former secretary, who showed up with the largest breasts and most jewelry, both very real, that any woman could possibly carry all at the same time. Joining us at dinner was Paul, a media mogul from Alpine, and his surprisingly very ordinary wife, Sandra.
“Paul might be hard to take. He’s very full of himself,” Len warned me on the way over.
The restaurant looked crowded with diners elegantly dressed for a suburban restaurant on a Saturday night. Our men surveyed the wine list and finally agreed on the appropriate bottles, each well over a hundred dollars. The women sat idly by, so conversation had to be made with Linda and Sandra.
“Do you have children?” I smiled politely at them.
“Two, both in boarding school,” Linda replied.
“No, we don’t have children,” Sandra said quietly.
“Did you do any skiing this past winter?” Len asked Paul.
“Went heliskiing for a week in British Columbia. Spent a week skiing in Chamonix. We also went to Paris for ten days and did a week in Israel. I have to say, I love the French. Definitely prefer them to Americans,” Paul said.
Nobody said a word.
“And more than the French? I certainly favor the Palestinians over the Israelis. The Israelis are just a bunch of terrorists,” Paul continued.
Silence.
“I’m not sure how many people would agree with you that the Israelis are solely responsible for the troubles there and that they are a bunch of terrorists,” I finally said.
“Are you kidding? Are you aware of what goes on there?” Paul asked.
“Yes, as much as anyone is. I don’t think it’s as black and white as you make it out to be. It’s a very complicated situation,” I responded.
Len asked the waiter for the bill and paid.
Dinner ended and I gathered it was not a success.
We said our very polite good-byes while the valet parking attendants retrieved our cars. Len opened my door for me and then quietly got in on his side of the car. We drove in silence until we emerged out of the long driveway of the restaurant. Len turned to me as he drove.
“If you ever do that again, ever argue with a client or at a dinner, I’ll kick your chair right out from you at the table.”
Len glared at me and with those icy, unforgiving eyes. I did not doubt his words.
I filled my friends in on the details of the dinner while we ate our salads at The Oasis.
“Those women just sat there, like they’re not supposed to talk.”
“Len didn’t really say that to you? Did he?” Rachel said.
“Yeah, he did. These people live in another world. You wouldn’t recognize the women I’m meeting. It’s the fifties. They don’t work. All they know how to do is play tennis, golf, exercise and shop. They’re subservient to these rich, successful men. One of these women was laughing one night at dinner that she had just flown over to Paris for the weekend. She said she did the Louvre in fifteen minutes and checked it off her list. She said and I quote,
SPRING 1995
CHAPTER 8
May
L en began inviting me to dinners with his friends, most of whom were investment bankers with whom he worked.
One night we were to have dinner at a small but very exclusive French restaurant in New Jersey with Thomas, a tall and strikingly handsome man. Len would hint to me at the extent of Thomas’ wealth but never give flat out figures.
“He donates millions every year to charity,” Len declared.
Thomas was accompanied by Linda, his beautiful wife and former secretary, who showed up with the largest breasts and most jewelry, both very real, that any woman could possibly carry all at the same time. Joining us at dinner was Paul, a media mogul from Alpine, and his surprisingly very ordinary wife, Sandra.
“Paul might be hard to take. He’s very full of himself,” Len warned me on the way over.
The restaurant looked crowded with diners elegantly dressed for a suburban restaurant on a Saturday night. Our men surveyed the wine list and finally agreed on the appropriate bottles, each well over a hundred dollars. The women sat idly by, so conversation had to be made with Linda and Sandra.
“Do you have children?” I smiled politely at them.
“Two, both in boarding school,” Linda replied.
“No, we don’t have children,” Sandra said quietly.
“Did you do any skiing this past winter?” Len asked Paul.
“Went heliskiing for a week in British Columbia. Spent a week skiing in Chamonix. We also went to Paris for ten days and did a week in Israel. I have to say, I love the French. Definitely prefer them to Americans,” Paul said.
Nobody said a word.
“And more than the French? I certainly favor the Palestinians over the Israelis. The Israelis are just a bunch of terrorists,” Paul continued.
Silence.
“I’m not sure how many people would agree with you that the Israelis are solely responsible for the troubles there and that they are a bunch of terrorists,” I finally said.
“Are you kidding? Are you aware of what goes on there?” Paul asked.
“Yes, as much as anyone is. I don’t think it’s as black and white as you make it out to be. It’s a very complicated situation,” I responded.
Len asked the waiter for the bill and paid.
Dinner ended and I gathered it was not a success.
We said our very polite good-byes while the valet parking attendants retrieved our cars. Len opened my door for me and then quietly got in on his side of the car. We drove in silence until we emerged out of the long driveway of the restaurant. Len turned to me as he drove.
“If you ever do that again, ever argue with a client or at a dinner, I’ll kick your chair right out from you at the table.”
Len glared at me and with those icy, unforgiving eyes. I did not doubt his words.
I filled my friends in on the details of the dinner while we ate our salads at The Oasis.
“Those women just sat there, like they’re not supposed to talk.”
“Len didn’t really say that to you? Did he?” Rachel said.
“Yeah, he did. These people live in another world. You wouldn’t recognize the women I’m meeting. It’s the fifties. They don’t work. All they know how to do is play tennis, golf, exercise and shop. They’re subservient to these rich, successful men. One of these women was laughing one night at dinner that she had just flown over to Paris for the weekend. She said she did the Louvre in fifteen minutes and checked it off her list. She said and I quote,
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