Leap Year (19 page)

“You don’t look different.”

“I’m starting to bulge a little. Here, feel.”

“I don’t feel anything.”

“Yes. Here. Feel that?”

“That’s your pelvis.”

“No, it’s not. It’s my baby.”

“It’s an awfully hard baby. Is it kicking?”

“Not kicking, really. More like…undulating.”

“Tell me again about the father.”

“I don’t know much. He’s young—twenty-six, I think. Smart, handsome, and creative. He’s tall and has green eyes. Brown hair.”

“He sounds great.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Maybe we aren’t walking west. Maybe we’re going uptown.”

“Are we lost?”

“No. I mean, this is Central Park. How lost can we be? I just think maybe we should be walking, well, maybe more in that direction. I think that’s west.”

“So we are lost.”

“We’re a little lost,” said David. “At least,
I’m
a little lost. I shouldn’t speak for you. You may be exactly where you want to be.”

“Greetings,” said Amanda Paine to the concierge.

“Good evening, Madam,” he replied. “May I help you?”

“In fact you could. I’m here at Mr. Shawangunk’s request—Anton Shawangunk, 38C—he’s alerted you, I’m sure.”

“On the contrary, I’m afraid. Mr. Shawangunk is out of the country.”

“But of course, I know that. That is precisely why I am here. He’s asked me to collect his mail, water his plants, and feed the cat.”

“I didn’t know Mr. Shawangunk had a cat.”

“I was speaking metaphorically,” said Amanda.

“Well, he left no word with us. What company are you with?”

“Oh, goodness, no,” laughed Amanda. “Unlike you, I am not employed in the service sector. I am merely doing Mr. Shawangunk a favor.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Mr. Shawangunk and I are colleagues, you see.”

“I thought you looked familiar.”

“Yes…I’ve stopped in before—on business, of course.”

“Of course,” said the concierge. “Well, you’re in luck. Mrs. Shawangunk’s sister is up there now. She’s come to sort out Mrs. Shawangunk’s things. Mrs. Shawangunk is no longer with us.”

“She’s broken her lease, so to speak,” muttered Amanda, as she hastened toward the elevator. Once safely ensconced in its ascendant shell, she reviewed the situation: Anton was due back from a week in Mustique later that evening. After the gaffe at Solange’s funeral, he had decided they should avoid each other until after Heath’s trial. But a week’s separation was more than Amanda could bear, and on the assumption that Anton must be feeling similarly, she had decided to surprise him in his bed that night. How annoying that Leonora had picked this particular evening to come and meddle! Well, she would just have to be gotten rid of.

The apartment door was locked. Amanda knocked and was ignored. “Hello!” she called, knocking again. “Leonora? It’s Amanda. Let me in!”

The door opened a few inches, exposing a slice of Miss Coco’s rather unfriendly face.

“Greetings,” said Amanda. “Are you helping Mrs. Trumpet? Is Leonora here? Who are you?” Apparently some maid who doesn’t speak English, Amanda thought. She tried to speak more distinctly. “I am here to help. Let me in.”

“But…” Miss Coco protested, to no avail. Amanda forced herself through the crack in the door.

“Have you started? Leonora’s in the bedroom, I suppose? Follow me.” The bedroom was adrift in clothes. The mess seemed to originate on the bed, which was covered with dresses, lingerie, and jewelry, and explode out across the floor. Leonora was nowhere to be seen. “My, my,” said Amanda, standing in the doorway, “you must learn to respect clothes, my dear! I think perhaps you are not qualified for this particular job.” As she spoke, Amanda unlocked a cavernous armoire and peered inside. “Oh, dear God,” she cried, clutching the heavy wooden doors for support.

A
TRAIN LEFT
G
RAND
C
ENTRAL
Station later that night. It crept into the dark tunnel, emerged briefly into the illuminated backyards of the Bronx, and then descended to the shores of the Hudson. It slipped beneath the canopy of the Tappen Zee and sped north, into the tight sleeve of night. Lillian sat by the window, staring through her reflection at the fluid darkness of river. She was going to see Claude for the weekend.

Years later, she would think: Remember that midnight ride, racing toward Claude, who I knew very little but hoped I might love very much? Remember the beginning and how happy I was then? But now, as the train slowed to stop in Rhinecliff, this happiness was unfelt, furled deep inside her. It would be recognized only in retrospect. How dangerous life would be if it were otherwise, and we felt our greatest happinesses as they occurred! The world would be undone by joy: Cars would speed off roads, planes drop from the sky, and trains hurtle ecstatically off their tracks. As Amanda stood gaping into the open armoire, she vaguely sensed the horrid little maid come up behind her, but she found herself unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything but stare. She was overcome with longing. The armoire was full of the most beautiful shoes in the world. Amanda was a woman of many and complex desires, yet her lust for shoes was of epic proportions. Oh, how she wanted to touch them all, wear them all, but most of all she wanted to
own
them all! Life was so unfair.…Perhaps if she tried on just one pair. Those pumps upholstered in watered silk—what color were they? An iridescent lavender? She leaned down to get a closer look and tumbled forward into the dark. She heard herself scream, felt her head hit one of the shelves, and then fell into a flurry of falling shoes.

“We have blackberry and strawberry-rhubarb,” the woman in the aqua pantsuit said.

“We’ll try a slice of each,” said Claude, “and a bowl of vanilla ice cream. Are the pies warm?”

“I could nuke ’em up for you.”

“Skip it,” said Claude.

“Skip the pies?”

“No, just skip the nuking.”

“Whatever you say.”

Lillian and Claude were sitting in a diner booth. Lillian was looking down at her placemat, which depicted different styles of covered bridges. Claude’s featured an illustrated catalog of desert plant life. The combination was a little disorienting. She looked up at Claude. They both smiled. Neither of them knew quite what to say. They were at the stage where it was hard to talk. They both knew they liked each other better than any conversation they could have at this point would indicate.

“So,” said Claude, “how was the train ride?”

“Nice,” said Lillian. “Although I almost missed it. I was walking in the park with David, and we got lost.”

“Is he the one who was up here? David and Loren?”

“Yes, although they’re not a couple anymore.”

“That’s too bad,” said Claude.

Lillian shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think it’s better this way. I think it was a mistake for them to get back together.”

“What do you mean, back together? I thought they were married.”

“They were. And then they were divorced, about a year ago. Well, longer now. And then Kate—remember Kate, their daughter? Well, she got kidnapped, and they both went out to California to get her, and Loren was crushed by a glass wall, and they were in an alleged earthquake, all of which made them decide to get back together. But it didn’t last very long.”

“You have weird friends,” said Claude. “Do you know that?”

Lillian laughed. We’re all weird to someone, she thought. She wondered whom she was weird to. Then she thought, I should tell Claude about the baby. It’s wrong not to. I’ll tell him when the pie comes.

“How are things at Chez Claude?” she asked.

“Slow,” said Claude. “We’re only open two nights a week now that summer’s over.”

“What do you do the rest of the week?”

“I don’t know. I hang out. Play the piano. I’m teaching a sauce course at the Culinary Institute.”

“Don’t you get bored up here?”

“No,” said Claude.

“You don’t miss Manhattan?”

“Not at all.”

“How long have you lived up here?”

“A year. Almost just. I left New York right after the crash. I wasn’t always a chef, you know. I worked as a stockbroker for twelve years.”

“You did?”

“Uh huh. Although it’s hard to believe now. I finally decided it was time to forget it and come up here. If I’d stayed in New York, I think I would be dead by now.”

“How would you have died?”

“Any number of ways,” said Claude.

An aqua arm lowered two plates of pie between them, followed by a dish of vaguely yellow ice cream. “Enjoy,” a voice said.

Now, thought Lillian. Say it now. Say: “Oh, by the way, I’m five months pregnant with a complete stranger’s baby.” Just say it.

“Do you want ice cream on your pie?” Claude asked.

“I’m five months…”

“What?”

“I haven’t eaten pie in five months,” said Lillian. “I’d love ice cream on it.”

“This is my room,” said Claude, opening a wooden door. A big black dog jumped off the bed and looked at them. “That’s Pushkin.”

Pushkin allowed Lillian to pet him. She sat down on the bed. “He’s lovely,” she said. “What kind is he?”

“He’s a Briard. Come, Pushkin, let’s go out. I’ll just let him out for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” Lillian heard them go downstairs and out the front door. She stood up and looked around. A large platform bed was at the center of the room. A desk piled high with cookbooks and magazines faced it. The bed was neatly made. Pushkin had been sleeping on a towel that was covered with dog hair. Lillian could hear Claude outside, talking to the dog. It sounded as if he were singing. She looked at her reflection in a mirror and saw a woman in a man’s bedroom, sitting on a man’s bed, waiting for the man to return, waiting for…that’s me, Lillian thought. That woman waiting is me.

“Good evening, Bernard,” said Anton.

“Welcome home, Mr. Shawangunk. How was your trip?”

“Very nice, Bernard…considering.”

“Of course. I still expect to see Mrs. Shawangunk walk through the door. It’s very sad. Her sister came by this evening to remove some of her things. She thought it would be less painful if she did it while you were away. And another woman, too, come to water the plants.”

“Really?” said Anton. “How strange. I trust you didn’t let them up.”

“But I did. They both had keys.”

“They’ve departed, I take it?”

“The sister, yes. I saw her come through about an hour ago with several suitcases. The other woman was a colleague of yours, I remember now: someone from the gallery. I think she’s still up there.”

“I’m sure she is,” said Anton. “Good night, Bernard.”

“Good night, Mr. Shawangunk.”

Sometimes Anton felt as if he didn’t have sufficient energy to live his life. Just the thought of Amanda exhausted him. There was a light on in the bedroom, which looked to have been burgled. Clothes were strewn about, drawers and closets flung open, leaking their contents onto the floor. Anton sighed, put his bags down, and went to find a drink. He was emptying a bottle of tired seltzer down the kitchen sink when he heard an awful thumping and his name being called. He followed the sound to Solange’s shoe chateau.

“Amanda?” he called.

“Let me out!” she shouted back.

“The key’s gone—No, wait, here it is.” He unlocked the heavy wooden doors. Amanda rolled out at his feet. “Are you all right?” he asked, helping her up. He pushed aside a flouncy LaCroix and sat her on the bed.

Amanda responded by kissing him, long and hard, pulling him back on top of her.

“Amanda, no,” he said. “What’s happened here? Why were you in the armoire?”

“Darling, it’s been the most awful evening. What I go through for you, my love! You see, I came to surprise you. I planned to be in bed—there’s a bottle of champagne here somewhere, if we can find my bag, and something, well, you’ll see later, but something naughty you rather like, darling. Anyway, after I finally convinced his royal fucking highness downstairs that he could let me up without endangering national security, I find the most horrible little woman here rummaging through all of Solange’s clothes, just pawing everything. I didn’t know what was going on. Bernard had said Leonora was here…well, I was just about to dismiss her when I opened that…that thing. Well, you know me and shoes, darling, I queased out for an instant, and before I knew it, I had been pushed inside and the doors were locked.”

“You’ve got a nasty bump on your head.”

“Do I? Kiss it and make it fabulous, will you?”

“Amanda, I thought we had an agreement. I thought we weren’t going to see each other until this was all over.”

“But, Anton, I missed you! And I’ve been so miserable. You know that job with MOLTCATO? Well, it’s gone kaput! They tell me now I have to be a Canadian citizen. Can you imagine anything more revolting? As if I’d be Canadian for a second! So it looks like we’re partners again; we’ll just have to get rid of that horrible girl, somehow, because I refuse to work with her—”

“Amanda, I think you’d best go home. Come, and we’ll find you a ride.”

“Darling, what are you saying? You can’t send me home, now, this late and with this awful bump on my head.”

“I’m perfectly serious. I find I can trust you rather less than I thought.”

“Darling, you can trust me implicitly…to the grave.”

“Which is exactly where we both shall be, if you don’t start behaving. Now, come. Let’s find your coat.” Anton began rooting through the mess on the floor.

Amanda watched him. “I have the distinct feeling,” she said after a moment and in a somewhat different tone of voice, “that I am not the only person in this room who has been misbehaving. Have you been naughty, Anton?”

“Amanda, don’t start that.”

“Because, you know, if you had been, if you’d been naughty, I’d have to punish you. You know that, don’t you, darling?”

“Please, Amanda. No. Not now—”

“You’ve been a naughty boy, I can tell. Are you listening to me, Anton? You’ve been a big bad sexy naughty boy, and it’s my job to punish you. Do you see my bag there? There’s something in it Mommy needs. Bring it to me, Anton. That’s a good baby. That’s my naughty little big bad sexy boy …”