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Erich seemed to enjoy the question. “I’m begi
Mr. Hartley concentrated on greeting guests as they arrived. From his beatific smile, Je
It was obvious that the critics were equally impressed by Erich Krueger, the man. He had changed his sports jacket and slacks for a well-tailored dark blue suit; his white French-cuffed shirt was obviously custom-made; a maroon tie against the crisp white collar brought out his ta
She left Erich talking with Alison Spencer, the elegant young critic from Art News magazine. Alison was wearing an off-white Adolfo suit that complemented her ash-blond hair. Je
She tried to rationalize her sudden depression. It had been a long day and she was tired. It was time for her to leave and she almost dreaded picking up the girls. When Nana was still with them, going home had been a pleasure.
“Now sit down, dear,” Nana would say, “and get yourself relaxed. I’ll fix us a nice little cocktail.” She’d enjoyed hearing what was going on at the gallery, and she’d read the children a bedtime story while Je
“Well, Nana,” Je
Since they’d lost Nana, Je
As she was reaching for her coat, one of the most important collectors cornered her. Finally at 5:25 she managed to get away. She debated about saying good night to Erich but he was still deep in conversation with Alison Spencer. What possible difference would it make to him that she was going? Shrugging away the renewed sensation of depression, Je
2
Patches of ice on the sidewalk made the going treacherous. Avenue of the Americas, Fifth, Madison, Park, Lexington, Third. Second. Long, long blocks. Whoever said Manhattan was a narrow island had never run across it on slick pavements. But the buses were so slow, she was better off on foot. Still she’d be late.
The day-care center was on Forty-ninth Street near Second Avenue. It was quarter of six before, panting from ru
“We had a terrible day,” the grim lady continued. “Tina wouldn’t stop crying. And you told me that Beth was terlet-trained, but let me tell you she isn’t.”
“She is terlet-, I mean toilet-trained,” Je
“And they won’t get the chance. Your kids are just too much of a handful. You try to understand my position; a three-year-old who isn’t trained and a two-year-old who never stops crying are a full-time job by themselves.”
“Mommy.”
Je
“Her was scared today,” Beth reported, pointing at Tina. “Her cried and cried.”
Tina’s bottom lip quivered. She reached up her arms to Je
“And you’re late again,” Mrs. Curtis accused.
“I’m sorry.” Je
She picked up Tina. Fearful of being left behind, Beth slid off the couch. “I’ll keep both girls until Friday, which is a favor,” Mrs. Curtis said, “but that’s it.”
Without saying good night, Je
It was completely dark now and the wind was sharp. Tina burrowed her head in Je
Je
But three buses went by full. At last she gave up and began walking downtown. Tina was a dead weight. Trying to hurry meant she had to half-drag Beth. At the end of two blocks, she bent down and scooped her up. “I can walk, Mommy,” Beth protested. “I’m big.”
“I know you are,” Je
She had ten more blocks to go downtown, then two more across town. They’re not heavy, she told herself. They’re your children. Where in the name of God would she find another day care by next Monday? Oh, Nana, Nana, we need you so much! She couldn’t dare take more time off from the gallery. Had Erich asked Alison Spencer to have di
Someone fell in step beside her. Je
“But…” Je
“Now surely you’re going to let me help you, Je
“She wouldn’t,” Je
“Je
She felt his arm tuck firmly under her elbow. Suddenly instead of feeling fatigued and depressed, she was absurdly happy. She glanced at his face.
“Do you go through this every night?” he asked. His tone was both incredulous and concerned.
“We usually manage to get a bus in bad weather,” she said. “Tonight they were so full, there was hardly room for the driver.”
The block between Lexington and Park was filled with high-stooped brownstones. Je
Outside her building, she tried to say good night to Erich but he refused to be dismissed.
“I’ll see you in,” he told her.
Reluctantly she preceded him into the ground-level studio. She’d made slipcovers in a cheerful yellow-and-orange pattern for the battered secondhand upholstery; a piece of dark brown carpet covered most of the scarred parquet floor; the cribs fit into the small dressing room off the bathroom and were almost concealed by the louver door. Chagall prints hid some of the peeling wall paint and her plants brightened the ledge over the kitchen sink.