Ghosts of Manhattan: A Novel(34)
“Okay.” The conversation is over and we’re still hugging, ear to ear, each of us looking at the wall behind the other, both knowing that we haven’t really addressed anything. It feels like a layer of paint over rusted metal.
12 | A SOCIOPATH
COMES TO DINNER
December 15, 2005
NORMALLY I WOULDN’T BE BACK OUT TO DINNER WITH Oliver and Sybil Bennett so soon, if ever. People in New York can go months without catching up with even pretty good friends. I’m trying to work on things with Julia though, and this is something she wants that I can give to her. Also I want Julia to know that I feel no threat. While I don’t like Oliver, he isn’t significant enough to be meaningful. I can handle another night of boredom.
Inside there is a part of me that wants to see the drama play out, to see everything come to a conclusion, because maybe that would be a better place or it would at least be exciting to get there. It comes from a deep and self-destructive place inside, and in my stomach I can physically feel the obsessive urge the way a person peers over a high-rise balcony and hundreds of feet down, wondering about the sensation of falling, and grips the rail even tighter because he can’t know if something inside him might push him over the rail. So I have agreed to another dinner with them. I feel myself climbing over the rail and starting to fall.
I pour myself a few drinks while getting dressed before we meet them at Da Silvano, which seems a natural restaurant selection for Oliver. The restaurant is a scene full of bankers, socialites, and media personalities, and everything is twice as expensive as it should be. We arrive second again and I see Sybil’s coat is already hung up and the first thing anyone can notice is her necklace with diamonds the size of teeth. From there my eyes go to her heavily made-up face, then down to her tight and expensive-looking black dress that seems too much for a dinner at a restaurant. This must be her own version of a brave face. Her previous appearance had been understated, as though the last dinner was just a dress-down scrimmage and tonight is the real game. She must share the same suspicions.
We all hug and kiss hello and I hang up Julia’s coat, then mine, and we sit at a square table against the wall. Sybil and I sit across from each other. Julia sits next to me looking across at Oliver. I wave the waiter over for drink orders before he has a chance to greet us.
Sybil’s manner has changed from our last dinner. Before she had been inquisitive and generous with a smile. Tonight she sits upright and waits for the conversation to come to her. As much as she has stiffened, Oliver has loosened. He leans forward into the table, resting on his elbows, looking happy to be here and willing to initiate conversation.
“We’re going to try to get a ski trip in toward the end of the season. Planning to get to Sun Valley next month. It’s never the best skiing conditions, but I love the place.”
I manage a sound like “unhh” in response while finishing my drink. With both Sybil and me as grudging participants, starting conversation is like trying to light wet wood. Each flare fizzles with a hiss. I pour more gin on my mood. Oliver excuses himself to go to the restroom.
Julia is the only one left who would prefer not to spend the rest of the evening in silence. I wonder if the others are as aware of this as I am. “Sybil, how are the kids?”
This gets a delayed response from Sybil and a smile that is nothing more than civil. “They’re fine. College decisions are still the main topic around the home. I’ll miss them when they go. It’s such a change to the family unit.”
Julia nods and Oliver returns. The waiter delivers the entrées and the silence is less obvious for a while as we eat meals that are not as enrapturing as we pretend.
“Were you able to convince that client to do away with that awful painting?” I have no idea what Oliver is asking about, but the question is directed to Julia and this time it is Julia with the delayed response.
“No. Not yet. Looks like I may have to work around it.” Julia gives a weak laugh. “God knows the ripple effect that will have on the furniture decisions I’ll have to make in the room. It really is an awful painting.”
Even through my gin rinse I’m clear enough to recognize that I don’t know about any of Julia’s clients, let alone particular paintings they have. I never ask and she rarely volunteers. I realize I had been thinking of her career as one notch above a hobby. I feel a pulse of remorse, the way I would if inadvertently cutting off a person in traffic and finding the best I can do is give a meek wave and hope it didn’t hurt anyone or wasn’t even much noticed. The pulse passes because really I just want to know, When the hell have they been talking? And where?
Oliver is so smooth, he doesn’t show a moment of doubt. He lets off a loud laugh that sounds genuine even to my suspicious ears. He turns to Sybil. “Julia was telling me about a client whose house she’s designing, and the client loves a hideous painting and absolutely insists on making it the showpiece of the living room.” He turns back to Julia. “Julia, you should consider that there is certain business that you should turn away. You can’t compromise your standards.” Oliver shows no strain and seems satisfied that his tracks are covered. Sybil looks as sick as I feel. I look at Julia and my face feels expressionless, but I see that she has instantly read my mind. We each know that the other understood what just happened. Julia doesn’t look panicked. Maybe just a little sad. Oliver excuses himself for the restroom again. I watch him walk down the long corridor lined with tables on one side to the single bathroom in the back of the restaurant. There is no line and he goes in.