Good Riddance(34)

“Did he confess once he was busted?”

She actually smiled. “Do you know how I handled it? I told our minister, ‘You fix it. You get all of them in here and tell them the jig is up!’”

“Did he?”

“That mouse! No, he begged me not to put him in the middle. I said, ‘When I can’t come to church because my husband’s mistresses, plural, are in the next pew, who else is going to help me?’ And at the time, Dear Abby always told women to talk to their ministers or spiritual advisors. Have I mentioned they were married women whose husbands went to our church, too? On Fifth Avenue! Of course, I later found out that the pastor was no angel, either.”

I didn’t have to ask if there were only two paramours because Bibi volunteered, after summoning our waiter for another whiskey sour, “My divorce lawyer called it Don Juanism—his need to bed countless women.”

“If you’re saying this is an inherited vice, it doesn’t make me any more sympathetic.”

“Why did Holden marry?” she asked. “Why didn’t he continue sowing his wild oats?”

“Are you telling me that you didn’t know about the provision in his grandmother’s trust that he’d get the windfall only when he married?”

“Oh, that,” she said. “That was on his father’s side.”

“He used me! He thought I was a country bumpkin who wouldn’t notice he was a philanderer, who’d be grateful to marry someone with, as my mother would’ve said, means.”

“Check, please,” Bibi called.

We’d hardly touched our matching lobster salads. I asked to have mine wrapped up, then forgot to take it.



Jeremy said that this lunch must’ve been more painful than I was making it sound and that it couldn’t have been that long ago. A year? Eighteen months? Had there been any follow-up?

“Nope. That was it. I haven’t seen her since. Or her precious son, either. Did I mention that the scarves were hideous? I don’t even think they were new.”

“‘Holdy,’ seriously? Holden’s bad enough.”

We were watching Jeopardy! on his bed, fully clothed, laptop open, contemplating what to order for dinner. “Were you named after anyone?” I asked him.

“If you can believe that my mother admitted this—Jeremy was one of the brothers in Here Come the Brides.”

“Maybe she sensed, in utero, that you had a future in television.”

“Ah, yes. As Timmy.” After a pause, he added, “Which perhaps you recall is the name of my character.”

Was Jeremy hurt that I hadn’t caught up with Riverdale? Why hadn’t I upgraded my package to include his channel? Maybe because he played a junior in high school and I was having sex with him several nights a week. I said, “I’ve been economizing on my cable bill, but I’m calling them tomorrow.”

“Not necessary.”

“I think it is.” We turned back to the laptop, to Seamless and our delivery history. When we agreed to hit reorder from our favorite Cuban restaurant, Jeremy said, “This is the third time we’re getting these exact things. I wonder if it means we’re going steady.”

Of course, he was using that ironically. I knew from season one that it was a retro phrase often heard in a booth at Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe.



The smell of coffee in an NYU mug woke me. “I guessed milk and sugar for someone with a professional sweet tooth,” he said.

I lifted the covers to evaluate my state of undress. Complete. I told Jeremy I’d wait till he left before getting out from under. The coffee was excellent, thank you.

“I’ve got to run. Feel free to use the shower.”

“No need. I’ll slip across the hall.” I reached for his retreating hand. “Another plus.”

“Along with . . . ?”

What answers did the modern woman give? I mentioned his coffeemaker, his view of the Hudson, his martinis, and his talented hands.

“Why, thank you. Come back soon.”

“You can leave. I’ll make the bed and wash my mug.”

“I left a key for you on the table by the front door.”

A key? I’m sure possession of that didn’t have any meaning beyond my being a trustworthy neighbor should an emergency arise.





18


Well, That’s a Surprise



And there it was among my bills, catalogues, and circulars, a white envelope of the highest stationery grade, its return address a Concord, New Hampshire, law firm. I opened it slowly, suspiciously, expecting nothing good. It said:

Dear Daphne Maritch:



I am pleased to inform you that our client, Peter D. Armstrong, has instructed me to make this initial distribution of $5,000 to you, enclosed. We shall hold funds that are to pay you this same sum each calendar quarter. The federal income tax status of these payments is not clear at this time. You will receive further information as we know more. Please don’t hesitate to call with any questions you may have.



Sincerely yours,



Francis A. Barber, Esq.





Five thousand bucks times four! Should I? Could I? What were the ethics of such a windfall? Had my benefactor died? Should I call him or call Francis A. Barber, Esquire? Return it? Cash it?