They May Not Mean To, But They Do(80)

*

The party had no theme. It was a party, a celebration, pure and simple. There were about sixty of them in the restaurant, an old neighborhood Italian place that Ruby had loved since she was a small child. They filled the restaurant. Ruby made sure to thank Manuel, the owner of the corner store she had defaced, for coming. She introduced him and his wife to her Aunt Molly and Aunt Freddie. “I introduced Ruby to the rabbi,” Manuel said. He grinned and looked proud, and Ruby made her retreat before he said any more. She took a sip from her mother’s glass of champagne and was brushed gently away. Then Ben grabbed her and she was placed on a chair and lifted high in the air, waving regally. It wasn’t a horse, and she had been assured by both parents that she would never be getting a horse, but, she thought, up there on the wobbling chair, it was an awfully good ride.

*

In the car that was driving them back to the Upper East Side, Joy and Karl sat quietly side by side.

“You have a wonderful family,” he said.

“I do.” She gazed out the window. The Pepsi sign was cursive and bright, the river sparkled with the reflection of the city. Queens. Even Queens was no longer affordable, that’s what the young people at the party had been saying.

“I told my sons about you, Joy.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Really? What did you say? They were not too pleased, if my children are anything to go by.”

“I said I wanted to marry you.”

“Oh boy. I bet they didn’t like that.”

“No, they didn’t. They think I’ve lost my marbles. They were furious.” He started laughing. “It was worth it just to hear them sputtering, trying to come up with reasons it would be a bad idea. I told them we would have a prenup of course, and that calmed them down.”

“But, Karl honey, did you tell them that I don’t want to marry you?”

He shifted, took out his handkerchief, blew his nose, shifted some more. “No.”

“Oh.”

“Joy, I know it’s too soon, and we’ll probably both drop dead before it’s not too soon…”

“… carried to the altar feetfirst.”

Karl laughed and said, “But you never know. In this life you never know.”

Outside, on the river, a tugboat pushed a barge. “You know certain things,” she said.

“It was very satisfying, at any rate, telling the kids,” Karl said. “Put the fear of god into them.”

Joy nodded. “Good. That’s good. Poor things.”

Then she had an idea.

She didn’t want to marry him, and she didn’t want to live with him, it was true. They were both too old and set in their ways, and her apartment turned out to be just big enough for her and all her mail, and now that she had the dog, she didn’t mind staying there alone. But, well, she had feelings for Karl. She did. Strong feelings. She loved being with him, having dinner or sitting beside him in the park. She missed him when they were not together. Karl bracketed her long love for Aaron—on the one side hovered the youthful, passionate Karl and the foggy memories of a college beau, on the other this new foggy tolerant affection for a man in old age.

Marriage, however, even living with him—that was a time together they had missed, a time that could not be recovered.

“No wedding,” she said. “No oldies shacking up.”

“I know, I know.”

But their children, they’d gotten her back up. Who did they think they were, those sons of his, telling Karl he shouldn’t marry someone if he wanted to? As for Molly and Daniel, had Karl’s presence at the bat mitzvah hurt anyone?

“The children mean well,” she said. “But it can be a bit much.”

He said, “Amen.”

“Well, here’s my idea,” she said. “We’ll get engaged. Just engaged. Nothing decided, nothing certain, no plans, but always that possibility. It’s very existential. And it’ll keep those kids all on their toes.”

Karl laughed. He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Joy,” he said, “you take my breath away.”





59

A ticket window and a growl from the female functionary. The paint was thick and tired on the walls. The trip down to 2 Washington Street had been a tiring fuss of bumps and jerks, horns, the sputtering of the taxi TV that would not turn off, the smell of the driver’s lunch, which he ate as he swore automatically and without passion in his second language. The fare was a shock, and Joy tried to put it out of her mind as she waited for the elevator, waited and waited, then forgot what floor she was going to and guessed the fifth. She was right, there was a sign, and she turned and stood before a counter that had obviously emigrated from Eastern Europe well before the Velvet Revolution. Joy gave Ben’s name and handed over the rumpled pink traffic ticket.

“Is this where I belong?” she asked the clerk.

The woman nodded, and Joy said, “But I don’t really. I’m here for my grandson. He’s back in New Orleans tending bar while he applies to law school. He did very well on the LSATs. So he’s not here. But I am his emissary.”

The clerk handed her a card with a number and name scribbled on it.

“Where do I go?” Joy asked.

The clerk pointed to a hallway.

In the courtroom, Joy walked down the center aisle. On either side were long benches crowded with people, like a well-attended church, although a round-shouldered resentment permeated the space, a communal almost penal resentment and resignation. Joy found a space far in the back and settled on the hard bench. She was out of breath. She was out of her element. She was out of her mind. She could have been married to a nice old man who loved her and had enough money to keep her safe and warm and fed and to hire someone to wipe the drool from her chin. Aaron, she thought, don’t you think I should have said yes? I still could, though it would be so undignified. What do you think, Aaron? But Aaron had no answers for her. Why should he? He was safely out of this vale of tears. Well, enjoy, she said to him. Don’t worry about me, left behind in this place where I have no place. Enjoy.