People Like Us (45 page)

“Bernie always has to work. That doesn’t usually keep you home.”

“Headache.”

“Not pregnant, are you?”

“Oh, no. Thank God.”

“I thought you wanted a baby. Don’t wait too long, Justine. Look what happened to Muffie Windsor, and she was only thirty-six.”

“How was the Renthals’ party?”

“You mean you haven’t heard? My dear, I know it’s awful to laugh, with my poor father lying in a casket at Frank E. Campbell’s, but wait until you hear. You won’t believe what happened. Now, don’t call Violet Bastedo. You just get over here, and I’ll fill you in. And call Hubie. You better get him here as well.”

It was a fact of Justine Altemus Slatkin’s life that all the people she knew, and all the people her family and friends knew, lived within a thirty-block radius of each other in that part of the city known as the Upper East Side, and, just as in a small town, they were constantly running into each other in the streets and on the avenues in that small enclave.

Ezzie Fenwick happened to be in a taxicab going down Park Avenue at the moment Justine Altemus left her own apartment to walk the several blocks to her mother’s apartment on Fifth Avenue and was witness to the fact that Justine took a swig from a can of beer she was holding. Later, describing the incident to a group of ladies he was lunching with, to rehash the events of the Renthal ball, Ezzie said that Justine’s face looked like a fallen soufflé.

Justine, oblivious to everything around her, didn’t see Ezzie leaning out the cab window, nor even notice Ned Manchester until he reached out and took her arm.

“Do you want to get a cup of coffee?” asked Ned.

“All right,” answered Justine, listing a bit to the side.

Ned lifted the beer can out of Justine’s hand and dropped it into a trash basket. They went into a coffee shop near the Whitney Museum.

“I know I look terrible,” said Justine.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Ned.

“God, I hate beer. Bernie likes beer. I can’t imagine why I drank it, let alone walked up Park Avenue with a can in my hand. You don’t think I’m flipping out, do you?”

“What’s the matter, Justine?” asked Ned.

When Justine looked over at Ned, she noticed that his hair was wet, as it always seemed to be wet when she saw him, and she assumed that he had probably just showered after playing squash at the Butterfield. “My dog died,” she lied, without even caring whether or not he knew that she didn’t have a dog.

“What’s the matter, Justine?” he repeated.

“Bernie,” she replied.

Ned nodded but did not reply.

“Bernie’s not even in love with anyone else, like Loelia was,” Justine continued. “Bernie just doesn’t want to be married to me.”

Ned lifted up the creamer and asked her with a gesture if she wanted cream in her coffee and poured it for her, did the same with the Sweet ’n Low, stirred it, and placed it in front of her. “It’s a terrible time, I know,” he said.

“The incredible thing was I thought we were happy,” she said.

“Drink your coffee,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”

“I never knew you were so nice, Ned,” said Justine, drinking her coffee.

“I’ve been through what you’re going through.”

“It’s awful to feel like this,” said Justine.

“All the little things in life that make a marriage work, like going to the movies on Sunday afternoons, or playing tennis together, or having dinner at home, just the two of us, we ceased to do,” said Ned, about his marriage. “And then, along came the cobbler.”

“I only cooked dinner for him once the whole time we were married, and that was when Bonita, my cook Bonita, went back to Honduras for her mother’s funeral, and even then Bernie told me the dinner was
lousy, and we ended up ordering in from Food-to-Go on Lexington Avenue.”

“Have you told Lil?”

“I was on my way to see my mother when you were kind enough to take the beer out of my hand. I’d better go. She’s waiting for me.”

“Sorry about your grandfather. Matilda called me.”

“Thanks, Ned.”

On the street, Justine continued to her mother’s apartment.

“Would you like to sign a petition to save the porpoises?” a man on Madison Avenue asked Justine, offering her a clipboard and a pen.

She seemed not to have heard what he said, although she was aware that he had asked her something. “What?” she said.

“Would you like to sign a petition to save the porpoises?” he asked again.

“No, actually I wouldn’t,” she said slowly.

The walk, only a few blocks, seemed endless to her. Within her, she ached.

A television news crew was outside the building where the Renthals lived, shooting footage of the weeping willow trees being lowered from the sixteenth floor to the street. Justine watched the procedure for a moment before moving on.

“Justine, are you all right?” she heard someone ask her.

Turning, she saw that it was Brenda Primrose, with a reporter’s notebook in hand, making notes on the dismantling of the ball.

“Justine?” Brenda said again, taking hold of Justine’s arm. Justine, usually so perfectly groomed, looked to Brenda like she had slept in the clothes she was wearing. Her hair was uncombed. A button was missing from her blouse. She smelled of beer.

“I’m fine,” said Justine.

“You poor thing,” said Brenda. “Is it your grandfather? We had it on the news that he died.”

“Yeah,” said Justine. “That’s it. My grandfather.”

“Do you need help, Justine? Where are you heading for?”

“My mother’s.”

“Where’s that?”

“Two buildings down from the Renthals.”

“C’mon. I’ll take you there. Be right back, Charlie.”

They walked for half a block in silence. Brenda thought Justine was crying.

“You guys must have been pretty close, huh? You and your grandfather? He must have been some guy,” said Brenda.

At the entrance of her mother’s apartment building, Justine turned to Brenda and said for the first time the words she would be saying for the rest of her life. “Bernie left me.” Before Brenda could react, Justine turned and walked into the building.

It was common knowledge that Lil Altemus thought her daughter had married beneath her, even though it was apparent, even to her, that Bernard Slatkin had not married Justine for her money. Nor could she ever say about Bernard that he had used her daughter for social advancement, because she knew that was not true. He had participated in Justine’s social life in an agreeable and successful fashion, but her world held no particular fascination for him and his success in it was that he had remained a newscaster first and foremost.

However, when Justine informed her mother that the marriage was over, irreparably over, Lil, ever unpredictable, was enraged at the failure. Losing her son-in-law, she liked him better than she realized she had and felt sure she could reorchestrate the disastrous plans.

“Now, listen, please. What you’re doing is overdramatizing an everyday marital situation. If anyone knows about these things, your old mother does. You’ve had a tiff, that’s all. These things happen. It’s a natural progression. The honeymoon is over. The marriage begins.
He’s simply flexing his muscles to show that he’s the man in the family. He’ll be back.”

“No, Mother, he won’t be back. I know him,” said Justine.

The look on Justine’s tear-stained face and the tone of Justine’s heartbroken voice made Lil look at her.

“But what in the world has happened?” asked Lil.

“It was my fault. I tried to bring him into my life, which never really interested him, and I didn’t make enough effort about all those news people.”

“Oh, please,” said Lil, dismissing her daughter’s explanation. “Is there another woman?”

“I don’t know.”

“Matilda Clarke said he’s a womanizer,” said Lil. “Your Uncle Laurance even said he was a philanderer.”

“Oh, please, Mother,” said Justine, wounded by the thought.

“Where is that place his aunt and uncle live in New Jersey? Hackensack, is it?” Lil asked.

“Weehawken,” replied Justine.

“Exactly,” said Lil, reaching for her book.

“Mother, please don’t call Mrs. Slatkin. Please.”

“Of course, I’m going to call her. Hester will understand that this simply must not be. Young people all have problems. They just have to be worked out.”

“Then let me leave. I can’t bear to hear that conversation.”

“Have you called Hubie to tell him about his grandfather?”

“No.”

“Do that now, and tell him to come right up here.”

After Justine left her mother’s room, Lil Altemus picked up her telephone book, looked up a number, and called Hester Slatkin, whom she had not seen or spoken to since the day of the wedding. A divorce after several years she not only could have tolerated but might gladly have accepted, but a divorce after a year she felt had an unseemly quality.

“We can’t allow this to happen, Hester. We simply can’t.”

“When Bernie makes up his mind about something, Lil, he never changes it,” said Hester. The coolness of Hester’s answer surprised Lil, who had assumed she would be a willing ally.

“I should have objected, you see, right from the beginning,” said Lil. “I should have said that it was all wrong, that it couldn’t work. Because, you see, it’s what I actually felt. But then I would have been the heavy. They would have said I was anti-Semitic, because that’s what it would have come down to, but that never had a damn thing to do with it. I thought they were wrong together.”

“Good-bye, Lil,” said Hester Slatkin, with a tone of finality in her voice that indicated it would be their last conversation.

“There’s no answer at Hubie’s, Mother,” said Justine.

“Keep trying.”

“There’s no answer at the gallery either, and the machine’s not on.”

“I’ll try,” said Lil. She tapped the numbers out on her telephone.

“
Sí?
” came the answer after several rings.

“You see?” she said to Justine. “There is someone there. This is Mrs. Altemus speaking. Is my son there?”

“
No está aquí
,” said the voice on the other end.

“It’s that damn maid,” said Lil to Justine. “Tell him his mother called. His mother. His
madre
. Do you understand?
Cinco, ocho, ocho
. What’s the word for six, Justine, quick?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, never mind,” Lil screamed into the telephone and slammed down the receiver. “Don’t you miss maids who speak English? Do you remember when you were a little girl, all those marvelous Irish maids we always had? Kathleen and Maeve?”

“Oh, Mother, please,” said Justine. “Let’s not talk about Kathleen and Maeve, for Christ’s sake.”

“Really, Justine. There is no reason for you to take the Lord’s name in vain. None whatsoever,” Lil replied to Justine’s outburst. She looked at her daughter. “You look terrible. Do you know that? Simply terrible.”

“I’m entitled to look terrible. My husband left me. My brother has AIDS.”

“He does not have AIDS! And don’t you dare say that to a living soul!”

“I’m going to call Juanito.”

“Juanito, Juanito. Who the hell is this Juanito I’m always hearing the name of?”

“He’s the man Hubie loves, Mother.”

“I simply loathe that kind of talk, Justine. Now go and pull yourself together, and we’ll meet Uncle Laurance at Frank E. Campbell’s and go over the funeral plans.”

Lourdes, Lil’s maid, came in to tell Lil that there was a man on the telephone to speak to her called Boy Fessenden.

“Boy Fessenden?” said Lil. “There’s a name from the past. I haven’t seen Boy Fessenden since that summer when he visited us in Newport. Do you remember?” She picked up the extension. “Hello, this is Lil Altemus. Yes, of course, I remember you. How are you, Boy? What a long time it’s been. How’s your mother? Do give her my love. Now what can I do for you, Boy? I must be quick. We’ve had such a sadness in the family. My father died last night. Eighty-four. Thank you. You’re so kind, Boy. How can I help you? Hubie? No, I can’t reach Hubie on the telephone. Or in the gallery. I want him to get right up here because we have to make plans for the funeral. What?… When?… Where?”

“What is it, Mother?” asked Justine.

Lil, ashen, handed the telephone to Justine. “You’d better take this, Justine. Boy Fessenden took Hubie to the hospital last night.”

* * *

That night, after calling hours at Frank E. Campbell’s funeral home, where the mayor, the governor, the board of directors of the Van Degan Foundation, the entire membership of the Butterfield, and several hundred family and business friends came to pay their respects to Ormonde Van Degan, Lil Altemus refused her brother’s invitation to join him and Janet and Dodo for a late dinner at their apartment and returned to her own, pleading exhaustion. At nine thirty the doorbell rang and she let Bernie Slatkin in, whom, unknown to Justine, she was expecting.

“I don’t understand how you can do this to my daughter,” Lil said, after they were seated in the library, allowing no time for amenities, not even a condolence message from Bernie to her on the death of her father. Nor had she offered him a drink.

“It was my understanding always that you did not care for the marriage in the first place, Mrs. Altemus,” replied Bernie.

Bernie’s addressing her as Mrs. Altemus, instead of Lil, which she had requested him to do after the wedding, and which he had been eager to do at the time, was not lost on Lil. When she spoke, she called him Bernard, as she had always refused to call him Bernie.

“That was then. This is now, Bernard,” said Lil.

“The marriage is over,” said Bernie.

“But why?”

“Feelings change.”

“So quickly?”

“It’s over, Mrs. Altemus,” Bernie repeated, as if to bring the matter to an end. “I do not see any point in prolonging a situation that is going to fail in the long run.”

“I have to be quite frank with you, Bernard,” said Lil, as if she were paying him a compliment. “I did think in the beginning that you might be using Justine to further your career, or you were interested in her money, but I know now that that is not the case.”

“Never was,” he said.