About Schmidt - Louis Begley [101]
Once he had driven the thirty miles from Bridgehampton and found himself in Ted and Mimi’s house, he remembered his tergiversations and curiosity, and might have burst out laughing, because it was all so simple, if it had not been for the envy that stabbed him. The house was much like his, a brown clapboard affair with screened porches and sky-blue window shutters, surrounded by old trees. On the neat lawn in the back a band was playing New Orleans jazz. Pleasant-looking locals were handing drinks and canapés and other finger food to older types, many of whom he could identify without captions, and to young people cut from the same selection of cloths as the more presentable latter-day associates at W & K, and just as wholesome. Those would be the friends of the Walkers’ lawyer and banker kids. There was no tent; he supposed the house was big enough to feed this crowd, and anyway the night air would be too cold for a tent unless it was heated. For Charlotte’s wedding, he had planned to have a big tent close to the back porch, so that people could drift in and out. That was one difference. The other was his rotten luck; it was nothing but that: first Mary and then the dreadful business with Charlotte. Without that unseemly row, he could have managed. Ted didn’t have any more money than he. He could have given a great party—Mary and he could have done it with both hands tied behind their backs. All he needed was something to celebrate. But hold it: Why not throw a bash to introduce Carrie to society? With Bryan parking cars and the man in blackface behind the bar—if he could be found and cleaned up! Decidedly, there was no riddle to be answered here. This was just another catered party, given by a nice couple whose lives had not yet been broken. Their time would come.
Despite his own indifference to the fortunes of the Walkers and his other former friends scattered among the guests, Schmidt took it hard that people he had once known well, and had not seen for an age, should not feel curious about him. For instance Ted: he had been perfectly polite and cordial, but then ditched Schmidt with the “Stay right here, I’ll be right back” of a busy host, not bothering to make sure he had someone to talk to. Abandoned, Schmidt crisscrossed the lawn, drifting in and out of groups, putting forward views and asking questions he knew were of no interest to himself or whomever he had happened to buttonhole. Resenting the intrusions of others into conversations he had begun only to feel excluded from them, drinking more and faster than usual in the hope that the repeated trips to the bar made his meanderings less conspicuous. A voice he knew well hailed him. It belonged to his former partner, Lew Brenner. What a surprise: Had the walls of Jericho fallen down?
He said, Nice to see you, Lew. What are you doing at the Walkers’?
I guess the same as you. Having a great time! Isn’t this a grand occasion?
I mean I hadn’t realized you knew them.
We’ve been friends for years. In fact, Tina and I play doubles with them once a week in the city, unless one of us is on the road. You know how that is!
Behind Schmidt’s back! This too was hard.
That’s nice, Lew. How are things at the firm?
Not bad, we’re pulling out of the slough. Earnings for ’92 should be flat. That’s not great, but it’s better than ’91! Partners were going around saying they’d kill for a deal. Of course I couldn’t complain then and can’t complain now, because foreign work never dropped off, and that Jon Riker of yours and the rest of the bankruptcy gang are doing great things!
Good for you, Lew. Good for Jon. You know, I never hear much about W & K anymore.
That’s your fault! You should drop in, come to firm lunch. People miss you.
I can’t believe that! Lew, tell me, are you having a good time here,