About Schmidt - Louis Begley [60]
In fact, it was a small Oriental, an almost entirely round, elderly woman, shifting about in powder-blue felt slippers, who served the dinner. Elaine spoke to her with emphasis; either she was deaf or there was a question about how well she understood. The food was a succession of Chinese dishes of the kind Schmidt remembered eating before Hunan and Szechuan restaurants invaded New York, and afterward every shopping mall—peas, pea pods, and water chestnuts swimming in white sauces among mushrooms and alternating chunks of chicken and shrimp. It had a comforting taste. He ate with pleasure, hungrily, using his fork and knife, observing the Blackmans click their ivory chopsticks. These were linked at the top by thin silver chains—a new refinement, so far as Schmidt was concerned. The wine was fruity and strong. He was drinking it too fast, and Elaine kept his glass full.
A little Merlot that goes with anything, I get it directly from the Sonoma Valley producer, Gil informed him; would Schmidt like to be included for a couple of cases in the next order? Thereupon, he resumed needling Elaine about the education of teenage girls, Lilly in particular. Unless they had talent—and he challenged Elaine and Schmidt to point to a single case of a talent that lay in hiding, waiting to be discovered—they should not be allowed to fool themselves into thinking they were special. The proper question was: How could they make themselves useful and financially independent?
It occurred to Schmidt that Gil had not applied this theory with full rigor to his own daughters. But it was not for him to bring that up. He was to be a buffer state. That was why they were having dinner à trois. Therefore, taking another gulp of wine, he asked, Who else is going to be at the Monaco?
Then you will come with us, cried Elaine. It will be so much fun! We even have another lawyer!
She named a partner in the most profitable firm in New York, the husband of one of her cousins, a man Schmidt disliked but didn’t know, although they had been at law school at the same time; a writer and his wife who also wrote, both of whom had been published by Mary; and a man whose name Schmidt recognized as being that of a movie producer. I don’t know whom Fred will bring, she added, but I hope it will be Alice. She is such a good sport!
I don’t think I can. You see, I’ve made all kinds of nice overtures to the parents of Charlotte’s fiancé, and they have asked me to spend Christmas with them—in Washington, of all places! I said I’m not up to it this year, which is quite true, and everybody—the parents, Charlotte, and Jon—will take it badly if instead I go off on a party in Venice. Besides, I’m not sure I am up to Venice either.
It was Gil’s turn to be practical.
Then what will you do, old friend? he asked.
I don’t know. To put an end to the discussion, I told them I would go away to someplace that has no associations with Christmas. The trouble is I can’t think where that would be. And it’s kind of late. Christmas is practically here. Perhaps I will just stay here and pretend I am somewhere else—let’s say Kyoto!
That won’t work. They’ll ask for your telephone number, they’ll want you to call them, they’ll expect presents from Kyoto when you return.
That was the practical side of Elaine.
I think you are right.
Kyoto is not a bad idea, said Gil. Of course, it will be cold and humid and the gardens won’t seem like much—except the Moss Temple, which is best in the winter. I shot some scenes there one January. Why don’t you go to a place like Bali? You will be in a marvelous hotel, you will have the beach, and you will get a real rest.
And have all those couples all around me, enjoying the best years of their lives?
He’s right, said Elaine. It would be like going alone on a cruise in the Caribbean.
How do you know? You’ve never been on a cruise. That’s just where people go to find a lover. Bali’s the thing. There must be lots of men who go alone to study the topless Balinese, and women too. I don’t mean only lesbians; women who don’t mind being near men who