About Schmidt - Louis Begley [79]
And before that?
Charlotte, you know perfectly well that neither your mother nor I were churchgoers. That’s not the point.
Will you explain the point then?
The novocaine was wearing off. He nudged Carrie off his lap.
Not before you explain to me what you meant by your remark about conversion.
Just what I said. There isn’t time between now and June. There will be time later and maybe I’ll convert. There must be more to being a Jew than your kind of Episcopalian. At least it would be genuine!
Genuine! Have they got you on some sort of pills, baby? Otherwise, why not a Hare Krishna? Do you actually plan to light candles and go to the ritual bath? I bet dear Renata doesn’t. Is this what we brought you up for?
Dad, you hit the nail right on the head! That’s exactly right, Mom brought me up to admire the Jewish tradition and to think your Jew baiting is disgusting. Just listen to yourself: one mention of the word rabbi and the real Albert Schmidt Esquire comes out of the closet! Then it’s goodbye caterers and nice short white dress: not for the daughter who’s marrying a Jew and wants to bring a rabbi onto her father’s lawn!
That grace, those simple good manners, must have come to Carrie naturally. Or had they been taught by Mr. Gorchuk, revealed as Muscovite prince or the son of tsarist general? Schmidt observed with grateful admiration that she seemed to have gone stone deaf, and anyway was off at the far side of the kitchen, fixing him what looked like a bourbon on ice. Bare feet, noiseless steps. She had found the round little silver tray and brought the drink on it. Then, squatting on her haunches, she hugged his legs. Like a cat, she rubbed her head against his knees.
You don’t think, Dad, that anyone is fooled? At Wood & King it was a standard joke: Schmidt’s last stand against Zion! That’s why they never let you near the management of the firm. Half the firm would have walked out the door! Ask Mr. DeForrest. Ask some of your other pals over there. They’ll tell you they didn’t want an anti-Semite to be presiding partner.
The effect of one hundred proof bourbon on an empty stomach was fabulous.
Jack DeForrest? he asked. That notorious defender of Israel? Nick Browning? Or maybe Lew Brenner, our honorary Wasp? Are they casting the first stone? No, it’s Jon Riker. I guess I must have thought the Riker family arrived on the Mayflower when I pushed him for partnership.
Dad, it’s everybody. Sure, you helped Jon make it, but you held your nose doing it. Remember your clients? Was there a single Jew among them? Or your friends? And don’t tell me about Gil Blackman!
If you want to do Jew counting, sweetie pie, you are welcome. It’s not my habit. You might even start by all the Jews your mother and I have had to dinner and lunch, both here and at Fifth Avenue, for the weekend, and out at parties. Really!
Those were Mom’s friends, not yours!
There you are right, Charlotte. I have no friends.
Except the fancy Gil Blackman!
Yes, my old college roommate, who wasn’t all that fancy when he and I first met. All right, baby. I think you have told me quite enough. Please say to Renata I’m quite able to manage, and say hello to Jon and the rest of his family. I’d like you to write within the week, with the number of guests, if you want me to give the wedding here. If you have something else in mind, you work it out, and I’ll pay for it.
There was a beginning of a reply—he didn’t want to hear it and raised his voice: Don’t dare to apologize. Ever. We will simply get on with our lives.
After the click, the face at his knee looked up. Man, that was wild!
Yes. I am sorry you heard it.
That’s OK.
The face began an upward journey toward his center, paused while Carrie opened her peignoir, lingered until it was satisfied.
I want it. What are you waiting for?
She pushed his hands away from her breasts, let the peignoir fall to the floor, and, arms stretched out, leaned over the kitchen table.
Hold me hard.
Later, panting: Do you like that? You can