Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler [105]
“I’ve been remiss. You’re the groom. Mazel tov.”
“Yeah. Possibly.”
“I think you had better sit down,” she said, helping me into the nearest chair.
“You too.”
“Briefly. It’s late. I understand you’re in television.”
“Totally Unnecessary Productions.”
“That’s harsh.”
“It’s what I call my company.”
“You don’t,” she said.
And oh my oh my I had earned a small smile. Oh, the dimple in her cheek. Those blue eyes to die for. Those bare shoulders. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Like what?”
“What size shoe do you wear?”
“Eight. Why?”
“I get to Toronto often. Could we go out to dinner together one evening?”
“I think not.”
“I’d like that.”
“It’s not a good idea,” she said, attempting to slip away. But I restrained her, grabbing her elbow. “I’ve got two tickets for tomorrow’s flight to Paris in my jacket pocket. Come with me.”
“Would we pause to wave goodbye to your bride first?”
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Your father-in-law is staring at us.”
“Tuesday we could lunch at the Brasserie Lipp. I’ll rent a car and we’ll drive to Chartres. Have you ever been to Madrid?”
“No.”
“We could stop for tapas on those narrow streets running off the Plaza Mayor and order cochinillo asado at Casa Botín.”
“I’m going to do you a favour and pretend this conversation never took place.”
“ ‘Come live with me and be my love.’ Please, Miriam.”
“If I don’t leave now, I could miss my train.”
“I’ll divorce her as soon as we get back. Anything you want. Just say yes, please. We won’t even take any luggage. We’ll buy everything we need there.”
“Excuse me,” she said, sliding away, silky things rustling.
Crushed, I moved over to the table where my father was now holding court, surrounded by enthralled young couples. “Oh, you mean the one on Ontario Street,” he said. “We were right across from it, in Station 4. They was raided from time to time, the whorehouses. So you know you’re working on morality, naturally being a young feller when we went on raids the officer would be downstairs and we’d sneak up, you see, before we’d disturb them, you know what I mean? You want to see a show …”
Miriam was still in the ballroom, but she had her coat on, chatting with Boogie at the door, handing him something. Then Boogie came to our table, even as my father started on another story, and slipped me a folded piece of paper, which I promptly lowered on to my lap and read under the shelter of the tablecloth:
Final score. Canadiens 5, Toronto 3. Congratulations.49
“Boogie,” I said, “I’m in love. For the first time in my life I am truly, seriously, irretrievably in love.”
Of course I didn’t realize at the time that The Second Mrs. Panofsky was standing directly behind me, and now she embraced me, rocking my head. “And so am I, honey,” she said. “And so am I.”
With guilt my heart was laden. Yes. But, all the same, I slipped out of the Ritz ballroom a couple of minutes later and got into the first taxi waiting in line outside.
6
“Windsor Station, please,” I said to the driver, “and hurry.” I had only minutes to spare, but, shit shit shit, the traffic was being tied up by Stanley Cup merrymakers. Cars, crawling along, honking their horns. Bugles blowing. Drunks, cavorting in the middle of the street, shouting, “We’re number one! We’re number one!”
My heart thudding, I did manage to get to the station in time to buy a sleeper on the overnight train to Toronto. I found Miriam in the third car, deep into Goodbye, Columbus, and collapsed into the seat beside her, grinning goofily, just as the train jerked to a start. “Hi,” I said.
“I don’t believe this,” she said, banging her book shut.
“Neither do I, but here I am.”
“If you don’t get off this train when we stop at Montreal West, I will.”
“I’m in love with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t even know me. Montreal West. You or me. Make up