Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler [109]
Managing a yawn, I asked, “Is he her boyfriend?”
“How would I know?”
“Ah, what does it matter? Let’s move on to the Mabillon for a nightcap.”
“If you haven’t already had enough to drink, I’d rather we went to Harry’s Bar.”
My lady of the lists had done her homework, poring over sex manuals not available in the Jewish Public Library, and making notes and diagrams on index cards. To my astonishment, she knew all about feuille de rose, gamahuche, pompoir, postillonage, soixante-neuf, sax-onus, and even the Viennese oyster, and every night I begged off attempting one or another. The Second Mrs. Panofsky went about her pleasures relentlessly. Life, for her, was an exam to be passed.
“What could she see in your cousin Seymour?”
“Are we finished now?” she asked, wiping her mouth with the bed-sheet.
“You set the agenda here, not me.”
“Feh. I can’t imagine what people see in it.” She brushed her teeth. She gargled. Then she was back. “Now what was it that was so important?”
“It’s of no importance whatsoever, but I was just wondering what she could see in your cousin Seymour, he’s such a prick.”
“Who?”
“Oh, I can never remember her name. The girl in the layered blue chiffon dress.”
“Ah ha. Ah ha.” Glaring at me, she demanded, “I want you to tell me what I wore to lunch today?”
“A dress.”
“Yeah, sure. A dress. Not my nightgown. What colour was it?”
“Oh, come on.”
“Have you got Miriam Greenberg on the brain or something?”
“Calm down. I was just wondering what she could see in Seymour.”
“He drives an Austin-Healey. He keeps his sailboat, it sleeps six, in the West Indies somewhere. He’s going to inherit like a block of Sherbrooke Street and I don’t know how many shopping centres. Some prick.”
“Are you saying she’s a fortune-hunter?”
“You know how many times I’ve seen her in that same layered blue dress you can’t get out of your head, it’s maybe ten years old, prêt-à-porter, probably picked up in a January sale in Macy’s. Why shouldn’t she be interested in bettering herself?”
Then there were her daily phone calls to her mother.
“I’ve got to be brief, we’re just on our way out. No, not for dinner, it’s only seven o’clock here. Apéritifs, my dear. A café in Montparnasse. The Dôme, I think it’s called. Yes, I remember what Aunt Sophie said, and I only drink the bottled water. Last night? Oh, we had dinner at this terrific restaurant called La Tour d’Argent, you’d love it, they take you up in an elevator, and you look out and see Notre-Dame all lit up, I thought Charles Laughton would be swinging from one of the gargoyles any minute. Only kidding. Their specialty is pressed duck, and each one is numbered and they give you a postcard with your number on it, and I’m going to mail it to you this morning. You know who was sitting there, only two tables away from us. Audrey Hepburn. Yes, I know Jewel is a big fan, but I’ve already got something for her. I couldn’t. It would have embarrassed him. I’m not even allowed to ask for a menu for a souvenir. I never lived in Paris on ten cents a day, so to his way of looking I’m like a war criminal, maybe worse. Only joking. No, Maw, we’re getting on fine. What? Oh, I was wearing my new Givenchy, you just wait till you see me in it, and do give Daddy a big hug and tell him thank you a thousand times. What? Oh, it’s a simple black silk and wool, with a bow marking the high waist and the hem raised just to cover the knee. No, the ‘sack’ is out. Finished. But don’t you say a word to Pearl or Arlene, let them find out on their own now that they’ve spent so much on what’s now really last year’s shmatas. Will you stop worrying, please. When we come in every night, no matter how late, they lock up my pearls for me in their safe. Yes yes yes. The camera too, I remember how expensive it was. In fact, I leave the camera there. He won’t let me walk down the street with it, somebody might mistake us for tourists. Oh, let me see. I started with the smoked salmon, it was mouth-watering. No, they don’t serve it with cream cheese here. No, Barney had the snails in their