Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler [166]
“Will you please both stop interrupting me. And we passed a certain apartment building —”
“Where Mummy used to live.”
“— and Daddy gave you one of those looks and your cheeks turned red as tomatoes, and you leaned over and kissed him.”
“We’re entitled to some secrets,” I said.
“When Mummy was living in that building Daddy was still married to that fat woman,” said Kate, puffing out her cheeks, sticking out her belly, and struggling across the room.
“That’s enough. And she wasn’t fat then.”
“And Mummy says neither were you.”
“I’m dieting, for Christ’s sake.”
“We don’t want you to have a heart attack, Daddy.”
“It’s not the smoked meat, it’s the cigars I’m worried about.”
“And is it true that Mummy had to pay your bill at the Park Plaza the next morning?”
“I forgot my credit cards in Montreal and they didn’t know me there in those days. Christ, isn’t anything sacred?”
“Boy, are you ever lucky she married you.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” said Kate.
“Period or comma? You didn’t say.”
“He’s a good dad.”
“I went to the Park Plaza to meet him for breakfast,” said Miriam, “and there was a commotion at the hotel desk, everybody watching, and of course it was your father. He hadn’t brought his personal chequebook or any identification with him, and naturally that was the desk clerk’s fault. The manager came out, and was gesturing for the security man, when I intervened, offering my credit card. But the clerk was outraged. ‘We will accept your credit card, Miss Greenberg,’ he said, ‘but first Mr. Panofsky must apologize for calling me names too filthy to repeat.’ Your father said, ‘All I did was to call him a typical Toronto prick, but then I’ve always been given to understatement.’ ‘Barney,’ I said, ‘I want you to apologize to this gentleman right now.’ Your father, as he is wont to do, bit his lip and scratched his head. ‘I will apologize for her sake, but I don’t really mean it.’ The clerk snorted. ‘I will accept Miss Greenberg’s credit card in order not to embarrass her further.’ Your father was about to lunge when I shoved him back from the counter. ‘That’s most understanding of you,’ I said to the clerk, and of course we had to go elsewhere for breakfast, your father growling throughout. Now, if you don’t mind, I must get dressed or I’ll be late.”
“Where are you going?”
“Blair Hopper is lecturing on ‘The World of Henry James’ at McGill, and he was thoughtful enough to send us two tickets.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going, Daddy?”
“He most certainly is not. Michael, would you like to come with me?”
“Daddy said he’d take me to the hockey game.”
“I’ll go,” said Saul.
“Oh, great,” said Kate. “I’m staying home alone.”
“You’re being abandoned,” I said, “because nobody likes you. Miriam, I’ll meet you and Blair for a nightcap at the Maritime Bar afterwards.”
“Would you now?”
“I’m sure they can come up with some herbal tea there. Or at least mineral water.”
“Barney, you don’t care for him. He knows that. But I’ll meet you at the Maritime Bar.”
“Still better.”
7
Blessed (or, rather, cursed) with hindsight, I now realize that Blair was after Miriam from the first day he caught sight of her at our cottage. I can hardly reproach any man for that. Instead, I blame myself for underestimating him. Give the bastard credit. Over the years, he kept turning up, insinuating himself into our family, undermining it, like dry rot nibbling at the beams of a house built to last. When the kids were still young and a handful, and we were once in Toronto for a couple of days en route to visit friends in Georgian Bay, Blair arrived at our hotel with a discreet bunch of freesias for Miriam and a bottle of Macallan for me. He offered to take the kids to the Science Centre, so that Miriam and I could enjoy an afternoon off. Mike, Saul, and Kate returned to the hotel laden with toys. Educational toys, of course, not the warmongering water pistols and cap guns enabling me to play cowboys-and-Indians and other racist games with them. “Bang bang. That’s what you get for scalping nice Jewish widows and orphans, and