Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler [167]
When Michael won the mathematics prize on his graduation from Selwyn House, there was a letter of congratulation from “Uncle” Blair and an inscribed copy of a book of essays on Canadiana that he had edited. I read it with rising anger, because the truth is it wasn’t that bad.
On another trip to Toronto, this time without the children, Miriam asked, “I suppose you’re busy for lunch?”
“With The Amigos Three, alas.”
“Blair has offered to take me to lunch and to a vernissage at the Isaacs Gallery.”
I told her about the afternoon I had run into Duddy Kravitz at a gallery on 57th Street in New York. Duddy, who was then furnishing his Westmount manse, pointed out three pictures that interested him, and sat down with the epicene, hyperventilating owner. “How much if I take all three off your hands?” he asked.
“That would come to thirty-five thousand dollars.”
Duddy winked at me, unstrapped his Rolex wristwatch, set it down on the tooled leather desktop, and said, “I’m prepared to write you a cheque for twenty-five thousand, but this offer is only good for three minutes.”
“Surely, you jest.”
“Two minutes and forty-five seconds.”
After a longish pause, the owner said, “I could come down to thirty thousand dollars.”
Duddy closed the deal for twenty-five thousand dollars with less than a minute to spare, and invited me back to his suite in the Algonquin to celebrate. “Riva’s getting her hair done at Vidal Sassoon’s. We’re going to Sardi’s and then to see Oliver! House seats. If you ask me, Oswald was a patsy. That Jack Ruby is connected, you know.”
We consumed eight Scotch miniatures out of his mini-bar, and then Duddy fetched a full teapot he had hidden under the bathroom sink, lined up the miniatures on a table, refilled and capped them, and set them back in place. “How about that?” he said.
Whenever an academic conference brought Blair to Montreal, suspiciously often I realized too late, he would phone in advance to invite us both out to dinner. Once, I remember taking the call, covering the receiver with my hand, and passing it to Miriam. “It’s your boyfriend.”
As usual, I pleaded a previous commitment, and urged Miriam to go. “Why hasn’t he ever married?”
“Because he’s hopelessly in love with me. Aren’t you worried?”
“Blair? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Once all the children were at school, Miriam’s former producer, Kip Horgan, urged her to ease herself back into work, if only as a freelancer to begin with. “You’re sorely missed,” he said.
Out to lunch together at Les Halles, Miriam waited until I was into my Remy Martin XO and Montecristo before she said, “What would you say if I went back to work?”
“But we don’t need the money. We’re loaded.”
“Maybe I need the stimulation.”
“You’re at the CBC all day, what would I do for dinner when I get home?”
“Oh, you’re such a bastard, Barney,” she said, leaping up from the table.
“I was only joking.”
“No you weren’t.”
“Where are you going? I haven’t finished my drink yet.”
“Well your wifey has finished, and I’m going for a walk. Even maids are allowed an afternoon off.”
“Hold it. Sit down for a minute. You know, we’ve never been to Venice. I’ll go straight from here to Global Travel. You go home and pack. We’ll get Solange to stay with the kids and we’ll leave tonight.”
“Oh, terrific. Saul is leading his debating team against Lower Canada College tomorrow night.”
“Bellinis in Harry’s Bar. Carpaccio. Fegato alla veneziana. The Piazza San Marco. The Ponte Rialto. We’ll stay at the Gritti Palace and hire a launch to take us to Cipriani’s for lunch on Torcello.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t offered me a mink coat.”
“Everything I do is wrong.”
“Not everything, but enough. And now, with your permission, I’m going for a walk. I might even take in a movie. So you don’t forget to drop off the cleaning at Miss Oliver’s, it’s on the back seat of the car. Here’s the shopping list for Steinberg’s and the receipt for the hassock I left to be recovered at Lawson’s at the corner of Claremont. If you don’t mind circling the block three times, you’re bound