Daddy (17 page)

Chapter 14

In July, Mel and Sam left for Europe with Sarah and her French friend, and Oliver moved back to the apartment in New York. There was no point commuting every night now with the kids gone. It was easier for him to stay late at work, and then go back to 84th Street. He and Daphne spent a lot of time working together, and they had a standing spaghetti date now on Monday and Friday nights. She was with her friend the other three weekday nights, and now and then she would talk to Ollie about him. “Why do you do that to yourself?” he scolded more than once. “At your age, you should get married and be with someone who can give you more than three nights a week. Daph, you deserve it.”

She always shrugged and laughed. She was happy as things were. He was a wonderful man, she said, and she didn't want more than that. He was intelligent and kind and generous to her, and she loved him. And without children, marriage didn't seem quite as important to her.

“You'll be sorry one day.”

But she didn't agree with him. What she had was right for her, even though she missed him when she wasn't with him. “I don't think so, Ollie.” He admitted to her how lonely it was being alone, without the kids. He missed having someone to talk to at night, and the companionship he had known for nearly twenty years with Sarah.

He only went out to Purchase now to visit Benjamin and his father. Sandra was getting bigger by the hour. And for the first time in his life, Benjamin looked pale to him. He never got out in the sun anymore. He was always working. He had two jobs now. One pumping gas, and the other at night as a busboy. He was trying to save enough money to get her decent maternity care, pay for the apartment they shared, and have enough on hand to support their baby. And when he had offered to help them, Benjamin had refused it.

“It's my responsibility now, Dad. Not yours.”

“This is ridiculous. You're a child. You should be in school, being supported and getting an education.” But he was learning other things, about how tough life was when you were eighteen, and had a family to support and hadn't even finished high school. Sandra had had to stop work finally, her ankles were swollen to the size of melons, and the doctor was afraid she was becoming toxemic. Benjamin went home at lunch-time to prepare her meals, and she would lie on the couch and watch TV, while he cooked, complaining all the while that she never saw him anymore. He came home at night as early as he could, but he usually worked till two o'clock in the morning. And just thinking about it drove Oliver wild. He kept trying to give him money to ease his burdens, and finally he found a simpler solution. He gave it to Sandra, and she was always happy to take whatever he gave. He urged them to go to the house and at least use the pool, but Sandra didn't want to go anywhere, and Benjamin didn't have time. He was too busy working.

He was not unlike his mother, Oliver thought to himself one day, after writing a $500 check to Sandra and telling her to buy whatever she needed for the baby. Sarah hadn't taken a penny from him either since she left. She was supporting herself on the money her grandmother had left, and she insisted it wasn't right for Ollie to support her. Things were tight for her, and the children reported constantly about things they couldn't do when they visited her, because “Mom couldn't afford it,” but that was the lifestyle Sarah had always wanted. The life that he had provided for her didn't matter to her anymore. She had given mountains of clothes to Mel, and left the rest at the house in Purchase. She lived in blue jeans and T-shirts and sandals. And she and Jean-Pierre were proud of the fact that they were traveling through Europe on a shoestring. He had had several postcards from the kids since they left, but they never called, and he was never quite sure where they were. It made him nervous from time to time, but Sarah had only said that they would stay with relatives of Jean-Pierre's in France, and youth hostels in the other countries where they traveled. It was certainly going to be a different experience for them, but it might be good for them too. And he trusted her to take good care of them. She was their mother, after all, and he had always trusted her. But now, with all of them gone, he was stunned at how much he missed them. It was almost a physical pain when he went home at night to the empty apartment. He had given Aggie the summer off, and hired a weekly cleaning service to take care of the apartment. The house in Purchase was closed, and the dog was staying with his father. It was company for him at least. And when Oliver took the train up to see him one Sunday afternoon, he was touched to find his father lovingly tending his late wife's garden. He had always hated gardening, but now it was vital to him to maintain the roses that had meant so much to her.

“Are you doing all right, Dad?”

“I'm fine. It's awfully quiet here, especially with you and the children gone. Margaret and I go out to dinner from time to time, but I have a lot of work to do, to get your mother's estate in order.” The tax work he had to do for probate seemed to keep him busy, and she had had some stocks that he wanted to transfer now to Ollie's children.

Ollie felt sad after he'd spent the afternoon with him, and he went back on the train that night feeling pensive. His car was in the shop, and it was odd riding home on the train instead of driving. He took a seat in the parlor car, and picked up the book he had brought with him, and it was several stops before the seat next to him was occupied. He glanced up and saw a young woman with long dark hair and a deep tan slide into place beside him.

“Sorry,” she apologized, as she bumped him with her bag. She seemed to have assorted weekend equipment with her, and a tennis racket strapped to an overnight bag poked him in the leg repeatedly until she moved it. “Sorry about all this stuff.” He nodded and assured her it was all right, and went back to his book, as she pulled out what looked like a manuscript and began to make notations. And more than once he sensed her watching him, until finally he looked up and smiled, and realized that she was very attractive. She had blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles on a face that couldn't have been more than twenty-five or six years old. Her hair was pulled back, and she wore no makeup.

“How do you like the book?” she asked once as they pulled into another station.

“Not bad.” It was the hit of the summer, and he liked it, although he usually preferred not to read fiction. But Daphne had given it to him and insisted that he would enjoy it. “Is that your manuscript you're working on?” He was curious about her, and she laughed, shaking her head, and for an instant she seemed a little older. She was actually thirty years old, but her natural good looks reminded him of some of Mel's friends. She had a deep, friendly voice, and intelligent eyes, as she explained what she was reading and why.

“I'm an editor, and we published the book you're reading. That's why I asked if you like it. Do you live out here?” She was curious about him, but she seemed interested in everyone. She was open and easy, and he noticed in her summer dress that she had very pretty arms and shoulders.

“I used to live out here. I live in the city now. Most of the time anyway.”

Ah, she decided for herself. A weekend father. “Visiting your kids?”

He shook his head, amused by her straightforward questions. “No. My father.”

“Me too.” She smiled. “He and his wife just had a baby.” She explained that he was sixty-three years old, and married for the third time. Her mother had remarried too, and was living in London.

“Sounds like an interesting family.”

“It is.” She grinned. “His wife is four years younger than I am. Daddy's never been one to waste time.” She didn't tell him that her mother was married to Lord Bronson, and the talk of Europe with their castles and country homes, and glamorous parties. She had wanted to get away from all that, and had gone to work in New York, like the rest of the world. She had no great fondness for the jet-set life of her parents. “And what do you do?”

He suddenly laughed at her. She was a funny girl. Funny and open and nice and extremely attractive. “I'm in advertising.” She wondered then if he was married, but she didn't ask him.

“So's my dad.” She seemed amused. “Robert Town-send, maybe you know him.”

So that was who she was. Townsend was one of the most important men in the business. “I've met him. I can't say I really know him.” And then, he decided to introduce himself to her. “I'm Oliver Watson.”

She shook his hand with a firm grip of her own. “Megan Townsend.” She put her manuscript away then, and they chatted the rest of the way
in.
He liked talking to her, and he forgot about his book, and offered her a ride home when they arrived at Grand Central Station in New York.

She lived on Park and 69th, only fifteen blocks from his apartment, and after he dropped her off, he stopped the cab and decided to walk home. It was a warm night, and he liked being in New York during the summer. The city was almost deserted, except for a few real devotees, the hardworking stiffs like himself, and a handful of tourists.

The phone was ringing when he got home, and he assumed it was Daphne. No one else ever called, now that the children were gone, except occasionally his father. But he was startled when he heard the voice of the woman he had just dropped off. It was Megan Townsend.

“Hi there, I just had a thought. Want to come back for a drink and a salad? I'm not much of a cook, but I can manage that. I just thought …” She sounded suddenly unsure, and it crossed her mind that he might be married. At his age, most men were, but she figured that if she was barking up the wrong tree, he would tell her. He had looked like a pretty straightforward guy.

“That would be very nice.” It was a new experience for him, being picked up by a woman, and invited over for dinner on a Sunday night. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask for her number, and he realized then that Daphne was right. He was desperately out of practice. “Can I bring anything?”

“I'm all set. Say eight o'clock?”

“That's great,” and then, “I'm glad you called.”

“It's not exactly the thing to do, I guess,” she laughed into the phone, seeming perfectly at ease with what she had done, and he wondered if she did it often, “but life's too short. I liked talking to you on the train.”

“So did I.”

And then she decided to ask him before wasting too much time. Married men weren't her thing, although for an occasional dinner she didn't mind. “By the way, are you married?”

“I …” He didn't quite know how to answer her. He was, but not in any way that counted anymore, and he decided to tell her the truth. “I am … but I've been separated for seven months.”

His answer seemed satisfactory to her. “I figured you were out visiting your kids today when I first saw you.”

“They're in Europe for the summer, two of them anyway. The other one is in Port Chester, working.” But he didn't tell her that Benjamin was eighteen and living with a fellow dropout while they waited for the birth of their baby.

“See you at eight.” She hung up with a smile, pleased with what she'd done, and Oliver looked pleased too, as he strolled back down Park Avenue half an hour later.

Her apartment was on the top floor, with a very pretty penthouse garden. It was in a small, exclusive building and Oliver suspected correctly that it was a co-op. This was no ordinary working girl, and he knew that Robert Townsend was not only a major advertising success, but he was also from a very prominent family in Boston. And Megan's breeding was stamped all over her, from her hair to her shoes, to her well- bred voice, to the expensive white silk shirt she'd put on with a pair of jeans to greet him. Her hair was hanging loose, and he loved the way it flowed down her back and over her shoulders. She wasn't just pretty, he realized now, she was beautiful, and very striking. She had put some makeup on, and she escorted him into the airy living room, which was all done in white and chrome, with a black-and-white marble floor, and two zebra rugs tossed casually under an enormous glass table. There was one mirrored wall to reflect the view, and the glass table in the tiny dining room was set for two. And somehow, even though she wore only jeans and a silk shirt, she had an aura of great sophistication.

“This is quite a place!” He marveled at the view, and she led him out onto the terrace as she handed him a gin and tonic.

“It's my only case of excessive indulgence.” Her father had wanted to buy her a town house for her thirtieth birthday, earlier that year, but she had steadfastly refused it. She loved the place she had, and it was big enough, and Oliver certainly understood why she liked it. “I spend an awful lot of time here. I spend most of my weekends here, buried in manuscripts.” She laughed easily and he smiled.

“I can think of worse fates.” And then he decided to play her game. There was a great deal he suddenly wanted to know about Megan Townsend. “What about you? Married? Divorced? The mother of twelve?” although that at least seemed more than unlikely. Everything about her screamed that she was unencumbered and single.

“Never married. No kids. No cats, dogs, or birds.

And no currently married lovers.” They both laughed, and he grinned ruefully.

“I guess that leaves me out.”

“Are you going back to your wife?” she inquired, as they sat on two white Brown Jordan deck chairs outside.

“No, I'm not.” He met her eyes squarely, but he didn't tell her that until recently, he would have liked to. “Our lives have gone in very separate directions. She's a graduate student at Harvard now, and an aspiring writer.”

“That sounds admirable.”

“Not really.” There was still a trace of bitterness in his voice, whenever he talked about Sarah to strangers. “She walked out on me and three children to get there.”

“Sounds like heavy stuff.”

“It was.”

“And still is?” She was quick, and she seemed anxious to get to know him.

“Sometimes. But better lately. You can't hang on to anger forever,” he smiled sadly, “although I tried to for a long time. She kept insisting she was coming back, but I think that charade is finally behind us. And the kids are adjusting … so am I….”He smiled at her, and then suddenly laughed at himself. “Although, I have to admit to you, this is the first 'date' I've had in twenty years. You may find my dating manners a little rusty.”