Schmidt Steps Back (21 page)

She had drunk her V8. After a look at her wristwatch she said, I see we have thirty-five minutes left. Could I have a glass of whatever it is you are drinking? A martini, I suppose. Poor Myron has had to give them up.

Schmidt remembered Myron’s excellent martinis and having let himself get suddenly and stupidly tipsy on them, but he was not interested in bittersweet reminiscences. He poured Renata’s drink, refilled his own glass, and sat down. If she wanted to talk on he would listen. For another thirty-two minutes.

Are you angry because they’re going to call the baby Myron, rather than, for example, Albert?

He answered truthfully that he wasn’t. The name wasn’t one he liked. He did not mention the coincidence that a baby due to be born before little Myron would indeed be called Albert. Perhaps one Albert at a time was enough.

You say that, but residual hostility may still be there. You should know that Myron hasn’t been well, he’s got heart problems, and they’re aggravated by worries about his practice. He’s still doing group therapy in the city, but there may be a possibility of a hospital position up in Columbia County, near Claverack. If that pans out, he may commute to that job from the city, or perhaps I will commute the other way around. The point of all this is that they were looking for a way to boost his morale.

Schmidt nodded.

You should also realize that Jon is not earning as much as he had hoped or deserves. His firm is not as profitable as it should be. That’s a worry. You already know that he is helping us. I’m
not proud of that, but I’m not ashamed either. Myron and I, and Jon as well, on top of everything else, we have all had considerable investment losses. Are you aware of that?

You mean the losses? It’s the first time I’ve heard about them. Charlotte hasn’t mentioned them, and she certainly hasn’t asked for advice.

That is because you intimidate them.

Balls!

The beneficial effects of the second large martini were spreading pleasantly through Schmidt’s body. Balls, he repeated. It was such a fine expression, preferable to both “twaddle” and “humbug.”

Your army basic training talk doesn’t scare me, replied Renata. I will tell you something else you may not know. Charlotte and Jon are deeply anxious about the financial implications—maybe I should say consequences—of your liaison with that waitress. Given that concern, they think it’s only natural to ask you to do what’s right in order to protect your daughter’s and grandchildren’s future.

I have news for you, Renata, said Schmidt. Under the laws of this great state of New York, my daughter and my grandchildren, born and unborn, have no interests in my property except such as I choose to give them. I have no intention of disinheriting my daughter, but if you and the other Rikers persist in insulting me I may just change my mind. Or leave my daughter something that she and Jon will doubtless think is a pittance. So watch out, and tell them to watch out. And now your time is up.

That wasn’t strictly speaking true, and she knew it. Schmidtie, she said, aren’t you even planning to see your pregnant daughter?

Schmidt shrugged. That is pretty funny, he said. I have asked her to come to see me in the country, and I have offered to see her in New York. She turned me down.

He was momentarily too proud to mention that she hadn’t invited him to Claverack.

Don’t you think you could manage to drive out to their place? Claverack isn’t such a hard drive from Bridgehampton. You can also take the train from the city to Hudson. They’ll pick you up there.

There is a small detail, he replied. They’ve given me no reason to think that they want me there. And now you really must go.

T
HE LONG YEARS
Renata had spent listening with her third ear to supine patients had not been wasted. She saw right through Schmidt: he yearned to see Charlotte but would not go to Claverack unless he was invited, and he wasn’t about to fish for an invitation. This was a problem she could solve. As though by chance, Charlotte called Schmidt the very next day.

Dad, she announced, you should come to visit in the country before the baby’s born. That way you’ll also get to see the house, I mean our house, and also the Rikers’ house, if you like. They’re both great. Renata thinks it’s a good idea. You’ll understand why Jon and I like Claverack and hate the Hamptons. There is just one thing: next weekend is Memorial Day weekend, and we have some people Jon works with staying with us here, so we can’t have you. Is there another weekend that suits you?

Why that’s considerate of Renata, replied Schmidt, wondering what had happened to Charlotte’s intelligence of which he used to be so proud. I’d be very happy to see you, but I’d rather come during the week. I’d arrive in the morning, we’d
have lunch, and after lunch I would leave. A light and airy visit!

Maybe that’s best, she replied. On weekends Jon is so bushed that he needs to relax. He wants to see friends and his family. Absolutely no one else.

Schmidt made no reply.

Well, can you tell me when to expect you? She made no effort to conceal her irritation.

What about a week from tomorrow? Schmidt asked. I could be there at noon.

That’s fine, she replied. You know how to get to Claverack, don’t you? I’ll send you directions so you can find the house.

Click
. She hung up.

It wasn’t long before the telephone rang again. It was Renata.

You were right to say you wouldn’t spend the night, she told him. Twenty-four hours of exposure to your pent-up hostility might have been too hard on Charlotte. As it is, she’s making a big effort to work through it. She deserves to be rewarded!

Thank you, Renata, he answered. I am certain that you will find something suitable.

As this was obviously only the beginning of her attempted family therapy, he told her: I really can’t talk now. You caught me as I was going out the door.

We’ll talk again soon, she replied, after your visit.

He decided to spend the night in the city before driving out to Claverack. Lew Brenner was free. He arranged to have dinner with him at the club. When they met, Lew
apologized for his wife. Tina would have been so happy to see Schmidtie, but she was spending the week in the country.

They drank their martinis at the bar and then moved upstairs to the dining room. After they had decided what they would eat and what wine they would drink, Lew told Schmidtie he wanted to give him a heads-up. After the election of new partners in June, Jack DeForrest will come under strong pressure. The young Turks are up in arms about him.

I wonder how you feel about this, Schmidtie, Lew continued. You and he were so close when we were all associates, but I’ve had the impression that after he became the presiding partner there was tension between you, more tension than one assumes will always be present in dealings with
el supremo
.

That’s a difficult subject, Schmidt said, but you’ve got it pretty much right. Tell me the sins of which Jack stands accused and who is likely to succeed him.

If only it were so simple! But that is a difficult subject too. There is no specific charge. You know the general situation just as well as I: the Dow has been moving in the right direction, the unemployment figures too, but there aren’t enough big deals. That makes the kiddies nervous. They go around saying things like I’d kill for a deal. Thank goodness that’s not the picture in my neck of the woods. I have big transactions going, and everyone working with me is very, very busy. But the picture in the rest of the firm isn’t that positive, and Jack, instead of being a cheerleader for the firm, acts like Mr. Gloom and Doom. He’s fixated on numbers: are the billable hours up or down and by what percentage? Same with receivables, and all those per partner and per lawyer statistics. He should be talking about our tradition of service to clients, the fun of
working together, and so forth. All that morale-building stuff that old Dexter Wood was so good at. So even though Jack has two years to go in his term as presiding partner, chances are that he will be pushed to step down.

Well, Lew, you’ve always had interesting work, and lots of it.

As he said that, Schmidt realized that W & K’s office politics and personalities had receded far enough from his mind to make it possible for him to feel only a trace of the former envy of Lew and his with-one-hand-tied-behind-my-back prowess and successes.

I’m lucky, Lew said, that’s all. And I’ve had good help. Just like you. Take someone like Tim Verplanck! They will probably want to reach far down, into the younger ranks. If you have any suggestions you should let me know.

Ruminating, they sipped their wine.

Apropos of Tim Verplanck, Schmidt said, I went back to Paris and had lunch with Hugh Macomber and the rest of the gang.

Good man, young Macomber!

He told me he wasn’t any too sure of hanging on to the clients brought in by Tim—the ones who are still there. As you know, there have been defections. He mentioned some sort of problem with that friend of Tim’s, Bruno.

Yes, there is a problem. A real problem. Both Macombers—his wife, Molly, even more than he—are wonderful people, but basically they’re American provincials. There’s no other word for it. If you say “investment banker,” the picture that comes up before their eyes is that of any one of Hugh’s Princeton classmates who’s now a partner at Morgan Stanley or equivalent, married to a wife just like Molly, with two kids, one at
Chapin and the other at Buckley. So when they come face-to-face with Bruno, it’s the wrong picture, and all they see is that he’s queer. There’s no wife, there aren’t any kids, so what kind of an investment banker is he? An aberration. He makes them uncomfortable. He’d fit into their conception of life if he were a painter. Or a society hairdresser! What they forget or don’t see is that there are many Princeton graduates who were members of the same eating club as Hugh who are now bankers at Morgan Stanley and similar firms and are just as gay as Bruno. Or Jewish like me!

He paused, apparently expecting Schmidt to say something. Seeing that Schmidt was going to remain silent, Lew continued: The point is that what you do in bed doesn’t make you any better or worse at mergers and acquisitions.

Yes, said Schmidt, only it’s too bad for the Paris office.

I’m trying to pitch in, Lew said. Bruno’s very sophisticated. He sees through Hugh and doesn’t hold against him the way he has reacted. He knows it’s cultural, involuntary. The problem is with referral of clients and encouraging clients to stay even though Tim is gone. All that would be easier, and come more naturally, and Bruno would do it gladly, if he and Hugh had a warmer relationship.

Of course, said Schmidt. By the way while I was in Paris I saw Alice again.

He’d said it! Schmidt’s sole purpose in talking about young Macomber had been to lay the groundwork. He didn’t want her name to come out of the blue.

You could put your time to much worse use, said Lew, and raised his glass to Schmidt. She’s a lovely woman.

Yes.

If she’s free, she’d be perfect for you, Schmidtie. She’d
understand you; she’d fit in. She’s someone you could be proud of.

I’m fifteen years older!

If you say so. I haven’t done the arithmetic, but I don’t think it matters. You’re in good health, you don’t look your age, and you’ve got a nice life—especially now that you’re running Mike Mansour’s foundation. I’d give it some real thought provided, as I said, she’s free.

There’s no indication she isn’t, but how would I know! I do hope to see her again, though, when I’m in Paris next month.

Great idea, replied Lew. Tina and I will be there for a week. If we overlap, the four of us should have dinner together.

The route to Claverack was distantly familiar. Before Charlotte was born, Mary and he went up to concerts at Tanglewood on occasional weekends, staying either with a Radcliffe friend of Mary’s married to an architect who had a house in Hillsdale, just west of the Massachusetts line and about twenty miles from Lenox, or a W & K partner, a litigator for whom Schmidt had written a series of memos, whose house was in Great Barrington. They had less fun staying with the litigator, but the drive from his house to Tanglewood was only half an hour, instead of the hour it took to get there from Hillsdale, and staying with the litigator was probably good for Schmidt’s career. Having served as FDR’s envoy in Lend-Lease negotiations, the litigator was convinced of the indispensable value of government service for bright young lawyers. Evidently he thought that Schmidt was one and expounded to him and Mary the need for Schmidt to shake himself free of the shackles of W & K for a couple of years, perhaps four, and work for the good of the country. He must do it, he would say,
if only for the sake of his
New York Times
obituary! It was easy for the litigator to talk: he had a rich wife. Schmidt didn’t; in fact Mary had just gotten her editorial assistant’s job, which paid next to nothing. In Hillsdale no one preached to them: Mary’s friend was a great cook; the other houseguests, like the hosts, were all roughly Schmidt’s contemporaries; and on Saturday, because there was no afternoon concert, they all flew elaborate kites provided by the architect in the beautiful field behind the house, which, standing on the brow of a hill, was favored with a breeze even on sultry summer days. The litigator died two years after Schmidt became a partner and had a celebrity’s treatment in the press; the expert cook and the architect divorced. The house in Hillsdale was sold, and Schmidt and Mary never saw the architect again. They continued to see the expert cook until she remarried, moved to Oregon, where she opened a restaurant, and died of cancer like Mary, only some years earlier.

Wrung out by memories of old friendships and death, unbearably excited at the thought that in two hours he would see his daughter, so beloved and so alienated from him, he found his way through the new and renamed roads that finally put him on the Taconic and stepped on the gas. The Volvo was incomparably more powerful than his old Beetle. It shot forward as if outraged. Conscientiously, he slowed down to sixty-five, which he thought unlikely to irk any of the cops lurking on the richly planted shoulder or median, turned on the radio, and to his surprise found that he was still within the reach of WQXR’s signal. That, on top of the Volvo, was a distinct improvement over the old days.