Still Me
Page 67
On what wall space was still visible above the shelves I could just make out framed clothes designs, magazine covers from the fifties and sixties with beaming, angular models in psychedelic shift dresses, or impossibly trim shirt-waisters. I must have been there an hour before I realized I hadn’t located another bed. But in the fourth bedroom there it was, covered with discarded items of clothing – a narrow single, possibly dating back to the fifties, with an ornate walnut headboard, a matching wardrobe and chest of drawers. And there were four more racks, of the more basic kind you would find in a changing room, and alongside them, boxes and boxes of accessories – costume jewellery, belts and scarves. I moved some carefully from the bed and lay down, feeling the mattress give immediately as exhausted mattresses do, but I didn’t care. I would basically be sleeping in a wardrobe. For the first time in days I forgot to be depressed.
For one night at least, I was in Wonderland.
The following morning I fed and walked Dean Martin, trying not to be offended by the way he travelled the whole way down Fifth Avenue at an angle, one eye permanently trained on me as if waiting for some transgression, and then I left for the hospital, keen to reassure Mrs De Witt that her baby was fine, if permanently braced for savagery. I decided I probably wouldn’t tell her that the only way I’d been able to persuade him to eat was to grate Parmigiano-Reggiano onto his breakfast.
When I arrived at the hospital I was relieved to find her a more human pink, although oddly unformed without her familiar make-up and set hair. She had indeed fractured her wrist and was scheduled for surgery, after which she would be in the hospital for another week, due to what they called ‘complicating factors’. When I revealed that I wasn’t a member of her family they declined to say more.
‘Can you look after Dean Martin?’ she said, her face creased with anxiety. He had plainly been her main concern in the hours I had been gone. ‘Perhaps they could let you pop in and out to see him in the day? Do you think Ashok could take him for walks? He’ll be terribly lonely. He’s not used to being without me.’
I had wondered whether it was wise to tell her the truth. But truth had been in short supply in our building lately and I wanted everything out in the open.
‘Mrs De Witt,’ I began, ‘I have to tell you something. I – I don’t work for the Gopniks any more. They fired me.’
Her head moved back against her pillow a little. She mouthed the word as if it were unfamiliar. ‘Fired?’
I swallowed. ‘They thought I had stolen money from them. All I can tell you is that I didn’t. But I feel it’s only right to tell you because you may decide that you don’t want my help.’
‘Well,’ she said weakly. And again. ‘Well.’
We sat there in silence for a while.
Then she narrowed her eyes. ‘But you didn’t do it.’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘Do you have another job?’
‘No, ma’am. I’m trying to find one.’
She shook her head. ‘Gopnik is a fool. Where are you living?’
I looked sideways. ‘Uh … I’m … well, I’m actually staying in Nathan’s room for now. But it’s not ideal. We’re not – you know – romantically involved. And obviously the Gopniks don’t exactly know …’
‘Well, it sounds like an arrangement that might suit us both rather well. Would you look after my dog? And perhaps conduct your job-hunting from my side of the corridor? Just till I come home?’
‘Mrs De Witt, I’d be delighted.’ I couldn’t hide my smile.
‘You’ll have to look after him better than you did before, of course. I’m going to give you notes. I’m sure he’s terribly unsettled.’
‘I’ll do whatever you say.’
‘And I’ll need you to come here daily to let me know how he is. That’s very important.’
‘Of course.’
With that decided, she seemed to subside a little with relief. She closed her eyes. ‘No fool like an old fool,’ she murmured. I wasn’t sure if she was talking about Mr Gopnik, herself or someone else entirely, so I waited until she had fallen asleep, then headed back to her apartment.
All that week I devoted myself to the care of a boggle-eyed, suspicious, cranky, six-year-old pug. We walked four times a day, I grated Parmesan onto his breakfast, and several days in, he ceased his habit of standing in any room I was in and staring at me with his brow furrowed, as if waiting for me to do something unmentionable, and simply lay down a few feet away, panting gently. I was still a little wary of him but I felt sorry for him too – the only person he loved had vanished abruptly and there was nothing I could do to reassure him that she would be coming home again.
And, besides, it was kind of nice to be in the building without feeling like a criminal. Ashok, who had been away for a few days, listened to my description of this turn of events with shock, outrage, then delight. ‘Man, it’s lucky you found him! He could have just wandered off and then nobody would have known she was even on the floor!’ He shuddered theatrically. ‘When she’s back I’m gonna start checking in on her every day, making sure she’s okay.’
We looked at each other.
‘Nothing would make her more furious,’ I said.
‘Yup, she’d hate it,’ he said, and went back to work.
Nathan pretended to be sad that he had his room back to himself, and brought my stuff over with almost unseemly haste to ‘save me a journey’ of approximately six yards. I think he just wanted to be sure I was really going. He dropped my bags and peered around the apartment, gazing in amazement at the walls of clothes. ‘What a load of junk!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s like the world’s biggest Oxfam shop. Boy, I’d hate to be the house-clearance company having to go through this lot when the old lady pops her clogs.’ I kept my smile fixed and level.
He told Ilaria, who knocked on my door the next day for news of Mrs De Witt, then asked me to take her some muffins she had baked. ‘The food in these hospitals would make you sick,’ she said, patted my arm, and left at a brisk trot before Dean Martin could bite her.
I heard Agnes playing the piano from across the hall, once a beautiful piece that sounded relaxed and melancholy, once something impassioned and anguished. I thought of the many times Mrs De Witt had hobbled across and furiously demanded an end to the noise. This time the music ended abruptly without her intervention, Agnes seemingly slamming her hands down on the keys. Occasionally I would hear raised voices, and it took me a few days to convince my body that my own adrenalin didn’t need to rise with them, that they no longer had anything to do with me.
I passed Mr Gopnik just once, in the main lobby. He didn’t see me, then performed a double-take, apparently primed to object to my presence there. I lifted my chin and held up the end of Dean Martin’s lead. ‘I’m helping Mrs De Witt with her dog,’ I said, with as much dignity as I could manage. He glanced down at Dean Martin, set his jaw, then turned away as if he hadn’t heard me. Michael, at his side, glanced at me, then turned back to his mobile phone.
Josh came on Friday night after work, bringing takeout and a bottle of wine. He was still in his suit – working late all week, he said. He and a colleague were competing for a promotion so he was there for fourteen hours a day, and planned to go in on Saturday too. He peered around the apartment, raising his eyebrows at the décor. ‘Well, dog-sitting was one job opening I certainly hadn’t considered,’ he observed, as Dean Martin trailed suspiciously at his heels. He walked around the living room slowly, picking up the onyx ashtray and the sinuous African-woman sculpture, putting them down, peering intently at the gilded artwork on the walls.
‘It wasn’t top of my list either.’ I laid a trail of doggy treats to the main bedroom and shut the little dog in until he’d calmed down. ‘But I’m really okay with it.’
‘So how you doing?’
‘Better!’ I said, heading to the kitchen. I had wanted to show Josh I was more than the scruffy, intermittently drunk jobseeker he had been meeting the past week so I had dressed up in my black Chanel-style dress with the white collar and cuffs and my emerald fake-crocodile Mary Janes, my hair sleek and blow-dried into a neat bob.
For one night at least, I was in Wonderland.
The following morning I fed and walked Dean Martin, trying not to be offended by the way he travelled the whole way down Fifth Avenue at an angle, one eye permanently trained on me as if waiting for some transgression, and then I left for the hospital, keen to reassure Mrs De Witt that her baby was fine, if permanently braced for savagery. I decided I probably wouldn’t tell her that the only way I’d been able to persuade him to eat was to grate Parmigiano-Reggiano onto his breakfast.
When I arrived at the hospital I was relieved to find her a more human pink, although oddly unformed without her familiar make-up and set hair. She had indeed fractured her wrist and was scheduled for surgery, after which she would be in the hospital for another week, due to what they called ‘complicating factors’. When I revealed that I wasn’t a member of her family they declined to say more.
‘Can you look after Dean Martin?’ she said, her face creased with anxiety. He had plainly been her main concern in the hours I had been gone. ‘Perhaps they could let you pop in and out to see him in the day? Do you think Ashok could take him for walks? He’ll be terribly lonely. He’s not used to being without me.’
I had wondered whether it was wise to tell her the truth. But truth had been in short supply in our building lately and I wanted everything out in the open.
‘Mrs De Witt,’ I began, ‘I have to tell you something. I – I don’t work for the Gopniks any more. They fired me.’
Her head moved back against her pillow a little. She mouthed the word as if it were unfamiliar. ‘Fired?’
I swallowed. ‘They thought I had stolen money from them. All I can tell you is that I didn’t. But I feel it’s only right to tell you because you may decide that you don’t want my help.’
‘Well,’ she said weakly. And again. ‘Well.’
We sat there in silence for a while.
Then she narrowed her eyes. ‘But you didn’t do it.’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘Do you have another job?’
‘No, ma’am. I’m trying to find one.’
She shook her head. ‘Gopnik is a fool. Where are you living?’
I looked sideways. ‘Uh … I’m … well, I’m actually staying in Nathan’s room for now. But it’s not ideal. We’re not – you know – romantically involved. And obviously the Gopniks don’t exactly know …’
‘Well, it sounds like an arrangement that might suit us both rather well. Would you look after my dog? And perhaps conduct your job-hunting from my side of the corridor? Just till I come home?’
‘Mrs De Witt, I’d be delighted.’ I couldn’t hide my smile.
‘You’ll have to look after him better than you did before, of course. I’m going to give you notes. I’m sure he’s terribly unsettled.’
‘I’ll do whatever you say.’
‘And I’ll need you to come here daily to let me know how he is. That’s very important.’
‘Of course.’
With that decided, she seemed to subside a little with relief. She closed her eyes. ‘No fool like an old fool,’ she murmured. I wasn’t sure if she was talking about Mr Gopnik, herself or someone else entirely, so I waited until she had fallen asleep, then headed back to her apartment.
All that week I devoted myself to the care of a boggle-eyed, suspicious, cranky, six-year-old pug. We walked four times a day, I grated Parmesan onto his breakfast, and several days in, he ceased his habit of standing in any room I was in and staring at me with his brow furrowed, as if waiting for me to do something unmentionable, and simply lay down a few feet away, panting gently. I was still a little wary of him but I felt sorry for him too – the only person he loved had vanished abruptly and there was nothing I could do to reassure him that she would be coming home again.
And, besides, it was kind of nice to be in the building without feeling like a criminal. Ashok, who had been away for a few days, listened to my description of this turn of events with shock, outrage, then delight. ‘Man, it’s lucky you found him! He could have just wandered off and then nobody would have known she was even on the floor!’ He shuddered theatrically. ‘When she’s back I’m gonna start checking in on her every day, making sure she’s okay.’
We looked at each other.
‘Nothing would make her more furious,’ I said.
‘Yup, she’d hate it,’ he said, and went back to work.
Nathan pretended to be sad that he had his room back to himself, and brought my stuff over with almost unseemly haste to ‘save me a journey’ of approximately six yards. I think he just wanted to be sure I was really going. He dropped my bags and peered around the apartment, gazing in amazement at the walls of clothes. ‘What a load of junk!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s like the world’s biggest Oxfam shop. Boy, I’d hate to be the house-clearance company having to go through this lot when the old lady pops her clogs.’ I kept my smile fixed and level.
He told Ilaria, who knocked on my door the next day for news of Mrs De Witt, then asked me to take her some muffins she had baked. ‘The food in these hospitals would make you sick,’ she said, patted my arm, and left at a brisk trot before Dean Martin could bite her.
I heard Agnes playing the piano from across the hall, once a beautiful piece that sounded relaxed and melancholy, once something impassioned and anguished. I thought of the many times Mrs De Witt had hobbled across and furiously demanded an end to the noise. This time the music ended abruptly without her intervention, Agnes seemingly slamming her hands down on the keys. Occasionally I would hear raised voices, and it took me a few days to convince my body that my own adrenalin didn’t need to rise with them, that they no longer had anything to do with me.
I passed Mr Gopnik just once, in the main lobby. He didn’t see me, then performed a double-take, apparently primed to object to my presence there. I lifted my chin and held up the end of Dean Martin’s lead. ‘I’m helping Mrs De Witt with her dog,’ I said, with as much dignity as I could manage. He glanced down at Dean Martin, set his jaw, then turned away as if he hadn’t heard me. Michael, at his side, glanced at me, then turned back to his mobile phone.
Josh came on Friday night after work, bringing takeout and a bottle of wine. He was still in his suit – working late all week, he said. He and a colleague were competing for a promotion so he was there for fourteen hours a day, and planned to go in on Saturday too. He peered around the apartment, raising his eyebrows at the décor. ‘Well, dog-sitting was one job opening I certainly hadn’t considered,’ he observed, as Dean Martin trailed suspiciously at his heels. He walked around the living room slowly, picking up the onyx ashtray and the sinuous African-woman sculpture, putting them down, peering intently at the gilded artwork on the walls.
‘It wasn’t top of my list either.’ I laid a trail of doggy treats to the main bedroom and shut the little dog in until he’d calmed down. ‘But I’m really okay with it.’
‘So how you doing?’
‘Better!’ I said, heading to the kitchen. I had wanted to show Josh I was more than the scruffy, intermittently drunk jobseeker he had been meeting the past week so I had dressed up in my black Chanel-style dress with the white collar and cuffs and my emerald fake-crocodile Mary Janes, my hair sleek and blow-dried into a neat bob.
