“I am reasonable. I just have a severe case of, what do they call it? White-coat syndrome. I walk through that office door, every part of me tenses up.”
“Listen to me, Mom. I need to go pay some attention to the company’s clients in London. Leaving tomorrow. Two weeks. Betsy is going too, for shopping and shows. So I won’t be around, and Sis is tied up. We need to find an affordable place for you where professionals will take care of you. Face it. It’s time.”
“You—you feel like you’re responsible for me. But you’re not! I’m responsible for me! If I need help, I have plenty of friends here!”
He smiled, ignored my protests, and turned his back to me once again.
“Sis, thanks so much. I’m glad we can agree. Gotta go, now. I’ll be in touch. Ciao.”
The cell phone went back into his shirt pocket.
“Don’t worry, Mom. Sis and I will get it all worked out.”
“You don’t need to get it all worked out,” I hissed.
“Well, who else, Mom? Who else?”
He looked around. “Everything has been the same since Dad died. Time for a change.”
As he lifted his slim designer briefcase from the table, several of my birthday cards fell to the floor. He leaned, picked them up and placed them on the table before moving toward the door.
“Gotta go, Mom. Got a big deal cooking. You take care, Mom.”
“You’ve always got a big deal cooking.”
He turned. “Mom, don’t start in on me. I’m not in the mood for it today.”
“I’m happy where I am.”
“Sure. For how long? Answer me that. For how long?”
“I want to die here.”
“That’s just great. Let me tell you something.”
We were spitting words back and forth.
“I am about to be named the president and CEO of my company. That’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. I also want to get you into a place that will take good care of you.” His voice rose. “I don’t have the time for it any more.”
“You’ve never had the time. It’s all about you. You’re just a never-satisfied striver.”
He put his briefcase back on the table. He gave me a long look and laughed.
“That’s good, Mom. That’s really good. Who the hell do you think I got it from? Good ol’ easy-going Dad? No. I got it from the person who was always best in class and wanted more. Wanted to go to college and did it. Wanted to be a French teacher and did it. You.”
We glared at each other. He picked up the briefcase again.
“I am your product, Mom! Not easy-going Steve, your favorite. Not Sophie, always tied in knots trying to live up to your expectations. A thousand times you told me I could do better. I’m the one who’s like you and I’m proud of it, even if you never understand. And I am going to the top, all the way, Mom, so get used to it and do as I say!”
“Never!”
“You stubborn woman!” He was shouting now. “You’re going to get sick and die, just like Dad, and I don’t want any part of it!”
“You listen to me!” I shouted back.
“I’ve spent a lifetime listening – now you listen to me!”
Five knocks on the door, ratta-tat-tat-tat.
He smoothed his hair back with his free hand. He took a deep breath and gave me a frown.
“Hope it’s not those Pakistanis down the hall. Just another reason to move, Mom. The roaches swarm here from their place.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a doctor. He has his Ph.D.”
He didn’t hear me as he turned away again.
“That’s just fine, Mom. Gotta go. Driver’s waiting. Remember, take your pills at the right time. Maybe they’ll help. Bye, now.”
He opened the door. “Oh, it’s you.”
My friend Daisy entered, a bottle of wine under her arm and carrying a saucer with a cupcake, a lighted candle in the middle of it.
Jim Junior turned back to me. “Two weeks, Mom.”
As she entered, Daisy looked him up and down and said in a sarcastic tone, “Goodbye, Prince Charming.”
My son rushed out and slammed the door as he left. Daisy shielded the candle from the breeze.
3
“Well!” exclaimed Daisy as my son slammed the door behind him. She took the cupcake and wine to the table. “Loud voices in here.”
“We were arguing about my future.”
“Well, I hope you won.” She held up the bottle.
“Beaujolais for you, mon ami! How many is it, now?”
“Eighty-five.”
“A lot of living, hon. Think of all we’ve been through in our lifetimes!”
Another knock at the door. Daisy was on her way to the kitchen to hunt for a corkscrew. I went to answer. It was my neighbor who lives up on six, Carlos Morales.
“Why, Carlos, what a pleasant surprise! Come in.”
“Hi, Miss Lucy. It’s teacher conference day at the elementary school, so Benjy and I wanted to come say Happy Birthday. Benjy has something he made this morning especially for you.”
His seven-year-old son hung back, but Carlos urged him forward.
“This is for you,” Benjy murmured. “Thank you for all your help.”
He handed me a piece of paper folded in half. I opened it.
“Benjy, what a lovely card. Thank you.”
He gave me a big smile and looked around. “Is there cake?”
“Not a big one. Daisy just brought me a cupcake and I’m sure she will be glad to give you half.”
Daisy sliced half the cupcake and found a small plate.
“How’s the job search going?” she asked Carlos as she brought the plate over to Benjy.
He grimaced and replied in a low tone so Benjy wouldn’t hear.
“I had my fifteenth interview yesterday. With the consolidation going on, there’s not a lot of demand for mid-level managers like me. But you know what they say, ‘Hope springs eternal’.”
“You’re certainly due. Rosa still has a job?”
“Yes, thank the good Lord and Bloomingdale’s. And I still have some severance pay left.”
Benjy had wolfed down his share of the cupcake. He eyed the other half on the table. His father smiled.
“Benjy and I are on our way to the playground.”
I gave Benjy a big smile and hugged him.
“Benjy, it’s a good, sunny day for the park. Thank you again for such a fine birthday card. I’m going to hang it on my wall next to my family picture.”
4
Daisy and I had just settled in for a long chat over our Beaujolais when there was a “shave and a haircut” knock at the service door.
“That’s Abe Weinstein,” I said. “He called last