Jane Smiley - Golden Age

People in his neighborhood began recognizing him. As the winter progressed into spring, they went from staring at him just a moment too long to saying, “Are you that guy, Rick Langdon? I saw your picture somewhere,” to “You know, I heard what you said, and here’s where you’re wrong.” It was both an advantage and a disadvantage that Leo’s absolute favorite thing to do was to go for a walk in the park; on Saturdays and Sundays, when Allie, their nanny, was off, Richie would carry him across Prospect Park West to the entrance at the end of Ninth Street, and as soon as they neared the Lafayette Memorial, Leo would start bouncing in Richie’s arms, and then hit the ground running. The disadvantage was that everyone in the park recognized him, and most people had something to say. The advantage was that Leo had to be followed, because he wouldn’t stand still or allow himself to be held, and almost all of Richie’s interlocutors were left behind, while at the same time, Richie hoped, noting that the candidate was a responsible and involved father. He knew he could not let Leo (1) throw a tantrum, (2) appear to be in danger, or (3) eat dangerous (carrots) or suspect (Popsicles) foods. All in all, it was better to let the darling child go, staying right with him. In March, there was even a little squib on Page Six—“Eighteen-Month-Old Beats Candidate Dad by a Length,” with a very cute picture of Leo running and laughing, Richie right behind him, also laughing. Richie had expected the fund-raising and the meetings with constituents to be arduous, and the campaign to be time-consuming, but in fact the people funding his campaign were satisfied by his relationship to and near-identification with Congressman Scheuer, whom everybody liked.

Michael called this “the machine at work,” but Richie had never enjoyed anything so much in his life.

—

ANDY DIDN’T KNOW anyone as open and free with her opinions as Loretta. Just now, sitting across from her in the BG Restaurant on the seventh floor at Bergdorf’s, Loretta had remarked that, as much as she loved Ivy, she knew in her heart that Ivy was more loyal to Israel than to the United States. When Andy responded that never, ever had she heard Ivy or her entirely nonreligious parents say anything of the sort, Loretta shrugged, took a sip of her oolong tea and a bite of her scone (it was four in the afternoon, and they had spent the whole day shopping), and said, “Well, wait till push comes to shove. It’s inside all of them.” But the other side of this sort of statement was the reason they were there. Loretta had called her up two weeks before (apparently after having her hair done) and said, “Andy, I look like hell, and I need you.” For two weeks now, Loretta had been mining her for the two types of ore everyone knew Andy could produce — fashion advice and AA advice, one for herself and the other for Michael.

Frank had said, “So which will be the more difficult task?” but Andy didn’t think like that — they asked, you answered, Fate unfolded.

Loretta was too short for the loose, boyish pastel suits they were featuring, but at least huge shoulder pads were out now. She looked reasonably good in shaped, not-quite-clingy dresses. She’d tried on the green sleeveless, which brought out her eyes; the black capped-sleeve; and a nice violet item with something unusual, an asymmetric hemline. She had good ankles and feet — they’d spent a fair amount of time in the shoe department. The nicest thing she’d bought was for parties: an elaborately embroidered, rather stiff, square-necked gold sheath with a smallish waist that stopped just above knee-length, expensive and flattering.

The most salient fact was that Binky would be in first grade in the fall; no doubt, over the last six years, many opportunities to conceive a fourth child had occurred and not been utilized, and so Loretta (thirty-eight?) must have accepted that that phase was over. And, of course, Michael had changed in the last year. In the same relentless way he had formerly pursued his selfish desires for sensation (speed, money, oblivion, independence), he now pursued the amazing new goal of family happiness. Andy and Frank were invited to their place on Madison and Eighty-fourth (two floors, four bedrooms) every other Sunday for Sunday supper — not a fake event. Loretta served (and cooked herself) prime rib, roast chicken, braised leeks, potatoes au gratin. Michael sat at the head of the table, Loretta stood at the foot of the table (she did the carving), and both of them pestered the life out of Chance, Tia, and Binky. Chance paid no attention, Tia enjoyed answering questions, and Binky was passively resistant. It was evident to Andy, and, she thought, to Loretta, that Michael was making up fatherhood out of whole cloth.

Now Loretta looked at the little pyramid of treats sitting on their table. Andy had eaten a single shortbread cookie and a strawberry dipped in dark chocolate. Loretta said, “What do you think of Weight Watchers?”

“Nothing,” said Andy.

“I want him to desire me.”

“Did he ever desire you?”

Loretta gave her tea a thoughtful stir, and said, “Not in particular.”

“What were the girls like that he desired?”

“Unfortunately, all types.”

“What did he marry in you?”

Loretta put her teacup down, gazed into Andy’s face, and tapped her spoon on the plate. At last, she said, “I’m thinking he married a known quantity. I’m thinking he didn’t have the patience to figure the other girls out, so he, well, he went for the easy option. I think he liked that I was definite and didn’t take any bullshit.” She stopped tapping. “And no one else was the only child of a hundred thousand acres.”

Andy admired her ruthlessness; maybe it was the ranching background. She nodded, then said, “Well, my guess is that your looks belong to you, then — you can get in shape if you want to, and why not? It’s very soothing to do it, especially when the kids are in school. As far as Michael is concerned, I think you should be specific about your requirements.”

“You mean, like, sex?”

“I mean that, whenever he’s indecisive, you decide. That could work for sex.”

Loretta licked her lips. She said, “Yes, that could.” She pushed away her plate and shifted in her chair. The waiter eased over with a smile and took away the pyramid of treats. Now, Andy knew, would come what Loretta would consider the twisting of the knife. Loretta licked her lips again and said, “Was he really a bad child? I don’t mean disobedient, I mean not nice.”

But for Andy, no knife could be twisted that she herself had not already twisted many times. She said, “To be honest, Loretta, only Richie knows the answer to that question.”

“Richie seems so slick, especially now. I get the feeling he would read all my unconscious facial expressions and tell me exactly what I wanted to hear. At least Michael’s brutally honest.”

Andy decided that Michael and Loretta must have had an argument in the last twenty-four hours. She said, “And you like that.”

Loretta nodded, but said, “I don’t like it. I appreciate its benefits.”

Now Andy regarded her daughter-in-law for a long moment. She had never seen her with a bruise or a black eye, and in all the tattling he had done, Richie had never reported that Michael hit a girl (though there was a suspicious incident from that period when they were both at Cornell, where Michael ended up in the infirmary with a slash on his arm or leg, after which Richie fled Ithaca and ended up at Rutgers; Andy had been so happy to have him around that she had, mistakenly perhaps, overlooked the details). She hazarded only, “Michael has always had a bit of a temper.” Then, “And he’s a foot taller than you.”