THIRTY-EIGHT
AT SEVEN-FIFTEEN THE next morning, we walked down Powell Street in the glow of the early light off the Bay, to meet Sherry Lark for breakfast in a restaurant that called itself Sears Fine Foods, a little up from Union Square. I loved Sears Fine Foods. Their name overrated their cuisine a little, but every time I was in San Francisco I tried to eat there because, in tone and food, it transported me to my childhood. I thought that all good restaurants were like Sears until I began eating out with Susan Silverman. By seven-thirty we were in a booth, with coffee, waiting for Sherry.
Susan put her sunglasses up on her head when we sat down. She had on a black short-sleeved blouse and white pants, and a little black choker necklace. Her throat was strong. Her arms were slim and strong. I knew her thighs to be firm. She sat beside me, leaving the opposite side for Sherry.
Hippies are not slaves to the clock. Sherry arrived at eight-fifteen. We had already drunk two cups of coffee, and the waitress had begun to hover around us with the menus. Sherry's gray-blond hair was twisted into a single braid that hung to her waist. She wore a folded red bandana as a headband, and what looked like an ankle-length, tie-dyed T-shirt. It was unfortunately apparent that she was braless. I stood up as she approached the booth.
'Sherry Lark,' I said. 'Susan Silverman.'
They said hello and Sherry slid into the booth across from us. I sat down.
'Thank you for coming,' I said.
'If it's about my girls, I'm always there,' Sherry said.
The waitress pounced on us with the menus. We were quiet while we looked. I ordered scrambled eggs with onions. Susan ordered a bagel, no butter, no cream cheese. Sherry ordered waffles. Susan was watching her with a pleasant expression, but I knew her well. The pleasant expression meant she was registering that Sherry had no makeup, no bra, no socks, remarking that Sherry was wearing a long T-shirt and sandals. Susan was already sensing how seriously Sherry took herself, and smiling inwardly. The waitress brought Sherry herbal tea, and freshened up Susan's coffee and mine.
I said to Sherry, 'Odd things are going on in Lamarr.'
'Lamarr is odd,' she said. 'Stifling to the spirit.'
'How so?' I said.
'All that rampant machismo, all that rancorous capitalism.'
'Of course,' I said.
'You know that the two are really mirror images of each other,' Sherry said.
'Machismo and capitalism,' I said.
'Absolutely. You're a man, you probably don't understand it.'
She turned to Susan. 'But you do.'
'Yes,' Susan said. 'Naturally. Money is power, and power is all men ever care about.'
Sherry nodded, approving of Susan's intelligence. She put a hand out and patted Susan's forearm.
'And they don't even know it.'
Susan looked at me and I could see something glinting in her eyes.
'Duh!' she said.
'Lucky I have you,' I said.
'It certainly is,' Susan said.
'When's the last time you talked to one of your daughters?' I said to Sherry.
'Well, of course I talked with all of them at the funeral,' she said. 'And I talked with Penny about two weeks afterwards.'
'About what?' I said.
'We…'
The food came and we were silent while the waitress distributed it. Sherry got right to her waffles. When she stopped to breathe, I said, 'We…?'
'Excuse me?'
'You started to say what you and Penny spoke of two weeks after the funeral.'
'Oh, yes. Well, can you believe it? Walter left me without a dime.'
'No,' I said.
Susan still had the glint in her eye as she broke off a small piece of bagel and popped it into her mouth.
'I told Penny that I thought that wasn't right. I made him a home, and gave him three lovely daughters. I felt I deserved better.'
'And Penny?'
Sherry chomped some more of her waffles. I wondered if she'd had a good meal lately.
'Penny has always been cold,' Sherry said.
