“You look nice,”Daniel says.He seems to mean it.He even touches her hair.“You look beautiful.”
She cannot fully believe that Daniel has embarked on some flirtation.
It contradicts not only her trust in him but her sense ofhim.She met him when she was sick to death ofeccentric, neurotic men.She had a year-old baby and a busted-up marriage, a successful novel and a contract for a sec-ond, and all she wanted from a man was clarity, kindness, and dependabil-ity.She distrusted despair, had an aversion to any kind ofdomestic drama.
Daniel back then had been a lawyer in the firm that represented Kate’s publishing house and he, too, was recently out ofa shabby affair, this one with a woman who turned out to have a hair-trigger temper and a pen-chant for violence.Kate and Daniel used to joke with each other about be-ing the last normal people on earth, and the joke turned into a kind of emotional contract;they were promising each other affection with tran-quility, a life ofmeasured gestures, respect for boundaries.It would be a levelheaded alliance;they would be Swiss bankers ofthe heart.
“I can’t believe you did this, put this…this evening together,”he issaying.
She watches his face, carefully.Despite her beliefthat he would never actually have an affair, he seems to be a man who wants to take a jour-ney.He hasn’t booked passage, he doesn’t have a ticket, he doesn’t have the guts.Kate is certain that he has not betrayed her.It hasn’t gone that far, not yet.It’s still an affair ofthe mind.He thinks a love affair will res-cue him.From what?Yet in a way, that no-idea-what’s-wrong sort oflife might be exactly what he wants to be rescued from.Kate feels curious but removed.She has decided to let it play out.
She would like to take a closer look at Iris.Lately, he has been mentioning her, telling stories that have no point except to give him an oc-casion to say“Iris.”Kate, thus far, fails to see the appeal.Iris is ten pounds too thin, fidgety, psychologically evasive but physically a little
Ofcourse, her blackness is a part ofwhat draws Daniel to her, Kate is certain ofthis.All those blues records, all that soul music, and even gospel music, the man listens to Sam Cooke singing about Jesus and gets tears in his eyes, though he himself has no more beliefin Christ than he has in the Easter bunny.He must have been preparing himself for this all along.Getting the soundtrack down for his big movie spectacular.The story ofhis life taking shape, the story ofhimself as a great romantic hero, crossing the color line.How passe! How pathetic!As ifgetting involved with anAfrican-American could be the solution to his problems.As ifit would give him something to believe in.The poor little unloved son sud-denly draping himself in three hundred years ofanother people’s history, the invisible man taking shape beneath the swaddling ofblack bandages.
“Do I have time for a shower?”Daniel asks.
The night is chilly.A stiffwesterly wind blows through the trees and black clouds are snapping at the moon.A steady procession ofconcert-goers march into St.John’s, where tonight the Leyden Musical Society is performing the
She watches him waving, smiling at whoever makes eye contact.She is often exhausted by his outwardness.His smile can grate on her as ifit were a cough.Kate realizes that in the vast literature ofwifely com-plaints this doesn’t register with great intensity, but Daniel smiles too easily and she doesn’t care for it.The man smiles while he sleeps.
Yet even as he smiles, he’s craning his neck, on the lookout for Iris and Hampton.Kate doesn’t mean to think in racial terms, but it seems to her that black people are always running late.Maybe it’s a bit ofag-gression toward whites, maybe with each other they’re as punctual as the six o’clock news.She watches Daniel, swiveling his head around like an adulterous owl.
“Daniel?”She pats him on the arm.“You look a little crazy.”
“I do?”He blinks, as ifjust awakened.And then they see them, moving quickly along ManchesterAvenue, hurrying, arm in arm.
“Hello!”Daniel calls out, eagerly raising his hand as ifhe were a schoolboy with the right answer.Iris is wearing a gray overcoat, black pants, boots, a kind ofAfrican hat.Everything seems a couple sizes too large, she is like some goofy kid wearing her mother’s clothes.Not so with the husband.Hampton—his skin pale toffee, his emanation of coiled energy, his aura ofwealth—is wearing a sumptuous, practically edible-looking cashmere coat, a paisley silk scarfwith tassels.He has those round little glasses, steel framed, gentle, scholarly, that Kate iden-tifies as deliberately reassuring, nonsexual, a little eunuchy, really, the signifying eyewear ofthe black professional.
Daniel kisses Iris’s cheek, and Hampton, seeing this, plants a quick kiss on Kate, with all the tenderness ofa clerk stamping a bill paid.
The four ofthem make their way into the church.St.John’s is for Leyden’s upper-class Episcopalians, and for those who like to pray with their betters.It’s chilly, Spartan, like a lodge high in theAustrianAlps.All that woodwork, the fresh white flowers, and the Episcopalian flag that reminds her ofthe Red Cross.She and Daniel, and then Iris and Hamp-ton, find places in a back pew.The orchestra is already tuning up as they arrange themselves.Daniel and Iris seem to be intent on not making the slightest eye contact.
Kate tries to keep her attention riveted upon the orchestra and the chorus throughout the concert.The conductor is Ethan Greenblatt, pres-ident ofMarlowe College, a handsome young academic superstar with an explosion ofcurly hair and a fussy bow tie.He is pushing the musicians through the piece at breakneck speed, as ifafraid ofdetaining the audi-
ence past its attention span.But from time to time, Kate must glance at Daniel.His eyes are closed, but she’s sure he’s awake.Hampton takes Iris’s hand, brings it to his lips, while she stares intently ahead.And then, Kate sees Daniel glancing at Iris.Their eyes meet for a moment, but it has the impact ofcymbals crashing.It is a shocking, agitating thing to see.It’s like being in a store with someone and watching them steal something.
Afterward, the four ofthem walk to the GeorgeWashington Inn, where Iris has made dinner reservations.The Inn is redolent with Colo-nial history—low, beamed ceilings, wormy old tavern tables, an im-mense blackened fireplace.A high school girl serves them a basket of rolls, then comes back to fill their water glasses.She pours Hampton’s last and accidentally fills it to the very top;in fact, a little ofit laps onto the table.“Oops,”she says, but Hampton looks away.His jaw is suddenly rigid.Iris touches his knee, pats it, as ifto calm him down.With her other hand, she is dabbing the little dime-sized puddle with her napkin.
A moment later, a waiter appears to take their drink orders.Daniel and Kate are used to this waiter, middle- aged, vain, and formal.Hamp-ton, however, sees the waiter’s extreme tact as an extension ofthe bus-girl’s spilling his water, and he orders a vodka martini in a surly voice.
”UseAbsolut,”he says.“I’ll know ifthe bartender uses the house brand.”
Iris looks down at her lap;when she raises her gaze again she sees Daniel is looking at her, smiling.It startles her into smiling back.The two ofthem seem so happy to be gazing at each other, and Kate feels like Princess Kitty standing at the edge ofthe room and noticing the joy that floods their faces whenVronsky’s andAnna Karenina’s eyes meet.Kate wonders exactly how far along these two really are.Is it too late to stop them?
“So, Hampton,”Kate says,“tell me.I hear all about Iris from Daniel, but nothing about you.You’re in the city most ofthe time?”
“I come up here on the weekend,”Hampton says.“During the workweek, I stay at the apartment where we used to live before Iris got into Marlowe.”
“It’s a beautiful apartment,”Iris says.She glances at Hampton, who smiles at her.
“So what keeps you down in the city all week?”Kate asks.
”I’m co–managing director oftheAtlantic Fund,”Hampton says.
”He’s an investment banker,”Iris says, in the same anxious-to-please tone in which she said their apartment was beautiful.To Kate, Iris sounds like a woman whose husband has complained about how she treats him in public.
“TheAtlantic Fund provides capital toAfrican-American business,”
Hampton says.“It’s sometimes difficult for black-owned businesses to get what they need from the white banking structure.”He cranes his neck, looks for the waiter.“Just like it’s hard to get a white waiter to bring you a drink.”He breathes out so hard his cheeks pufffor a moment.“I’ve never come here, and now I know why.”
“Have we really been waiting that long?”asks Kate.“It seems like we just sat down.”She looks to Daniel for confirmation, but all Daniel can manage is a shrug.He is on a plane and he has just heard something in the pitch ofthe engine’s roar that makes him feel the flight is doomed.
