Kissing the Beehive (23 page)

The film abruptly cuts to some kind of formal dance. The women are all wearing long white dresses, the men tuxedos. Hairdos announce the time period.

Almost all of the younger men have too-long hair, mustaches or beards, whether it looks good on them or not. The young women wear their hair very long and ironed straight, as if they're all trying to look like soulful folk singers, Joan Baez or Joni Mitchell. It's the sixties.

Pauline Ostrova and Edward Durant Jr. dance up to the camera and stop. I put a hand over my mouth. Grainy and awkward as the film is, I remember her face. That wide mouth, the small eyes. I _remember_ her. Thirty years have passed. I am a man well into middle age, pushing a heavy wheelbarrow full of life and experiences in front of me. Yet on seeing Pauline, I do exactly the same thing I did whenever I saw her, any time, any place: I gulp.

_Guuulp_.

Seeing Pauline Ostrova always made me gulp. In excitement, raw fear, adoration. Just like a fool, like any boy chocked full of hormones and jumbled love, his heart fireworking over the most interesting girl he had ever seen.

It was the first time I had seen Durant Jr. outside of the photographs his father had shown me. It added a dimension to the son I had never sensed.

For he was a big man although he moved with great lightness and grace. To look at him, I would
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have guessed he was either an athlete or a dancer in Broadway musicals. The handsome one in the second row of the chorus of _Oklahoma_!, wearing blue overalls and a smile that makes you think he's having a hell of a time up there onstage.

The couple mugs for the camera. Edward dips his head in front of Pauline's. She pulls his ear to get him out of the way. Both of their faces are so animated! They go on like that, young and attractive, hamming it up and having such a good time together.

Seeing them on that summer night years ago made me long to freeze the film. Keep that frame of them smiling forever, holding each other. I was barely able to ask, "Where did you get it?"

"There are other clips of her on the tape. I went around Crane's View asking people who knew her if they had home movies from that time. All of the ones I found are here. You'll see.

"This came from Edward Durant. When I told him what I wanted to do, he handed it right over.

It was a summer dance at their country club." She stood up and turned the television off.

Ejecting the tape from the video machine, she slid it out and brought it to me. "I want you to go now. Merry Christmas, Sam."

Her mood changed so quickly that I wasn't sure how to react. Then I remembered that a few minutes ago she was watching a secret fuck film and whispering weird things in my ear. That was enough to get me going again. I stood up.

"Will you be all right?"

"Do you care, Sam? Really, what do you _care_ about me?"

Leaving her building, I walked out into a snowstorm. Luckily I'd taken the train into the city.

After dinner with Cass, I planned on spending the night at a hotel.

Standing at the curb looking for a taxi, I thought I heard something over the street noise from way above, someone calling me. Looking up through the swirling snow, I saw a head sticking out a window halfway up the side of her building. It was hard to tell, but I thought it was Veronica.

Wasn't that a patch of white on the face? Her bandage? She was shouting down at the street. I couldn't make out what she was saying. Then she started waving an arm as if she needed even more emphasis. What could it be? What more could she want after all that had already happened that afternoon? A few moments went by. I thought about turning around and going back to see but right then a taxi hissed up in front of me. I opened the door and looked up at her, or whoever it was, shouting down through the snow. What she said before was right: What did I care about her now? After the friendship and intimacy, the travel and talk, the wonderful hours in her arms. After her tricks and deceptions, lies and flat-out frightening acts. What _did_ I care?

Not enough to stop me from getting into that bright yellow New York taxicab and riding off into the snowy night.

I checked into the Inn at Irving Place and sat down for half an hour in a fat comfortable chair before meeting up with Cassandra. There was a video machine in the room. I was tempted to sneak a peek at the rest of Veronica's tape, but there wasn't enough time. It could wait till later.

The afternoon had put me in a bizarre mood -- half despair, half exhilaration. I had no desire to make small talk with my daughter. At the same time, I was glad I'd be with someone that night while my mind sorted and sifted through all the new information. Sitting there with eyes closed, so many different images and memories of Veronica floated through my head. Like an aquarium full of exotic, beautiful and dangerous fish, they swam leisurely by, one after the other.

Someone knocked at the door. Surprised, I jerked out of my trance and got up to open it. Cass stood there in her immaculate white down jacket, which emphasized the red of her cheeks and green eyes. Like her mother, hers was one of those faces where whenever she cried, everything went royal red to the point of near incandescence. I pulled her in and closed the door. She stood
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there stiffly with hands jammed into her pockets and a grief on her face that made her look a hundred years old. Her voice was furious when she spoke.

"They wouldn't let me come up! I _told_ them I was your daughter but they didn't care. What did they think I was, a prostitute? I had to show them my stupid ID card. I said to call you but they wouldn't. They were so stupid.

I --" Boom. Her tears came without warning and they almost knocked her flat.

She refused to come any farther into the room although I kept pulling on her sleeve. Almost as if she was afraid that if she moved even an inch, she would break into a million pieces right there on the spot. Her hands stayed in her pockets while she wept herself out.

"I don't wanna come in! I didn't even wanna come here tonight, but what was I supposed to do, go home and be with _Mom_? She doesn't understand

anything!

"Daddy, Ivan and I broke up. We had a ridiculous fight about something so absurd you wouldn't believe and then we broke up. I don't know what I'm gonna do!"

"Sit down, honey. Will you do that? Right here is good, right here on the floor. Tell me what happened."

It was odd to be sitting there on the floor a foot away from the door.

But that was as far as I could get her to come.

A friend of Ivan's had invited a bunch of people over that afternoon.

The friend was a very handsome painter studying at the Cooper Union. He was interesting and clearly interested in Cassandra. They talked and talked, sometimes with Ivan around, sometimes not.

"But nothing happened, Dad, he was just nice. Nothing _would_have happened either, because I don't do that. That's not me. But Ivan! Oh boy, he acted like I was going to elope with the guy.

So immature! What was I supposed to do, put on a veil and lower my eyes? It was a party. You talk to people at parties. You _socialize_."

"Sounds like he was a jerk."

"He was! God!"

"You had every reason to be angry."

"Damned right I did! I'm good, Dad. I'm true to someone if I love him.

Even if I were interested in Joel, I would never do anything as long as I was with Ivan. Never.

You know me."

"I do, and jealousy always has a bad odor. But Cass, he loves you.

You're his girl. He was scared. Unfortunately he showed it in an ugly way.

That's _not_ an excuse. You have every right to be angry. But I'm going to tell you something, sweetheart, and you must think about it carefully.

"I've made a mess of just about every relationship I've ever had with women. You name it, I did it wrong. I wrote the textbook for marital failure.

I just spent the afternoon with Veronica and it's probably the last I'll see _her_ because there are just too many problems. It breaks my heart because there are great things there, but not enough.

"But you know what I _have_ learned? The single lesson that's penetrated my cement brain?

There are very few people you can hang around with and be content with most of the time. If you find someone who is your pal that way, fight for them. Fight hard for the relationship.

"If Ivan fucked up today, tell him what upset you and try to work it out. You two go together well. I see it in your faces. The problem is everyone gives up so quickly now. Including me. It's too easy to turn around and walk away. Bye-bye. That was nice. Who's next? I don't know what'll happen with you two in the future, but it's worth trying to work out because I think you've found the person you were meant to be with now."

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Her eyes were so young and full of confusion. I saw six-year-old Cass in them, but also the woman she was quickly becoming. The head and the heart are always racing each other to some finish line. They never cross it at the same time. Cass slid across the floor. Closing her eyes, she put out her arms. We held each other like two hands wrapped in prayer. My magnificent daughter. The only longtime pal I had ever had. She would be gone so soon.

Three days later a postcard with a bent corner sat alone in my mailbox.

On the front was a photograph of me that had been taken for an article in _Vogue_ magazine. I frowned and turned it over. On the other side was one typed line.

"The book's good. Keep going."

Nothing else.

Jitka Ostrova died laughing. She and Magda were watching _The Tonight Show_ and Robin Williams was on. Both women were laughing so hard at what Williams said that Magda had to run to the toilet before she burst. While in there, she still heard her mother cackling. By the time she returned to the

living room, the old woman was dead. We could only hope one minute it was laughter, the next eternity. Not a bad way to go. It reminded me of a Muslim friend whose father died after a long and terrible illness. I was curious to hear where he thought his father was after passing on. My friend said, "Oh, in heaven. He did all his suffering while he was alive."

I didn't know Mrs. Ostrova well but her death shook me. Such a good soul forced to live a hard and ultimately crushing life. All that mattered to her was her family, but two thirds of them died years before she did. What was most impressive was how she had somehow still managed to keep alive her kindness and good humor in the midst of so much misfortune.

The day of her funeral was one of those sharp blue and white winter feats when the sky and sun blind you every time you look up. The air smelled of wet stone and the many chestnut trees that surrounded the cemetery. Once in a while a strong cold breeze blew up and the trees shuddered.

Because of the intense sunlight, most of the people at the ceremony wore sunglasses. One might have mistaken the group for a bunch of the famous or infamous gathered one last time to say goodbye to someone who was probably wearing sunglasses too inside the wooden box.

And it _was_ wooden. Jitka didn't like funerals, ceremony or extravagance. "What would I do in a fancy coffin? Dance? Show off for the bugs?"

So she was buried in the same kind of simple one she had chosen for Pauline years ago. The two lay next to each other in the Crane's View Cemetery. Mr. Ostrova was on the other side.

There was a large turnout, which wasn't surprising. Frannie stood next to Magda and Magda's daughter, Pauline. I hadn't seen him since our last showdown and was surprised at how well he looked.

I was also surprised to see Edward Durant there. He was not looking well. We stood next to each other during the service. He carried a cane that he incessantly shifted from hand to hand.

He told me he had remained in touch with the Ostrovas over the years and frequently was invited to their house for dinner.

A Czech priest from Yonkers performed the ceremony. I kept looking at Magda and her daughter, wondering what was going through their minds.

Sometimes Magda rested her head on Frannie's shoulder and sometimes the two women embraced, but there were few tears. I think Jitka would have liked that because she overflowed with good nature and common sense. I imagined her watching over us with arms crossed and a pleased smile on her face.

When it was finished, Frannie separated from Magda and came over.

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Putting an arm around my shoulder, he said, "How you doin', stranger? You finish your book, or what? We don't see you much these days." His voice was light and playful.

"To tell you the truth, Fran, I kind of got the feeling you'd rather be left alone."

"You've got a point there, but you coulda called and asked how I was doing."

"You're right."

He poked a finger into my chest. "I've been cooking, you know?"

"Really? Oh that's good news, Frannie! I'm so glad to hear that."

"Yeah, well there's more. After you left, Magda started coming over a lot. She's the one got me cooking, cleaning up the house, going out again . .

. We talked, you know, did things together. And . . . I don't know. We hit it off really well." He stopped and took a quick deep breath. He had something big to say and needed a lot of air for it. "We're going to get married, Sam."

Before I had a chance to reply, Magda came up. Earlier she had been standing so far away that I hadn't really seen how good she looked. She had lost weight, and her high Slavic cheekbones stood out prominently. She had always been attractive, but now she looked much younger and almost beautiful.

For some reason I looked at her hands and saw that her fingernails were painted a sassy Chinese red.

"How are you, Sam?"

"I'm okay. Congratulations! Frannie just told me you're getting married!"

She frowned, then quickly smiled. "Frannie wants to get married. I haven't decided yet. I think he's just grateful to me for pulling him out of his space walk and back into the mother ship. I told you before, he's got a lotta kinks to work out before I agree to sign _that_ contract!"