if each breath were dredged up from the bottom of his soul, with an effort so enormous no one should know but if you happened to be a perceptive person you might just realize that lugging the world around on your shoulders was no fun. Weightily, he walked to his desk. âHello, Esther,â he said. âYes, Esther. Yes. No, no. Yes, Esther. Fine, Esther.â Then suddenly his tone changed. âShe did? What about? What was her bearing? She was pleasant? Thatâs good, thatâs very good. So? It would be better if she were unpleasant? Now listen. We could just pull it off. If her husband comes out for Amato, it could be just the support we need to put him in. Amatoâs word we already got. If Amato goes in, Lei-bowitz goes in, and if Leibowitz goes in, so do I. This is excellent news, Esther, excellent.â His pale beige skin was suffused with a rising red glow. Birdieâs face fell. She sat down in a chair, ignoring Norman. Norman asked her what was wrong but Birdie only shook her head. She could not possibly tell Norman that she had that minute realized for the first time that she was jealous of his fatherâs wife.
For a second after he hung up, Sid Goldâs mind was elsewhere.
Norman, mentally playing back his fatherâs half of the conversation and realizing what was missing, said, bitterly, âYou could have told her.â
âTold her what?â Sid was genuinely confused.
âMy news.â
âOh. Your news. I sincerely hope you will come to your senses and that she never has to be told.â
âTold what?â Birdie asked.
âIâm getting married. As you might have gathered from my fatherâs reception of this news, my fiancée is not a Jewess.â
âWhat is she?â Birdie asked, wide-eyed.
Norman laughed. âThatâs good,â he said to his father. âSheâs right, you know. I could be engaged to a black girl. Or an Arab.â
âOver my dead body.â
âIs she an Arab?â Birdie asked.
âNo,â Norman said. âSheâs not pregnant either. Apparently, my father never heard of the Pill. Also love he never heard of.â
âThatâs not true!â Birdie exclaimed. âYour father knows a lot aboutââ
âThatâs enough, Birdie,â Sid said. âAnd as for you, who taught you to use such language in front of a lady?â
âWhat language? What on earth are you talking about? Love?â
Sidney lookedâand feltâacutely uncomfortable.
âHoly Toledo,â Norman said. âYou donât want me to talk about the Pill. Is that it?â
Sid turned to Birdie, who was still seated. âYou said you had an observation to make,â he said, thinking it might be less exhausting to go back rather than forward so far as this particular discussion went.
âOh yes,â Birdie said, in a voice as clear and fresh as a mountain stream, which could be unnerving in Brooklyn. âIt was just this. Not to worry about the fox fur, Norman, because Sidney can always buy me another.â And she looked at them both ingenuously, not to say ingeniously, as if she had found the perfect solution to the most urgent problem of the entire afternoon. She batted her false lashes. She was aware of how she looked at them and of the effect it produced, but this did not mean that her expression was not an honest reflection of her real self. She was , she happily admitted, a dizzy dame. Itâs just that she was not a dumb dizzy dame. It was a subtle distinction, and not all men had minds that could grasp it.
Sid could see that his son was twitching with pleasure, galvanized. âOkay. Youâve had your laugh. Now go.â
âIâm leaving,â Norman said. He reached down and plucked Birdieâs hand from her lap to shake it. âNice meeting you, Miss Mickle,â he said.
âMe too, Iâm sure,â she said.
âHalf a million