Page 32 of Still Me
His supervisor had changed the rota. He was working four nights on the trot and still waiting to be assigned a new permanent partner. That should have made it easier for us to talk but somehow it didn’t. I would check in on my phone in the minutes I had free every evening but that was usually the time he was heading off to begin his shift.
Sometimes I felt curiously disjointed, as if I had simply dreamed him up.
One week, he reassured me. One more week.
How hard could it be?
—
Agnes was playing the piano again. She played when she was happy or unhappy, angry or frustrated, picking tumultuous pieces, high in emotion, closing her eyes, as her hands roved up and down the keyboard, and swaying on the piano stool. The previous evening she had played a nocturne, and as I passed the open door of the drawing room, I’d watched for a moment as Mr. Gopnik sat down beside her on the stool.Even as she became wholly absorbed in the music, it was clear that she was playing for him. I noted how content he was just to sit and turn the pages for her. When she’d finished she’d beamed at him, and he had lowered his head to kiss her hand. I tiptoed past the door as if I hadn’t seen.
I was in the study going over the week’s events and had gotten as far as Thursday (Children’s Cancer Charity lunch,Marriage of Figaro) when I became aware of a rapping at the front door. Ilaria was with the pet behaviorist—Felix had done something unmentionable in Mr. Gopnik’s office again—so I walked out to the hallway and opened it.
Mrs. De Witt stood in front of me, her cane raised as if to strike. I ducked instinctively and then, when she lowered it, straightened, my palms raised. It took me a second to grasp she had simply used it to rap on the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Tell her to quit that infernal racket!” Her tiny etched face was puce with fury.
“I’m sorry?”
“The masseuse. The mail-order bride. Whatever. I can hear it all the way down the corridor.” She was wearing a 1970s Pucci-style duster coat with green and pink swirls and an emerald green turban. Even as I bristled at her insults, I was transfixed. “Uh, Agnes is actually a trained physical therapist. And it’s Mozart.”
“I don’t care if it’s Champion the Wonder Horse playing the kazoo with his you-know-what. Tell her to pipe down. She lives in an apartment. She should have some consideration for other residents!”
Dean Martin growled at me, as if in agreement. I was going to say something else but trying to work out which of his eyes was actually looking at me was weirdly distracting. “I’ll pass that on, Mrs. De Witt,” I said, my professional smile in place.
“What do you mean ‘pass it on’?” Don’t just ‘pass it on.’ Make herstop. She drives me crazy with the wretched pianola. Day, night, whenever. This used to be a peaceful building.”
“But, to be fair, your dog is always bar—”
“The other one was just as bad. Miserable woman. Always with her quacking friends,quack quack quackin the corridor, clogging up the street with their oversized cars. Ugh. I’m not surprised he traded her in.”
“I’m not sure Mr. Gopnik—”
“‘Trained physical therapist.’ Good Lord, is that what we’re calling it these days? I suppose that makes me chief negotiator at the United Nations.” She patted her face with a handkerchief.
“As I understand it, the great joy of America is that you can be whatever you want to be.” I smiled.
She narrowed her eyes. I held my smile.
“Are you English?”
“Yes.” I sensed a possible softening. “Why? Do you have relatives there, Mrs. De Witt?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She looked me up and down. “I just thought English girls were meant to have style.” And with that she turned and, with a dismissive wave, hobbled off down the corridor, Dean Martin casting resentful glances behind her.
—
“Was that the crazy old witch across the corridor?” Agnes called, as I closed the door softly. “Ugh. No wonder nobody ever comes to see her. She is like horrible dried-up piece ofsuszony dorsz.”
There was a brief silence. I heard pages being turned.
And then Agnes started a thunderous, cascading piece, her fingers crashing on the keyboard, hitting the pedal so hard that I felt the wood floors vibrate.
I fixed my smile again as I walked across the hallway, and checked my watch with an internal sigh. Only two hours to go.
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