She was seated in the grand entrance hall, dressed all in gray, and O‘Kane could see she’d put some time and thought into her outfit — she looked good, very good, better than she had yesterday or a year ago even. Mrs. Roessing was a middle-aged flapper in ultramarine and a silver wraparound hat, and those very fine and shapely legs exposed all the way up to her thighs in white silk stockings you could have licked right off her. O’Kane stood there like part of the decor.
“Katherine,” Mr. McCormick said in a pleasant, muted voice, coming right up to her and taking her hand, which he bent to kiss, glove and all. And then, grinning till you’d think his face would split open, he turned to Mrs. Roessing. “And this must be, must be”—and here he lost himself a moment, understandably, twenty years and all that leg, and O‘Kane braced himself for the worst—“Jane,” he said finally, all the air gone out of him. Amazingly, he took her hand too, and bent to kiss it as if he were playing a part in a movie.
Butters took the ladies’ wraps, Mart slunk out from behind the statue, and after a few inconsequential remarks about the weather — And how lucky you are, Stanley, to have this heavenly climate year-round and you should just see Philadelphia this time of year, snow up to, well, snow up to here — the whole party made its halting way into the dining room. The table could seat eighteen in comfort, but Butters had instructed Mary to set four places at the far end of it, Mr. McCormick to sit at the head of the table, as he was the host, his wife on his right-hand side, Dr. Kempf on his left, and Mrs. Roessing to the doctor’s left. Mart and O‘Kane were to stand guard and watch them eat.
Essential to all this was Giovannella, stalking round the kitchen with her left arm in a sling — no, it wasn’t broken, only sprained — her eyes breeding rage while Mary and one of the houseboys scuttered round like scared rabbits. O‘Kane had brought her flowers and a box of candy, and he’d actually crawled through the kitchen door on his hands and knees at eight-thirty A.M. to beg her forgiveness, but she wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t even look at him, and that was the end of that, at least for now. Butters would be serving at table, and they would start with caviar, large gray grain caviar from Volga sturgeon, served on little glass plates set down airily between the big yellow Arezzo dinner plates, and wine, real wine, decanted from an enigmatic green bottle.
There was soup — minestrone, one of Giovannella’s specialities — followed by financières aux truffes from Diehl‘s, a salad and Italian food for the main course, very Continental. Mr. McCormick’s veal had been cut up for him in the kitchen, so as not to cause him any embarrassment vis-à-vis the six silver spoons of varying size laid out at his place, and O’Kane had been instructed to particularly watch that he didn’t snatch up a knife or fork from one of his fellow diners’ settings. They chatted. Ate. Sipped at their wine. O‘Kane watched, his back to the wall, and he felt the prickings of his salivary glands and the tumultuous rumblings of his stomach — this was when he hated his job most, this was when he felt his place, one more servant in a sea of them.
Mrs. Roessing praised the grounds — Had Stanley really had as much of a hand in laying them out as she’d heard?
Dr. Kempf: “Yes, Stanley, go ahead.”
Mr. McCormick: “I, well, I — yes.”
Mrs. Roessing (leaning in to show off the jewels at her throat): “It’s such a talent, landscaping, I mean — I just wish I had it. Really, my place in Philadelphia is going to the dogs, if you know what I mean.”
Katherine: “Stanley’s always been clever that way — with drawings and architecture too. Haven’t you, Stanley?”
Dr. Kempf: “It’s all right. Go ahead.”
Mr. McCormick: “My mother… she always said I was, but then she wouldn’t… And I stud-studied in Paris, sketching, I mean, with Monsieur Julien. At his studios.”
Dr. Kempf (by way of explanation): “Julien was very big at the turn of the century, practically doyen of the Paris art world — Stanley produced some very unique sketches under him, didn’t you, Stanley?”
Mr. McCormick: “I, well, yes. In pencil and charcoal too. I sketched the Pont-Neuf neuf times. But no nudes, never any nudes. And what do you think of that, Mrs., Mrs. Jane?”
Mrs. Roessing: “Marvelous. Simply marvelous.”
It went on like that for two hours, through the successive courses, the desserts, the fruits and now, finally, the coffee. “And what’s your assessment, Dr. Kempf,” Katherine asked all of a sudden, and a chill had come over her, the Ice Queen showing her face. “Can we expect more of this self-awareness and lucidity? Or is this a sort of act you’ve trained Stanley up to perform, like a dog jumping through a hoop?”
Kempf set down his cup, bowed his head, rubbed his eyes and shot a look at O‘Kane, all in the space of a second. “I did talk to him, yes. Yesterday he was afraid of you, afraid you wouldn’t recognize him — or love him still. We went over that this morning and we agreed that there was nothing to be afraid of, that you were his wife and would always love him. You see, the idea is to reeducate him, resocialize him, and introducing him into social situations, particularly in the company of women, is essential. In fact, I’m thinking of hiring on a female nurse.”
This took O‘Kane by surprise. Women, yes, but a female nurse? Upstairs? Locked in with him?
Katherine said nothing to this. The specter of the female nurse hung in the air a moment, just short of materializing, and then it dissolved. Mrs. Roessing asked for the cream. Kempf looked as if he were about to say something, but held his tongue.
“And what about his teeth?” Katherine suddenly demanded. She glanced at Mrs. Roessing. “And his body odor?”
“He bathed just this morning, didn’t he, Eddie?” Kempf said, swinging round in his seat to address O‘Kane.
“Yes, sir, he did, and very nicely too. He bathes every day, without fail.”
“His teeth are another matter,” Kempf said, “and we’re all very concerned about their condition, but as you know, your husband has an aversion to dentists and it’s been difficult—” ‘
“Body and mind,” Katherine said. “Mens sana in corpore sano.”
“All things in time,” the doctor said. “The mind and body are one, as you suggest, and by treating the mind I am treating the body. You wait and see. As his mind becomes free of its impediments, his teeth will improve spontaneously. And then, if we still feel we need to consult a dentist, we’ll bring one in — once he’s well enough — just as we’ve brought you ladies in today.” He paused a moment to brood over his cup. “You should be gratified, Katherine, after Stanley’s performance today — and I hope you’ll give me a little credit for it.”
“But that’s just it — it was a performance. I want my husband sane and sound, and I’m worn out with waiting. And I don’t see that psychoanalysis is the ne plus ultra — as you well know. I’ve been in contact with Dr. Roy Hoskins, of Harvard, and he’s had great success in cases like Stanley’s by correcting glandular irregularities and I see no reason why he shouldn’t be called in to examine my husband to see if there isn’t some somatic solution to all this. After all, you can’t deny that he shows certain features of hyperthyroidism — his height, the disproportionate length of his digits and other appendages, which on seeing him today seem to me to have grown, and quite noticeably, and I really feel—”