"Oh, excuse me, m'dear," he said, using a W. C. Fields voice, "excuse me, m'little chickadee, wandering hands, bad failing, here we are, let me taste this fine rye whiskey of yours."
He swallowed the second shot, feeling the whiskey burning all the way down to his stomach. "About my question," he said.
"What question?"
"You know."
"Oh," she said. "Yes."
"And, m'dear?"
"Sidney," she said, "I've decided to take a trip to Europe."
"Oh, really?" he said, smiling. "Well, now that's an interesting development, m'little chickadee, that's truly a very interesting…"
"Really, Sidney," she said.
"What?"
"Really," she said, and she stressed the word so strongly that he knew all at once she was serious. The smile dropped from his face.
"Wh… what do you mean?" he said.
"I'm going to Europe, Sidney. Ruth and I are going to Europe."
"What did you say?"
"I said we're going to Europe. Ruth and I."
"What?"
"Yes, Sidney."
"Europe?"
"Yes, Sidney. Italy and Greece. We're leaving for Rome tomorrow morning, the nine forty-five a.m. flight."
"You're… you're joking," he said, knowing she was not, and not at all surprised when she did not answer. "Chickie?"
"Yes?"
"You're joking," he said again.
"No."
"But… I thought…"
"What did you think, Sidney?"
"That… that… I don't know."
"You poor dear man," she said, "I'm going to Europe."
"Ch-Ch-Chickie?"
"I'm going to Europe, Sidney."
"But…"
"I'm going, Sidney. Really."
"You d-d-didn't tell me."
"I wasn't sure. I had to decide. Now I've decided."
"Wh-wh-what about me?" he asked. "What about me?"
"You poor dear man," she said. "Sidney, I must rush you out now, because you see I've got a million things to do before tomorrow morning."
She caught both his hands in her own, and pulled him gently off the arm of the chair.
"Now put on your hat like a dear man," she said, "and let me get all this packing done. I hate to pack. Don't you hate to pack, Sidney?" She had led him to the door, she was reaching for the doorknob, she was twisting the knob, she was opening the door.
"Chickie, wait!" he said sharply.
"Yes, Sidney?"
"I have to… Chickie, it's… it's im… p-p-p-portant to me to… Chickie, you've got to…"
"Sidney, dear," she said, opening the door wide, "what can I say? It's all arranged. Really, Sidney, I'm terribly sorry, but it's all arranged."
"Chickie, I love you," he said.
"Yes."
"I love you."
"Yes, Sidney." She stood silently just inside the open door. "Goodbye, Sidney," she said, easing him into the hallway.
"Chickie… what about me?" he asked. "What about me?"
"I hope you win your case," she said, and blew a kiss at him.
The door closed. He heard the lock turning, the tumblers falling.
"What about me?" he said again.
Behind the door, he heard her giggle.
It was 6:10 when Jonah got to Pennsylvania Station.
He did not expect the terminal to be so crowded because by all reasonable standards next Friday was to be the start of the Christmas weekend. But he had not counted on the scheduling vagaries of colleges and prep schools; the station was thronged with milling students and excited, waiting parents. There seemed to be an overabundance of servicemen as well, sailors carrying sea-bags, soldiers lugging duffles, everyone hurrying and intent, worlds colliding, separating, touching, dispersing, touching again, everyone in frantic, busy motion. He asked the man behind the information counter what track the train from Trenton would be on, and was told the train had been in for fifteen minutes already. Shouldering his way through the crowd, he hurried toward the gate.
She was waiting at the entrance.
She was wearing a plaid skirt and a black ski parka. A kookie leather Ringo hat rested lopsidedly on her dark head. She stood with her legs slightly spread, the Dun-seath posture, but there was a spring-tight tension in her body, and her eyes flashed searchingly at each passing face. A small suitcase rested near her feet. She was wearing black boots her mother had bought for her at Bendel. He walked up to her swiftly, and she turned to him immediately and mouthed the word "Daddy" soundlessly, and threw herself into his arms. He held her close to him, and closed his eyes, and kissed her cheek and said, "Hello, darling," and she said, "Oh, Daddy, how good to see you," and threw her arms around him again, and kissed him again, and hugged him to her and said, "Do you like my hat?"
"It's lovely," he said, "where'd you get it?"
"It's my roommate's, Yolanda's, did I tell you about Yolanda?"
"I think so. Is this all you have?" he asked, picking up her bag.
"I always travel light," she said, and wiggled her eyebrows, and then laughed, her mother's laugh, her grandmother's laugh, head thrown back, blue eyes flashing. He took her hand in his own, and they hurried through the station. He was tremendously proud of her, aware of her trim good looks, pleased when young college boys turned to look at her, their eyes traveling down over her youthful backside and to her legs. She walked with her mother's loping gait, hips thrust forward, wearing her nutty hat with all the authority of a Vogue model, talking to him animatedly as they came out onto Eighth Avenue and tried to find a taxi.
"… boy had a guitar, he got on at Philadelphia, and we just sang songs and were drinking…"
"Drinking? What do you mean?"
"Oh, just a little beer, Daddy, one of the senior boys had a six-pack."
"Honey, you're a little young, don't you think, to be…"
"Daddy, he was a senior boy, he must have been seventeen at least."
"I know, honey, but you're only twelve."
"I'll be thirteen in May."
"I know, but still…"
"Anyway, I only had a sip. What we did mostly was sing. It was such fun, Daddy, and we go there so faaaast, it seemed like no time at all. Have you ever seen such crowds, did you call Mother?"
"Yes, I called her. She's expecting you."
"I know, I spoke to her last night."
"Good."
"Are you going to come up?"
"I don't think so, Amy."
"All right," she said.
In the taxi, she said, "What are you working on now, Daddy?"
"We just concluded a trial today," he said.
"Something good?"
"A plagiarism case."
"Did you win?"
"I think so. We won't know for a while."
"How can you bear waiting?" she said.
"Well, there are always other things coming up. In fact, when I got back to the office today, there was a new case already waiting."
"What kind of a case?"
"An exciting one, I think. A man's been charged with income tax evasion, but he claims he's not evading anything, he's simply refusing to pay. He says he will not give money to support an undeclared war, and that unless Congress is allowed to decide whether we should or should not be at war, why then he's being deprived of representation. And without representation…"
"No taxation," Amy said, and nodded. "But doesn't everyone have to pay income tax?"
"Certainly, honey."
"Then he's guilty. I mean, if he won't pay…"
"Well, there are principles involved," Jonah said.
"Will you take the case?"
"I think so. Yes, I think so, honey." He grasped her hand and squeezed it.
"Oh my God, I almost forgot!" Amy said, pulling her hand away and reaching for her suitcase. She unclasped it quickly, burrowed beneath a sweater and a blouse and produced a small slim package wrapped in red and green paper, tied with a bright green bow. He remembered in that instant that he had not yet bought her the ring.