When Rochelle rang the bell she was standing in the kitchen smoking.
"So, Klara. Here you are."
"Don't look too closely. I didn't clean."
"You don't clean for old friends."
They sat in the living room with coffee and snacks.
"So here you are."
"Exactly, what, six blocks from where we grew up?"
"It feels strange coming back. Everybody's so ugly. I swear I never noticed."
The real Rochelle. This is what Mara wanted but wasn't sure she'd get.
"You have a new place," she said.
"Riverside Drive. How did I get so lucky I don't know."
"You're looking very Parisian or something. The hair, maybe, or the clothes. What is it?"
"Once you start, you can't stop. It's like a disease," Rochelle said. "You still have your willowy look, which is the envy of my life."
Rochelle's husband was a developer. She called him Harry the Land Man. They went to Florida and Bermuda and shopped for lingerie together on Fifth Avenue.
"So you're here, Klara. Teaching art."
"There's a community center. The children come to me, some of them kicking, some of them screaming. Others are very willing, they love to draw."
"So it's satisfying."
"At times, yes, I enjoy it."
"So you enjoy it. So it's good. And Albert. He's a teacher too. Everybody's a teacher. Half the world is teaching the other half."
"Albert's a real teacher. A professional."
"That's his mother in there?"
"A forceful woman actually, even in this condition. I admire her in a number of ways. Takes no crap from anybody."
"She's dying in there?"
"Yes."
"You'll let her die in the house?"
"Yes."
"You were always open-minded that way. You have a lover, Klara?"
"Ten minutes you're in my house. The answer is no."
"You want to ask me if I fool around?"
"I know what I'm supposed to say. Youd be crazy to fool around. Risk all that? Harry, the apartment, the underwear? But in fact."
"Once or twice only. I need something in the afternoon or I feel useless."
Rochelle wanted to see her work. There were several small canvases stacked against the wall in the spare room and they stood there a while, looking. The pressure Rochelle felt to say the right thing mashed her head into her torso.
"Harry wants to buy art."
"Tell him to get an advisor."
"I'll quote you that you said that."
Klara showed some pastels.
"So Albert's a dear sweet man, right? He likes it that you paint?"
"He thinks it relaxes me."
"So you enjoy it. You come in here and paint. I can picture you, Klara. Standing here thinking, measuring with the brush. Itbu're trying this, you're trying that. Once I let an elevator man rub against my thigh, in Florida."
They had another cup of coffee and then went upstairs to see Klara's child. She was on the floor playing with jigsaw pieces and they stayed half an hour talking to the baby-sitter and watching the child make a world independent of the puzzle.
"Klara, say it. I should have a baby."
"You're the last person I would say it to."
"Thank you. We're friends to the end. Give me a hug, I'll go home happy."
They went down and stood on the stoop talking. Three men were pushing a car to get it started. A light snow was falling.
"So she takes no crap, Albert's mother. Take me to her deathbed before it's too late. Maybe she can tell me something I should know."
When she was gone Klara went into the spare room and restacked all the canvases and stood looking at the sketches she'd done. The door, the doorknob, the walls, the window frame.
She sent Mrs. Ketchel home and sat with Albert's mother until it got dark. Then she went into the kitchen to do something about dinner. But first she turned on the lamp near the bed so Albert would see his mother when he came up the steps.
The poolshooter was George Manza, George the Waiter, and he was playing alone at the back of the room. He was not a man who mixed with the regulars and he was a master shooter besides. It was rare that anyone came in who could play at this level.
Nick stood near a table where a gin rummy game was going but he was watching George shoot pool. Bank the six, play beautiful position for the ace, make a masse shot that Nick could barely visualize even after he saw it.
Once, nearly a year ago, George came up to Nick, unexpectedly, and asked him to go to the unemployment office with him. He needed to fill out some forms so he could collect for the next twenty weeks and he didn't say it outright but Nick understood that he required help reading the forms and filling in the information. Nick also understood that an older man might not want to ask someone his own age for this kind of help. They went to the office and filled out the forms and George didn't feel embarrassed and ever since that day he always had a word for Nick, some advice to give, regards to your mother, stay in school.
Somebody says, "What's this, fuck-your-buddy week?"
Mike the Book stood behind the counter, under the TV set, a short square-jawed man who was always about a day late shaving. The poolroom was a sideline to Mike's bookmaking operation. Sometimes he let Nick and his buddies shoot pool with the light off over the table, which meant they didn't have to pay.
He caught Nick's eye and tilted his head and when Nick walked over he said something.
"What?"
"It's called grand theft. You know this phrase?"
"What do you mean?"
Mike leaned across the counter, speaking quietly.
"You think word don't get around? What's the matter with you? I thought you were smart. That chooch over there, Juju, I don't expect better. You, I'm surprised."
"Mike, the car is a throwaway. I honestly don't think the guy ever meant to drive it anymore. He left the keys in the car so somebody could take it. It's the kind of car you take it out in the woods and shoot it. So we saved him the aggravation."
"You're gonna think it's funny when you're booked at the precinct. I picture your mother, Nicky."
The dog came over and sniffed at Nick's shoes, a mutt, a stray that Mike the Book took in one day. Somebody named it Mike the Dog.
"All right. I'll see what we're gonna do."
"Get rid of it. That's what you're gonna do."
"I won't need it anymore. I'm getting a job. I can take taxis whenever I want."
"Wise guy. You're like your father."
Nick wasn't sure he wanted to hear this.
"Your father liked to put himself in a corner and then edge himself out. He was always at the edge. Not that I knew him that well. We were in the same business but he was downtown and I was over here and he always kept a distance, anyway, your old man. Like he's somewhere else even when he's standing next to you."
"I'll do something."
"See what you're gonna do."
"I'm this close to getting a job. My life of crime is over, Mike."
They were shooting pool at two other tables now and when Juju started racking balls at a third table Nick went over to shoot a game.
He said, "Mike knows."
"What? He knows?"
"I think everybody knows. How could they not know? The fucking dog knows."
"Then we're shit out of luck," Juju said. "We put the key back in the ignition and just walk away."
"Good idea. Give me the key I'll do it," Nick said.
In the middle of the game he went to the phone on the far wall and called Loretta. George the Waiter saw him and raised his stick and Nick tipped an imaginary hat.