Riverside Drive. Laura Wormer Van
me do that [a curtsy] and I’m gonna go down like a house of cards.”) All in all, the arrangement had worked out fairly well. As for Rosanne’s etiquette, once she had latched onto Glinda the Good Witch in The Wizard of Oz as a model for her demeanor, she had gained a rather peculiar but nonetheless pleasant form of grace.
“Would you care for some more sandwiches, Lady Goldblum?” Rosanne said.
“Lady,” Mrs. Goldblum chuckled, looking over at Amanda. “Oh, my, my.” She turned back to Rosanne, softly touching her wrist. “No, thank you, dear.”
“Very good,” Rosanne said, curtsying. She raised herself onto her tiptoes and teetered over to Amanda, waving her imaginary wand once in her face. “And you, Empress?” she asked.
“No, thank you, Rosanne,” Amanda said, laughing, covering her mouth with her napkin.
“Very good, ladies,” Rosanne said, curtsying. Once she was safely behind Mrs. Goldblum, she raised her wings and glided back into the kitchen.
Mrs. Goldblum turned to make sure that Rosanne had left the room, looked back to Amanda and said, softly, “There is a lesson to be learned, Amanda dear. She married the man she thought she wanted—and she will waste her life waiting for him to be the man she wants him to be.”
Something crashed in the kitchen.
“I realize it is difficult to understand, Mrs. Goldblum,” Amanda said, “but I never wanted him—” Her eyes settled on a silver napkin ring. “I was not, am not, in love with him.”
Mrs. Goldblum apparently did not hear the crash or Amanda. “To love and be loved in return is the greatest gift life has to offer. To love those who don’t love themselves is—” Mrs. Goldblum refolded her napkin in her lap and then smoothed it with the palm of her hand, over and over. “I was very fortunate,” she finally said. “Mr. Goldblum and I had a wonderful marriage.”
“Why?”
Mrs. Goldblum looked surprised. “Why, compromise. Every good marriage is one of compromise. Of acceptance. The pleasure and satisfaction of knowing that you both are willing to give up certain things in exchange for receiving much more than you could have alone.”
Amanda touched at her pearls. “What kind of compromises did you make?”
“Oh, gracious,” Mrs. Goldblum said, looking past Amanda to the window. Her voice grew faint. “It’s been so many years, I can hardly remember what I cared about before Mr. Goldblum. Dances, friends, pretty ribbons, I suppose. Isn’t it odd,” she said, bringing her eyes back to Amanda, “I can’t seem to remember anything of importance before I was married.”
Or afterward, Amanda thought.
“And once the children arrived”—she chuckled to herself, shaking her head— “there was no time to miss anything.”
Mrs. Goldblum’s attention seemed to have drifted to her charm bracelet. Amanda patiently waited for her to continue.
“And, of course, there was Mr. Goldblum to look after. He worked so very hard.” She looked up, smiling. “I used to bathe the children at five. With the children’s nanny, Muerta—a Swiss girl. We had help in those days. And when Mr. Goldblum came home, the children and I would be lined up at the door, as neat as tacks, waiting to welcome him home.”
“And after the children grew up?”
“Oh, gracious,” Mrs. Goldblum laughed, “I missed them terribly. So did Mr. Goldblum. We always believed Sarah would be with us for a few years longer, but then, Ben was such a catch!” A long pause. “Can it be twelve years?” she wondered aloud. “It must be. She died in 1974.”
After a moment, Amanda said, “When the children left home…”
Mrs. Goldblum smiled again. She drew out a white hankie that was discreetly tucked in the underside of one sleeve, patted her nose with it and replaced it. “Mr. Goldblum and I didn’t know quite what to do with each other.” She laughed quietly. “Sometimes,” she said, leaning forward, “I would look at him across the dinner table and think, Who is this man? It was as if I had never seen him before. The man I married had black hair. The man sitting across from me had gray hair.” She eased back in her chair. “But then,” she sighed, “there were still those moments when I felt as though he and I shared the same body, the same life, the very same thoughts. And in those moments I was the happiest woman on earth.”
The clock on the mantel struck the half hour.
“Dear me, I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Mrs. Goldblum said.
“Nonsense,” Amanda said, rising from the table. “I would be deeply offended if you left so soon.” She lifted the teapot. “We will have some freshly made tea, perhaps by the fire.”
“No, I’m fine, thank you, right where I am,” Mrs. Goldblum said. She looked at the teapot. “I do so love a cup of good hot tea.”
“And good and hot it shall be,” Amanda said. “Excuse me.” She carried the teapot out to the kitchen. Rosanne was banging candlesticks in the sink, apparently in some effort meant to clean them. “Rosanne,” Amanda began.
“It’s not fair,” Rosanne said, throwing down the sponge.
“What’s not fair?”
Rosanne rested the back of one rubber glove against her forehead for a moment and then whipped around to face Amanda. “She shouldn’t talk about Frank behind my back,” she said, clearly upset.
“Oh, Rosanne,” Amanda said softly, putting the teapot down on the counter. “Rosanne, no, no. It was not meant as a criticism—”
“I heard what she said.” Rosanne’s eyes fell, and she swallowed. “She just shouldn’t talk about him, that’s all.”
Amanda considered this, absently toying with her pearls. “No,” she finally said, “you’re right. But you know, Rosanne, Mrs. Goldblum is getting on in years…She would never intentionally say or do anything to hurt you. She was only trying to comfort me.”
Rosanne sighed, pulling off the rubber gloves. “Yeah, I know,” she muttered, reaching for the teapot. “You want another?”
“I’ll make it,” Amanda offered.
Rosanne looked at her. “Ah, geez, don’t start playin’ Mother of Mercy on me. Go back and play the-good-ol’-days with Mrs. G.”
“All right,” Amanda said, walking to the door. She turned around then, hand resting on the doorway. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rosanne said, moving to the stove.
When Amanda returned to the living room, Mrs. Goldblum asked if she had told her that Daniel called.
“Oh?” Amanda walked over to take a small log out of the woodbox and place it on the fire.
“Yes. He said he’ll be coming for a visit soon.”
“That’s nice.” Poke, poke, sparks fly.
Pause. “He has suffered a minor reversal in business recently,” Mrs. Goldblum said slowly.
Amanda remained silent. Her frank opinion of Mrs. Goldblum’s only living child was less than complimentary; she thought he was a self-centered, worthless rogue. For the life of her, Amanda could not understand how Daniel could shut his mother out of his life—that is, when Daniel did not require money. Mrs. Goldblum was a fine, amazing lady. How could he ignore her? She was loving, warm, cheerful…and very, very lonely.
The first time Amanda ever laid eyes on Mrs. Goldblum was in line at the Food Emporium in 1983. Amanda had sailed up behind her with a shopping cart of liquid staples: a case of seltzer, coffee, milk, tea, Tab, and cranberry, apple, orange, grape and grapefruit juice. After loading them on the counter, Amanda had reached ahead for the delivery pad. Mrs. Goldblum had smiled at her; Amanda had smiled back;