big on drinking human blood, but they’re very big on guilt. So they drink the wine to show that they are about to experience the greatest possible joy, and right away the man has to break the glass, as a reminder of the destruction of the temple. That makes them guilty about being happy and brings them back to reality.
Charlotte had finished wrapping his hand with gauze and adhesive tape. She kissed him on the top of the head, which was a caress that always made him melt.
Let me finish the dishes, she said, and please keep that hand out of the water until the cut closes. You should probably take it to a doctor and have it stitched.
Never! Can’t break my lifetime record of no cutting and sewing my skin for such a trifle. Thank you, sweetie, for being so good to the old grouch. And thank you, Jon, for setting me straight. By the way, how do your parents feel about your marrying a shiksa? Have you spoken to them? Will they allow it?
Not as broken up as you about her marrying me! Albert, will you come off it? Charlotte and I have been together for almost four years. We love each other. We live in the same apartment! And you’ve known me for ten years!
Yes, of course, Jon. I am very glad. I just need time to get used to the concept.
Dad, Jon’s parents would like you and us to have Thanksgiving with them.
This was a development Schmidt recognized immediately as natural, but he hadn’t foreseen it. Mary had reigned over Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. Of course, they had spent those holidays with Martha, while she was alive, and they continued spending them in her house afterward, except for one Thanksgiving when Charlotte had the chicken pox. During their good years, they usually had invited young people from Schmidt’s office. There never had been any question of Charlotte’s being elsewhere; therefore, if Riker was right about the length of his tenure, he must have had each of those holidays with them at least four times.
That’s very kind. I don’t blame the Doctors Riker for wanting Jon for once to spend a holiday with them, but it may be a bit soon for me to go visiting over Thanksgiving. That doesn’t affect you, sweetie; of course, you and Jon must be together.
And then he added, because the thought had suddenly occurred to him, Unless you want to invite the Rikers here, Charlotte. Between the two of us, I bet we can roast a turkey.
You’ll hurt their feelings. They said my grandparents are even coming to New York instead of the usual family gathering in Washington. My brother will be there too.
Schmidt had forgotten to put the brother in the family album. This would be the boy who jumped ship from Wharton and was working for a trade association—also in Washington. Was he married? Might he be gay; was that what Mary had told him?
Let’s not decide today. This is only the third week of October. We have lots of time before us.
That’s all right, but please, Albert, please don’t spoil this for us, and for yourself too.
II
T HE FOLLOWING TUESDAY , Schmidt received a telephone call from Jon Riker’s secretary. Jon had asked her to give Mr. Schmidt a message: Neither he nor Charlotte would be coming out for the weekend, they were staying in town, and Jon wondered whether his parents should expect Mr. Schmidt for the Thanksgiving meal, lunch being at two-thirty.
I’ve got the message, Schmidt told her, making his voice sound light and cheerful—almost elated, as if the best thing in the world had just happened to him. It was a tone he thought he had perfected in the fallow period of his practice and used to thank potential clients when they called to say that Schmidt’s presentation had been excellent, really most impressive, but other counsel had been chosen for the project Schmidt had hoped to get for Wood & King.
And do tell me, does Jon now get you to make all his personal calls? he continued, but no sooner had he spoken these words than he was ashamed, because Riker’s secretary
Charlotte had finished wrapping his hand with gauze and adhesive tape. She kissed him on the top of the head, which was a caress that always made him melt.
Let me finish the dishes, she said, and please keep that hand out of the water until the cut closes. You should probably take it to a doctor and have it stitched.
Never! Can’t break my lifetime record of no cutting and sewing my skin for such a trifle. Thank you, sweetie, for being so good to the old grouch. And thank you, Jon, for setting me straight. By the way, how do your parents feel about your marrying a shiksa? Have you spoken to them? Will they allow it?
Not as broken up as you about her marrying me! Albert, will you come off it? Charlotte and I have been together for almost four years. We love each other. We live in the same apartment! And you’ve known me for ten years!
Yes, of course, Jon. I am very glad. I just need time to get used to the concept.
Dad, Jon’s parents would like you and us to have Thanksgiving with them.
This was a development Schmidt recognized immediately as natural, but he hadn’t foreseen it. Mary had reigned over Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. Of course, they had spent those holidays with Martha, while she was alive, and they continued spending them in her house afterward, except for one Thanksgiving when Charlotte had the chicken pox. During their good years, they usually had invited young people from Schmidt’s office. There never had been any question of Charlotte’s being elsewhere; therefore, if Riker was right about the length of his tenure, he must have had each of those holidays with them at least four times.
That’s very kind. I don’t blame the Doctors Riker for wanting Jon for once to spend a holiday with them, but it may be a bit soon for me to go visiting over Thanksgiving. That doesn’t affect you, sweetie; of course, you and Jon must be together.
And then he added, because the thought had suddenly occurred to him, Unless you want to invite the Rikers here, Charlotte. Between the two of us, I bet we can roast a turkey.
You’ll hurt their feelings. They said my grandparents are even coming to New York instead of the usual family gathering in Washington. My brother will be there too.
Schmidt had forgotten to put the brother in the family album. This would be the boy who jumped ship from Wharton and was working for a trade association—also in Washington. Was he married? Might he be gay; was that what Mary had told him?
Let’s not decide today. This is only the third week of October. We have lots of time before us.
That’s all right, but please, Albert, please don’t spoil this for us, and for yourself too.
II
T HE FOLLOWING TUESDAY , Schmidt received a telephone call from Jon Riker’s secretary. Jon had asked her to give Mr. Schmidt a message: Neither he nor Charlotte would be coming out for the weekend, they were staying in town, and Jon wondered whether his parents should expect Mr. Schmidt for the Thanksgiving meal, lunch being at two-thirty.
I’ve got the message, Schmidt told her, making his voice sound light and cheerful—almost elated, as if the best thing in the world had just happened to him. It was a tone he thought he had perfected in the fallow period of his practice and used to thank potential clients when they called to say that Schmidt’s presentation had been excellent, really most impressive, but other counsel had been chosen for the project Schmidt had hoped to get for Wood & King.
And do tell me, does Jon now get you to make all his personal calls? he continued, but no sooner had he spoken these words than he was ashamed, because Riker’s secretary
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