Bergdorf’s. All the doormen on our stretch of Park Avenue knew to snag her and hold her for me, should she come racing down the sidewalk alone without her shoes or, very often, her dress; I once had to march through the gentlemen’s restroom of the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Terminal in order to fetch her, which caused one portly old businessman to fumble for his nitroglycerin tablets and another to make me an indecent offer on the spot.
For an instant, I’d been tempted to accept.
“Have you seen Kiki?” I asked the ladies in the dining room, one by one.
Why, no. They hadn’t. Had I checked the bar?
I checked the bar again, and the ladies’ room, and found Mr. Hubert groping for his eyeglasses in the foyer and asked him to check the gentlemen’s restroom. I waited outside with my fingers knit tightly behind my back, listening to him open the stalls and call her name. Then the sound of water trickling in elderly fits and starts; a flush; a pause, and the whoosh of the faucet.
I waited.
“Oh! Kiki. No, no sign of her, I’m afraid,” said Mr. Hubert, when he emerged. “Have you checked the bar?”
Adrenaline, the scientists called it. I had read an article about it, in Time magazine. Adrenaline made your heart thump and your limbs go light, in a natural response to the perception of danger. I was familiar with adrenaline by now. Every time Kiki absconded, it coursed along the channels of my body like an old friend. By the time I scooped her up into my arms, I would be shaking, unable to speak in complete sentences.
Of course she was perfectly safe. Kiki was a sensible girl. She might ignore most of the small rules, but she generally abided by the important ones. She wouldn’t go out in the water by herself, she wouldn’t go running along the jetty at night. I just had to find out where she’d gone, and she would be safe, amusing herself with something, her flexible imagination stretching itself to new lengths.
But the glands of my body didn’t know that, had never known that. Not since the moment she was born.
I moved outside, onto the veranda, where the rush of ocean against the sand had magnified in the darkness. All the tables were empty now, drinks and dinner finished. Even Nick and Budgie had left.
I cupped my trembling hands around my mouth. “Kiki!” I called.
A wave broke in a slow crash upon the beach, its white foam lit by the gibbous moon.
“Kiki!” I called again.
A seagull screamed overhead, and another. Something dropped in the sand, and the birds swooped down, squabbling. I thought, I wish I could travel forward half an hour, when Kiki would undoubtedly, undoubtedly , be safe and alive in my arms, and not have to endure this.
I had to be sensible. It was time to think like Kiki. If I were Kiki, and it was time to leave for home, why would I run off? What unfinished business might I have left behind?
Her cardigan. Had she left it somewhere?
No, she’d had that on at dessert. I remembered, because I’d had to roll up the sleeves for her so she wouldn’t stain them with her chocolate ice cream.
Hair ribbons?
Shoes?
I was grasping at impossibilities now. Of course she had her hair ribbons. Of course she had her shoes. But there was nothing else, was there? No other children around, no one to say good-bye to. Had she been talking about anything in particular at dinner?
If she had, I couldn’t remember. I hadn’t been listening, had I? I’d been drinking and numbing myself, chatting with the grown-ups, my mind careening among its own preoccupations. As if anything else were as important as Kiki.
“Kiki!” I called again, screaming her name, but my voice was lost and tiny amid the roar of the Atlantic.
I tore off my shoes and stumbled down the steps into the sand. Logic had fled, leaving only the adrenaline. I was one pulsing, panicked vessel of adrenaline.
“Kiki!” I screamed, wallowing in the sand, stumbling over the hem of my dress. “Kiki!”
A horn tooted
For an instant, I’d been tempted to accept.
“Have you seen Kiki?” I asked the ladies in the dining room, one by one.
Why, no. They hadn’t. Had I checked the bar?
I checked the bar again, and the ladies’ room, and found Mr. Hubert groping for his eyeglasses in the foyer and asked him to check the gentlemen’s restroom. I waited outside with my fingers knit tightly behind my back, listening to him open the stalls and call her name. Then the sound of water trickling in elderly fits and starts; a flush; a pause, and the whoosh of the faucet.
I waited.
“Oh! Kiki. No, no sign of her, I’m afraid,” said Mr. Hubert, when he emerged. “Have you checked the bar?”
Adrenaline, the scientists called it. I had read an article about it, in Time magazine. Adrenaline made your heart thump and your limbs go light, in a natural response to the perception of danger. I was familiar with adrenaline by now. Every time Kiki absconded, it coursed along the channels of my body like an old friend. By the time I scooped her up into my arms, I would be shaking, unable to speak in complete sentences.
Of course she was perfectly safe. Kiki was a sensible girl. She might ignore most of the small rules, but she generally abided by the important ones. She wouldn’t go out in the water by herself, she wouldn’t go running along the jetty at night. I just had to find out where she’d gone, and she would be safe, amusing herself with something, her flexible imagination stretching itself to new lengths.
But the glands of my body didn’t know that, had never known that. Not since the moment she was born.
I moved outside, onto the veranda, where the rush of ocean against the sand had magnified in the darkness. All the tables were empty now, drinks and dinner finished. Even Nick and Budgie had left.
I cupped my trembling hands around my mouth. “Kiki!” I called.
A wave broke in a slow crash upon the beach, its white foam lit by the gibbous moon.
“Kiki!” I called again.
A seagull screamed overhead, and another. Something dropped in the sand, and the birds swooped down, squabbling. I thought, I wish I could travel forward half an hour, when Kiki would undoubtedly, undoubtedly , be safe and alive in my arms, and not have to endure this.
I had to be sensible. It was time to think like Kiki. If I were Kiki, and it was time to leave for home, why would I run off? What unfinished business might I have left behind?
Her cardigan. Had she left it somewhere?
No, she’d had that on at dessert. I remembered, because I’d had to roll up the sleeves for her so she wouldn’t stain them with her chocolate ice cream.
Hair ribbons?
Shoes?
I was grasping at impossibilities now. Of course she had her hair ribbons. Of course she had her shoes. But there was nothing else, was there? No other children around, no one to say good-bye to. Had she been talking about anything in particular at dinner?
If she had, I couldn’t remember. I hadn’t been listening, had I? I’d been drinking and numbing myself, chatting with the grown-ups, my mind careening among its own preoccupations. As if anything else were as important as Kiki.
“Kiki!” I called again, screaming her name, but my voice was lost and tiny amid the roar of the Atlantic.
I tore off my shoes and stumbled down the steps into the sand. Logic had fled, leaving only the adrenaline. I was one pulsing, panicked vessel of adrenaline.
“Kiki!” I screamed, wallowing in the sand, stumbling over the hem of my dress. “Kiki!”
A horn tooted
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