law. But would she really change places with husbandless, childless Clover? But there could be no ready answer to that. She couldn’t imagine Clover’s life any more than Clover could imagine hers. Their lives were, quite simply, entirely different. At the moment, right here and now, she was supremely content.
Tomorrow she might feel differently.
And she probably would.
5
.
When two weeks had passed, Rodney announced that he really must get cracking and look for a flat.
“You don’t know what you’re in for,” Christine told him. She had been poring over the
Times
ads even before he had arrived. It was as she thought: it would be a hassle. Studio apartments were few and far between, there was only a column and a half of listings each day and the rents were astronomical. True, there was a sprinkling of moderate-priced ones but you knew damned well they were — to say the least — dingy, if not downright rat traps. In the main, studios were renting for anywhere from $475 up, depending on location and desirability.
And of course
everything
was going co-op.
“It’s because the whole world is gravitating to New York,” she informed Rodney. “All the moneyed parasites, the kind of people I despise, they’re coming here. Leaving Rome and Paris and Geneva and coming here, damn them. They’re pissed off at taxes and insecurities and kidnappings and the threat of another Europe-based war. How dare they barge in with their Swiss bank accounts and their petro-dollars and take over this city? It’s a rape, it’s plunder, ordinary people can’t afford to live here anymore.”
“It’s also inflation,” he said, unruffled. He had his own copy of the
Times
now, so that they could compare notes. “How about this, Chris? Two and a half rooms, full kitchen, clean, $225.”
“Where is it?”
“Amsterdam Avenue.”
“Forget it,” she said crisply. “I
was
wondering about this. Seventy-third Street, just off Second. $240, a studio. Oh, it can’t be anything! Something over a greasy spoon.”
“A what?”
“Some crummy eatery. Let it go. Or no, we won’t let it go. There are few enough leads as it is, we’ll have to investigate them all, anything that sounds in the least feasible.”
She got up. “God, it’s discouraging. Okay, let’s get started. I’ve circled a few possibilities. I’m not very hopeful.”
The first day was the worst because even though you knew it was going to be a rat race the full impact only hit you when you actually got out there and faced it. Rodney lost a bit of his composure when he walked into some of the “airy studio” and “sunny L-shaped room” offerings. He did a lot of throat-clearing and he didn’t have very much appetite when they stopped off at The Brownstone for a three o’clock lunch. “Never mind,” Christine said bracingly. “We didn’t expect to find something first crack out of the bottle, did we?”
“I didn’t realize they’d be so seedy,” he admitted.
“We simply had phenomenally bad luck today. There
are
things around, I know that as well as I know my own name, even if it doesn’t look that way. We must be patient, you see.”
“Yes, of course, patient.”
And after a few days he began to perk up, taking this hound and hare exploration as a kind of lark, so that before long his gusto returned, along with his appetite, and they set out each morning with Rodney in fine spirits. Now he took along his camera, as if they were once again sightseeing.
“We haven’t time for that,” she protested, when he kept asking her to pose over there beside that tree, or in front of some building he fancied would make a good background.
“It’s only just for a moment. Smile, please.”
She smiled and he snapped the shutter. “You’re very lovely,” he said.
“I’m just a Mum.”
It became almost a way of life after a while, getting up with the roosters each morning, weekends included and both of them very practiced now. “No, not
Tomorrow she might feel differently.
And she probably would.
5
.
When two weeks had passed, Rodney announced that he really must get cracking and look for a flat.
“You don’t know what you’re in for,” Christine told him. She had been poring over the
Times
ads even before he had arrived. It was as she thought: it would be a hassle. Studio apartments were few and far between, there was only a column and a half of listings each day and the rents were astronomical. True, there was a sprinkling of moderate-priced ones but you knew damned well they were — to say the least — dingy, if not downright rat traps. In the main, studios were renting for anywhere from $475 up, depending on location and desirability.
And of course
everything
was going co-op.
“It’s because the whole world is gravitating to New York,” she informed Rodney. “All the moneyed parasites, the kind of people I despise, they’re coming here. Leaving Rome and Paris and Geneva and coming here, damn them. They’re pissed off at taxes and insecurities and kidnappings and the threat of another Europe-based war. How dare they barge in with their Swiss bank accounts and their petro-dollars and take over this city? It’s a rape, it’s plunder, ordinary people can’t afford to live here anymore.”
“It’s also inflation,” he said, unruffled. He had his own copy of the
Times
now, so that they could compare notes. “How about this, Chris? Two and a half rooms, full kitchen, clean, $225.”
“Where is it?”
“Amsterdam Avenue.”
“Forget it,” she said crisply. “I
was
wondering about this. Seventy-third Street, just off Second. $240, a studio. Oh, it can’t be anything! Something over a greasy spoon.”
“A what?”
“Some crummy eatery. Let it go. Or no, we won’t let it go. There are few enough leads as it is, we’ll have to investigate them all, anything that sounds in the least feasible.”
She got up. “God, it’s discouraging. Okay, let’s get started. I’ve circled a few possibilities. I’m not very hopeful.”
The first day was the worst because even though you knew it was going to be a rat race the full impact only hit you when you actually got out there and faced it. Rodney lost a bit of his composure when he walked into some of the “airy studio” and “sunny L-shaped room” offerings. He did a lot of throat-clearing and he didn’t have very much appetite when they stopped off at The Brownstone for a three o’clock lunch. “Never mind,” Christine said bracingly. “We didn’t expect to find something first crack out of the bottle, did we?”
“I didn’t realize they’d be so seedy,” he admitted.
“We simply had phenomenally bad luck today. There
are
things around, I know that as well as I know my own name, even if it doesn’t look that way. We must be patient, you see.”
“Yes, of course, patient.”
And after a few days he began to perk up, taking this hound and hare exploration as a kind of lark, so that before long his gusto returned, along with his appetite, and they set out each morning with Rodney in fine spirits. Now he took along his camera, as if they were once again sightseeing.
“We haven’t time for that,” she protested, when he kept asking her to pose over there beside that tree, or in front of some building he fancied would make a good background.
“It’s only just for a moment. Smile, please.”
She smiled and he snapped the shutter. “You’re very lovely,” he said.
“I’m just a Mum.”
It became almost a way of life after a while, getting up with the roosters each morning, weekends included and both of them very practiced now. “No, not
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