I had known Maryanne Berg since we were kids growing up in Brooklyn. She was the typical dark haired, brown eyed and now, by some standards, slightly overweight Jew, with all the mannerisms associated with New York Jews. Her Pop, who ran a gym in Brooklyn, was like a second father to me and took over where my old man and Mr Zivic left off in teaching me the noble art. Maryanne and I both worked for the New York Times after we left college and, being six years older than her and therefore having started with the company that much earlier, I was able to command a certain respect. I checked the number again on the piece of paper, stepped outside where it was quieter, and rang her on my mobile.
“Hi Doll what brings you to these shores?” I said when I heard her distinctive voice at the other end of the phone.
“Jack, d’you realise we ain’t seen each other for more than six months, and as I was passing your office I decided to call in on the off chance that you might be there. A janitor told me to look in at the Duke of Marlborough’, you wasn’t there so I left a note.” Her vocabulary structure was dazzling and typical. Without taking a breath, and giving me a chance to say something, she continued in her rat-a-tat Brooklynese. “I checked in here at the Tower Hotel and then came looking for you, you lucky guy.” She chuckled, and although whenever I spoke to her on the phone she often lapsed into an exaggerated form of our childhood means of communication, anyone could tell that she was Jewish and from New York, even when she tried to speak American English.
“So are you going to tell me why you’re here Maryanne, or do I have to guess?”
“Well that’s a fine thing, I come all the way from the U.S. of A and the only greetin’ I gets is ‘what you here for’.” I laughed. We always teased each other like that, especially after we hadn’t met for some time.
“OK, OK” I said, “now try and speak English. The longer I’m away from the US the more difficulty I have in understanding Brooklynese.”
“Jack, seriously, how you doin?” and not waiting for a reply continued, “I was disappointed when I didn’t see you tonight, I was hoping we could have had a little dinner.”
“Well, Doll, it’s still not too late and I haven’t eaten yet,” I said, relishing the thought of spending, what I knew would be, a nostalgic and amusing dinner with one of life’s characters, and beautiful to boot. “Suppose I come over right now?” I said.
“Jack, that would be just great. Room 240, come straight up. I’ll book a table. How much time do you need?” She asked excitedly.
“I can be with you in under an hour.” I rang off, popped my head round the door to tell the guys that I was going, and tried to slide away without attracting too much attention. They never let you alone if they think you’re getting something they’re not, but apart from a couple of cat calls I escaped relatively unscathed.
Seeing Maryanne was just great. She is never down or depressed, just even tempered and always a pleasure to be with. She came to the door of her hotel room wearing a bath robe, towel on her head, carrying her surplus flesh sensuously and looking like a picture from Vogue magazine advertising bath wear.
“Why is it whenever I call to see you, you’re half dressed,” I said, “and either just getting out of or into the bath?”
She flung her arms around me, rested her head on my shoulder and said, in a half muffled mumble,“that’s because I always want to look my best when you’re around, Jack honey, and I can’t do that if I’m not first scrubbed and polished.” She smiled and bit my ear. “But don’t stand there, come in and have a drink while I get ready.”
“How’re your folks?” I asked more seriously, after I got in the room.
“Well, you know, since 9/11… They’re getting on, both in their seventies. Everyone is different now,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders and a brief smile. “Mainly, I think, for the better, more caring and less rude. I suppose this will probably change in time when people get their confidence back. But it makes me proud, the way everyone pulled together. It must have been like the Brits during World War II.” I walked across to the drinks cabinet where I could see an empty glass turned upside down on a coaster and helped myself to a whiskey and Canada Dry.