28

And now, sitting in a corner of Mimi’s office, in the shipping carton in which they were delivered this morning, are her grandfather’s diaries: thirty-one years’ worth of daybooks, in as many neatly numbered volumes, beginning in 1910 and ending, somewhat abruptly, in October of 1941. Why did he suddenly stop making entries? she has asked herself. He did not die until eighteen years later.

She has obviously not had time to read through all of them, which she feels she must do before turning them over to Jim Greenway, but she has scanned through enough of them to ascertain that they are, indeed, written in her grandfather’s spidery, but legible, European copybook hand.

Most of the entries she has read so far—she has to agree with Michael on this—have not been terribly interesting. In most of the earliest ones, for instance, her grandfather spent a great deal of time complaining about his younger brother. Sample: the entry dated July 4, 1910:

National holiday! Great Parade in New York, led by Mayor. But had to work today, painting house at 5570 Mosholu Pkway. Leo kvetched all day—wanted day off. A raise he even asked for yet! He is impossible to work with. All he does is kvetch and krechtz.…

July 10, 1910

More kvetching from Leo. I told him he is the number one World Champion kvetcher in the United States … Leo is stupid … Leo is lazy … Leo is nothing but a golem …

Out of curiosity, wondering what her grandfather’s reaction had been to her birth, she had flipped forward to the year 1938, to see what he had entered for May 24.

Alice had the baby today. It is a girl. Very difficult labor for Alice, Henry says. Doctor tells them that they should have no more. When he married her, I told Henry that Alice did not look too good for child-bearing—too weak-looking, pelvic structure too small, and I was right. Baby is very sickly and runtish, only 5 lbs. 6 oz. Now I shall have to count on Edwin to give me the grandsons I want. They have named it Marie.

He did not even get my name right, Mimi thinks.

She then flipped back to 1916 to see how her father’s birth had been heralded.

July 17, 1916

My first son is born, the first of many I know, and I am a man blessed by God! A fine, fat, healthy, happy baby, weight 8 lbs. 14 oz. Flo doing fine, nursing, with milk to spare. I was right in my estimation of her capacity for childbearing, fine strong hips, broad pelvic structure are what one must look for in a woman. We have named him Henry, in honor of my father Hermann, may God bless his memory.…

She had moved further backward to learn what she could of her grandparents’ courtship and marriage.

May 10, 1914

I have joined Temple Emanu-El, where all the uptown swells belong, where it is so grand that they do not even call it a shul! The bankers Schiff, Seligman, Loeb, Warburg and Lehman are all members, and a Lehman is its President. They will begin to take me seriously in New York now, for now I am one of them. This is a momentous day for me.…

July 19, 1914

There is a pretty little blue-eyed girl who sits in the pew just in front of mine at temple. Sometimes she turns and smiles at me. Today, she dropped her prayer book, and I reached down and fetched it for her. She thanked me in the prettiest way, just with her eyes, which are the prettiest blue for a Jewish girl.

August 10, 1914

I have just learned the identity of the little blue-eyed girl at temple. She is Fleurette Guggenheim, of the smelting family, and the man who sits beside her is her father, the great Morris Guggenheim, and the other men in the pew are his brothers. They are Swiss Jews, which explains the blue eyes, fair hair, and they are very rich—richer even than Rockefeller! This means that I will have no chance with her. Still, it is pleasant when she turns and sees me there, and smiles at me with those eyes. In French her name means “a little flower.” That is the perfect description for her.…

August 17, 1914

Today we spoke for the first time, just a pleasant “Hello, how are you?” “I am fine, and you?” after the temple services. I really think she begins to like me. Is it possible? Should I ask her if I can walk her home? Should I ask her if I could pay a call? This will be very difficult, because she is always surrounded by her father, and all those powerful-looking uncles, who are very protective of her, which of course is as it should be.…

September 12, 1914

Fleurette, Fleurette—oh, my fragrant little summer flower! Summer is fading now, and so are all my hopes, for you are forever unattainable. Yet you are forever with me, in my thoughts and in my dreams, in my heart and in my soul—your sweet and gentle voice, your gentle eyes, my gentle Fleurette. Do you ever think of me? Do you sometimes dream of me as I dream of you? There is a song they’re playing everywhere—“You’re the Only Girl for Me”—and that is the song I hum in my head when I think of you, which is always, and yet it is never to be. Oh, Fleurette, my love, my love. This diary today sends only sweet thoughts to you.…

October 9, 1914

I cannot believe my good fortune! I think I must be dreaming! The Guggenheims have offered Fleurette to me! It is their proposal! They asked me today if I would consider taking Fleurette’s hand in marriage! It is beyond my wildest hopes and dreams, that they should think that I am good enough for their Fleurette. Surely God has made me the most blessed of men.…

November 12, 1914

The wedding date has been chosen, January 5 of next year, and the rabbi has been retained. It seems an eternity from now, but they say that there are many things that must be done in preparation, and of course they are right. She asks that I call her Flo, which is what her family calls her. Flo. Flow. Yes, you make my blood flow stronger, my little Flo.

January 5, 1915

My wedding day! And today, if that were not enough, Flo’s father and her uncles presented me with their wedding gift—her dowry of one million dollars! I am sitting here, staring at the cheque, and cannot believe my eyes. I am already rich, but now I am three times rich—rich in happiness, in health, and in wealth as well. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all of the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the House of the Lord forever.

Mimi had then flipped further backward, to the year 1912, the year that the momentous event that had changed all their lives had happened.

March 16, 1912

Stupid Leo! Poured too much coagulant into the red paint for Mrs. Spitzberg’s kitchen. So viscid that it dries practically on the brush. Ruined, Leo said, wanted to throw it all out—two dollars’ worth! Wait, I said. Idea! Sell it as paint for ladies’ fingernails!

March 20, 1912

Bought case of nail polish bottles at Manufacturer’s closeout. Investment: $10. Will fill all bottles from our 5-gallon drum, label each bottle “Three Alarm Quick-Drying Nail Polish,” sell up and down the street at 10¢ each—should be a nice profit!

April 3, 1912

Mrs. Feldman, 3065 Grand Concourse, loves “Three Alarm.” Wants more for her daughter in Canarsie—our first reorder!

May 7, 1912

Levy’s drugstore wants to stock “Three Alarm.” Thinks we should raise the price to 15¢ per bottle. Ordered more bottles today. Mixing new batch.…

July 6, 1912

That Leo! He’s telling everybody he “invented” Quick-Drying Polish! Him we’re calling an inventor now! What a gonef!

She couldn’t help wondering what he would have written in his diary about that visit of hers to his office in the spring of 1957, when she told him that she wanted to marry Michael. But of course the diaries did not go that far ahead in time. She did, however, as she flipped randomly through the volumes, find an entry for April of 1941 that reflected how he must have felt. The page bore the heading:

Inappropriate Members of This Family

1. Leo

2. Nate

3. Alice!!!!

4. Naomi (sometimes)

5. Other son (alas)

Though cannot truly say that Yrs. Truly has no faults, think it safe to say that Yrs. Truly has never done anything that was inappropriate, unsuitable, undignified. Proud of that. Must make sure that new little granddaughter marries well, someone appropriate, suitable. Never too soon to plan appropriate husband for her. Reminder: Keep eyes open for Right Man for her as years go by. Husbands, etc., must be suitable, no matter how many hearts are broken in the process. Are there worse things in life than broken hearts? Yes. Broken promises.

“Love is a test,” he had written to her that summer in Europe.

Finally, she had turned to some of the diaries’ most recent entries for 1941. She had read:

August 1, 1941

Leo knows where I keep these diaries. I must find a better hiding place, for he could use them against us! Where? Leo has got to go! Must put final plans into execution to drive him OUT! NOW!

Then she had turned to the last entry of them all, which was also in some ways the most mystifying.

October 10, 1941

Henry has been “borrowing” money from Flo! Found out about it going through her canceled checks. $50 thou. she gave him! Why? What for? Henry earns PLENTY! What is the reason? Not Leo. Leo has been PAID OFF! Nate? Is Henry that STUPID? All evidence has been destroyed! Have had a word about this with Flo this evening. Flo is too soft-hearted with him—and too soft-hearted where $$$ is concerned. Will have a word with Henry about this in the morning. This has got to STOP! That damned Alice!

On that note, her grandfather’s diaries ended. There are, of course, many thousands of more words that she has yet to read, but now it is time for her appointment with her aunt Nonie, which is much more important. She will get back to the diaries later.

“Miss Naomi Myerson is here,” her secretary says.

“Good. Please show her in,” Mimi says.

“Mimi, darling,” Nonie says, sweeping into the room in a red Trigère suit. “How wonderful to see you!” Mimi rises, and the two women greet each other with little pecks on the cheek.

“You’re looking well, Aunt Nonie,” Mimi says, trying to keep her tone casual and family-friendly. This will not be an easy feat for her—nor will this be an easy interview—because, try as she may, she has never really been able to like her father’s younger sister. For this reason, because of the possibility of tension between the two women, Mimi has asked that I not be present at this meeting, promising to tell me all about it later on.

“Thank you,” Nonie says, touching the collar of her jacket. “I picked this color just for you: lipstick red. Where shall I sit? Oh, not there—I’ll clash. How about here on the sofa?” She seats herself and begins removing her matching red gloves, finger by finger. Then she crosses her knees, letting the heel of one red patent pump dangle fashionably from her toe so that the Delman label on the instep shows. “It seems ages since I’ve seen you, Mimi, dear,” she says. “Not since that night at your house, when your mother made that … rather unfortunate scene. Oh, well. By the way, how is darling Alice?”

“Very well,” Mimi says easily, and perches herself on the corner of her desk, deciding that this informal pose will seem less lady-executive than if she had seated herself behind the desk.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Nonie says, a trifle too effusively. “It’s a pity that Alice and I have never been really … dose. The great difference in our ages, I suppose.”

Mimi smiles, thinking that her mother and her aunt are almost exactly the same age. And you’ve never been close, she thinks, because you’ve been taught for years to despise my mother because neither she nor anyone else would have ever been good enough for your parents’ treasured Henry. “I suppose that’s it,” she says. “I wanted to see you, Aunt Nonie, because—”

“So this is the way you’ve redone Daddy’s office,” Nonie says, looking around. “I like it, I really do. It’s very ‘in,’ isn’t it? I’d heard that chintz is coming back. What are those?” she says, pointing to the stack of diaries.

“Oh, just some old books I’m thinking of buying.”

“Are you and Brad into collecting old books now? I thought it was Chelsea plates. Well, I suppose you can afford to collect whatever you want, you have the money. Me, I’ve always been the poor relation, as you know.”

“As a matter of fact, that’s one reason why I wanted to talk with you, Aunt Nonie,” Mimi says, trying to begin the meeting again.

Nonie tilts her chin in the air as though balancing a feather on the tip of her nose. “And you know,” she says, “I’ve always thought that I could be sitting at that desk where you sit now. And I could be—if I’d been quick enough to grab the opportunity, before you pounced on it.”

Mimi decides to let this comment pass with an easy laugh.

“I’m not joking. I could have run this company.”

“I’m sure you could have, Aunt Nonie. But would you have wanted to? There are such a lot of headaches. For instance, right now—”

“But meanwhile, darling, I’m quite desperately looking forward to your launch party on the seventeenth. I’ll quite definitely be there, and so, believe it or not, will Mother. She’s even bringing her friend Rose Perlman. I said to her, ‘Mother, all they’re going to be doing is airing a couple of Mimi’s new little television commercials; you won’t be able to see them.’ She said, ‘Well, I can hear them, can’t I? I watch television all the time, just by listening to it.’ Isn’t she a sketch?”

“She certainly is. Now what I—”

“And do you know what else she does? She turns off the television whenever she gets undressed to put on her nightie. She thinks the people on television can see her.”

“My, my. Well—”

“But, darling, you must have had a more important reason for wanting to see me than just to talk about Mother. Really, it’s such an honor for me, the perennial poor relation, to be invited to the executive offices of the Miray Corporation! Little me, invited down here by the great Mimi Myerson! Surely you don’t want my advice on anything, darling.”

“Not so much your advice,” Mimi says, leaning forward eagerly. “Your support, Aunt Nonie. I’m going to ask you for your help.”

“Oh, my goodness. Well, surprise, surprise. Well, tell me what I can do for you, darling. I’m putty in your hands.”

“I’ve been meeting with all the members of the family,” Mimi says. “All the family members who own Miray shares, including the Leo cousins, whom I’d never met before.”

“Most unattractive people, so I’ve been told.”

“Well, some are more attractive than others,” Mimi says with a little shrug. “But the thing is, what I’m trying to get is a consensus—a unanimous consensus of family approval of a plan Badger and I are working on, which will affect all of us.”

“I see,” Nonie says guardedly.

“What we suspect is that we’ve become the object of an unfriendly takeover. We’re quite sure we know who’s after us. It’s Michael Horowitz. He owns more than four percent of us already, and he’s already approached the Leo cousins and made attractive offers for their shares.”

“I see,” Nonie says, again guardedly.

“The plan—and this is Badger’s plan, actually—is that we would take the company private again. If we were to go private, that would leave Mr. Horowitz out in the cold. We’d become a family-owned company again.”

“And how, pray, would you manage to accomplish this?”

“Going private is the exact opposite of what I did after Daddy died when I took the company public—but with a difference. Instead of a buyback of publicly held shares, which would cost us millions, we would telescope the stock. It’s called a reverse split. For every thousand shares of old stock, for instance, we’d issue one share of new stock. Holders of less than a thousand shares would be paid for their stock in cash. There’s another advantage to this. If we can do this, we figure we can reduce the number of Miray shareholders to less than three hundred, which means we would no longer be subject to SEC regulation. That in itself would save us a lot of money annually. Those savings could go into new-product development, as well as increased dividends to the remaining shareholders. Do you follow me, Aunt Nonie?”

“Well, what good are increased dividends to me?” Nonie says. “Everything that I own is in that damned trust. I can never get my hands on any of the principal. Even if you doubled the dividends, which I’m sure you wouldn’t, I’d still be the poor relation, wouldn’t I? How many shares does my trust own, anyway? I’ve never bothered to look at the statements, since they’re quite meaningless to me.”

“Approximately two hundred and fifty thousand shares.”

“So, if you do this reverse split you’re talking about, instead of having two hundred and fifty thousand shares, I’d wind up with a measly two hundred and fifty shares. That hardly sounds like a good deal to me, Mimi.”

“Your shares would have the same monetary value, Aunt Nonie.”

“Well, I don’t like the sound of it,” Nonie says. “No, I’m opposed to it. I’m unalterably opposed to it, Mimi, and if you want unanimous family backing of this scheme, you’ll have to count me out.”

“Really, Aunt Nonie? Why?”

“On general principles,” she says, crossing her knees in the opposite direction and letting the other red pump swing from her toe. “Because it doesn’t sound fair. Because nothing this company has ever done to me has ever been fair. Because I know my big brother Henry would have been opposed to it. Henry was horrified, absolutely horrified, at the way I was treated in our father’s will.”

“Your big brother Henry was also my father,” Mimi says.

“Well, I knew him a lot longer than you did, and a lot better. I know he’d be horrified with this scheme of yours. Or, I should say, this scheme of Badger’s. I’m surprised you even listen to Badger, Mimi. He’s not a real Myerson.”

“Now, Aunt Nonie—that’s not fair.”

“His name is Moore, isn’t it? He doesn’t have our family’s best interests at heart, if you ask me.”

“Well,” Mimi says quickly, “I happen to disagree. But there’s another thing you might consider.”

“What’s that?”

“If we do this, we in effect would be reorganizing the entire company. We would even adopt a whole new corporate name—Miracorp, Inc., for instance, or something like that. And issuing an entirely new issue of stock, in an entirely new company—I’ve checked with our lawyers about this—would also have the effect of dissolving Grandpa’s trusts.”

Nonie sits forward in the sofa. “Dissolving his trusts?” she says.

“Yes. The trust he set up for you, for instance, applies only to stock in the company that existed then. The stock you’d acquire in the new company would have to move out of the trust.”

“Out of the trust? You mean it could be mine? Free and clear?”

“Absolutely.”

“How much would it be worth?”

“Roughly twelve and a half million dollars,” Mimi says.

“To do with what I want?”

“Well, we’d hope you wouldn’t turn around and sell it to Michael Horowitz,” Mimi says with a little laugh. “But, yes, it would move into your personal portfolio.”

“Well, in that case … well, that puts a different light on it, doesn’t it? With twelve and a half million, I could—I’d be—”

“Free from Grandpa’s trust.”

“Free! Free at last!” Then she says, “What does Edwee think?”

“I haven’t approached Edwee yet. I’m seeing Edwee on Monday. I wanted to know what you thought, first.”

“Well, if it will dissolve that damned trust, I’m all for it!” Nonie says. “But don’t expect me to try to talk Edwee into it, Mimi. Edwee and I are … a little on the outs at the moment. Edwee is being incommunicado to me right now.”

“Oh? What’s that all about?”

“Edwee wanted something, and I helped him try to get it. But now he can’t get it, and his nose is out of joint.”

“Does this have something to do with Granny’s Goya?” Mimi asks quietly.

Nonie is silent for a moment. Then she says, “All I can tell you right now is that Edwee and I had a contract—a legal contract, with a witness. It should stand up in a court of law, if I decide to take it there. I held up my end of the deal, but now Edwee is trying to welsh on his end. We’ll just see what happens next.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a matter between the two of you,” she says, deciding, probably wisely, she thinks, to let the subject rest at that.

“But if this plan of yours goes through, it won’t matter! I’ll have all the money I need. How long will it take, do you think, before I get the money?”

“It won’t be money, Aunt Nonie. Remember that it will be stock. And remember that it’s more difficult to sell stock in a private company than it is in a public one.”

“But I can use my stock as collateral for a loan, can’t I? With twelve and a half million in stock, I could borrow … five million, couldn’t I?”

“I see no reason why not. Why not? The stock will be yours.”

“That’s all I need. When will I get it?”

“After the launch party, there’ll be a stockholders’ meeting. We’ll notify each of you. We’ll take a vote.”

“Well, you can count on my vote,” Nonie says. “I’m all for it now—now that you’ve explained it all to me. Just think, a whole new company! Miracorp, Inc.—I like the name, Mimi. Just think, I’ll be a first-class stockholder of Miracorp, Inc.!”

“Just please keep all this confidential, Aunt Nonie. We’re not ready for news of this to reach the street.”

“Oh, I will! As you know, I’m a woman of my word. But, Mimi, there’s just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

She hesitates. It kills her to ask a favor of Mimi, and she is certain that Mimi knows it kills her. She has always known that Mimi never liked her very much. Perhaps, Nonie sometimes thinks, it is because she and Mimi are so much alike. Both are ambitious, driven women. Both are clever, both are smart, both are beautiful. Both have inherited the genes of Adolph Myerson and, with them, his keen business sense, his astuteness, his intuitive know-how, his stamina and guts, his courage and integrity, and his charismatic flair. All that is from Myerson genes. The only difference between them is that Mimi has been lucky, and Nonie has not. In life, and in everything one encounters in life, luck is everything. Every success, every failure, is a matter of luck. Mimi has had all the luck; Nonie has had none of it. But now Nonie’s luck is beginning to change. She can feel it beginning to change.

“Do you think,” Nonie begins, “that after you’ve gone private, and after the new company is organized—do you think I could be on the board of directors of Miracorp, Inc.?”

“Why, I think that’s a lovely idea, Aunt Nonie,” Mimi says. “I’ve always thought that there should be women on our board.”

Nonie claps her hands. “Oh, Mimi,” she cries. “I always thought you were a darling girl! And Badger too! And brilliant! Both of you—just brilliant!”

Mimi hops down from her desktop perch, steps toward her aunt, and clasps her hand in hers, her eyes shining. “Do you know something, Aunt Nonie?” she says. “I’ve just had the craziest idea!”

“What’s that, darling?”

“I think that, after all these years, you and I could actually be friends! Is that possible?”

“I’m losing her, Flo,” he says to her. “I can feel it. I’m losing her.”

“Losing who, Bradley?” Granny Flo asks her visitor. Granny Flo has always had trouble with Brad Moore’s name, sometimes calling him “Bradley” and sometimes confusing his name with his son’s nickname, calling him “Bradger.”

“Mimi,” he says. “I wanted you to be the first to know, in case something happens between us. I’ve always suspected, you see, that it was you, and not Mimi’s grandfather, who was behind that trip to Europe, where Mimi and I met. If it hadn’t been for you—”

“Well, you’re right about that one,” Granny Flo says. “That trip was my idea, but I let Adolph take the credit for it. She was so brokenhearted, you know, when that romance with the other one, that what’s-his-name, didn’t work out. I’ve never seen a girl so brokenhearted. My own heart just went out to her, back then.”

“Well, it’s beginning to look as though our marriage may not be working out, I’m sorry to say. And I felt I owed it to you to warn you.”

For several moments Granny sits in her chair, saying nothing, her mouth working, her eyes staring vacantly into the distance. Then she says, “Well, it won’t be the first divorce in this family, if that’s what’s worrying you. Look at Nonie. Do you still love her, Bradger?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You haven’t been fooling around, have you?”

He studies the backs of his hands. “Yes,” he says quietly.

“Well, there you go,” she says. “That’s the thing of it. A woman like Mimi won’t put up with a man who has mistresses. That’s one thing I can say about my Adolph. He never had mistresses. Or, if he did have, he was smart enough not to let me find out about it. That’s the other thing about it. A woman doesn’t mind if her husband has mistresses, as long as she doesn’t know about it. Like they say, what a person doesn’t know won’t hurt her. But if she finds out—watch out! Particularly a girl like Mimi. The finding out is the part that hurts.”

He nods his head silently.

“Do you want to keep her?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Then tell me something,” she says. “Did you ever meet my friend Dr. Sigmund Freud?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“He’s actually some sort of relative of ours,” she says. “He’s related to us, by marriage, through the Bernays family. He used to stay with Adolph and me when he came to America giving his lectures. But I think he’s back living somewhere in Europe now.”

“I think Sigmund Freud has been dead for a number of years, Flo,” he says gently.

“Is that so? Cousin Sigmund’s dead? Why didn’t Cousin Nettie write and tell me, I wonder? Well, anyway, he was supposed to be so smart. He was supposed to know all about the brain, you know, and all about the whatchamacallits, the emotions. But if you ask me, Bradley, that man wasn’t as smart as he was cracked up to be.”

“Why do you say that, Flo?”

“I’ll tell you why. Exactly. He was staying with us, with Adolph and me, when we had the house on Madison Avenue, and he was here to give those lectures, or whatever it was, which were to tell everybody who’d listen to him how smart he was. And one night after dinner, I said to him, ‘Cousin Sig, if you’re supposed to be so smart, then suppose you tell me what love is.’ He looked at me with that kind of stupid look of his, and he said, ‘Flo, there is no definition of love.’ What do you think of that?”

“Well,” he says cautiously, “is there a definition of love?”

Granny Flo slaps her knee and says, “Of course there is, and I told him so. I said, ‘Love is sacrifice—that’s all it is, sacrifice.’”

“But,” he begins, “doesn’t the sacrifice have to be … mutual? On the part of both the people involved?”

“Nonsense! When you start thinking like that, that’s when you’re in trouble. Sacrifice is what it is—just that, sacrifice. It means giving up something for another person. It doesn’t have to be tit for tat, if you’ll pardon my French. In fact, when you make it tit for tat, that’s when you’re in trouble again. Sacrifice is giving up something you care about, for the person you love. It’s something you do—never mind what the other person does. Sacrifice means personal. It means individual. If you give up something you care about, and then expect the other person to give up something she cares about, then it’s not a sacrifice. That’s called a trade-off, and that won’t work. It’s as simple as that.”

“Sacrifice,” he says.

“Just keep that word in mind if you really love Mimi, Bradley, and if you really want to keep her. The word is sacrifice. Even the great Dr. Sigmund Freud didn’t know what to say when I told him that. Just gave me that stupid look of his.” Then she says, “But remember, it doesn’t have to be a big sacrifice. Nine times out of ten, a little one will do.”