Archie Goes Home

Chapter 38

My mother did come to New York in the fall as anticipated and stayed in the brownstone, as had been planned. Also as had been planned, she and Lily went on a daylong shopping excursion that must have been a success, judging by the number of bags and boxes bearing the names of major stores and fashion designers that each of them brought back.

To celebrate their successful forays into the emporia of Fifth Avenue and its adjoining arteries, I took them to dinner at Rusterman’s, where the best food in Manhattan — other than at the brownstone — can be found. It was as much a success as had been the ladies’ expedition to those shops the city is so well known for.

“Archie, you really have to stop me before I spend more,” Mom said, laughing.

“It is completely out of my hands,” I told her, palms turned up in a gesture of helplessness.

During her stay, she also spent time in the kitchen with Fritz Brenner, getting more pointers. From the first time Fritz met my mother, he has taken to her, I am happy to say. And in her successive visits, he has shared many of his culinary methods with her, pleased that she has shown so much interest and enthusiasm.

On this trip, she made detailed notes in a spiral binder as she watched him prepare flounder poached in white wine sauce, asking the occasional question, which he quickly answered with a smile. I had to wonder if she would be able to find flounder in the grocery stores of her landlocked hometown, but that would be her challenge. When I once thanked Fritz for being so gracious toward my mother, he responded: “It has been my pleasure, Archie, to have her accept and appreciate what I tell her, so different from Mr. Wolfe, who sometimes stands over me while I am at work and questions every ingredient I add as if I do not know what I am doing.”

“Yes, I have been a witness to some of those gastronomic debates of yours,” I said, “like the time that the two of you got into a heated argument over whether to use sage, as Wolfe prefers, or tarragon and saffron, as you favor, to season starlings.”

Fritz winced at the memory, but only for a moment, then allowed himself a wry grin. “I was right, of course, and I believe Mr. Wolfe knew that but would not admit it.”

“I recall there have been times when the two of you fought about food, including whether or not to use onions.”

“Yes, there have been a few other occasions when there was much tension in the kitchen, Archie, but I have learned how to deal with it. You were away on a trip with Miss Rowan a few years ago when Mr. Wolfe and I had a difference of opinion, and I finally took off my apron and told him to finish making the dish himself. I then went down to my room in the basement and did not come up until morning.”

“How did the meal turn out?”

“To this day, I do not know,” Fritz said. “Mr. Wolfe never spoke about it, and I have never asked him, nor will I.”

When the time came for Mom to end her stay with us, I took her into the office so she could say good-bye to my boss.

“Once again, thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr. Wolfe,” she said. “And thank you also for keeping an eye on my son.”

“He can be a trial,” Wolfe deadpanned, looking up from his book.

“Oh, don’t I know about that,” Mom replied with a laugh. “Remember, I reared him — with help from his father, that is. Of course, there is only so much that one can do.”

“You two just keep on chatting and try to pretend that I’m not here,” I said as Wolfe went back to reading The Grand Alliance, by Winston Churchill.

By prearrangement, I telephoned my favorite cabbie, Herb Aronson, so that he could take us up to Grand Central Terminal, where my mother would begin her two-train voyage home. Right on time, Herb pulled his Yellow cab up in front of the brownstone and grinned, cheerful as sunshine itself, when we came down the steps.

“So nice to see you again, Mr. Aronson,” my mother said as she climbed in. “Your cab is every bit as clean as I remember it from my last visit.”

“Good to see you, too, Mrs. Goodwin. Has this guy been treating you well?” he asked, jabbing a thumb in my direction as he pulled away and went west to Ninth Avenue and then north to Forty-Second Street.

“My yes, and I must tell you that he has spoiled me. Many fine meals have put the pounds on. And I’ve spent far too much money as well, shopping with Miss Rowan.”

“Ah yes, Lily is as fine a guide to the good life in New York as you are likely to find here,” Herb said. “I have had the privilege of driving her and Archie far too many times to count, and they are always headed someplace interesting — hockey games at the Garden, Rusterman’s, a Broadway show, the opera, or the Churchill Hotel, where it is rumored that they cut quite a figure on the dance floor. That is only a rumor, of course.”

“Of course,” my mother said. “And I know that Archie is far too modest to brag about his skill as a dancer.”

“Right,” Herb said with a wink. “Look at this traffic,” he grumbled. “It seems to get worse every day. I’ll bet you will be glad to get back to the peace and quiet of your small town in Ohio.”

“It isn’t always so peaceful and quiet,” Mom said. “Ask Archie about that sometime.”

“I will,” Herb said as we circled the final block of our ride and pulled up at the Forty-Second Street entrance to Grand Central. When we walked into the vaulted hall of that big station, I spotted a redcap, slipped him a dollar, and got him to take Mom’s luggage, which had been bulked up with all her purchases. As we walked along the platform to the waiting train in the dark tunnel far below street level, I hugged her and told her to “Give Aunt Edna my very best.”

“I will, and while I am at it, I might just invite her over for tea and some sandwiches.”

“You do that, and she probably will bring you up to date on all those local intrigues that you aren’t even aware of.”

“On second thought, I may not extend that invitation after all,” Mom said with an impish smile, boarding her coach and turning back to blow me a kiss.