The Shadow of Your Smile

34

Peter Gannon looked across the table at his former wife, Susan. He had asked her to have dinner with him at Il Tinello, which had always been one of their favorite restaurants during their twenty-year marriage. They had not spoken or met in the four years since their divorce until he received the phone call from her saying how sorry she was that his new play had closed.

Now, desperate for help, he looked across the table at her: Forty-six years old, her wavy hair streaked with silver, her face dominated by her wide hazel eyes. He wondered how he had ever let her go. I was never smart enough to realize how much I loved her, he thought, and how good she was to me.

Mario, the owner, had greeted them by saying, “Welcome home.” Now, after the bottle of wine he had ordered was served, Peter said, “I know it sounds corny, but being here with you at this table feels like being home, Sue.”

Her smile was wry. “That depends on how you interpret the word ‘home.’ ”

Peter flinched. “I’ve forgotten how direct you are.”

“Try to remember.” Her light tone took the sting out of the rebuke. “We haven’t talked in ages, Peter. How is your love life? I assume robust, to put it mildly.”

“It is not robust, and has not been in a very long time. Why did you call me, Sue?”

Her quizzical expression disappeared. “Because when I saw that picture of you after those dreadful reviews I knew I was looking at the face of a man in despair. How bad a bath did you take on the play?”

“I’m going to have to declare bankruptcy, which means a lot of very good people who had faith in me are going to lose a great deal of money.”

“You have considerable assets.”

“I had considerable assets. I don’t anymore.”

Susan sipped the wine before answering, then said, “Peter, in this financial climate a lot of people who overextended themselves are in the same boat you are. It’s embarrassing. It’s humiliating. But it does happen.”

“Sue, a company emerges from bankruptcy. A failed theatrical producer doesn’t, at least not for a long time. Who do you think would ever put a nickel in one of my plays again?”

“I seem to remember that I warned you to stick with drama and avoid musical comedy.”

“Well, you should be pleased, then. You always wanted the last word!” Peter Gannon said, with a spark of anger.

Susan looked quickly around. The diners at the nearby tables of the intimate restaurant had apparently not noticed Peter’s raised voice.

“I’m sorry, Sue,” he said hastily. “That was a stupid thing to say. What I should have said is that you were right and I knew you were right, but I’ve been on an ego trip.”

“I agree,” Susan said, her voice amiable.

Peter Gannon picked up his glass and gulped the wine. As he put it down he said, “Sue, I gave you five million dollars in the divorce settlement.”

Susan’s eyebrows raised. “I’m quite aware of that.”

“Sue, I beg you. I need one million dollars. If I don’t get it, Greg and I could end up in jail.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sue, I know how conservatively you invest. I’m being blackmailed. When I was drunk I told a person too much about the money we were taking from the foundation and about my brother’s investment firm. I told that person that I was sure Greg was doing some inside trading.”

“You what?”

“Sue, I was drunk. I know he is trying to dig himself out of a hole. If this person goes to the press, Greg could end up in prison.”

“Who is this person? A woman, I assume. God knows you had your share of them.”

“Sue, will you lend me a million dollars? I swear I’ll pay you back.”

Susan pushed back her chair and stood up. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or amused. Or maybe both. Good-bye, Peter.”

With despairing eyes, Peter Gannon watched the trim figure of his former wife as she abruptly left the restaurant.