to see art openings and to shop, and, frankly, both were better above Fiftieth Street.
She realized when they exited the cab at Duane and Church that these gym friends of Colin’s were going to be fake bohemians. The door was covered with half-scraped stickers of businesses past. Inside, Elm could see a lobby no bigger than a phone booth (she was dating herself, she knew, referencing things that no longer existed), and a small elevator that would inevitably smell of urine. Then they would get off the elevator directly into someone’s multimillion-dollar apartment with spectacular views of what used to be the Twin Towers but was now a pair of missing teeth on the horizon and what would someday, maybe, be the Freedom Tower.
Colin was always doing this, making new friends. Part of it was his Irish accent. People thought he was friendly because he spoke with a lilt. It invited “Where are you from?” and then bred a false intimacy when they mentioned the time they’d traveled to Ireland and Colin feigned interest. And there was his smile, which, Elm admitted, was what attracted her to him in the first place. If she had to sum up Colin in one feature, it would be his mouth. A lopsided grin that made everyone else smile back, just the hint of teeth, like he was laughing because you were the funniest person on the planet. The mouth was so attractive that Elm hung out with it for weeks before she turned to him, outside a movie theater where they had seen a particularly sexy thriller, and said, “So are you going to kiss me ever?” and he looked somewhat stunned. Then he bent over to kiss her.
Ronan had inherited the same winning mouth. It made it nearly impossible for Elm to punish him, which he knew and exploited. He would smile goofily at her, and she would laugh, and his time-out would dissolve into giggles. He had a whole arsenal of expressions: the Puppy Dog, which always netted him ice cream; the Affected Pout, when he was exasperated by Elm; the Elvis, in which a curled lip meant he was humoring her attempts to cheer him; and the Toothless Glee, which, even when his teeth grew in, Elm always thought of as bare-gummed.
Elm had been wrong when she imagined that the elevator opened into the living room. Instead, there was a small mud room. They hung their coats on hooks and Colin rang the doorbell.
The door was opened by a man with a barrel chest so protuberant that Elm was reminded of a pin cushion, his arms and legs emanating like needles. His hair was long, though it only sparsely covered the putty-smooth crown of his scalp. He held a glass of champagne in his left hand. “Colin! Come in!” He swung the door wide and took a sip from his glass. Then he handed it to Colin and gestured for him to come in.
“You’re the wife,” he said.
“Elm,” she supplied her name. She held out her hand to shake, but the barrel-man leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks quickly. Elm felt the color rise to her face.
“I’m Dick,” he said. Elm fought a juvenile urge to laugh.
Behind him, a large loft was fenced in by huge factory windows. On the walls hung several excellent pieces of modern art. Though Elm didn’t particularly care for any work completed after 1920, she had to admire the collection: Basquiat, Rothko, Dine, and a couple of artists she didn’t recognize. Guests posed on the various couches and chaises; they were universally attractive (though not prohibitively so), comfortable, well dressed.
“Ellen,” Dick called. “Colin and his wife are here.”
“Hello,” said a woman walking toward them. She was wearing black cigarette pants and a blouse made out of a sort of shimmery silk. “So glad you could come. We’ve heard so much about you.”
“Oh,” was all Elm could think of saying. Ellen’s hair was also long; it fell down her back in curls and waves. The temples were going gray. Elm disapproved of long hair on older women. So too the uncovered gray was a lie, the “I’m okay with my age” a mere front for the same insecure pore examination every woman over thirty performed every time she looked in a mirror. Anyone who pretended otherwise was a big phony.
Ellen drew Elm into the room while Dick poured Colin another drink. Elm met a few of the couples, who bore names that sounded like