They were very fine seats. The pianist played sublimely. She and Ted had rarely gone to concerts. He’d preferred films and fancy restaurants. Ted was particular about food. He rarely frequented a restaurant with a Zagat rating below 22. Did Delia know how to cook?
In the past six years of being with Ted, she had forgotten what she preferred. The music that she was listening to now was unquestionably gorgeous. What upset Ella was that she had paid such careful attention to the things that Ted loved （Kurosawa films, Coltrane, lamb curry with naan but not basmati rice, and Relais & Chateaux hotels） and had submitted to all of his preferences. Was that why he’d left? Did he think she was a mindless pushover? Wasn’t that what her lawyer thought of her, too? From the few times Casey had answered Ella’s questions about Delia （Ella had masochistically begged Casey for scraps of Delia’s biography, and Casey had given her the smallest of portions）， her husband’s soon-to-be second wife had the features of a pistol, a firecracker, a tinderbox. Explosives came to mind. Ella had failed to be stimulating enough to keep her husband at home. And she had gotten fat. Though she had ultimately lost the weight—every pound of it after Ted moved out. She was as thin as she was in college. There were stretch marks and loose skin across her abdomen, but otherwise she had the body of a slender twenty-five-year-old woman.
The piano music ceased, and the orchestra entered the final movement. Ella had played piano until the eighth grade but had stopped because she didn’t like her piano teacher, who used to put his arm around her and cuddle when she played well. He had smelled strongly of cloves and wore an old cardigan with holes on the elbows. Her father had let her quit without explanation, and she’d ended up taking more tennis lessons. Ella had liked playing the piano, and she used to love to play tennis, which Ted didn’t like as much as golf or skiing. The thought of not having done these things she’d loved made her feel foolish. And it hadn’t done her any good. Her husband had cheated on her, and people found her insipid. Ella felt her tears, and she wiped them away before David could see. It would be too difficult to explain them.
The music was done. The audience rose to their feet to applaud. Ella got up instinctively and clapped as hard as she could. There was a debt owed to a person who gave you beauty and feeling. A few dispersed to the exits, while most clapped thunderously for encores.
After two additional songs, David helped her with her raincoat.
“Dinner?” he suggested. Ella might say yes since Irene was already asleep.
Ella glanced at her watch. She felt terribly alert. “Where do you live, exactly?” she asked. All she knew was that he lived on the Upper West Side.
“Seventy-eighth and West End,” he said with a puzzled smile.
“Can I see where you live? Is it an apartment?” Ella fixed David’s collar and smoothed her hands over his shoulders. The gesture comforted him. “I mean, would that be all right?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. Lately she was difficult to predict. Ella hadn’t even wanted to come to the concert tonight. He’d had to cajole a little, ask her to call the sitter to stay later; he’d told her that she needed to make room in her life for the beautiful things. And now she wanted to see his house.
On the street, Ella wondered herself what had made her do that. David tried to hail a taxi, but there were none free. Let’s take a train, she said, and they took the 1 train to Seventy-ninth and walked. With David, she was allowed to make a suggestion about how to get to places and where to go. It was liberating, but she felt the added responsibility for his happiness. What happened if he didn’t want to do what she wanted? It had yet to happen, but it would eventually. It was easier in life, then, to just go along.
As they walked to the house, he talked about his students at the prison. They wanted to publish their poems but feared their ideas might be stolen. David didn’t make fun of them, she noticed. “They shouldn’t be so suspicious, but isn’t it marvelous in a way that they’re proud of their creative ideas?” he asked. “That they think of what they made up as something subjectively and objectively valuable? They believe that their poems are good enough to steal.” Ella nodded, thinking this was right. What was valuable in her life? If Ted took Irene away, she’d have nothing.
“Are you all right?” David asked.
“Yes,” she said. It was unfair to think only about her divorce all the time. “David, your work is amazing. You’re making people believe in themselves. You do that for me, too,” she said. “Your friendship means so much to me.”