Swann's Lake of Despair by Charles Salzberg

Author:Charles Salzberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

Friedman and his wife lived in an immaculately kept pre-war apartment building on Madison Avenue and 88th Street. I was met at the door of their twelfth-floor apartment by Mrs. Friedman, who introduced herself as Madeleine. An attractive, well-put-together, pretty, vivacious woman in her mid- to late seventies, she reminded me very much of Julia Scully. Her auburn hair was cut short, and she couldn’t have been friendlier, ushering me into their sunken living room that looked as if it had been furnished in the seventies. Very much like Julia Scully’s apartment, the room was filled with art and books, as well as framed black-and-white photographs, some of them very much in the style I’d seen in Julia’s apartment. It was the kind of home I would like to have grown up in, the kind of home I had imagined myself having some day in another life.

“May I get you something to drink? Or a snack?”

“No, ma’am, I’m fine,” I said.

“Are you sure? It’s so cold out there I thought maybe some tea. Or hot chocolate? I keep that around for my grandchildren. They love those little marshmallows that float in the cup.”

“That does sound awfully appealing, but I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Good. I’ll fix you a cup. And it’s no trouble at all. Irv will be right out. He’s just getting off the phone.”

“No rush,” I said, sinking into the flower-print sofa.

A moment or two later, Irv Friedman appeared at the top of the two steps leading down into the sunken living room. A small, dapper man, he wore a pair of brown slacks and a white, button-down shirt. His hair was white and combed back, and he too, looked much younger than he had to have been.

“Mr. Swann,” he said, extending his hand as he moved toward me. He had a firm handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Friedman.”

“Please. It’s Irv. Sit, sit, I’m assuming Madeleine is fixing you something in the kitchen.”

“She said something about hot chocolate.”

“That’s her game, and she’s very good at it.” He took a seat in the padded leather easy chair, next to the sofa. I could tell it was his usual spot, from the indentation he filled.

“So, you’re writing a story.”

“Not exactly.”

“I thought…”

“That’s what I told your wife, but it’s not really why I’m here.”

“So what is it you want?”

“Julia Scully thought you might be able to help me…”

“Julia. Julia Scully. I haven’t thought about her for years. I haven’t heard that name in a while. Lovely woman. Had a bit of a crush on her, actually. Smart. Beautiful. Sweet. The whole package. Where is she? What’s she doing now?”

“She’s in New York. Lives across town. I think she’s doing some writing.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Maddy and I are going to have to have her over here some time. But back to what you’re here for.”

“I’ve been retained by someone to find something…” Before I could finish Mrs. Friedman arrived with a tray of two cups of hot chocolate, with several marshmallows floating atop, and a plate of sugar cookies.

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