I think I asked if I could eat lunch with her and Trisha Deere one day and she said there was no room at the table. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. ‘Why do you stand there? Take him up, and bring him out at once.
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