And, without contradicting her, Martha turned to the dedication page where Delores read: ‘This book is
dedicated to my mother, MARTHA ROSEWALL. Mom, I couldn’t have done it without you.” And below the
printed dedication this was added in a thin and sloping backhand script: “I really couldn’t have done it without
you! I love you, Pete.”
“Why, isn’t that just the sweetest thing?” Delores asked, feeling tears start in her own eyes.
“It’s more than sweet,” Martha said. She re-wrapped the book in the tissue paper. “It’s true.” She smiled, and in that smile Delores saw something more than love. She saw triumph.
2
Martha and Delores worked from seven to three. After work they frequently stopped in Patisserie, the hotel’s
coffee shop. More infrequently they went into Le Cinq, the little pocket bar just off the lobby, for a
drinkusually a Singapore Sling for Delores, always a Pink Lady for Martha. After work on the day Martha
had shown Delores her son’s book, Delores led Martha into the cozy darkness of Le Cinq, got her comfortably
situated in one of the booths, and left her there with a bowl of goldfish crackers in front of her while she spoke
briefly to Ray, who was tending bar that afternoon. Ray grinned, nodded, and made a circle with thumb and
forefinger. Delores came back to the booth and slid in. Martha looked at her with some suspician.
“What was that about?”
“You’ll see,” Delores said. Five minutes later Ray came over with a silver ice-bucket on a stand and placed it beside them. In it was a bottle of Perrier-Jouet champagne and two chilled glasses.
“Here, now!” Martha said in a voice that was halfalarmed, half-laughing. She looked at Delores, startled.
“Hush,” Delores said, and to her credit, Martha did.
Ray uncorked the bottle, placed the cork beside Delores, and poured a little into her glass. Delores waved at
it and winked at Ray.
“Enjoy, ladies,” Ray said , and then blew a little kiss at Martha. “And congratulate your boy for me, m’dear.
” He walked away before Martha, who was still stunned, could say anything.
Delores poured both glasses full and raised hers. After a moment Martha did the same. The glasses clinked
gently. “Here’s to your son’s first book,” Delores said, and they drank. Delores tipped the rim of her glass
against Martha’s a second time. “And to your son,” she said. They drank again, and Delores touched their
glasses together yet a third time before Martha could set hers down. “And to a mother’s love,” she said.
“Amen,” Martha said, and although her mouth smiled, her eyes did not – not quite. On each of the first two
toasts she had taken a discreet sip of champagne. This time she drained the glass.
3
Delores had gotten the bottle of champagne so that she and her best friend could celebrate Peter Rosewall’s
breakthrough in the style it seemed to deserve, but that was not the only reason. She was curious about what
Martha had said – It’s more than sweet, it’s true. Even more, she was curious about that expression of triumph.
She waited until Martha had gotten through her third glass of champagne and then she said, “What did you
mean about the dedication, Martha?”
“What?”
“When you said it wasn’t just sweet, it was true?”
Martha looked at her so long without speaking that Delores thought she was not going to answer at all. Then
she uttered a laugh so bitter it was shocking – at least to Delores it was. She’d had no idea that cheerful little
Martha Rosewall could be so bitter, in spite of the hard life she had led. But that note of triumph was there,
too, an unsettling counterpoint.
“His book is going to be a best-seller,” Martha said. “I believe that. Pete says it is, and he says the critics are going to love it. He says those two things hardly ever happen together but they are going to happen for him.
And I believe it, too. Because that’s what happened with him.”
‘Who?”
“Pete’s father,” Martha said, looking at her calmly.
“But-” Delores didn’t know what to say. She suddenly regretted buying the champagne. She had wanted to