For All Their Lives (4 page)

If there was such a thing as a beautiful bar, then Bill's Bar and Grill was beautiful. The bar was solid mahogany with a shiny brass rail, which Sadie polished herself. There were always bowls of pickled eggs as well as nuts and pretzels on the bar. The stools were made of matched, polished mahogany that smelled lemony and clean. The cushions were real leather and
swooshed
when you sat down. He'd always liked the sound. He also liked the oak floor, which was washed and waxed every night, even on Christmas Eve. The tables and chairs were also made of oak and were bright with polish. Green and white checkered cloths covered the tables. Sadie insisted that this was because Bill was Irish and his favorite color was green. Once in a while, especially on St. Patrick's Day, she placed green candles on the tables and served green beer. It took him almost two years before he figured out that Sadie still loved Bill and would take him back in a heartbeat if he should ever walk through her front door.

Mac sat down at the bar and ordered a bottle of Bud. His eyes scanned Sadie's memorabilia wall. Snapshots of patrons and their families covered it, but by invitation only. One did not, ever, sneak a picture onto the wall. To do so meant instant banishment. When Sadie decided you were worthy enough, she would casually mention that it was time for a picture. Mac had waited almost a year before she asked the bartender to snap a picture of him and her standing together outside the bar with the neon sign behind them. There were all kinds of pictures of Sadie on the wall, usually taken during one of the bashes she was famous for, but there were no pictures of Sadie posing with anyone but Mac. He'd puffed out like a peacock that day, and still did when he thought about it.

As he sipped his beer, Mac decided that someday he would do something really nice for Sadie in return.

Her scent arrived before she did. Mac sniffed appreciatively when she walked into the bar from the kitchen.

“Mac, honey, no one told me you were here.” She smiled, walking around the bar. “Is anything wrong?”

The concern and worry on her face made him force more lightness into his voice than he felt. Sadie already knew he was going to Nam, she'd been the first person he'd told. “No, not at all. I'm meeting Benny here, and I wanted to say good-bye. I just had lunch with my father.” He swigged from the bottle and shrugged at the same time.

Sadie Switzer was a tall woman, five-eleven, and she carried her height regally. She wore the best clothes, always had her hair expertly coiffed, and her makeup was so professional that it looked as if she wasn't wearing any. Her hair was naturally white, and she refused to color it. “An old broad like me, come on,” she'd say. “I'm sixty-five. If I change myself, Bill won't know me when he finally decides to look me up.” She was pretty, with eyes as green as grass and a straight little nose that she twitched when she was annoyed. But it was her smile, all crinkly and warm, that attracted people to her. In turn, she knew everything there was to know about her customers and their families, their pets, their in-laws, and she dispensed advice like a professional psychiatrist.

She sat down on the bar stool next to Mac. “Ginger ale,” she said to the bartender.

“You're lookin' good, Sadie.” Mac chuckled.

“I should, it took me three hours this morning to get myself together. God, I didn't think I was ever going to get old. Then one day I woke up, and there I was, an old broad. I think it was the same day I realized Bill was never going to come back here for me.”

“Where did he go, Sadie?”

“He
said
he was going to San Francisco, but that was a lie. He just didn't want me to find him. He didn't want a kid, that's what it was all about. For sure he wasn't father material, but at the time, I wasn't exactly mother material either. I would have learned, Mac. Honest to God, I would have learned. I wanted that baby more than anything in the world, because it was part of Bill. When I miscarried, I wanted to die. I kept myself going all those years by convincing myself Bill would eventually start to think that he had a son or daughter and want to see his flesh and blood, but it never happened. I didn't care after that, and I let myself go—physically and mentally. Then you walked in here, angry and belligerent, with a chip on your shoulder. It would have been my son's birthday, if he had lived. Me and you, we hit it right off. I didn't even give a damn if I got arrested for serving you, you being underage and all. Kid, when you invited me to West Point for your graduation, there wasn't a prouder person in the world. You screwed up by getting married, but we aren't going to talk about that. Swear to me you're going to write to me at least once a month.”

“I swear—every two weeks. I wrote you when I was at the Academy, didn't I?”

“That was different, you were lonely. You're going to a hellhole. I can read, Mac. It's all jungle over there. Once a month will be fine. But in the meantime, I would like to know why you're doing this.”

Mac signaled the bartender for a second beer. “I have to get out from under. I need some time, some space. The old man took it rather well, all things considered. He ordered me to come back a hero.”

“It figures.” Sadie snorted. She would never forgive the judge for the way he treated his son. Neither would she ever forget the humiliating way he'd looked at her at Mac's graduation. She didn't like Alice either, and she had tried to steer Mac in other directions, but he'd been stubborn. If she'd had her way, she would have taken him to a high quality cathouse and turned him loose, but she didn't have any say. It was a real pity; now Mac was shackled to someone he didn't love with no way out.

“And your wife?” she asked gently.

“Ah, my wife. Well, Sadie, this morning my wife told me she's pregnant.” He hated the pitying look in Sadie's eyes. He took a long, hard pull at the beer bottle, almost draining it. “Say something, Sadie.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

Sadie was wearing a raspberry-colored silk blouse with a cream-colored skirt and beige pumps. A slender strand of pearls adorned the front of the blouse, Bill's one and only gift to her.

She felt tears prick her eyes. She loved this boy—this
young man,
she corrected the thought. She felt his pain, had always felt it, and somehow she always knew when he was going through a bad time. She'd called his home for a while, but Alice usually managed to forget to give Mac her messages. When she couldn't reach him at the house, she called the Pentagon. It was her mothering instinct, she said, which she'd never gotten the chance to nourish until Mac came along.

“A baby is a wonderful thing for two people, Mac. Perhaps it will cement your marriage.” She didn't believe it for a minute.

“I'm going no matter what, Sadie,” Mac said glumly. “I have to do this—for me. If I don't, what the hell kind of father am I going to make? Let's not talk about this, okay? It's my last night to howl. Me and Benny. The TFB kids. Remember? You christened us.”

“The Trust Fund Boys. Yes, I remember,” Sadie said softly. “I think that's the only time in my life I made a bad judgment call. I apologized to both of you.”

“Yes, you did, and we took it real well, Benny and me.” Mac's voice was beginning to slur. He was on his fourth beer. “Benny's okay. My best friend. He's happy, did I tell you that?”

“Uh-huh. How about some coffee, Mac, and a sandwich? Let's go upstairs before you start giving my place a bad name.” She almost laughed then at the way Mac snapped to attention. He removed his uniform blouse, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He stood back and pitched his visored service cap toward the bar. It landed neatly on two bottles of Bombay gin. This time Sadie did laugh as she linked her arm with his.

In Sadie's apartment, Mac leaned back in the comfortable chair and did his best to concentrate on her favorite show,
Dark Shadows.
It was four o'clock, so he still had an hour to kill until Benny arrived. Sadie was right. He needed to sober up before his best pal in the whole world arrived.

Sadie set down a plate of thick sandwiches full of every cold cut known to man. “I put lots of mustard and mayo on, just the way you like it.” Three pickled eggs and two sour pickles, along with some potato chips, completed Mac's meal.

“Alice never makes me anything. The cook does it,” Mac mumbled as he chewed obediently. “Thanks for bringing me up here. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass you. I shouldn't have had all that beer on an empty stomach.”

“It wasn't me I was worried about, it was you, Mac.”

“I know, Sadie,” Mac muttered as he gulped the last of the coffee. He was more clear-headed now and he felt less woozy. “Did I tell you I'm going down to Charleston tomorrow on an early flight? I want to see my uncle Harry before I leave. I didn't tell my father I was going. Shit, I didn't tell Alice either. I should call her now and tell her I won't be home for dinner.”

“Now, that's a thought.” Sadie grinned.

Mac laughed. “I said I
should,
I didn't say I would. Alice . . . Alice doesn't care.”

From long experience, she knew it was time to steer the conversation in another direction. “You haven't been to your mother's home for a long time, have you?”

“The last time I went was when I was in high school. It was pure rebellion. My father forbid me to go, so I sneaked out at night and hitchhiked. I was kind of proud of that. My uncle Harry thought it was cool. He hates my old man, but then, my old man hates him too.”

“What about you, Mac, how do you feel about your mother's side of the family?” Sadie asked carefully. This was a touchy subject with Mac. A look of pain crossed his face and she felt sorry she'd asked. “Listen, kiddo, that's none of my business, and I'm sorry I asked. Shoot, the program's over. Did Jonathan declare his love for Josette?”

“If he did, I didn't see it. You have to stop watching this crap, Sadie.”

“I watch Huntley and Brinkley, what more do you want?”

“What I feel about my mother's family isn't the issue, it's what they feel about me. I guess you could say I'm persona non grata where they're concerned, but my father is at the bottom of it somehow. My uncle Harry is a strange man. I've always had this feeling he wanted to like me, did like me, but something held him back from showing it. Maybe he'll welcome me and maybe he won't. Maybe he'll tell me why my mother turned her back on me and left me with my father. I think it's time I knew. If he won't tell me, then I'll have to live with it.”

Sadie's eyes sparked. “Mothers don't leave their children unless there's a reason that's so . . . God, it would have to be something monumental to make me leave a child. Mothers just don't do that, Mac. Look, I know you saw your father with a chippie and you told your mother. That's not it. There's more to it. She probably knew all along your father fooled around. If that was the case, then for sure she would have grabbed you and taken you with her. Maybe you should leave it alone.”

Mac snorted. “That's what I've been doing all along. Now it's the right time. I might not get another chance. My old man is certainly never going to tell me what went on, so what other choice do I have?”

She shrugged her shoulders, bunching the slender strand of pearls between her breasts. “Listen,” she said brightly, “how about a slice of cheesecake? I made it myself.”

“I'm stuffed. Thanks anyway. Look, Sadie, don't feel you have to babysit me. Go downstairs if you want. The early birds will be out in full force. Send Benny up when he gets here.”

Sadie smiled, and Mac thought her one of the prettiest women he'd ever seen. She was even prettier than he remembered his mother being. “If Bill calls, bang on the floor.”

“You got it.”

 

T
HE ROOM WHERE
he waited was a
Bill
room, Mac had decided long ago. A shrine, for want of a better word. It wasn't that it was an uncomfortable room in any way. It was more like an expectant room, a room waiting for one of its occupants to return. Somehow Sadie had managed to pull everything together in the narrow space so that it was comfortable and cozy. In the winter there was always a fire going in the fireplace and the scent of popped corn in the air. Bill, Sadie said, loved to pop corn, and they used to fight over what Bill called the “fluffies,” those first kernels that popped high and white and were crunchy and delicious. In the summer, huge clay pots of flowers decorated the hearth and'called attention to the rogue's gallery over the mantel: pictures of Bill fishing, pictures of Bill on the first day of hunting season, Bill in his best suit on Easter, Bill sleeping in a folding chair at the beach, Bill in a wraparound apron, flipping pancakes. All the frames were identical, which made him think Sadie had bought frames by the dozen. Over the mantel was a huge oil painting of Sadie, painted when she was twenty-five. Whoever the artist was, he'd captured her perfectly, Mac thought. Sadie had the warmest, softest, kindest eyes he'd ever seen. The smile on the portrait was just as warm, soft, and kind.

The carpet was thick, almost ankle deep, a pure wheat color which was picked up in the drapes covering the long, narrow windows. Threads of bright orange and deep hunter-green shot through the drapes and were again picked up in the sofa cushions, which seemed to be crafted from the same color dye as the carpet. Two chairs, one a recliner, the other a rocker, were side by side at the far end of the room. At the foot of the recliner was an ottoman covered in brilliant orange. This chair,
Bill's chair,
was like new, still unused. Sadie's headrest, on the other hand, was punched in and the seat cushion dented from hours of use. The small piecrust table separating the chairs supported a lamp, an ashtray holding a pipe, and Bill's glasses. Next to Bill's chair was a magazine rack filled with copies of
Field and
Stream, Bill's favorite magazine. The magazine rack, a twin of Bill's next to Sadie's chair, was filled with copies of
Redbook, McCall's,
and
Ladies' Home Journal.
All of the magazines were still glossy, never read. It was no fun to read alone, Sadie said, because there was no one to discuss the articles or stories with. It was all part of Sadie's dream. Underneath the triple windows a pool table with balls racked and cue sticks at the ready waited for Bill. The balls were always clean and shiny, with never a speck of dust. To the left of the pool table was an entertainment center. A stereo system, television, and record rack. Bill liked Big Band music. Sadie had every record ever made. To the right of the entertainment center was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with all of Bill's favorites. All classics, all bound in beautiful leather. On the lower shelf were Sadie's books, novels of suspense and mayhem. Her favorite author in the world was Erle Stanley Gardner. They looked new too, but that was because Sadie never bent the spines of her books. She'd cock the book at a weird angle, lean toward the light and read. She never turned down the corners of the pages either. Bill had a thing about book pages, she'd said. He wouldn't even read the paper if someone touched it before he did.