Once in a Lifetime (18 page)

"My, don't you look lovely this morning." Barbara was wearing gray slacks and a red sweater and a bright smile, and Daphne grinned at her as she put on a pot of coffee. She wandered into the kitchen and set down her bag. It was one of the rare times when she didn't have a notebook in her hand. "Did you get any sleep last night?" Barbara had been very worried about her, but hadn't dared to call. She was hoping that Daphne was asleep, and suspected that her friend wanted to be left alone. But this morning Daphne was fair game and Barbara pulled no punches. "If you'll pardon my saying so, you look like shit. Did you sleep?"

"Some."

Barbara took a sip of the steaming coffee. "I'm sorry that happened last night, Daff."

"So am I. But it won't happen again. I just told Iris to call Murdock."

"She won't." She sounded matter-of-fact and Daphne smiled.

"You have everyone figured out, don't you? You may be right. But If she doesn't, I will."

"What are you going to do about Allison Baer?"

An ugly look came into Daphne's eyes. "Frankly, I'd like to kill her. But I'll settle for giving her a piece of my mind and then never speaking to her again."

"It was a shitty thing for her to do."

"I can forgive her almost anything, but not what she said about Andrew." They both fell silent for a moment and Daphne sighed as she slid into a chair, looking exhausted and rumpled. She looked as though she needed someone to undress her, and run a hot bath, and brush her hair, and Barbara was suddenly sorry that she didn't have a husband to do it. She was the kind of woman who would have made a man a good wife, and she needed someone to take care of her. She worked too hard, worried too much, carried all of the burdens on her frail shoulders. She needed a man, as Barbara did herself, but it wasn't likely that either of them would find one. And certainly not Daphne. She didn't let anyone near enough to her to hold her coat, let alone marry her.

"What does Iris want, by the way?"

"I don't know. She said something about an interesting offer. And if it's a publicity tour"--Daphne grinned ruefully and stood up--"I'm going to tell her to shove it."

"That I'd like to hear. Any calls you want me to make?" Daphne handed her a list and went to take a shower. And when her agent arrived five minutes before noon, she was wearing white gabardine slacks and a white cashmere sweater.

"My, don't you look pretty." She had a quiet elegance about her that always impressed Iris. Most authors who made it eventually got showy, but Daphne never had. She had style, and there was something very distinguished about her. It made her seem older than her years at times, but that was the way she was, and it was no surprise after all she'd been through that she seemed somehow older. Dealing with life at its most painful had given her both wisdom and poise, and a great deal of compassion.

"So, what's new?" They sat down to lunch and Daphne poured her a glass of white wine as Iris looked at her long and hard. "Something wrong?"

"You're working too hard." She said it like a stern mother, but she had known Daphne for long enough now to read her life through her eyes, as she did now. And she could see that Daphne was tired.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're getting too thin, and your eyes look like you're a hundred and fifty."

"As a matter of fact, I am. A hundred and fifty-two to be exact. A hundred and fifty-three in September."

"I'm serious, Daphne."

"So am I."

"All right, I'll mind my own business. How's the book coming?"

"Not bad. I should have it wrapped up in another month."

"And then what? Any plans?"

"I thought I'd spend some time with Andrew. You know"--she looked bitterly at her agent--"my autistic son."

"Daphne, don't take that so hard. They say a lot of things like that on talk shows and in the papers."

"Well, they're not going to say them about me, or my son. That's the way it is. Did you call Murdock?" Her eyes were hard as she looked at Iris.

"Not yet. But I will." Barbara was right and she knew it. Iris was stalling.

"If you don't, I will. I meant what I said this morning."

"All right, all right." She held up a hand, as though begging for mercy. "There's something else I want to discuss with you first. You've had a very interesting offer."

"To do what?" Daphne didn't look impressed, more than anything she looked suspicious. The night before had burned her badly.

"To make a movie, on the West Coast." Iris looked enormously pleased and Daphne watched her. "They're interested in buying Apache. Comstock Studios called yesterday after you left. They want to buy the book, but they also want you to think about writing the screenplay."

Daphne sat in silence for a long moment. "Do you think I could? I've never done that." Her eyes looked worried.

"There's nothing you can't do, if you want to." It was once again an echo of John, and Daphne smiled.

"I wish I believed that."

"Well, I do, and so do they. They offered you a very handsome fee for the package. You'd have to live out there and they'd also pay for your living expenses, within reason."

"What does that mean?"

"A house, food, entertainment, maid, and a car and driver."

She sat staring, looking into her plate, and then looked up at Iris. "I can't do it."

"Why not?" She looked shocked. "Daphne, it's a fabulous offer."

"I'm sure it is, and I'd like to sell them the book. But I can't write the screenplay."

"Why not?"

"How long would I have to be out there for?"

"Probably about a year, to write it, and they want you to consult on the movie."

"At least a year. Maybe more." She sighed as she looked soberly at her agent. "I can't leave Andrew for that long."

"But he doesn't even live here."

"Iris, I go up to see him at least once a week when I can. Sometimes I'm there for the weekend. I can't do that if I'm living in Los Angeles."

"Then take him with you."

"He's not ready to leave the school. I wish he were, but he's not."

"Put him in a school there."

"That would be too hard on him. It just wouldn't be fair." She shook her head decisively. "I can't. Maybe in a few years, but not now. I'm really very sorry. Maybe you can explain it to them."

"I don't want to explain it to them, Daphne. From a career standpoint you're dead wrong. Maybe this is a sacrifice you'll both have to make. I want you to think about it, at least until Monday."

"I won't change my mind." And knowing Daphne, Iris feared that she wouldn't.

"You'll be making a serious mistake if you don't do it. This really is the next important step in your career. You may always regret it if you don't take it."

"And how do I explain that to a seven-year-old child? Tell him my work is more important to me than he is?"

"You can explain it to him, and you can fly back for a day or two whenever you have a break."

"What if I can't get away? Then what? I can't call him on the phone and explain it." That stopped Iris. Of course she couldn't call him. It was an aspect Iris had never thought of. "I just can't, Iris."

"Why don't you just wait to decide?" But Daphne knew already what her answer would have to be on Monday, and after Iris left, she discussed it with Barbara, sitting curled up in the big cozy white chair.

"Would you want to go if you could?"

"I'm not really sure, to tell you the truth. I'm not sure I could write a screenplay, and living in Hollywood for a year isn't really my style." She looked around her pretty little apartment with a sigh and then shrugged. "But it isn't worth thinking about anyway. I can't leave Andrew for that long, and it might not always be easy for me to get back."

"Why not have him fly out to see you if you can't get away? I could fly back to get him if you want." Although they had never met, she always felt as though she knew the child. And Daphne smiled at the generous offer.

"I love you for that. Thank you."

"Why don't you talk to Mrs. Curtis about it when you go up there this weekend, Daff?"

But what was there to think about? None of them understood. They just couldn't. They didn't know what it had been like to discover he was deaf when he was only a few months old, to struggle to communicate with him, to fight with every doctor she had seen about putting him in an institution. They didn't know what it had been like to pack his things and take him up to New Hampshire ... to tell him his friend John was dead. They didn't know what any of it felt like in her gut, or what it would mean to be three thousand miles away if something happened to him. They didn't know, and they never would. There was nothing for Daphne to think about, she realized again as she picked up her suitcase, put it in the car, and started the lonely trip to New Hampshire to see him.

Daphne made the trip in five hours, and pulled into the driveway of the Howarth School in the darkness of the winter evening. It always pulled at her heart to come back here, not only because of Andrew, but because of John. Her thoughts always drifted back to their days in the cabin. But the school was brightly lit, and she knew that in a moment she would see Andrew. She glanced at her watch and saw that she was just in time to join him for dinner.

Mrs. Curtis was in the front hall when she walked in and looked instantly pleased and surprised to see her.

"I didn't know you were coming up this week, Daphne." Over the years they had become friends, and she called Daphne by her first name, although due to her advanced years, Daphne never felt quite comfortable calling her Helen. She sent her all of her books though, and Helen Curtis admitted that she loved them.

"How's our boy?" Daphne took her coat off in the front hall and she felt as though she had come home. There was always something wonderfully warm and welcoming about Howarth. And the school was well endowed, so it was beautifully kept up. The whole place had been redone the summer before, and now there were murals in the halls that the children loved, and there were clouds painted on the ceiling.

"You won't recognize Andrew!" Mrs. Curtis was smiling at her.

"Did he cut off all his hair again?" The two women laughed, remembering how he had looked the winter before after he and two friends had had a spree with a pair of scissors. He hadn't come out of it quite as badly as the two others. The little girls with the exquisite blond braids had been almost bald and looked like little fuzzy ducklings when they were through with them.

"No, nothing like that." Mrs. Curtis shook her head with a smile. "But he must have grown two inches this month. Suddenly he's enormous. You'll have to do some shopping again."

"Thank God for my royalties!" And then with a hungry look in her eyes, "Where is he?" Mrs. Curtis answered her by pointing toward the stairs. He was coming down in a pair of beige corduroy pants and a little red flannel shirt, and he was wearing the new cowboy boots she had brought him the last time. Her face exploded in a wide smile and her eyes danced and she walked slowly toward him.

"Hi, sweetheart. How are you?" She said the words now as well as signing and he read her lips with a broad grin, and then he amazed her by speaking.

"I'm fine, Mommy ... how ... are you?" The words were clumsy and he still didn't speak clearly, but anyone would have understood what he had said. "I missed you!" And then he flung himself into her arms and she held him, fighting back the tears that came so easily when she first saw him. They were used to their life now, and the days of their shared solitude in her old apartment seemed like a distant dream. He had seen the new place too, but he had signed to her that he liked the old one better. She assured him that he'd get used to this one too, and she showed him his room and told him that one day he would live there all the time, as he had in the old one. But now all she could think of was holding his warm, cuddly little body against her own as she swung him into her arms and he clung to her.

"I missed you too." She pulled away a little so he could see her face as she said it. "What have you been doing?"

"I'm growing a vegetable garden!" He looked thrilled. "And I made two tomatoes." He was signing to her, but when she spoke he read her lips, and he seemed to have no trouble doing it.

"In the middle of winter? How did you do that?"

"In a big box downstairs and it has special lights on it, and when spring comes, we're all going to plant flowers outside."

"That sounds wonderful."

They went into the dining room hand in hand then, and she sat with him and the other children as they ate fried chicken and corn on the cob and baked potatoes, and they laughed and told jokes, all of them signing.

She stayed until he went to bed, tucked him in, and then came downstairs to see Mrs. Curtis before she left.

"Have you had a good week?" But there was something strange in her eyes as she asked the question, and Daphne instinctively knew she had seen the show. Who hadn't?

"Not really. I was in Chicago yesterday." She hesitated to say anything more, but she didn't have to.

"I know. That was a rotten thing for him to do."

"You saw the show?"

"I did. But I'll never watch him again. He's a bastard." Daphne smiled at the uncharacteristic strong language.

"You're right. I told my agent I won't do any more publicity as a result. I've just had it. And what galls me is that they'd never ask a man those kinds of questions. But the worst of it of course was what he said about Andrew."

"It doesn't really matter, you know. You and he know the truth, and the rest of the world will forget it."

"They may"--Daphne didn't look so sure--"and they may not. Muckrakers are amazing. Ten years from now someone will dig up a tape of that and come up with a story."

"Yours is not an easy business, my dear. But it must be rewarding."

"Sometimes." She smiled but there was a troubled look in her eyes that the older woman saw.

"Is something wrong?"

"No ... not really ... but ... I need some advice. I thought maybe we'd talk later in the weekend."

"Does it have to wait? We could talk now. Would you like to come in and sit down?" She waved toward her private quarters and Daphne nodded. It would be a relief to talk it over.