Authors: Robert B. Parker
”Good,“ he said. ”You?“
”Fine,“ I said. ”You eat yet?“
”No.“
”I’ll make something.“
He came out into the kitchen and sat at the counter while I looked into what was available. Rolling Rock Extra Pale was available, and I opened one. Paul had grown since I had acquired him. He was maybe a shade taller than I was now, flexible and centered.
”You’re looking in good shape,“ I said. ”You working hard?“
”Yes. I dance about four hours a day at school, and a couple of times a week I go into New York and work at a gym called Pilate’s.“
”The money coming?“
”Yes, my father sends it every month. Just the money, no letter, nothing. Just a check folded inside a blank piece of paper.“
”Ever hear from your mother?“
He nodded. ”I get a letter every once in a while. Pink stationery, tells me that now I’m in college I have to be very careful in choosing my friends. Important, she says, not to get in with the wrong crowd.“
”How about pasta?“ I said. ”Supplies are low here.“ I put the water on to boil and sliced up some red and some green peppers and a lot of mushrooms. Paul got another beer and opened one for me too.
”You happy with Sarah Lawrence?“ I said. ”Oh, yeah. The dance faculty is very professional. A half hour from New York, you can get people.“
I stir-fried the peppers and mushrooms with a little olive oil and a dash of raspberry vinegar, cooked some spinach fettuccine, and tossed in the peppers, mushrooms, and a handful of walnut meats.
Paul and I ate it at the counter with grated Jack cheese and half a loaf of whole wheat bread that was left in the cupboard.
”How about the wrong crowd,“ I said. ”You getting in with them?“
”Not much luck,“ Paul said. ”I’m trying like hell, but the wrong crowd doesn’t seem to want me.“
”Don’t quit,“ I said. ”You want something, you go after it. I was nearly thirty-five before I could get in with the wrong crowd.“
We opened two more Rolling Rocks. The last two.
”My fault,“ I said. ”It’s what happens when you let your work interfere. How long you home for?“
”Over Thanksgiving,“ he said. ”I go back Sunday.“
”Thanksgiving is tomorrow,“ I said.
”Yes.“
”There’s nothing to eat.“
”I noticed,“ Paul said. ”Maybe we can go down to the rescue mission.“
I finished the last Rolling Rock. There was a bottle of Murphy’s Irish Whiskey in the cupboard above the refrigerator for emergencies. I got it out and had some on the rocks. ”I’m glad to see you,“ I said.
”Hard booze?“ Paul said.
I nodded. ”Want a sniff?“ I said.
”Sure.“
I poured a little for him, over ice. He sipped it and didn’t look completely pleased.
”Is it worse than drinking nothing?“ I said.
”No.“
I put the dishes into the dishwasher and wiped off the counter. We went into the living room with two glasses and the whiskey and some ice.
”Since when have you been drinking hard booze?“ Paul said.
”It’s come to seem soothing lately.“
Paul nodded. ”One of those all-hour convenience stores will probably be open,“ Paul said. ”I could run out and get some sliced turkey roll and a loaf of Wonder bread. Maybe a quart of Tab, for the festive board.“
”We’ll eat out,“ I said. ”The hotels are usually open. The Ritz, maybe.“ I drank some whiskey. When you’ve been nursing it out of a bottle neck, a glass and ice seems like being on the wagon. ”I thought you were bringing a girl friend.“
”Paige, yeah. I was. But her parents got bent out of shape, so she went home.“
There was a fire laid in the cold fireplace. It saved time in case I met someone who wanted to jump on my bones in front of a romantic fire. I’d gotten this one ready in August. No sense wasting it. I got up and lit it and sat back down and watched the flames enlarge. The hell with romance.
I drank some more whiskey. Paul nursed his. I knew he didn’t like it. My glass was empty. I added more whiskey. An ice cube.
”Susan still in Washington?“ Paul said.
”Yes.“
”Couldn’t get back for Thanksgiving?“
”Nope.“
”I’m surprised you didn’t go down.“
I nodded.
”Where is it she’s at?“
”Children’s Hospital National Medical Center,“ I said. ”One Eleven Michigan Avenue, North West, Washington, D.C., 20010.“
”Internship?“
”Yes. Pre-doctoral internship.“ I leaned forward and poured a little whiskey into Paul’s glass. The kindling was fully flamed and the larger hardwood logs were beginning to burn. I stared at the flames as they flickered over the wood. Matter is neither created nor destroyed. E = mc2.
”She quit being a guidance teacher?“
I nodded. ”Actually took a leave, but she’s not likely to go back. Not with a Harvard Ph.D. in psychology.“
”You mind?“ Paul said.
”Her quitting guidance?“
”The whole thing,“ Paul said. ”Ph.D., internship, off to Washington, not around for Thanksgiving. You mind that?“
I got up and walked to the window and looked down into Marlborough Street. It was bone empty. ”Susan is doing something very important to her,“ I said. ”She needs to do this, to strive, to seek, and not to yield.“
The holiday desolation of the empty street was depressing. In the streetlights’ shine it was manifestly silent. Over the hills and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go.
Paul said, ”Yeah, but do you mind?“
I drank some more whiskey. ”Yes,“ I said.
”How come you didn’t go down for Thanksgiving dinner with her? She have to work?“
”No. She’s spending it in Bethesda with the head of her intern program. It’s important to her.“ I kept staring out the window.
”More important than being with you?“
”There’s other times,“ I said.
A cab came up the empty street and stopped on the other side. An old woman in a fur coat got out carrying a fat white cat. The cabbie pulled away and she walked up the dark steps to her door and fumbled at the lock and then went in.
”If you had something you were working on, you’d stay away on Thanksgiving,“ Paul said.
”I know.“
”If I’d gotten a chance to dance, like at Lincoln Center or something, I’d have gone. I wouldn’t have come here.“
”Sure,“ I said. My glass was empty. I went and got the bottle and poured some more. I filled it before I remembered the ice. Too late. I sipped some neatly. Paul was watching me. A grown face, not a kid. Older maybe than eighteen because of the psychological experience he’d had and overcome.
”You went off to Europe without her in 1976.“
”Yes.“ My voice was hoarse. More whiskey, relax the larynx. Good thing I hadn’t used ice. Throat needed to be warmed.
”It’s killing you, isn’t it?“
”I want her with me,“ I said, ”and more than that, I want her to want to be with me.“
Paul got up and walked over and stood beside me at the window and looked out. ”Empty,“ he said.
I nodded.
He said, ”We both know where I was when you found me, and we know what you did. It gives me rights that other people don’t have.“
I nodded.
”I’m going to hurt you too,“ he said. ”We’re the only ones that can, me and Susan. And inevitably I’ll do it too.“
”Can’t be helped,“ I said.
”No.“ Paul said. ”It can’t. What’s happened to you is that you’ve left Susan inside, and you’ve let me inside. Before us you were invulnerable. You were compassionate but safe, you understand? You could set those standards for your own behavior and if other people didn’t meet those standards it was their loss, but your integrity was…“- he thought for a minute-”… intact. You weren’t disappointed. You didn’t expect much from other people and were content with the Tightness of yourself.“
I leaned my forehead against the cold window glass. I was drunk.
”And now?“ I said.
”And now,“ Paul said, ”you’ve fucked it up. You love Susan and you love me.“
I nodded with my forehead still against the window. ”And the Tightness of myself is no longer enough.“
”Yes,“ Paul said. He took a large swallow of whiskey. ”You were complete, and now you’re not. It makes you doubt yourself. It makes you wonder if you were ever right. You’ve operated on instinct and the conviction that your instincts would be right. But if you were wrong, maybe your instincts were wrong. It’s not just missing Susan that’s busting your chops.“
” ’Margaret, are you grieving,‘ “ I said, ” ’over Golden-grove unleaving?‘ “
”Who’s that?“ Paul said.
”Hopkins,“ I said. ”Gerard Manley Hopkins.“
”There’s a better one from The Great Gatsby,“ Paul said. ”The part just before he’s shot, about losing the old warm world…“
” ’Paid a high price for living too long with a single dream,‘ “ I said.
”That’s the one,“ Paul said.
It was the Monday after Thanksgiving, Paul was back at Sarah Lawrence College. I was back in my one-room office with a view of the art director on the corner of Berkeley and Boylston. It was 9:15 a.m. and I was reading the Globe and drinking some coffee. Today was the day I would have only two cups. I drank the last of the first one when my office door opened and Vinnie Morris came in. Behind him came a large blank-faced guy with a hairline that started just above his eyebrows.
Vinnie was my age, a good-looking guy with a thick black mustache and his hair cut sort of longish over the ears. He was wearing a black continental-cut suit and a white shirt with a white tie. His camel’s hair coat was unbelted and hung open and the fringed ends of a white silk scarf showed against the dark suit. He had on black gloves. The big guy behind him wore a plaid overcoat, and a navy watch cap on the back of his head like a yarmulke. His nose was thick, and there was a lot of scar tissue around his eyes.
”Vinnie,“ I said.
Vinnie nodded, took off his gloves, put them together, and placed them on the top of my desk. He sat in my office chair. His large companion stayed by the door.
”You got any coffee?“ Vinnie said to me.
”Nope, just finished a cup I brought with me.“
Vinnie nodded. ”Ed, go get us two coffees,“ Vinnie said. ”Both black.“
”Hey, Vinnie,“ Ed said. ”I ain’t no errand boy.“
Vinnie turned his head and looked at him. Ed’s septum had been deviated enough so he had trouble breathing through it. I could hear the faint whistle it made.
”Two black,“ Ed said.
”Large,“ I said.
”Two large,“ Vinnie said.
Ed nodded and went out.
”Slipping punches wasn’t his long suit,“ I said. ”You still with Broz?“
Vinnie nodded.
”Joe send you over?“ I said.
Vinnie shook his head.
I leaned back in my chair and waited.
”You been in Springfield?“ Vinnie said.
I nodded.
”You been making a pain in the balls of yourself in Springfield?“
”It’s the least I can do,“ I said. ”Spread it around.“
Vinnie nodded patiently. ”Want to tell me what you been doing out there?“
”No.“
”It’s one of the reasons I like you, Spenser. I can always count on you to be a hard-on. Really consistent, you know. A hard-on every time.“
”Well, if I ever fail you, Vinnie, it won’t be for lack of trying.“
Vinnie grinned. There wasn’t a lot of warmth in the grin, but it seemed real enough. It was probably as warm as Vinnie could get.
Ed came back in with the coffee in a paper sack. He’d bought one for himself. I wondered if that was considered exceeding orders. Rebellious bastard.
”Thanks, Ed,“ I said when he put mine on the desk. I took the cover off and put it into the wastebasket, then I reached over and took Vinnie’s cover and dropped it into the wastebasket. I sipped some. First sip of the day’s last cup. Coffee got me sort of jumpy lately. Time to cut back. Man of iron will, no problem. I’d begin cutting back today.
Ed tore a little half circle out of the cover of his coffee. He put the torn-out piece back into the empty bag and put the bag on the corner of my desk. I took it and put it into the trash. Neat work space, orderly mind. I drank the second sip of my last cup of the day. Ed slurped some of his coffee through the hole he’d torn in the cover.
Vinnie said, ”You went and talked with Louis Nolan. You told him that I sent you. How come?“
”I wanted to see if he was connected to you and Joe.“
”And?“
I shrugged. ”And he is. He jumped up and lapped my face when I mentioned your name. Offered me some fruit.“ I sipped more coffee and smiled at him. ”And here you are.“
”You know more than that,“ Vinnie said. ”You know he put those two stumblebums to work on my job.“
”Yes,“ I said. ”I do know that.“
”So, what do you make of it?“
”You wanted Alexander’s attention,“ I said. ”You wanted to remind him of the kind of folks he was dealing with. So you had Louis hire a couple of local biceps to lean on anyone at all in Alexander’s campaign. Couple of college kids were easy, and the two stiffs went for them.“
Vinnie looked at me for a long minute. Without moving his eyes he said, ”Ed, wait in the corridor.“
Ed turned and went out and closed the door behind him. Vinnie got up and moved his chair around so he was sitting beside me.
”What do you figure we want from Alexander?“ he said. His voice was soft. Ed couldn’t hear it if his ear were flat to the door.
”I figure you want him to lose.“
”Because?“
”Because you have a piece of Robert Browne and you and Joe like only sure things.“
Vinnie nodded thoughtfully. I drank a bit more coffee. Two cups a day was plenty.
”You’re still good,“ Vinnie said. ”You always been good, and you haven’t slipped any.“
”Kind of you to say, Vinnie.“
”How’d you make the connection?“
”Saw you in the background of a Browne campaign picture.“
”What made you look?“ Vinnie said.
”Somebody interferes with Alexander’s campaign,“ I said. ”Browne’s a logical suspect. I just started looking at everything I could find on him.“
Vinnie drank some coffee. I wondered if he needed to cut back. He was about my age. Looked healthy, but you never could tell. You wake up one day and find you have to cut back on coffee. Scoundrel time.