Authors: Laura Pedersen
“Over my dead body!” Diana warns the two of them in boldface type from the stairwell.
“I think it’s possible to do away with the aerial on the roof if we can just hoist one of your ears up there instead,” Hayden retorts loudly enough so his daughter will hear. “Listen Joe-Joe, at this shindig there’s going to be alcohol and rock music and insurance agents—all three instruments of the devil. And the fire walking isn’t a carnival event, it’s part of a motivational program to help improve sales.”
“But Mom’s going out with that priest guy and she’s going to hire a
baby-sitter
. I’m too old for a baby-sitter! Rosie’s going, and she’s my friend, too!” Did he have to remind his grandfather that they met Rosamond on the same day? And if Joey hadn’t suggested going to the game farm instead of Hayden’s funerals they may never have seen her again. They can’t just leave him behind. It’s not fair!
When Rosamond and Hayden are ready to leave for the convention, Diana has also just finished preparing to go out for the evening. She looks captivating in a sleek-fitting red crepe dress with spaghetti straps, a black pearl necklace, and black high-heeled evening sandals. With silver shadow highlighting the lids, Diana’s vibrant green-gray eyes shine like moonlight bouncing off a dark sea. And yet there’s something tender about the way she checks herself in the mirror, unsure that any man could possibly be interested in her. As much as Hayden never again wants his darling daughter to know heartache, he has to admit that it will also be a crime if she doesn’t love and experience love in return.
“Hot date tonight?” Hayden teases her as he tries to imagine what he would think if this woman was not his daughter and he just happened to run into her walking down the street. But the idea is enough to make him consider hiring a bodyguard and so he quickly dismisses it from his mind.
“Oh, just dinner with Hank.”
Hayden can easily deduce that she’s faking her nonchalance and is actually somewhat nervous. Just like he could always tell which customers were lying about having found a better rate elsewhere and pretending to consider canceling their policies with him. “But I thought he wasn’t your type?”
“I’m giving him one more chance,” she says as if she’s doing Hank a big favor. The truth is that Diana enjoyed Hank’s conversation and sense of humor. His awkward fumbling and shyness were rather sweet, too. But the kissing . . . ugh, she doesn’t know what to do about that. Maybe they’ll have to settle for just being friends, like Rosamond and Hayden appear to have done. Yet she still rises to Hank’s defense. “He said that last time we went out he’d taken too many antihistamines and wasn’t himself.”
“Aye, the Drixoral Defense,” says Hayden. “Well I do’an’ like him one bit. He’s probably after your fortune.” Over the years Hayden had noticed that whenever he and Mary indicated that they approved of a particular boy, Diana immediately broke off with him, and so he isn’t about to make the same tactical error now.
“Dad, I don’t have any fortune. I owe $1,246 to Visa.”
“Looks to me like he could be another layabout.”
“For your information, Hank’s uncle got him a job at an architectural firm in Manhattan. It’s just entry-level, but he’ll be able to finish school and get experience at the same time. In fact, he’s taking me to Gage & Tollner in order to celebrate.” The legendary eatery with its gaslight, mahogany tables, and polished nineteenth-century mirrors was a Brooklyn institution and favorite for romantic occasions such as engagements and anniversaries.
Rosamond and Hayden say good-bye to Diana and then go and wait at the end of the street until they see the baby-sitter arrive. Shortly after that Hank’s battered Dodge Omni churns up the road and pulls into the driveway. Hayden crosses his fingers as he strains to see through the leafy trees and catch a glimpse of what’s transpiring in the driveway.
“Stop spying on them,” says Rosamond.
“Last time he honked the horn as if he was expecting Diana to run out the door like she was a waitress at a drive-in. I had a word with him about that.”
Rosamond joins Hayden and together they watch as a smartly dressed Hank escorts Diana down the front steps and opens the car door for her. When the Dodge has disappeared from view Hayden waits another few minutes and then doubles back to the town house. While Rosamond waits in the car Hayden goes inside, hands the baby-sitter thirty dollars and in a thick, cheery brogue explains that his meeting was canceled and he’s decided to spend some quality time with his grandson, take him to see the new Disney movie and so on and so forth. Hayden is pleased that she’s not the least bit suspicious about this sudden change in plans and for a split second regrets retiring. Nothing is quite so exhilarating as the moment a deal is sealed and the money actually changes hands.
Hayden, Rosamond, and Joey drive across the Williamsburg Bridge and into New York City. Joey insists that Rosamond sit in the back so they can compete on his Gameboy. When he first introduced Rosamond to video games she hesitated before gathering the courage to blow up the monsters and space aliens. But she’s quickly evolved into a swift and coldhearted killer with lightning reflexes, every annihilation only whetting her appetite for more destruction, and Joey must concentrate hard to win.
When they reach Sixth Avenue Hayden points out the tall chrome-and-glass building where he worked for ten years before moving to the Brooklyn office. He parks the car in a garage over near the West Side Highway since it’s cheaper than the prime real estate of Midtown. As they make their way back toward the hotel a wind from the west whips the trash into small twisters that rise in the caverns between the soaring skyscrapers.
Hayden nods toward a homeless man who has reinvented himself as an anger management consultant, sitting on a camp chair with a sign at his feet saying
TELL ME OFF FOR
$5. A line of five men and one young woman impatiently wait their turn.
“It must have been a lousy day for the stock market,” quips Hayden.
As always, Rosamond is fascinated by the more unusual sights and sounds of Manhattan—the performance artist dressed as the Statue of Liberty and the man outfitted in aluminum foil telling people he’s collecting money to repair his spaceship. Meanwhile, Joey is particularly enthralled by the rumpled Tell Me Off man. For a few minutes the three stop to enjoy the show.
“Most people pretend he’s their boss,” explains Hayden. “But a lot of women yell at him as if he’s their unfaithful boyfriend, lazy husband, or son who never calls.”
When the businessman currently shouting at the Tell Me Off man finishes his tirade with “You can’t fire me because I quit!” the remainder of the line along with the ring of assembled spectators gives him a big round of applause. The customer happily places a five-dollar bill in the cup and with a spring in his step melts into the pedestrian traffic.
“It’s just the opposite of confession,” says an astonished Rosamond. “You say what you really want to instead of telling the priest what you think he’d like to hear.”
“I thought confession was the same thing as pleading guilty,” says Hayden. “All I know is that whenever there’s a big layoff or interest rates go up this guy has a line around the block.”
“But he isn’t giving them any penance or advice in return,” observes Rosamond.
“Maybe they do’an’ want advice. Isn’t that the definition of suicide—telling God ‘You can’t fire me because I quit’?”
Rosamond gives him a sharp jab in the side with her elbow at the mention of suicide. She had assumed that subject was off-limits for the time being.
“C’mon, Grandpa, the fire walk!” Joey tugs at his grandfather’s sleeve. Rosamond often tells Joey how smart he is. And now he’ll have a chance to prove his bravery, just like the noble knight Lochinvar.
The trio cross Seventh Avenue to the city-block–sized hotel where the yearly convention is held. Cadres of uniformed bellhops dash around the entrances, navigating taxi cabs in various stages of loading and unloading towers of luggage. Businessmen and airline employees are heading into the hotel after a long day of work while tourists gripping maps and theater tickets are coming out of the revolving door dressed for a night on the town.
“Okay,” announces Hayden, “I’m ready to make my case!”
chapter forty-six
O
nce inside the hotel, Hayden busily works the ballroom and introduces Rosamond and Joey to some of his old cronies. His pals know him well enough not to ask questions about his health, and instead rattle off all the latest industry jokes. A man who had started as Hayden’s assistant makes a beeline for him and begins shouting while he’s still several feet away. “Hey, Hayden, know why sex is like life insurance? The older you get the more it costs.”
“Hey, Micky,” retorts Hayden, doing a perfect imitation of Micky’s thick New York accent. “Did you hear about the guy on Long Island who I told to take out hurricane insurance? He says to me, ‘Now how do you start a hurricane?’ ”
Hayden’s tremendous magnetism attracts people like insects to a bright light. Rosamond and Joey are amazed at how the air around them seems electrified as they become the epicenter of the crowded room. And though it’s obvious that many old friends are momentarily taken aback by the visible decline in Hayden’s health, no one appears to make an effort to avoid him. When he walks to the bar the throng seems to glide right along with him like iron filings in pursuit of a magnet.
One of Hayden’s former colleagues makes polite conversation with Rosamond and Joey until Hayden saunters back with two Cokes for them and a generous serving of scotch for himself. “I hope you didn’t sign your name to anything,” warns Hayden. “This man’s so crooked he’d steal the dimes off a dead man’s eyes.”
A pleasant-looking woman in her forties with a heart-shaped face and stylishly arranged chestnut-colored hair maneuvers through the crowd until she’s close enough to kiss him on the cheek. Hayden introduces the woman as Vivian, a former coworker in the Brooklyn office who had made the transition to Manhattan. “Rosie is just recently retired from the business,” says Hayden. “She dealt in afterlife insurance.”
Unlike the others Vivian inquires about his health. But he fobs off the question by jauntily replying, “I tried to get life insurance but they’ll only give me fire and theft.”
Hayden efficiently changes the subject by inviting Vivian to accompany them out to the courtyard for the big fire walk. As they make their way from the crowded ballroom, Vivian takes Hayden’s hand in hers, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Rosamond.
They haven’t gone ten feet before another old buddy passes by, slaps Hayden on the back and announces, “It’s crazy Haydy! Playing lots of golf? Off to Saint Andrews for a few rounds?” It’s apparent that the man knows about Hayden’s love for the country where he was born, but not about his illness.
“For me, you might want to think more along the lines of reincarnation than retirement,” Hayden says and laughs heartily as they walk on.
“Grandpa, how come guys keep calling you crazy?” asks Joey. He’s aware that his grandfather is lots of fun, all the neighbors say so, and that his mother is always yelling at him for one thing or another, but why do they think Hayden is crazy?
“No one ever tangles with a mad dog, Joey, always remember that,” says Hayden. “It’s only the tame and timid ones who get kicked around.”
Outside in the courtyard a twelve-by-four-foot pit of steaming black and gray coals has been set up, surrounded by two layers of flaming logs. Glimmering stars silhouette the towering silver skyline and the surrounding air reeks of charcoal and lighter fluid. Against the smoky darkness the scene looks dramatically forbidding.
Most of the agents participating in the fire walk are doing so as a capstone to their daylong seminar on positive thinking. The motivational expert stands at the head of the burning pit and issues each participant final words of encouragement before shouting “Go!” Whereupon the individual scampers down the middle of the track as fast as possible while involuntarily hollering every time a foot alights atop the baking coals. Whenever someone reaches the end the crowd of spectators gives a big cheer. After catching their breath the insurance-peddling daredevils seem totally unharmed and thoroughly ecstatic.
“Are you really going to do the fire walk?” Vivian looks at Hayden with admiration as they stand in the burning glow and mop sweat from their brows with blue cocktail napkins that have “Metro Mutual” stamped on them in big gold letters.
“O’ course I am. That’s why we came!” Hayden sinks down on a nearby bench and begins removing his shoes and socks.
“Can I do the fire walk?” begs Joey, so accustomed to his mother saying no to everything that looks the least bit dangerous.
“Sure,” says Hayden. “You can’t get hurt as long as you keep moving. It’s all a hoax really. That guy makes a fortune running these silly things.” He nods toward the man sending everyone out onto the coals.
“Aren’t you going?” Hayden asks Vivian.
“Are you kidding?” says Vivian. “There’s no amount of liability insurance that would get me to walk over hot coals.”
“C’mon. I’ll bet you fifty dollars that you won’t get burned.” Hayden removes his wallet and lays two twenties and a ten on the table. However, Vivian just shakes her head “no” all the more vehemently.
“Are
you
going to do it?” Vivian turns to Rosamond.
“Absolutely.” She certainly hadn’t been planning on it. But with the flirtatious Vivian now cozying up to Hayden, and knowing how he detests cowards and admires women with “pluck,” Rosamond acts as if it’s been her plan to go all along. She moves brazenly between the two of them and sits down next to Hayden in order to remove her sandals.
When it’s Hayden’s turn to brave the blazing pit he disregards the peppy words of encouragement being proffered by the gatekeeper and lunges out across the coals, stopping just long enough in the middle to do a little jig and let out some whoops so that Rosamond can’t be sure whether he’s being burned alive or thoroughly enjoying himself.
Joey follows Hayden and runs a hard straight line through the smoldering furnace like a fox being chased by a hound so that it’s questionable whether his small feet even touch the coals for more than a second.