"H
E CAME TO APOLOGIZE,"
Thalia tells Henry. "You could be a little more gracious. It's not like he can unring the bell."
Henry gets up from the leather couch where all three had been sitting abreast and stands before the fireplace. After rearranging a line of miniature Union soldiers, alternating the kneeling and the standing ones, he turns around. "We're nine days into this campaign, and what do you think you've accomplished?"
When Thalia opens her mouth, Henry says, "Let him."
Leif says, "The photos of me in the papers. That's been good."
"Good? Movie stills of you as a ghoul don't exactly say 'leading man,' do they? Isn't that the point? To stop typecasting you?"
"There's time," says Thalia.
"They're supposed to have a new headshot of me on file, but they seem to like the old ones better," Leif says.
"I don't think it's a matter of
like
" says Thalia. "I think it sells more newspapers to run a picture of you as a zombie ax murderer."
Leif runs the palm of his hand across the top of his head. "Do you think this was a mistake?"
"Whose idea was it?" Henry asks.
"The barber's. My hairline is receding"—he lowers his head to show the pattern—"and what's coming in is too gray."
"Too gray for what?" Henry asks.
"For a guy with my coloring, he thinks."
Thalia says, "In general, I think white guys shouldn't shave their heads. It ends up being too pale and drastic. How do you feel about it?"
"I think I look ugly," Leif says.
"Hair grows back," Henry says impatiently. "You can wear a baseball cap for a week, then reappear with a stubble."
Leif says, "I can't just get a baseball cap off the rack. My head's too big. I have to get them online. Bigdome dot com."
Thalia says, "I had no idea."
"I'm in the ninety-ninth percentile for head circumference," Leif says. He smiles proudly. "My mother always used to say it was because my skull was full of brains."
Thalia says, "If you don't like the gray hair that's coming in, there are really good colorists at my salon. And they'll do it upstairs so you're not on public display."
Henry says, "I don't know how many women you interviewed for this job, but I hope you realize that you won the lottery. Thalia seems to have some kind of missionary zeal to help you in the areas that need work."
"He means the stuff we practiced," says Thalia.
"We role-played," says Leif.
"He was Leif and I was me," says Thalia.
"I'd like to have a meeting with your people," says Henry. "Especially the new lawyer. Was she the one who represented you in night court?"
"He," says Leif. "The new lawyer's a guy."
"None of us was expecting this to take a turn for the criminal," says Henry.
"It was only a misdemeanor," Leif says.
"A criminal conviction nonetheless."
"Are you backing out?" Leif asks.
"No, he's not," says Thalia.
"I'm sorry about the turnstile," says Leif. "It just happened. It was an impulse, like when you walk by the Bing cherries in a supermarket and suddenly you've got a handful in your mouth." As he speaks, he is probing his inner thigh with the fingertips of his right hand.
"He pulled a groin muscle going over," Thalia explains.
Henry sizes up Seth Shapiro immediately—young, fresh from the gym, his dark hair gelled, a kiwi green tie—as starstruck and too young to be a partner. Clearly he is borrowing both a secretary and this office, with its bird's-eye maple paneling and its view of the Morgan Library. The nameplate on the desk says Alfred J. Ingle Jr., and a galaxy of framed photos show African American sons and daughters, capped and gowned. Henry, Leif, and Thalia sit in plaid wing chairs.
"How are we doing this morning?" young Mr. Shapiro asks, pen poised above a yellow legal pad. Thalia is wearing what can only be viewed as a costume, a coral gingham Williebelle frock with a square neckline and full skirt. It doesn't quite fit, Henry notes—roomy in the bust, and she's faked an alteration with safety pins.
Attorney Shapiro says, "I spoke with my colleague who drew up the contract, and she and I agree that our client's little excitement is very much in line with the goal of our campaign, which is, first and foremost, to raise Mr. Dumont's profile." To the right of the desk blotter are the relevant tabloids. He holds up the
Post
first and says proudly, "Page Six, no less: 'Boo Busted!'"
"It says 'Boo-
Who
Busted,'" says Leif. "I hated that."
"Poetic license. Not our province," snaps Shapiro, who moves on to the
Village Voice's
"un-Fare!" and the
Daily News's
"Two-Buck Duck."
Leif tells Henry, "That's because a subway ride costs two dollars."
"I taught him that," says Thalia.
"So why are we here this morning, other than the pleasure of meeting you and your client?" asks Attorney Shapiro. He smiles. Henry glances to his left to see if Thalia is smiling back. She is—eyes lowered, ingénue-demure.
Henry opens the briefcase at his feet and takes out a sheet of paper. "I think this answers your question."
Attorney Shapiro reads the paragraph, hands the paper back to Henry, and says, "No way."
"What does it say?" asks Leif.
"Essentially, that if you engage in any half-brained and/or illegal activities in Thalia's company, you will pay her one million dollars in damages."
"I won't," says Leif.
"Won't what?" asks his attorney.
"I won't break any more laws."
Seth Shapiro stands, picks up his legal pad, and asks if his guests will excuse him and his client.
"Are we leaving?" Leif asks.
"We're caucusing. And not for long."
After the door closes behind them, Henry says, "He's admitted that he broke the law on an uncontrollable impulse. His next urge could be to steal someone's car with a baby in the back, and you're nabbed as an accessory."
She whispers, "Are we negotiating? I mean, are we trying for a half-million dollars in case of an arrest?"
Henry shakes his head no.
"You're serious?" She takes the piece of paper. "A million if he jumps another turnstile? Whose pocket does that come out of?"
"No one's, because it won't get to that point. He'll think damned hard before doing something stupid."
"Then why not just a pledge that says he won't
do
anything stupid or illegal?"
Henry puts his finger to his lips. "Let's see what the other side has to say."
Thalia asks if he wants to share a croissant. While she is en route to the sideboard, the men knock and reenter. Henry watches Seth Shapiro watching Thalia, who is taking her time rather prettily, head cocked in croissant contemplation.
"Thalia?" Henry prompts.
"I'm trying to figure out if there's an almond one in here without actually touching them," she answers.
"I can ask my secretary," offers Shapiro.
"Don't bother," says Thalia. She takes the topmost croissant, breaks it in half over a paper plate, doesn't announce its flavor. "It's fine." She smiles.
Is she flirting with opposing counsel? Henry wonders. And is this tall, dark, handsome, and unmistakably straight associate flirting back?
"Please sit down," Henry says. "Let's not drag this out any longer than necessary."
"Sorry!"
When she's back in her seat, petticoated skirt billowing in every direction, Attorney Shapiro folds his hands on the blotter. "We propose—and this is beyond fair—that if my client is convicted of a felony
and
incarcerated, Miss Archer can be relieved of her contractual duties."
"A felony?" Henry says. "I'm hardly worried about
felonies
"
"We're not giving you misdemeanors, period. Your client could incite him to smoke a joint or jaywalk, and she'd have effectively written herself a check."
"Except that I wouldn't do that," says Thalia.
"I want her protected," says Henry. "I want a driver who doesn't disappear at midnight. I don't want any shenanigans committed in the name of publicity. I don't want her name dragged through the mud because your client sets a match to his shoe or marches naked down Fifth Avenue."
Thalia laughs.
"I said I was sorry, and that I wouldn't do it again," says Leif. "I'm not a crazy man. I have my own production company."
"And he'll sign a pledge to that effect," says Mr. Shapiro. "Today. Before he leaves."
Thalia taps Leif's arm. "What if you broke the law again, even if you didn't mean to? My attorney isn't going to be happy unless you promise something in return."
Leif closes his eyes and keeps them shut as he says, "Caitlin knows I went to jail. She has a zero-tolerance policy, but she's giving me one more chance. If I blow it, it's over."
"Who's Caitlin?" asks Shapiro.
"His off-the-record girlfriend," says Thalia. "The love of his life. They're waiting until she's eighteen to go public."
"Where does this leave my client?" asks Henry.
"Safe and sound," says Shapiro, "which I
know
was at the heart of your codicil."
Fuck you,
Henry thinks.
"I'll draw up the agreement and messenger it over to you before five today."
Thalia opens her patent-leather clutch and takes out a card.
Cards?
Henry thinks.
When did this happen?
She hands one across the desk to the smiling Seth Shapiro. "You'll need my address," she says.
L
ILLIAN WEINREB PASSES
a dictionary-sized Tupperware container across the threshold to her host. "It's not for brunch, but for you later," she says. "My baked apples."
"You weren't supposed to bring anything," Henry says, "but how wonderful."
"Todd guessed you like raisins."
"Of course! Come in. Thalia is overseeing the sausages. Chicken, of course. And turkey bacon. I know you're watching your cholesterol."
"This house," Lillian is saying. "This house! Todd—do we have floors like this under the wall-to-wall?"
"Not a chance," he says.
"Come meet Thalia," says Henry.
Thalia waves from the stove, her hand in a quilted potholder mitt. She has dressed for the brunch in an outfit Williebelle might have worn to a rodeo: khaki green culottes, topstitched in red, with a matching bolero jacket and cowboy boots.
"And this is Thalia," says Todd, "currently channeling a Girl Scout troop leader."
Thalia blows two kisses with the hand holding a pair of tongs. "Chained to the stove, but is this your adorable mother?"
"Lillian Weinreb—who, I proudly announce, walked here from West End Avenue at a pretty brisk pace."
"He's killing me," his mother says happily.
When the doorbell peals, they are four at the dining room table, three-quarters of the way through the meal. Henry says, "Let's ignore that."
Another buzz, then a knock, then a faint, "Yoo-hoo, Henry? Anybody home?"
"Unbelievable," says Thalia.
"Her mother," Todd explains.
Napkin in hand, Henry excuses himself. He opens the front door to find Denise's knuckles raised for another knock. "You're home! I've brought someone to meet you!"
"It's not the greatest time."
"Thirty seconds! I'm not staying. But look! Meet my new life!" Henry looks down. Huddled against Denise's legs is a tall, skinny, long-necked, shivering dog, unmistakably a greyhound. "I adopted him! Henry, meet Albert Einstein. Say hi to Henry, one of the good guys." And to Henry, "He hates men."
"Handsome fellow," Henry says.
"I'm supposed to be socializing him. He spent his first three years incarcerated at a dog track. But I think he may be a genius. He comes to work with me and when I'm on the phone and being harassed, he seems to sense it. I can tell by his body language. Right, boy?"
Henry repeats, "It's not a good time, Denise. I've got people over."
"How many?"
"Todd's mother is here, and Todd."
"And I'm guessing Thalia?"
"Correct."
"Who has always
always
wanted a dog! Why did I wait so long? But I won't intrude. I'll just slip by everyone on my way to your powder room. This is what I've learned: You can't just waltz into a coffee shop and pee if you've got a dog with you."
Henry gestures with a mildly aggrieved wave of his hand:
Then go. Do it.
He finds himself holding the leash. Albert Einstein doesn't make eye contact and doesn't budge. Denise reaches into her raincoat pocket and takes out a small plastic bag. "Liver biscotti, I kid you not. This is a little trick I discovered: I can make him do something he doesn't want to do if I give him a treat."
"Brilliant," says Henry. "You should write a paper on that." He shortens the leash and gives a yank in the manner he's seen executed by authoritative dog walkers. Albert Einstein slinks forward, whimpering. Henry leads him to a spot outside the bathroom. "Sit. It's okay, boy. Denise? Say something so your dog knows you didn't disappear."
"I'm right here, Albie," she sings out. "That's Mommy peeing."
He returns to the dining room to find Todd's mother sniffling into a tissue.
"She didn't know I was taken away at four," says Thalia. "She feels terrible about the lost years. Well, actually, we've moved on from tears of sorrow to tears of joy, based on our being reunited. Is that an accurate summary?" she asks Lillian.
Lillian nods.
"Was that who we think it was?" Todd asks.
"Correct. Just happened to be in the neighborhood and wanted me to meet her new dog." On cue, Albert Einstein releases a plaintive whine from the hallway.
Thalia says, "Will everyone excuse me?"
"You're not leaving, are you?" asks Todd.
"Of course not. I want to see the dog."
"Can we all stay put?" says Henry. "Denise is just here for a minute, and letting herself out."
"Is this the woman you used to be married to?" asks Lillian. "The one we were just discussing?"
"They're friends now, sort of," says Todd.
"I brought it on myself," says Henry. "Her husband died recently, and I wrote her a note."
The toilet flushes and water runs. The table goes silent, waiting for the final sound effect of the front door closing. Instead, it is the sound of six feet padding in their direction and the appearance of Denise and Albert Einstein in the doorway. "Hello, Todd," she says coolly. "Hello, Thalia. I'm not joining you. I was walking my dog. Pardon my scrubs."
Todd says, "Lillian Weinreb, Denise Krouch—"
"The aforementioned mother," says Thalia.
Denise is glancing at the sideboard where a platter of scrambled eggs is warming. "Henry, I swear. Is that the Salton Hot Tray we got as a wedding gift? It's held up this long?"
Henry feels it is necessary—after all, what does Lillian know of him and his manners?—to ask Denise if she'd like some eggs.
"I know when I'm crashing a party," she says, "and besides, there's a little food issue with Albert Einstein."
"He's skinny as a rail," says Lillian.
"No! He's a great eater. It's just that he thinks all food in sight is his because when you're raised at a dog track you don't know there's such a thing as people food. If he can reach it, he'll eat it. I'm working on that." She turns to Einstein and commands, "Sit. This is not for you," as she pulls out an empty chair next to Thalia.
"It looks like I'll be getting you a plate," says Henry.
"I'll get it," says Thalia. "C'mon, boy. I'll get you some water."
"One of the blue cereal bowls," Henry instructs. "Not the china."
"For the dog, that is," adds Todd.
"Come, boy," says Thalia. "It's okay," then adds with a wry smile, "I'm your sister, Thalia. We should talk."
Albert Einstein lets Thalia lead him out of the dining room, but not without backward glances of anxiety and longing.
"Finally," Denise says, "true love. That's what makes all the work worth it. Would you believe he'd never climbed stairs before I got him? I had to teach him, one foot at a time. Which is why Henry's front steps make such a great destination."
"He's not drinking," Thalia yells from the kitchen. "Is there some trick?"
"He's waiting for you to drink first," Denise answers. "Just lean over and pretend you're lapping some up." To her tablemates she explains, "He's so not an alpha dog. The vet told me to do that."
"Quite an adjustment," Todd says.
"I was lonely," Denise says. "I wanted companionship." She shrugs. "I hesitated because I know it's a huge responsibility, especially now with my job." She waits.
"What do you do?" asks Lillian.
"I work at Stribling on Madison. They're letting me take him into work for the first few weeks because I explained to everyone that he's never been alone, ever—you know they're raised with hundreds of dogs around—and he could go berserk and jump out a window."
Todd says, "Ma, Denise is the one who engineered the match."
"Do you know Todd from Gracious Home?" Lillian asks Denise.
"From
my
gracious home. He attended a party I threw for my stepsons."
Thalia reenters the dining room, sets a place and a cup of coffee in front of her mother. "Was I at this party?" she asks.
"Of course you were!" her mother says. "It was to celebrate your stepbrothers being elevated to full partners. You came in rags, and we had words about your outfit."
"
Her
version of rags," says Thalia.
Todd says, "Details, please."
"I remember distinctly," says Denise. "The seams weren't finished. It looked like it was inside out. And frayed."
"I still have it. I'll show you. Made in Italy. Silk. Dark chocolate. She's prejudiced because I got it at Daffy's for twenty-nine ninety-nine."
"I can't do anything right," Denise tells Lillian. "Ask the judge and jury. It's one reason I got Albert Einstein: unconditional love." She takes her plate to the sideboard and serves herself a tablespoon of eggs, one sausage, and four berries from the fruit salad.
Albert Einstein returns, his neon green leash trailing along behind him. "It's okay," says Denise. "Show them how good I am at being a dog owner. Sit with Mummy."
Albert Einstein's big mouth opens to bare all of his teeth. "That's his smile," says Denise. "Isn't it amazing? Greyhounds smile!"
"He's in love," says Todd.
Denise spreads her napkin over her lap with a flourish. "He never leaves my side, and that includes sleeping with me. Nirvana, he thinks! But let's not go there. I shouldn't bring up my big empty widow's bed."
"How'd you come up with Albert Einstein for a name?" Thalia asks.
"His racing name was Kill Bill. I wanted something from the opposite end of the spectrum."
Thalia tells Lillian, "
Kill Bill
was the name of a movie, starring Uma Thurman, and—little-known fact—she cowrote it."
"My daughter's an actress," says Denise.
"Todd told me," says Lillian.
"And she's dating a fellow actor." Denise pauses. "Whose picture appears in gossip columns every day. It makes for interesting breakfast reading."
"Would I recognize the name of your actor?" asks Lillian.
"Leif Dumont," says Thalia. "Like Leif Erikson."
"An actor," says Lillian. "I find that so exciting. What am I saying?
Two
actors."
Denise is shaking her head.
"You don't find it exciting?"
"Something's fishy," says Denise. "When your daughter's romance is taking place on the pages of newspapers, it doesn't feel real. Why, for instance, isn't he here today?"
"We invited him, of course," says Henry.
"But he's out of town. He's shooting a movie in—" Thalia snaps her fingers. "What town did I tell you guys?"
"Gettysburg, Pennsylvania," says Todd.
"A Civil War epic," says Henry.
"Are you going to be in it?" asks Lillian.
"He asked me, but I said no. I'd always have to prove that I got the part on my own merit, and not because of the casting couch."
"A figure of speech," says Henry.
"Are there any roles for women in a Civil War movie?" asks Lillian.
"Scarlett, Melanie, Mrs. O'Hara," says Thalia.
"Suellen O'Hara," says Todd. "But weren't you up for the role of Clara Barton, Civil War nurse and founder of the American Red Cross?"
"So true," says Thalia.
"Who got it?" Lillian asks.
"I can't answer that. One of our understandings, Leif's and mine, is that we don't talk about his casting decisions."
"Very smart," says Todd.
"Although I did carry on a bit when he pulled that Clara Bunyon rug out from under me. She was always one of my childhood heroines."
"Barton," says Henry. "Rhymes with
carton
"
"Was that on purpose?" Denise asks. "What?"
"Carton," Denise repeats. "As in Krouch and Sons Cartons?"
"Completely inadvertent," says Henry.
"Denise's late husband owned a box company," Todd explains.
"Widowhood." Denise sighs in the direction of Lillian, whose wedding and engagement rings also rest forlornly on the fourth finger of her right hand. "One day I was married with no end in sight, and the next day—gone. Everything, and I mean
everything.
Which reminds me, Henry—I haven't heard from your lawyer friend Mr. Quirke."
Henry says quietly, "I'll give him a prod."
Denise blots her mouth, then says, "Albie? Should we hit the road and let the party pick up where it left off?" Albert Einstein scrambles to his feet. "Very nice to meet you, Lillian. Todd, nice to see you. Thalia: Anytime you're ready. Henry, would you see me out?"
At the door Denise says, "I am a woman without a country. Except for you, I have no one to talk to. I would appreciate it if you could help me smooth things over with Thalia. 'Civil War epic!' I recognize bullshit when I hear it. And I recognize the game you're playing:
Let's gang up on Denise.
"
"Thalia is a grown woman, Denise. I can't tell her how to feel about her mother."
Denise takes a step closer and grips his shoulders. "I'm desperate," she whispers. "I can't even say for what—family, my old life, my rotten husband. But I need someone at my side."
Henry does not want Denise's hands on his shoulders or this close-up of her smudged eyes and rouged cheekbones. "It's going to be okay," he tries, backing up a step.
"How do you know?"
"Maybe. I'm not sure ... If George could do a little something with the pre-nup? I'd have to talk to him first."
"Do something? Like what? A loophole?"
"Not a loophole," he says. "Look into case law. Possibly find a precedent where the burning of a document proves intent..."
Now it is worse: Denise lunges to wrap her arms around his neck and to place a wet kiss on his lips. Albert Einstein growls. "Denise—" Henry protests.
"Was that so terrible?" she asks.