The Family Man (11 page)

17. Thank You for Joining the Boys Tonight

A
T GRACIOUS HOME,
Henry watches as Todd waits on a tall young woman in workout clothes whose navel is exposed and whose emerald-cut diamond engagement ring is colossal. From her backpack she brings forth a tablecloth depicting scenes that might be Colonial Williamsburg or Plimoth Plantation. Todd, at the register, asks her where she acquired this piece of homespun Americana.

"At one of my bridal showers."

"From anyone you'd ever invite to dinner?"

"My fiancé's mother."

"You poor child," clucks Todd.

"She's okay," says the future bride unhappily. She slides the tablecloth across to Todd. "It's a family heirloom."

"Are you thinking table runners to disguise it?"

"I was just thinking napkins. I have a gift certificate."

Frowning, Todd runs his right hand across the surface. "This kind of thing usually came with matching napkins."

"It did. I have seven. She said the others were either lost or stained."

"Seven's plenty! You're just having the in-laws, right?"

"I think I have to use it for Thanksgiving." She points to the artwork: Indians. Corn. Stockades. "So I'll need a total of ten. Eleven if my sister brings someone."

"You know what I'd do, hon? See what you get for wedding presents and what you still need, then come back with your gift certificate and ask for me, Todd. As for filling in with napkins? I'd go kitschy, paper, Thanksgiving-themed, and I'd find some really awful retro salt and pepper shakers on eBay, turkeys or Pilgrims. You've got time. And next year? Tell this mother-in-law that the dry cleaner lost the tablecloth. Believe me, she hates it, too. She couldn't wait for her son to get engaged so she could dump it on his unsuspecting bride."

From the sidelines, Henry adds, "Besides, she should have Thanksgiving at
her
house next year."

"You're right," says the customer. "I'm not doing it two years in a row. I hate Thanksgiving."

Todd folds the tablecloth into an expert rectangle, wraps it in tissue paper, and slips it into a Gracious Home bag. "It'll be fine," he says. "Big platters covering the settlers. A gravy boat, a centerpiece. Now give me a hug. When's the wedding?"

"June ninth."

"Lots of luck. You'll be a gorgeous bride." He takes an appraising step backward. "Vera?"

"Vera," she confirms.

"And tell your intended that I said he's a lucky guy, unless he's the jealous type. In which case, tell him I was
not
flirting."

She says she
will
tell Patrick, but won't hug due to still being sweaty from her Pilates. Halfway up the escalator she blows several kisses.

"I didn't want to get you in trouble, socializing at work," Henry tells Todd.

"Are you kidding? Me? Mr. Retail? Mr. Sell-Ice-to-the-Eskimos?"

"Low to no pressure, I noticed."

"That's my secret: If they see you're not pushy, they trust you. And if they want something we don't have, I tell them who carries their miserable little item." He smiles his best retail smile and says, "And what may I help you with this morning, sir?"

Henry and Thalia walk together down Columbus to West 64th at an hour and a location designed to overlap neatly with the end of Todd's workday. Trying not to hover or interrogate, Henry hasn't seen Thalia since her post-midnight departure for the East Village three nights earlier. He's pleased that she has dressed up tonight—a long skirt, hippie-ish, and a lavender twinset that was Williebelle's. It is, she tells him, in recognition of her second-to-last night of anonymity and fashion freedom.

"Saturday night," he confirms. "Do you know the particulars?"

"Absolutely: Dinner first. Very fancy. Per Se. Then we go clubbing. We dance. We fall in love. We get noticed. All plants, of course. There's no turning back or getting sick or chickening out because it's already in the pipeline."

"In its own way, it's fascinating," says Henry. "For me, a crash course in celebrity journalism."

"Me, too," says Thalia.

"Not a word to Todd, though. Do we agree?"

They walk a half block in silence before Thalia says, "I'm not big on impulse control."

"So I've noticed."

"Philip, you mean?"

"Is that anything we have to worry about? In terms of nondisclosure?"

She smiles. "I'd say no."

"Did you speak to him at his club?"

"I went. I stood back. I waved." She demonstrates, just barely a raised palm. "He knew what it meant that I came."

"But you didn't exchange any words?"

"As in 'talk'? Actually not. But that was fine. It was"—she makes a complete stop to study a gauzy, ruffled dress of pale yellow in a shop window—"what you might call a meaningful exchange of smiles." She walks to the far edge of the window. "Can you see the buttons on the back? They're red! Isn't that great? Would you have thought
red
on a yellow dress?"

"Never in a million years," says Henry.

"Am I stereotyping? Because I wouldn't have asked a straight guy a question about buttons."

"If you are, I don't mind." They continue south, Henry mindful of the nineteenth-century father-and-daughterliness of their stroll. He hopes onlookers are noticing, further hopes he will run into acquaintances, setting in motion introductions. He adds, "Buttons, color, fashions—all very safe topics with Todd. In fact I can picture him soliloquizing about crimson buttons. Or maybe that's the wrong word. Maybe I mean extemporizing. In very entertaining fashion."

"
Cannot
wait," says Thalia.

Todd is ten minutes late, apologizing and confiding that he ran home to shower and change for this most important night. He kisses Thalia on the knuckles and Henry on the lips, then straightens up to blink theatrically and ask, "Where the hell are we?"

Thalia laughs. Henry says, "The cheese cave. I asked for it when I made the reservation."

"It's a relationship test," Todd confides to Thalia. "Extreme
frontage
"

Henry says, "Too much?"

"Actually," says Todd, "I might love it here." He pulls out the chair next to Henry's, spreads his napkin across his knees, then surveys the walls. "It's like a cheese version of the candy house in
Hansel and Gretel.
Don't you just want to reach over and break off a piece of Wisconsin cheddar?" Immediately he turns back and says, "So, Thalia! Thank you for joining the boys tonight."

"It was my idea. He was worried it was too soon to inflict his daughter on you."

Todd bites his lower lip. "I
am
quite reserved. And bashful. Henry probably told you that."

"Apparently," says Henry, "there's a chemical in cheese that brings out his uninhibited side."

Thalia looks at Henry. "Well, well, well," she says.

"What?"

"Apparently someone else is less reserved around ... someone else."

Todd says, "I'm taking that to mean he's not always talk-showhost material. I'm also taking it as a compliment."

A waiter enters the room, clasps his hands operatically, and delivers the cheese cave orientation. As soon as he's set the menus before them, Thalia says, "It's not that Henry isn't entertaining. It's just that his other sterling qualities are more obvious."

"Such as?" Todd asks.

She counts on her fingers. "He's very kind, very open-minded, very generous. He's an excellent audience—which is high on my list. Very hospitable. Very thoughtful."

"Enough," says Henry. "I'm here. No need for the testimonials."

"I think you should let this flow uninterrupted," says Todd, with a full swivel in Thalia's direction. "Is that a vintage twinset?"

"It is. Yet new to my collection."

"Let's get some wine and let's make some decisions," Henry says.

Todd winks at Thalia and opens his menu. "Hmmm. This sounds delicious, doesn't it: cheese
du jour à la cave odeureuse.
"

"Where?" says Thalia.

"He made that up," Henry tells her.

"Are you funny at work?" she asks Todd.

"I would be if place mats and napkin rings lent themselves to jokes."

"They do," says Henry.

Todd passes the breadbasket to Thalia, noting that Gracious Home carries this very line of damask in which the rolls are swathed. "Henry happened to observe me in action: A woman brought in an heirloom shmatte tablecloth, and I had a little fun with her. Which can only happen if you've read the customer right. It's a waste of my time to make jokes with a stiff."

"I know exactly what you mean," says Thalia. "And don't you find that you recognize almost immediately—from a look, a twinkle in their eye—how far you can take it? My high school drama coach used to say, 'It's not just acting. It's reacting,' because some of the kids would say their lines and just stand there expressionless until it was their turn again." Immediately she demonstrates the slackest, most high-schoolesque glazed eye a director would ever call for. "That's when I leave it at hello, goodbye, and thank you."

"When Henry told me you're an actress, I was thrilled," says Todd.

"Did he tell you about my day job? Well, my day job until today, anyway. Coat-check lass at Salon Gerard? On West Fifty-seventh?"

"Not laid off, I hope?"

Thalia looks up from her menu, a silent consultation with Henry. "Not laid off"," she says firmly.

"With something else lined up?"

When neither Thalia nor Henry answers and they appear to be sending signals across the table, Todd says, "It's okay. I get it. No shame in that."

"In what?" Thalia asks.

"Stepdad underwriting sabbatical? Isn't that what I'm reading?" Henry sees Thalia's eager, confessional face and shakes his head.

"C'mon," says Thalia. "It'll be fun to tell him."

Henry knows she is right. What they have to report is Hollywood chatter of a very high order. But he is her lawyer and Todd is a near-stranger—

Thalia says, "I know you're torn. I'll take full responsibility. You weren't present when I spilled the beans, okay? How's that?"

"Not good if you're lying under oath."

"I'm dying here," says Todd, just as the waiter returns and recites the night's featured dishes. They order in one fell swoop: three Cosmos, three of the special salads, two halibuts, one organic chicken breast, a California white, the six-selection cheese course, and a chocolate soufflé that requires advance notice.

As soon as they are alone again, Todd raises his right hand. "If this were a bookstore, or a synagogue, or my born-again coworker Sharon's apartment, I'd have my left hand on a Bible." He asks if Henry would like to have a word with Thalia in private, because he'll be happy to visit the men's room. Will a few minutes be enough time?

"Thank you," Henry says.

But Thalia says, "I don't think that's necessary, do you? He's sworn not to tell a living soul."

"The courts take these agreements very seriously, Thalia." He turns to Todd. "Thalia has signed a confidentiality agreement, which, I've noticed, she is compelled to violate once a day. Nothing that we say here can be repeated, ever. It would mean not only the end of the agreement, but of her career."

"So-called career," says Thalia.

"I think I
will
excuse myself," Todd says.

Henry says that might be very helpful. Todd leaves the cave, but not before flashing a V sign back toward Thalia. Henry waits, takes a sip of water, checks the door. "What's the hurry?" he pleads. "There's so much time! If Todd should see a headline or a photo he can ask me what's going on and I can say, 'It's not what it appears. Ask me again in six months.'"

Thalia touches Henry's closest hand. "You're worried about the relationship not lasting, but I'm not. He's a keeper." And with a flourish to an invisible master of ceremonies she says grandly, "Please bring him back in."

Todd is ecstatic. He says it'll be like presidential letters, unopened until ten or fifty years after his death. What about clothes for this gig? What about her apartment? Is anyone styling it? What an opportunity! And down the road? Any chance that this Leif Dumont could grow on Thalia? Because that would be the real fairy-tale romance. You're hired, purely business, and you fall in love!

"Starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere, thank you," says Thalia.

"Not possible?"

Henry says, "He's a very odd duck. There's nothing obviously appealing about him."

Thalia says, "He was sick the day we had the meeting at the Waldorf."

"Intelligent?" Todd asks.

"Hard to tell," says Thalia. "Too strange—"

"And socially awkward," Henry adds. "Even Aspergian."

"How's he going to fare in the limelight?" Todd asks.

Henry says, "That's where Thalia comes in."

Thalia strikes a pose that is all head, shoulders, and red carpet.

"Wardrobe?" Todd asks.

"On its way, they tell me."

"And her grandmother's hand-me-downs," says Henry.

Thalia says, "Henry? I forget: Did Williebelle know me?"

"She met you. Certainly. And of course she was at the wedding."

"I was the flower girl," Thalia tells Todd.

"Is there a video?" he asks.

Henry shakes his head. "Denise was widowed. It didn't seem ... seemly."

Thalia hoots, "Ha! 'Seemly.' Who thought that? Not the bride, I bet."

Todd says, "Can we get back to Leif Dumont? What has he done, and why would the paparazzi care where he's clubbing and with whom?"

"
Scar Tissue?
" Thalia offers. "
Frantic? Torso Motel?
"

"Produced, directed, and starred in," Henry explains.

"
Land of Louie
launched him, sort of," adds Thalia. "The TV show? He played the upstairs neighbor that everyone ran away from."

"Hence the PR problem," says Henry.

"I assume money is changing hands for this romantic undertaking?" Todd asks.

"
Mais oui,
" says Thalia. "And my lawyer here negotiated a few nice perks that have to do with career expansion after Leif publicly breaks my heart."