The Family Man (14 page)
T
HERE IS NO PRESS
loitering outside Henry's house, and Thalia's apartment is dark. The streetlamp allows him to see a long white florist's box leaning against her door. Shall he call her? No: too anxious, too custodial. But once inside his own door, conjuring the unknown quantity that is Leif—the sheer size of him and the sociopathy of his movies—Henry rings her cell.
"Can you talk?" he asks, as music thumps in the background.
"Sort of," she yells.
"I mean is Leif right there?"
"Leif? No. He didn't want to come."
"Come where?"
"To Trance. It's a club."
Henry knows it's a club, Philip's club. "So he just dropped you off and went home?"
"I can't hear you," she yells, then volunteers, "Philip gets off at two."
He thinks of what a mother might ask an unmarried daughter in this uncommitted city:
Are you chasing this boy? Shouldn't you let him make the first, second, and third moves?
Instead he says, "You know best. I'm here. Come for breakfast."
"Don't worry, you," she says.
He runs a deep bath, turns on the Jacuzzi jets, sinks in. Yo-Yo Ma and Emanuel Ax are playing Beethoven through the newly installed bathroom speakers. He closes his eyes and smiles. When was the last time he entertained a thought close to
Life is good?
Immediately, this unaccustomed peace concerns him. He searches his mind for anxieties that will protect and balance his good fortune. There's always Thalia's psychosexual judgment, which might not be as sound as it could be. There's Denise to worry about ... no,
worry
is too strong; Denise is a potential burden and pain in the ass. But then again, without her reentry there would be no Thalia at a parental crossroads. And most assuredly no Todd.
He runs more hot water. What about the promises he made to himself with respect to good deeds in early retirement? He should get going on the pro-bono work, on volunteering, on finding a legal clinic where the indigent need help with their tax returns. He leaves the tub and returns with the legal thriller he was reading in lonelier days. He'll buy smoked salmon when Zabar's opens, or find some frozen Belgian waffles he'll dress up with berries and whipped cream. Once again he thinks of Celeste. All of this would please her. Odd how an unusual number of blessings have rained down on him since he lost Celeste. Immediately, he chastises himself for the quasi-religious thought of fairy dust sprinkled by the dead. He thinks of Leif's box of flowers, unattended, and feels a twinge of pity for someone less fortunate than himself.
His landline rings at 9:00
A.M.,
and it's Todd asking jovially, "Do you want the good news or the bad news first—and relatively speaking, the bad news isn't half-bad."
"You choose."
"The good news is patently obvious: Lillian adores you. She adores me—no change there, except now she can sleep at night. There's the worry that you'll drop me for someone who has a swankier job, but she's not going to dwell on that. She's dying to see your house and meet Thalia, but I'm not supposed to tell you that. Of course I didn't say a word about Leif and the engagement plot. How did it go, by the way?"
"I don't know. We spoke for thirty seconds from the club where her deejay friend works."
"With or without Leif?"
"He was invited but declined. Not his scene. I'm sure she figures it's something like a last fling before the publicity blitz begins."
"Did she come home?"
"Can't say. I know her friend wasn't getting off work until two."
"Welcome to your new life—wondering if the kid made it home safely."
Henry says, "Not unwelcome, my new life."
"What's a decent hour to call down there?"
Henry laughs. "Now who's worrying about her safe return?"
Todd says, "You give me too much credit. It's the tittle-tattle I'm after." He reminds Henry that he hasn't heard the bad news yet, so here it is: Denise wants to throw them a cocktail party.
"Because?"
"Because she's thrilled that her matchmaking succeeded, and it would be a reason to reach out to some friends who aren't speaking to her."
"Did you tell her that widows should wait a year before they throw parties?"
"I didn't. But I did say, 'I don't think that's necessary. We can just have a quiet little get-together'—don't shoot me—'just the three of us.' That was my guilty conscience doing the inviting. If you don't want to come, that's fine. Although she did say she refuses to lose you as a friend after all those years of being estranged."
Henry says, "Or maybe we're in a contest for Thalia, and Denise wants to keep an eye on the competition."
"It could be both—she wants to win
and
she needs a friend. She said you were the nicest man she ever married."
"How kind of her to notice," says Henry.
Of course he would run into Sheri Abrams at the smoked fish counter at Zabar's. Without being asked, he volunteers that everything is great. The person he's seeing is named Todd. "You'd like him. I've met his mother."
Because Sheri appears unmoved, he elaborates. "And with Thalia living in my house, I recognize that I'm acting like a father. I have to think about things like,
Did she get home last night?
" Her blank reaction puzzles him, until he sees that his ex-shrink is sharing a shopping basket with a tweed-jacketed man who has the very fine white hair and pink scalp of the Mayflowered.
Henry offers his hand and states his name. The man looks to Sheri for what can only be permission to speak. She says, a warning, "Henry and I have a professional relationship."
"Not to worry," Henry says. "I'm an ex-patient now."
"It's always a tricky situation," says the man.
"How's that?"
"We share office space."
"You've seen his name next to the buzzer a million times: Axel Rice, marriage and family counseling." She traces the air between herself and her companion. "But this is a new development."
"And shopping for smoked fish together is tricky how?" Henry asks.
"I used to be married to another tenant," says Dr. Rice.
"Who not only has her dermatology practice in the building, but lives there," Sheri adds.
Henry can't help smiling. "And didn't I date her in high school?"
Sheri doesn't laugh. "You seem good," she allows. "Really good"
"I'm in love," he tells her.
There is still no word from downstairs by noon. He's set the table, read the entire Sunday
Times,
rewrapped and re-refrigerated the two varieties of smoked salmon. At 12:30 Thalia calls upstairs, groggily. "Let me jump in the shower, then I'll come up. Am I keeping you from anything?"
"Nope. I bought bagels at H and H this morning."
"Ten minutes," she says.
Just before one she lets herself in through the kitchen door, wrapped in the faded periwinkle robe, hair wet, her feet half into untied running shoes. She hands Henry the florist's box. "
Pour vous.
I only have one vase, and it's currently in use. Give these to your sweetheart."
"Or his mom."
"I sense progress," she says as she slumps onto the nearest stool. "Do tell."
"You first. Sesame, poppy, or sourdough?"
"Just coffee to start."
Over the hissing and frothing of milk he hears, "Checking coats wasn't such a terrible day job, was it? I was a relatively happy person when you met me, right?"
Henry asks, "That bad? Those talking points you mentioned?"
"At first. Then imagine this: Leif. Flirting." Thalia shudders, a full-body theatrical spasm. "His advisers must have told him to act seductive in public. Which Leif interpreted to mean, 'Give the waiter reason to run back to the kitchen and repeat what you blurt out over the
amuse-bouche.
'" She compliments the artistry of his smoked salmon arrangement. A magenta baby orchid tops the little haystack of thinly sliced red onion.
"Now I give you Leif's leading-man impression," she continues. She pushes her wet hair away from her face, twists and tightens it to suggest baldness, then says in a monotone, "'I found the panties you were looking for this morning, Thalia. They were buried under the covers, at the end of my bed.'"
"
What?
" Henry squeals.
Thalia continues lifelessly, "'They were my favorites. Pink. Can I keep them?'"
Henry says, "Even I could do better than that."
"I couldn't resist. I had to say, 'The pink transparent ones with the butterflies embroidered on the crotch?'"
He delivers a cup and goes back to fix his own. "How did that go over?"
"I swear the waiter gulped. He said, 'This is from our chef, a mini sashimi of fluke with pickled radish.' Leif asked if it contained mushrooms, then returned to the script. He said, 'I've cleaned out a drawer for you at my place.' So I felt compelled to say, 'No. Put them in the refrigerator. They're edible.'"
"This, too, in front of the waiter?"
"Of course! That was the point." She smiles over the rim of her coffee cup. "Most rewarding."
Henry says, "I never liked this arrangement. We should have asked for a trial period. Or at least dialogue approval. Wouldn't you think a trained actor would know how to carry on a conversation?"
Thalia is peering into the bag of bagels. "Too many years of playing monsters—and monsters without lines, don't forget."
Henry repeats, "Sesame, poppy, or sourdough? Let me do the cutting." Her cell phone vibrates on the granite, two low growls. "It's him," she says.
Her side of the conversation is short, businesslike. "My place," she says. She looks up at the microwave clock. "Two thirty's a little better. Do you have anything like a tape recorder...? Okay, bring that. Ciao."
"Philip?" Henry asks.
"Leif."
"Leif," Henry repeats. "In that case, you may want to take the flowers back. And also in that case, I'm completely stumped."
Thalia is discarding the fleshy inside of her bagel and dropping capers into the gullies. "It's my idea: Obviously Leif needs help, big-time—coaching, tutoring, rehearsing. We'll start with the dialogue. If necessary, I'll tap Sally Eames-Harlan—"
Henry is shaking his head.
"No? No Sally, or no tutoring?"
"No tutoring by you. Let Estime contract with Sally if he's so unpresentable and insufferable."
"Because it's extracurricular on my part? Not in my job description?"
Henry returns his bagel sandwich to his plate. "No. Because it's kinder in the long run to stick with the game plan."
"Because..."
"I think you know. Todd and I are quite sure that Leif already has a crush on you, or will develop one shortly. He could easily misconstrue these rehearsals as your wanting to spend more time with him."
Now Thalia is shaking her head strenuously and flapping her free hand. When she's swallowed her substantial first bite, she says, "No, wait. I left something out."
"He's gay," says Henry.
"Please. Has there ever been such an unattractive gay man? Wrong. The reason why I can testify that Leif does not and will not have a crush on me is this: He's in love. Deeply, madly, eternally."
"With whom?"
"I'm not supposed to say. Estime didn't want me to know, but when I told him I had a boyfriend—I know, a little premature, but a good move—he told me he had a serious girlfriend at home. I believe he even used the term
secret love.
"
"And why is this a secret if the whole mission is to make the world think he's the object of someone's affection?"
"My question exactly."
"And what did he say?"
"He said it has to be a secret for a while because it might be viewed as creepy. Or worse."
"Meaning the woman is creepy? He showed you a photo?"
"No, creepy as in—don't freak—the woman is a girl and she's still in high school."
That does it. Henry's fears now have a name, and he is filing a motion on Monday.
Thalia says, "Please note I said
creepy
rather than
criminal?
"What year in high school?"
Thalia winces. "Junior. But here's the silver lining: He managed to fall in love with the president of the Beverly Hills High School's Abstinence Club."
"I'm speechless," says Henry. "I don't know where to start. A teenage girl returns his affections? Is he deluded? Is she? Do they go on dates? And why, if it's all so kosher, does he need an elaborate series of faux engagements?"
"That part, the campaign, is separate. He needs to get his name or his mug out there to create an image of him as a normal guy. Then we do the math: He dates me for six months, then a hotter chick for six more. That equals one year, at which time—
voilá
—Caitlin will be legal."
"And she's going to wait for him on the sidelines while all this promotional nonsense plays out?"
"Leif said they have a secret pact, a pledge, a contract, whatever, and a year isn't so long. He did seem a little worried about being so far away. But I pointed out, even if she cheats on him, it'll be with a member of the Abstinence Club."
Henry is out of his seat, jabbing buttons on his cappuccino machine. "I still don't like it. And I don't like the thought of you alone with him downstairs, teaching him how to be a better flirt. You could be an accessory to a crime."
"First of all, I'm a big girl. Second of all, he swears she's a virgin. And third, aren't we a little happy for him? Isn't it a relief, cosmically speaking, that such a specimen could find true love in this cruel and superficial world?"
"We'll see," Henry grumbles. "I doubt it."
"It's all very wholesome. They met at a cheerleader competition. He was a celebrity judge and Caitlin watched
Land of Louie
in syndication."
"Does she have parents? Do you have her last name?"
"Eat your bagel," says Thalia.
23. Who Jumps to Such a Conclusion?
H
ENRY IS TOO POLITE
to turn his back on Denise indefinitely. This morning's voice mail—initially ignored from the treadmill across the room—begins with, "Guess who has a job? But that's all I'm telling. Don't call me for the details." A laugh. "How's that for reverse psychology?"
He makes it to the phone just in time. "Job?" he asks.
"You're there! Yes, a job—I'm in real estate! With Stribling."
"How is that possible?"
"You mean, how am I employed in real estate without any experience other than going to open houses for the fun of it?"
"Precisely."
"You know how these things happen—serendipity! Being in the market myself—well, if you can call my pitiful price range the market—I was meeting with an agent and she was apologizing for being late, distracted, phone interruptions, all of that. She said her assistant hadn't shown up for a week. I said, 'That's outrageous. I would never do that. I'd fire anyone who didn't show up for a week ... Are you hiring?' That was a Tuesday. I started Wednesday. I love it. I'm getting much better on the computer, and I'm learning very practical skills."
"Such as?"
"I make coffee for the visiting clients. And chai. Do you know what that is? We use instant. I make appointments, I change appointments, I clip our ads from the classifieds. I call the newspapers and yell if there are typographical errors, which I now call typos."
"Are you getting benefits?" Henry asks.
"Don't be a wet blanket! You're supposed to say, 'Congratulations! I knew you'd land on your feet.' No, there aren't any
benefit
-benefits, but I'm learning a lot, and if I combine my paycheck with my monthly allowance, and I sell my jewelry, I'll get by."
The last door Henry wanted to open is the one marked "legal adviser." But the phrase "I'll get by" prompts him to ask if she's consulted a matrimonial lawyer or just the attorneys in her social circle.
"I thought you'd never ask!"
"I'm a corporate lawyer, Denise. Pre-nups aren't my bailiwick."
"But you must have the right kind of lawyer in your firm. Who did your will?"
When Henry merely grunts, "George," and nothing more, she asks, "Are you still mad at me? I get bonus points for Todd, right? If my worst enemy fixed me up with a man I liked, and it developed into a relationship, all would be forgiven."
Henry says, "I should have thanked you before this. You did a good thing."
"He's crazy about you! And Thalia—everyone's favorite human being. How is your stepdaughter-slash-new tenant?"
Henry has prepared for this question. He says, "She's fine, working on her craft. Going to auditions. All those things that actress-hopefuls do."
"Do you think I should call and tell her about my job?"
"Up to you."
"I'm looking for a little guidance here, something in your voice that says she misses me. She feels sorry for me. She misses Glenn. She wants to get past whatever unforgivable thing she thinks I did. Do you know if she's going to be home tonight?"
"I don't know. She's out a lot. Happily, she has many irons in the fire."
"What kind of irons?"
"Work. Gigs."
"Does she have a boyfriend?"
Should he say
no
or should he say
several?
He is saved from fashioning an answer because her toast pops up. She says, "I'll call her today and I'm sure one of us will give you a report."
The phone rings within minutes. Denise, who must have just sat down with her toast and
Daily News,
shrieks in Henry's ear, "Ohmigod! Oh. My. God!"
"What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"You won't believe it! It's Thalia! I was leafing through it and I swear it's her. I almost had a heart attack."
"What page?" Henry asks.
"What page? Is that all you want to know? It's the gossip reporters, the married ones, Rush and Molloy, their page, with a big picture."
"Can you read me what it says?"
"It says, 'Horror helmer Leif Dumont haunting Gotham.'"
"What else?"
"It says under the picture, 'Boo, from nineties sitcom
Land of Louie,
above, with companion, makes a swift exit from chef Thomas Keller's Per Se.'"
"'Companion'? Not her name?"
"No name. She's getting into a limo ahead of him, and she's wearing a very low-cut dress,
very
low for her. If it isn't Thalia she has a bosomy twin."
"It
is
Thalia," he says. "I'm just surprised her name's not there."
"This guy, this Leif, looks like death warmed over. He's old and bald. Or maybe he's not bald. Or old. Maybe it's shaved. He doesn't look like her type at all. Why is she suddenly out on a date with someone who can afford to eat at Per Se?"
"He's an actor," Henry says. "She knows him through work. And he's not old. He's under forty."
"What kind of work? Are they on a project together?"
"Something like that."
He thinks he hears—please may he be wrong—Denise sniffling. "Are you crying over a silly photo?" he asks.
"I'm not crying over a silly photo. I'm crying over what it says to the world."
"Which is what? That she's dating a character actor?"
Denise spits out, "'Dating'! Look at her. The red dress, the big hair, the fuck-me shoes! Does the term
escort
not spring to mind?"
"You're hysterical," says Henry. "Your daughter is not an escort. I happen to know that this was a blind date and she's doing him a favor."
"A favor? A blind date? If I were going to run an escort service I'd
name
it 'Blind Date'! That's not what a mother wants to hear. If it's a real blind date, who fixed them up?"
"Sally Eames-Harlan," he says coolly.
"Why do you know so much? Does Thalia call you up and report on who she's met and where she's going? Because you're sounding as if you knew her picture was going to be in the paper."
"How does anyone know that?"
"Because who calmly asks, 'What page?' when someone hears his stepdaughter's picture is in the
Daily News?
You weren't thinking
gossip column.
You were thinking
police log
because you know what these gigs are. And why besides sloppy reporting isn't her name in there? Because she refused to give it. Don't you know the way the world works?"
"I'm dignifying none of this. You're insulting her and you're insulting me to suggest I'd sanction this, as if my gay moral fiber wouldn't even know right from wrong."
"Oh, please. I'm only saying find out something, anything, that proves this is a real blind date and not a trick."
Desperate to end the conversation, Henry barks, "Fine. I'll speak to her."
"And you'll get back to me? Because you're not so great at returning phone calls."
"Because we weren't on speaking terms for a while."
"And even though I pissed you off again, you'll still take a look at my pre-nup?"
"I'm sure there's nothing—"
"Can I bring it by? Or should we meet for lunch? Or I could cook dinner for you tonight. Veal saltimbocca. I never cook anymore. Or if that's too much too soon, you and Todd could take me out for a drink to celebrate my new career."
"I don't know. I have to recover from this. Maybe a drink next week. I'll check with Todd to see if and when he's free."
"And you'll get back to me? Was that the rest of the sentence? See how real estate is teaching me to be assertive?"
He walks to the nearest newsstand and buys three copies of the
Daily News.
There indeed on page twenty-two is Leif, convincingly projecting
C'mon, guys. Can't we celebs enjoy a little privacy?
As for Thalia, it is true: Photographed from above, bending forward to enter the limo, she is revealing an expanse of skin that misrepresents both her outfit and her principles. Does she know? Should he call?
When he turns the corner to his own block, he sees her ahead, dressed in powder pink running clothes, sitting on his front steps. "When you weren't home, I was hoping you had a sleepover," she calls to him.
"Sorry—just a trip to the newsstand." Seconds later he is at her side, the tabloids in a fat roll under his arm.
"What's with that?" she asks.
He peels off one of the copies and hands it to her. "Page twenty-two."
"
Moi?
"
He nods, one firm, joyless nod. Thalia flips the pages. "Oh, gawd. I'm all boobs. The goddamn photographer must have had his lens down my dress."
"At first I was upset, too," Henry says. "But on my second viewing, I realized that the eye of the reader is naturally drawn to this"—he points to the sequined mummy peeking out between Leif's lapels. "My larger concern, given the mission, is that you're identified only as Leif's companion."
"Thank the lord!" She rips the page out and crumples it. "All that styling and primping for one hideous photo. Not a good start," she says. "Let's hope no one recognizes me."
When he doesn't respond, Thalia says, "I detect a meaningful silence. Who saw this and tipped you off?"
A better liar might say "Todd" or "anyone" or "no one." But Henry answers truthfully, "Your mother."
"Unacceptable!" Todd cries. "Leif should fire that
farshtinkener
public relations firm. The whole point of this ... what does one call it?—charade!—is to get Thalia's name and face out there. Thalia. Archer. Actress. How hard is that? Who'd you call?"
It is Todd's lunch hour. They are sitting on a bench in Central Park, each holding half of a bulging pastrami sandwich.
"Two schools of thought here," Henry answers, carefully drawing a squiggle of mustard across his bread. "One is that Thalia was cheated because she wasn't identified, and the other, advanced by the subject herself, is that she's lucky she
wasn't
named."
"Did anyone call in a correction?" Todd persists.
"She doesn't want a correction."
"I don't get it. This is a nice juicy piece of gossip: 'We now know who was seen leaving Per Se with actor/director/producer Leif Dumont: actress Thalia Archer, whose credits include
The Devil Wears Prada.'
Look, it's right here: gatecrasher at daily news dot com. It's practically an invitation."
"Can't. I checked the contract. It assigns all publicity initiatives to Estime International."
"This is so not a publicity initiative! This is a citizen journalist who happened by the Time Warner Center as Leif Dumont was ducking into a limo with fan fave Thalia Archer. Besides, I don't think there's anything wrong with the photo. Granted, you can't see much of her face. And I know this fact may astonish you, but breasts sell newspapers." He opens his half of the sandwich, says, "Nice and lean. Good work." Then, "You know who's gonna love this and hate it at the same time?"
"Your mother?"
"Your ex! I bet she picks up the phone and calls Thalia, and poof, they're talking again."
"Not even close," says Henry.
With his mouth full, Todd gestures,
C'mon, out with it.
Henry recites, "Because of the word
companion,
because of the cleavage, because her date appeared to be an unattractive old guy throwing money around, because of the low-cut dress and cheap shoes, and mostly because Thalia's life and work are a mystery to her, our friend Denise has concluded that her only child is a woman of the night."
Todd's eyes widen above the sandwich, his mouth full. He speed-chews, then swallows with a theatrical gulp. "To which you replied...?"
"Is there any question what I said? I yelled, 'What is wrong with you that you'd think that your wonderful, smart, accomplished, talented daughter is, what? A paid escort culled from the Yellow Pages? This was a blind date with a fellow actor. Who jumps to such a conclusion about one's own daughter?'"
"A nut case! And mark my word, when her fetching daughter continues to be seen with"—he checks the headline—"'horror helmer Leif Dumont,' Denise will keep digging and squawking. I wouldn't put it past her to go to the press herself. Or call in the vice squad."
"So now what? Do I keep this to myself? Do I warn Thalia that her mother is advancing a slanderous theory?"
"The latter, definitely: Warn her. If I know Thalia, she'll find the whole cockamamie theory entertaining. And who knows? It could lead to a phone call, which could lead to a lunch, which could lead to Thalia confiding in Denise about signing a contract with Leif, which could lead to the end of the mother-daughter rift. Peace could be as close as one more teeny little breach of the confidentiality clause."
Henry says, "I don't want Denise on the team. Denise is not to be trusted. Whatever inane thoughts pass through her brain end up in a diatribe. Or a eulogy, for chrissakes. And I haven't even given you her whole critique."
Todd says, "I have exactly ten minutes before I have to be back at work, so start now."
Henry eats his last bite of sandwich so he can count on his fingers. "She thought the hair was too big. The dress wasn't Thalia. And before, when I said she called the silver sandals cheap? That was me being euphemistic because you helped pick them out. The actual descriptor was 'fuck-me shoes.'"
Todd sputters, "What's a girl supposed to be wearing with red chiffon? Spectator pumps? Did Fashion Plate Krouch say anything about the dress? Because it could
not
have been a better choice. And where did she get 'old guy'? Did you tell her that Leif Dumont is young enough to be her son?"
How lovely to have a thin-skinned champion in his corner. "I shall immediately," Henry says.
