Almost Like Being in Love (34 page)

BOOK: Almost Like Being in Love
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151 STATE STREET

ALBANY, NEW YORK 12207

June 9, 1998

VIA FACSIMILE

Craig S. McKenna, Esq.

McKenna & Webb

118 Congress Park, Suite 407

Saratoga Springs, New York 12866

Dear Craig:

Per our telephone conference, I’m enclosing a generic campaign schedule for your review. Regarding your responsibilities as state assemblyman, they essentially break down as follows: Drive to Albany, write a bill, kill a bill, go home. If I were you, I wouldn’t quit my day job.

Please don’t feel pressured to make a quick decision. As I said, we don’t need your answer until Monday, so take your time. As long as you say yes.

Best,

Wayne Duvall

PARTIAL CAMPAIGN SCHEDULE—CRAIG McKENNA

Summer/Fall 1998

July 19.
Junior League All-Star game at Ballston Spa—Craig McKenna, plate umpire. (Wear a cup.)

July 28
. Hadassah Luncheon, Glens Falls. 'Don’t eat for two days prior. When these women feed you, they don’t fuck around.( Speech should stress health care reform for seniors, with emphasis on your victory in
Brunswick vs. County
.

August 5.
Lambda Legal Defense Dinner, Waterford. This’ll be a Q

and A about the rocky road leading to a marriage bill. Show them it can happen: bring Clayton.

August 19
. Black Tie Ball for PFLAG, Albany. They’ve asked you to be the keynote speaker, so you’ll hit them with your verdict in
LaFontaine
vs. Clifton Park Unified School District
and outline a five-point program to keep the classroom safe for kids. 'Note: You’re expected to lead the first dance with one of the mothers, so if you don’t know how to waltz, learn.)

August 30
. AIDS Telethon, Saratoga Springs. You’ll staff the phones and look cute.

September 11–13
. Rainbow Coalition Liberty Weekend, Round Lake.

You have an arsenal here, and they’re all in your corner. (Why not? At one time or another, you’ve represented at least half of them.( You’re chairing three civil rights seminars based on your verdicts in
Eller vs.

State of New York
,
Hack vs. Richmond
, and
Senet vs. Nixon
, so pace yourself. Popularity’s a bitch.

September 26
. Autumn Carnival, Mechanicsville. This one’s a two-parter. During the day you’ll hand out goodie bags to the kids and read Winnie the Pooh stories dressed as Eeyore. In the evening, you’ll meet with the Saratoga County Children’s Rights Commission and use your victory in Wilcox vs. Roe as a foundation for another of your well-known five-point programs.

October 9
. Sixth-Grade Debate, Galway Middle School. You’ll be pitted against their most ferocious 11-year-olds, so watch your ass. If you can hold your own with these brats, Trent Lott should be a cakewalk.

October 31
. Halloween Fright Night, Corinth Junior High. (Before I tell you about your costume, I’ll need to prep you first.(

Noah Kessler

6026 Foxhound Run

Saratoga Springs, New York 12866

June 9, 1998

ATTORNEY-CLIENT COMMUNICATION

Craig McKenna

McKenna & Webb

118 Congress Park, Suite 407

Saratoga Springs, New York 12866

Dear Craig,

Eeyore? They want you to dress up like Eeyore? You better say no.

Because if you don’t, I’ll go there myself with a camera and take pictures and then you’ll have to give me money for the rest of my life so I won’t show them to anybody. I mean it.

Craig this is bullshit. The AIDS part works and the Rainbow part and the marrying Clayton part and the old lady part, but what about kids?

Just because you get to debate a couple of sixth graders with dorky hair? Big deal. You need to get in classrooms and talk to us so you can find out the important things for real. How come they won’t let you?

Just because we can’t vote yet? How skanky is that?

I’m not happy about this. Tell Wayne Duvall to have better ideas and then get back to me.

Noah

P.S. Dad says the hearing is this Friday but I can’t come. But I know where the court is and I have a bike. So watch out. Did anybody think about just yelling at the judge? Because if you’re afraid to, I can do it.

Even if it means the biggest time-out in my life.

MCKENNA & WEBB

A LAW PARTNERSHIP

118 CONGRESS PARK, SUITE 407

SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK 12866

MEMORANDUM

TO
: Craig

FROM
: Charleen

DATE
: June 9, 1998

SUBJECT
: Camelot—the Sequel

Just read through Wayne’s campaign schedule. Nice “generic” plan.

What happens when they get specific?

We’ll need to take on another partner to cover your caseload. Kevin recommended the alliterative David DeDios, an up-and-coming civil liberties advocate at Matz & Phillips, whose qualifications include

“dreamy Filipino eyes, iron quads, and glutes for days.” They met at the gym. In the steamroom. Already this is way too much information.

We might as well give Costanzo what he wants and calendar the Kessler hearing for Friday. 'It’s not like we have a prayer anyway.) I finished my half of the petition while I was under the hair dryer, so stop playing Joan of Arc left to burn alone on the pyre. I can’t help it if I’m old-fashioned. Jody doesn’t get to second base until I’ve been tinted.

I’m not taking any chances.

Incidentally, this isn’t for general release yet, but he’s quitting the Blue Sox in September and moving back to the Springs. That way he gets to see Noah every day, whether he has custody or not. So there’s half of Costanzo’s argument shot to shit. As to the other portion, it’s not exactly as if Jody’s a pauper. He may only net $32,000 this year, but he still wants to take me to Bermuda. Sigh.

Guenevere

P.S. Not to put too fine a point on it, but when exactly were you planning to share the news of your candidacy with that naked man who lives with you? Any time soon? Or do you intend that he find out about it in the voting booth?

P.S. 2. While I was retrieving the
Kessler
pleading clip from your office, I couldn’t help noticing the large orange Post-it on your desk—the one that had “TravisTravisTravisTravisTravisTravisTravisTravisTravis TravisTravis” scribbled all over it. It reminded me of your freshman notebook at Harvard. But you’ll notice I’m not asking any questions.

MCKENNA & WEBB

A LAW PARTNERSHIP

118 CONGRESS PARK, SUITE 407

SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK 12866

MEMORANDUM

TO
: Guenevere

FROM
: Craig

DATE
: June 9, 1998

SUBJECT
: Trying to Keep a Secret Around This Place You and our boy toy really need to order up a couple of 1912 hen hats so you can cluck to your hearts’ content. Pickalittle, talkalittle, cheep, cheep, cheep.

Yes, Virginia. In an effort to twist-tie my life even more convincingly, I may find myself with a mild Travis crisis on my hands. Aunt Sheba at the front desk has all the dirt. I was afraid to tell you because I knew you’d kill me.

I’m attaching a letter from Noah, which I just faxed to the Democrats.

They’d better do as he says—I’ve just made him my campaign advisor.

Go ahead and double-dare me. Does it sound like I’m kidding? By the way, you’ll note that he intends to crash the courtroom on a six-speed Schwinn. One of us needs to remind him that he’s not too old to spank.

'Come to think of it, neither am I. But that’s a whole other arena that involves Clayton and a leather jockstrap, and we don’t need to go there.(

I finished my half of the petition before you did (smirk smirk), and K’s cite-checking it as we speak— unless, of course, he’s on the phone with “hunky Tim” at the travel agency, in which case we may end up with plane tickets to Brazil again. Therefore, if the East 68th Street Busybodies can spare me for a couple of hours, I have an errand I need to run.

Love,

Carolyn Appleby

P.S. I tried to tell Clayton last night. We were lying in a sleeping bag stripped to our butts, and he was licking my entire pectoral group.

Somehow the opportunity never presented itself. This isn’t something you discuss with a woody.

P.S. 2. Dave DeDios is one of the most honorable and hardworking civil rights attorneys in the state. He’s also a lot cuter than I am. Thanks for the memory. I’m not even cold yet.

P.S.3. By the way, don’t even think about playing Dainty June with me. Jody only has two guest bedrooms and yours was empty all Saturday night. I know. I peeked. Where did you sleep? On the porch?

In the hammock? Sorry, panel. Time’s up.

Craig McKenna

Attorney notes

 Attorney recognized that he had less than forty-eight hours to devise a fail-safe plan for convincing an obstinate judge to let a little boy live with the father he idolizes, when in fact the obstinate judge in question is far more likely to appear at bench in a lavender tutu and perform a medley of pirouettes from West Side Story than grant attorney’s petition.

 Attorney recognized that he had less than six days to decide whether or not to run for public office, which would entail—among other things—getting a haircut, ordering new stationery, and reinventing his entire life.

 Attorney recognized that the beaches of Normandy on D-plus-3 couldn’t hold a candle to what his living room was going to look like after his sig oth found out about Eeyore and other related events.

 Attorney recognized that he might shortly be staring into the eyes of the only boy who’d ever made him smile in his sleep—and that the butterflies in his stomach were about something other than fear.

 Attorney recognized that, without Prozac, he was about to turn into the China Syndrome.

 Attorney fled.

I changed into my
Chorus Line
T-shirt and jeans in the men’s room, bought some chocolate chip cookies at the newsstand downstairs, then popped the top on the Miata and headed south. It was the only journey I’d taken by myself in twelve years and one of the few things I’ve ever done without running it by Clayton first.

By the time I hit the Taconic Parkway, I’d already figured out where I was going, but I wasn’t quite ready to admit it to myself yet. Instead, I flipped on the radio (permanently programmed to WEEI) and winced for fifteen minutes while my Red Sox gave up six runs to the Cleveland Fucking Indians. (Groan.) It reminded me of the time that Clayton and Jody and Noah and I had driven to Iowa so we could all play ball at Field of Dreams, and I’d blurted out one of my traditionally pious invocations to Fenway Park in front of our little pipsqueak. I should have known better. It always exasperates him when I do that.


Craig, you need to get a life,‛ he insisted from the backseat. ‚They haven’t
won anything since 1918!‛

‚You gotta believe,‛ I cautioned him wisely.

‚Says who?‛ he shrieked.

Chatham came and went and so did a brief Sox rally in the second, which ended on a triple play (the ugly kind that only happens to the Red Sox). During the inning break, I learned that the Dodgers had just paid $24 million for a utility infielder who was still on the disabled list, that the doubleheader at 3-Com Stadium (formerly Candlestick Park) had been rained out, and that the National League was considering adopting the designated hitter rule.
Travis would have had a field day
with this. We’d have been sitting on my bed listening to the radio and his
ears would have gotten redder and redder. Then all of a sudden they’d have
blown off altogether.

‚What idiot dreamed up ‘3-Com Stadium’?‛ he’d have yelped. ‚Know what
comes next? ‘IBM’s Disposa-Dome’—the world’s first disposable ballpark!

When the game’s over, just toss it! And why not a designated pitcher too?

That way even dead guys like Cy Young could win their next eight starts!

Craigy, who are these people?‛ Meanwhile, I’d have been rolling across the
floor with tears streaming down my face—partly because he could always
figure out how to make me laugh and partly because I’d know that this
entire performance was for my benefit.

Travis, why haven’t you called me yet?

The Saw Mill River Parkway hadn’t changed much in twenty years and neither had the Beckley Quad. Risking at least two demerits, I parked the Miata in a red zone directly in front of the granite-and-sandstone portico I’d once known as Wellwood Hall, then glanced up reflexively at the pair of gargoyles I’d last mocked in 1978. Yep. They still look like Helen Hayes. For that matter, so much of the Dickensian campus had remained untouched, I half-expected Mr. Naylor to come charging out of the ivy-clogged gateway to the English department, grab me by the collar, and begin cramming Ivanhoe up my ass again. The single indication that time had indeed managed to advance at least a day and a half was the lone junior with sandy hair and a calculus text, head down and lost in cosine hell as he absently ambled across the grass toward the dorms. Though he barely took notice of me, I could tell exactly what he was thinking: “
Sheesh. More alumni. I hope I never get
that old
.” But it didn’t matter. I had an agenda to keep—and Travis was with me every step of the way.

My Room

With the light streaming in through the tiny window and hitting the same faded patch of gray linoleum, I could have sworn I’d just won back my adolescence: the bed was exactly where it had always been and the radiator still hadn’t been painted. All that was missing was Travis, the chocolate chip cookies, Travis, King Lear, Travis, “ubiquitous,” Travis, the Grateful Dead, and Travis. 'This is where he said “I love you” for the first time.)

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