Dorothy Parker Drank Here (25 page)

N
orah sat in her small office with the door closed, a worm of panic working its way through her system. What if Ted didn't show up? There were dozens of coworkers counting on this, not to mention millions of TV viewers. If it all blew up at the last minute, Norah would take the heat. She would have to—otherwise, everyone would blame Didi, and she simply couldn't let that happen.

Aviva and the Litton publicist had arrived almost an hour ago, buzzing with the energy of anticipation about the event. Norah had met them at the elevator and led them to the green room, where they continued their lively chatter, unconcerned about Ted's whereabouts. Aviva had assured her that Pete had gone to pick him up, and that they would arrive any minute.

At first, Norah was buoyed by her confidence. But after twenty minutes ticked by, she became anxious. At thirty minutes she was on edge. And now she was starting to hyperventilate.

Didi's assistant, Marco, knocked lightly on Norah's door and she looked up.

“Someone named Audrey Hudson arrived,” he said.

“Where is she?” Norah asked, realizing she should have left instructions to keep her away from Aviva.

“I took her to the green room.”

“Shit.”

“There a problem?”

“Never mind,” she said. “I'll take care of it.”

She dismissed Marco, and felt so overheated by stress she was starting to sweat. She pulled her blouse from her body to let in some air, but it did little to help. She headed to the green room.

“Any word?” she said, poking her head in the doorway. To her surprise, the atmosphere seemed convivial. There was no discernible strain between Aviva and the friend who had pulled a gun on her. Either all was forgiven or simply repressed. Perhaps the publicist had suggested a detente and set a cheerful tone. They seemed to have a genius for that.

“I heard from Pete,” Aviva said. “They stopped to eat.”

That didn't do much for Norah's nerves—time was too tight for a side trip. “Don't they know there's a whole spread here?” she asked.

“Apparently Ted was queasy. Pete wanted to grab a pretzel on the street, but Ted insisted on popping into a Chinese restaurant.”

“For egg foo yong?” Norah said.

“How did you know?”

Norah shrugged. She wasn't going to get into it. “They'd better get here soon or he won't have time to get into makeup.”

Norah looked up and saw Simon Janey down the hall, chatting with Kent, the network CEO. Simon was wearing his dark blue pinstriped suit—the one he usually saved for heads of state. His tie was red with a subtle white pattern that made it look pink on camera. It worked on him, but then, everything did.

Simon walked toward her with his usual long, heavy strides. He
could be brusque, especially just before airtime, but Norah knew that was focus and intensity, not rudeness.

“He's on his way, Simon,” she said, anticipating his question.

“It's getting late.”

She swallowed hard. Despite Aviva's assurance, she wouldn't be able to relax until he actually arrived. “We still have time.”

“Not much.”

Didi rounded the corner. “He's here!” she called. “They're on their way up.”

Relief. Norah's eyes watered spontaneously as the reality of her accomplishment threatened to overwhelm her. She coughed to cover the lapse.

“I'll greet,” she said, because meeting guests at the elevator was one of her usual duties.

“Wait up,” Didi said. “Simon, you need anything?”

He held up his question cards to show that he had it all under control, and Didi and Norah headed for the elevator banks. This was always the moment when the adrenaline started pumping and everything came into hyperfocus. But today it was heightened, like a crazy fever. The clock was ticking. The public was waiting. They would be going live very soon. This interview would save their jobs, and it would make history.

The twenty seconds it took for the elevator to arrive felt like precious time wasted. At last the soft ding heralded its arrival. But when the doors opened, Norah's blood seemed to stop flowing. Ted was bent over and leaning on Pete, who supported him.

“Lord have mercy,” Didi said.

“Is he drunk?” Norah asked.

“He's just feeling a little under the weather,” Pete said. “He'll be fine. Let's get him some water and a seat.”

They brought Ted into the makeup room and gave him a bottle of water with a straw.

“I'll be fine,” he said.

“Can I get you anything else?” Didi asked.

Ted shook his head.

“Sometimes the pain clobbers him hard,” Pete explained. “But it passes. It's probably a good thing that it's happening now. He'll be fine by airtime.”

“That's less than fifteen minutes from now,” said Norah.

“It's okay,” Pete said. “He's coming around.”

“Is that true, sugar?” Didi asked Ted. “Are you coming 'round?”

Ted lifted his face. His eyes were bloodshot and pained. “Coming around,” he said, and sat up straighter.

Kerri, the makeup artist, tucked a tissue into his collar and began applying foundation to his pale skin. She gently pushed his head to the left so she could get his ear, and his eyes rose to meet Norah's. She could tell he hadn't known she was in the room until that second, and his expression changed in a way she couldn't quite pinpoint. He looked sad but also something else. Was he contrite? Norah didn't think the great and belligerent Ted Shriver could actually feel remorse, but it was hard to assign another emotion to that expression. She pictured the way his face had looked the moment he threw the pages out the window, and it was as if this were a different man entirely.

“Norah,” he said from a place deep in his throat, and it made her nervous. She simply could not tolerate any tenderness from him after what he had done.

“I'll tell Simon we're almost ready,” she said, fleeing the room.

A few minutes later she was in the engineer's booth, watching Simon and Ted get miked, when Marco poked his head in.

“Someone wants to talk to you,” he said.

Norah stepped outside the booth to find Peter Salzberg waiting for her.

“What is it?” she said, and he stared at her eyes without saying a
word. Ted was already in the studio, so she couldn't imagine what this was about. Surely he wasn't backing out now. “Is everything okay?”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I just . . . I have to ask you a personal question.”

Norah sensed that it was something she did not want to hear. “I don't really have time,” she said, and started to walk away.

He grabbed her arm. “It's important.”

She closed her eyes for a moment to gather strength and to convince herself that it was probably nothing. “Fine, what is it?”

“Did your mother know Ted?”

She fell back against the wall. “Who told you that?”

“It's true, isn't it?”

Norah shook her head. She could not let her secret out. “No. I don't know what you're talking about.” She was breathing so hard she could barely speak.

“Was your mother's name April, by any chance?”

She didn't know where he got his information from, but he had traveled down the wrong path and she wasn't about to help him find the right one. “Sorry, no. You must have me confused with someone else,” she said, and walked off, but Pete called after her.

“Was it Sherry?” he said.

Norah stopped dead. She turned to face him.

“He dedicated a book to her,” Pete said.

“A book?”

“It's called
Genuine Lies
. I think there's a character based on her.”

Norah grabbed on to the wall. Her legs felt rubbery. “Does he . . . When did you . . .” She was so overwhelmed she couldn't find the right question to ask first.

“He didn't tell me it was you, Norah. But I saw the way he looked at you in the makeup room. It's true, isn't it? Ted Shriver is your father.”

N
orah didn't know where she was going. She only knew she had to get out of that studio as quickly as she could. She tramped through the streets of Manhattan, trying to sort through explosions of fury so powerful that she felt like she could lift pedestrians off the sidewalk and throw them out of her way.
How dare she! How dare she!
The words matched the cadence of her march as she found herself heading straight for the Algonquin Hotel.

When she entered the Blue Bar, she barely noticed that it was filled with dozens of patrons, enjoying evening cocktails. It didn't matter. Crowd or not, she was going to summon Dorothy Parker.

She was heading for the shelf that held the guest book when someone grabbed her arm. “You again,” he said. “If you had a change of heart, you're going to have to prove it to me, baby.”

She stared at him for a moment as she got her bearings. It was the man in the aviator glasses who had tried to buy her a drink and then called her that despicable word. He pointed to his cheek, as if he expected her to give him a kiss before he released her arm.

Norah took a careful breath. Her first instinct was to raise her knee so far into his groin it came out his mouth. Instead, she leaned
in until she was close enough to lick his ear, then whispered, “Don't fuck with me, Russell, or I will take those stupid glasses off your face and shove them up your—”

Russell released her and teetered back. Norah turned around and understood why. Dorothy Parker had materialized in the middle of the bar.

“What the hell?” Russell said.

“Norah, dear,” said Mrs. Parker, ignoring him, “you look like you could use a drink. Let's have a seat, shall we?”

Russell fell back onto his barstool as Norah glared at Dorothy Parker.

“Traitor,” she said through closed teeth.

“Come, dear, let's not make a scene in public.”

“And why not? After what you did!”

Customers started to turn around and look at them. A waiter rushed over. “Can I get you ladies a table?” he said.

Reluctantly, Norah let him lead them to a dark booth in the back.

“You're a monster,” Norah said as she slid into her seat.

“I hardly think so.”

“How
could
you!”

“I imagine you spoke to Teddy and that he told you I spilled the beans. Was it a joyous revelation?”

Norah narrowed her eyes. How could she find words in the face of such betrayal? “That wasn't your secret to tell.”

“It wasn't yours to keep.”

“I see,” Norah said, gripping the table as if the booth were too small to contain her fury. “You think he has a
right
to know.”

“Doesn't he?”

“His rights are not more important than
mine
.”

“Come now. Deep down, you wanted him to know.”

“That's not true!”

“Then why did you tell me?”

“Because I
trusted
you.”

Dorothy Parker let out a small laugh. “Oh, my dear, that simply isn't possible.”

Norah didn't want to cry. She wanted to scream or put her fist through something. But she knew there was no one left to hurt but herself. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing her mother's face, trying to find a way to convey how sorry she was.

She tried to recall the details of the day her mother had told her about Ted as they sat at the kitchen table. So much of it was so indistinct. Her most vivid memory—the one that wouldn't leave—was waking up that August morning after she had the vision of her mother coming to say good-bye. How long had she lain in bed, trying to convince herself that it had been a dream and that she would hear her mother's wheelchair rolling down the hall any minute?

When she rose at last, she had a decision to make—check on her mother first, or just pick up the phone and call her uncle? She stood outside her mother's closed door and knocked.

“Mom?” she had called, feeling foolish, for she knew there would be no answer. “Are you up?” She paused. “Are you dead?” She waited several minutes, and then pushed the door open a crack and saw her mother, blue and stiff, as dead as anything she had ever seen. Norah slammed the door shut, called her uncle, got dressed, and sat at the kitchen table, feeling like she was living in a strange space, on hold from reality.

Later, when her uncle told her, “There was nothing you could have done,” Norah nodded. After all, her mother was clearly dead when she found her. But later, when she learned that her mother had choked to death on her own mucus, Norah had a terrifying thought: maybe she
could
have saved her. If only she had been listening that night. If only she had heard her mother coughing. But no. She had watched an episode of
Melrose Place
and gone to sleep.

Norah tried not to blame herself—she was just a kid, after all. But she decided there was something she
could
do—protect her mother's secret. And she had been faithful to that self-made promise all these years. Now even that was over. Norah stared at Dorothy Parker, then let her head fall on her hands as she wept.

The waiter came back and asked if he could get them anything. Norah didn't lift her face.

“Two appletinis would be lovely,” Dorothy Parker said.

Norah looked up and knew she was a mess of tears and runny mascara. Dorothy Parker handed her a cocktail napkin from the table and she wiped her face.

“My mother didn't want him to know,” she said.

“Because she was ashamed,” Dorothy Parker said.

“So what if she was? You and I can agree that she shouldn't have let shame rule her life, but it was
her
decision. If she wanted to keep her illness and me a secret from him, that was her choice to make—not mine . . . and certainly not yours.”

“You think Ted didn't know about her illness?”

“He didn't.”

“He most certainly did. He didn't know the diagnosis, but he knew there was something wrong. She tried to hide it, but he saw.”

“Where are you getting this from?”

Dorothy Parker laid a key card on the table and pushed it toward Norah.

“What's this?” she asked.

“It's the key to Teddy's room,” Dorothy Parker said. “He and I had a long talk after I told him about you, and he gave it to me.”

“Why?”

“So I could pass it on to you with these instructions: If you look in his closet, you'll find a green suitcase. Inside are copies of the three manuscripts he turned over to Pete. These are the books he's written since
Settlers Ridge
. Read the one called
Genuine Lies
.”

“Why should I?”

“Because your mother thought he would have turned against her if he knew she was ill. Please, dear. At least take a look at those pages.”

“Did you read it?” Norah asked.

Dorothy Parker shook her head. “No, but we discussed enough. And I have a good guess as to the rest.”

Norah pushed the key back. “I have no interest.”

“Do you know what he said when I told him he was your father?”

“I can imagine.”

“I don't think you can.”

Norah folded her arms. “I suppose you're going to tell me.”

“He said, ‘This changes everything.'”