Ira Levin (11 page)

    She turned, and saw, beyond a slatted snow fence and a span of shrubbery, a clearing lower down where a few people stood in a circle. The sobbing woman, young, in black, was being led away from the gathering by an older woman.

    Rosemary shut her eyes. Sliding her fingertips in under her glasses, she pressed tight at her eyeballs, swaying.

    The Unthinkable, the one thought she had stopped herself from even thinking of thinking about from the very first moment she'd seen Andy on exactly a month ago todaythe Unthinkable tapped her on the shoulder.

    She lifted her head, lowered her shades, brushed the Unthinkable's hand away. Tugged her hat down snug, wound her muffler over her mouth, and went looking for a path to the clearing.

    She found one bending back from the road she'd been on, an asphalt lane curving down past a sign, Strawberry Fields, to where six or seven people stood around a wide black-and-white-patterned disc set in the ground, a few flowers and folds of paper on it. Some of the men and women looked down, as if praying; others gazed mournfully ahead. Other people, farther away, aimed cameras at the gathering, came closer aiming their cameras at the disc, clicking at it.

    A stately Mediterranean-looking woman spilled an armful of red roses onto the disc, her eyes closed, her red lips moving. She was all in black like the younger woman, who sat, still sobbing, with her mother or whoever, on one of the surrounding benches.

    Rosemary tried to stay calm, sure she was having some kind of vision, as the Unthinkable chiseled itself into her head: andy is 33-the same age as jesus when HE WAS NAILED TO THE CROSS. These people across from Andy's boyhood home were gathered around a shrine that didn't exist yet. B

    ut would someday. She drew a deep breath and walked closer to it, hands clenching at her sides.

    The disc was a mosaic of black and white tiles, its pattern a wheel with curiously jagged spokes. At its center a four-letter word lay inset in black capitals amid the mass of red roses; she raised the glasses to be sure of it-magi.

    What it signified she couldn't imagine, what wise men were being invoked or heralded and why. But did it matter? She lowered the glasses and walked on past the mourners, fixing her hat and muffler; walked faster down another path leading toward the drive, jogged down it seeing the top of the gold-glass tower half a mile away, bumping into someone, jogging on. She called back over her shoulder, "I'm sorry, excuse me!" An oldster in a Yankees cap and an i V symbols sweatshirt shook a fist after her. "Watch where you're going, Greta Garbo!" She slowed herself down at the drive, waited, and jogged across into the southbound lane.

    Jogged in the stream of joggers toward Andy in the tower of blinding gold sunshine. *-@[email protected]

    He had told her Tuesday that her card had been validated for the lobby entry to the private elevator,- she hadn't expected to make use of it. She touched 10, rocketed upward. It was still early, but he was usually at his desk by eight, he and the media said.

    He was there this morning. When she was halfway through his quarter floor of empty cubicles with barren desks, she heard him speaking to someone doggedly, trying to get a word in. As she neared the open door to his anteroom, she heard him clearly. "Please? Please? Will youHey! Please! Just let me finish, okay? Half the billboards aren't even up yet, more than half in China and South America, but they're all going to be up by Friday the latest, everywhere."

    She went into the anteroom-Judy wasn't at her desk yet-and went on across the anteroom toward the open door of Andy's office. "We're absolutely saturating TV from Monday the thirteenth right through to the end of the month with the two commercials you yourself said got the point across most clearly, the kid and his grandfather and-You did backslash Just the other day! Oh shit

    …"

    She could see his hand raking through his tawny hair above the chair back as he sat facing the window behind his desk. She put hat and glasses into one hand, raised the other to the door-and paused, not wanting to interrupt him. Sniffed coffee.

    "The numbers are going to get better, I promise you; I honestly don't think it's necessary or practical, and it just doesn't seem like the right thing to- Well of course she'll want to, I know that." His chair turned around and he looked at her.

    She stepped into the office, turning her hands out apologetically.

    He smiled, beckoned. "Rene," he said to the phone, standing up in a GC sweatshirt and jeans. "Excuse me. Excuse me. Rene, my mother just came in; could we cut it short, please?" He came around to the side of the desk as she came farther into the office. "Yes," he said. "I will." He said to her, "He says bonjour. The airport."

    "Oh," she said, recalling the elderly Frenchman whose hand she had shaken. She waggled fingers.

    "Mom says bonjour back," he said, eye-smiling at her. "We'll talk when you're home, okay? Have a good flight. And please, thank Simone for the generous offer and tell her I wish there were time to schedule a dozen more concerts. Ciao to the lovely granddaughters." He put the phone down. "Whew," he said, coming to her, wiping his hands back over his brow and hair. "Thanks for rescuing me. He's one of our main supporters and a sweet old guy but what a worrier!" He wiped his hands on his jeans. "And his wife is the world's worst soprano."

    He held her shoulders, kissed her cheek.

    She leaned against him, her cheek against his shoulder, held him; listened to his heart beating as his arms enclosed her. He said, "You're cold; were you running outside?"

    "Mm-hmmst" she said, staying cldse against him.

    "With Joe?"

    "Alone."

    "And nobody bothered you?"

    She raised the hand with the hat and glasses.

    He drew back, looked down at her. "What's wrong?" he asked.

    She said, "I've been worrying about you." Looked up at him. "I'm afraid-something awful might happen to you…"

    He sighed, nodded. "It's possible," he said. "Awful things happen to awful people all the time. Look at Stan Shand. Kersplat."

    "Oh don't," she said, hitting his arm.

    He said, "Did you have something particular in mind?"

    "No," she said. "I just got scared. Up across from the Bram…" She looked at him.

    "Did you see what they did to it?" he asked.

    She nodded.

    "I feel guilty about it," he said. "That isn't what scared you; what did? I can see you're upset…" He stroked her back.

    She said, "I saw…"

    "What?" he asked, stroking, looking down at her.

    She shrugged, sighed. "Just a man with an anti-Andy sign…"

    "An "Original Son of Liberty"?" he said. "They're a joke, like the Ayn Rand Brigade. Don't worry, I'm as safe or unsafe as the next guy. Safer. Everybody loves me, remember?"

    "If people found out…" She looked at him.

    "Don't tell," he said, "I won't. Want some coffee? I just got a pot. Nice and fresh."

    She sighed and said, "I'd love some."

    He kissed her head and they let go of each other. She unwound her muffler as he went to the side table by the desk. "Go with Joe next time," he said. "Or me be I keep meaning to jog. Or with security. If someone recognized you, you could have been mobbed."

    "Okay," she said, sitting on the sofa. She rubbed her hands.

    He brought her a GC mug of coffee lightened to the right shade, with a spoon and a packet of sweetener. "Actually, I was going to call you in a few minutes," he said, sitting down in a side chair with a mug of his own. "Before Rene," he said, nodding toward the desk, "I was talking with Diane. She's had one of her theatrical brainstorms, but it's nothing essential and you shouldn't feel any pressure to do it, I really mean that. If you want to get right onto your own plans next week, I can have Judy set up appointments for you with the networks or you could-was

    "Cut to the chase, Andy," she said.

    "We go to Ireland," he said. "Next week for a few days. Dublin and Belfast. Because of your Irish roots and my lightening up the IRA. The idea is, they'll go more ape over us there than anywhere else and it'll get maximum coverage worldwide, maybe GCUK can get the King to move up his visit, and we'll mention the time-zone thing every five minutes. I can see this is going to be a hard sell."

    She sat back, blinked a few tinies, and squinted at him, putting her mug down. "Of course I want to do x/" she said. "Andy, I don't understand you." She leaned close to him, took his hands. "You act as if we're selling cigarettes," she said. "We're promoting a wonderful, beautiful event that's going to stir and caret excite the entire world! Don't minimize it; the Lighting is a work of art. I mean that. We had lots of artist friends, Guy and I, and some of them created 'happeningsst public events that people participated in and were enriched by, so I know what I'm talking about. The Lighting is going to be the greatest happening ever."

    Andy sighed. "Okay, Mom," he said, "I'll stop minimizing it."

    "Of course we'll go to Ireland," she said. "I always meant to someday." She shook her head. "How I wish Brian and Dodie weren't on that cruise…"

    "It'll just be the two of us," he said.

    She looked at him.

    He smiled at her. "That was the champagne last night," he said. "Otherwise I never would have rubbed against you like that. I'll behave. Really." He tiger- flashed.

    "My angel Andy," she said, and thought a moment while he waited, watching her. "No," she said, "I'm definitely going to need a secretary at my side. Preferably someone I know and have a rapport with. Any suggestions?"

    He sighed and said, "Not off the top of my head, but I'll try to think of someone."

    "Good," she said. "And my boyfriend comes too." He looked at her. Said, "Your boyfriend?" She nodded. "That's the way we big stars travel." She** smiled, batting her lashes at him. He didn't seem amused. on monday morning, December 20th, the day after they got back from Ireland, Judy hitched up the skirt of her sari, said "Excuse me, gotta run," and cut in front of Hank's wheelchair to chase after Rosemary down the tenth-floor center hallway.

    She caught up with her outside the ladies" room and pulled her in. "Rosemary, I've got to talk to you," she said, closing the door. She crouched, checked under stall doors, and stood up, catching her breath, smoothing her sari.

    "My gosh, Judy," Rosemary said, rubbing her arm. "From still Walked with a Zombie to this? I'm glad you've recovered."

    "I'm sorry," Judy said. "About the way I behaved-it was all I could do to get through the trip-and for hurting you now. I'm so anxious to get out of here. I'm leaving. Please, can we get together caret this evening? We must!" "Leaving*" Rosemary said.

    Judy nodded. "Leaving GC, leaving New York."

    "Oh Judy, I know you and Andy have problems-was

    "Had," Judy said. "It's over. I knew it the second night in Dublin. Remember? That was trie night he had the fever, after you and he got caught in the rain-where was it, in the park?"

    Rosemary nodded.

    Judy sighed. "He used to like it when I had to play nurse or Mommy-all men do, or so I hear-but that night he-oh, I'll tell you later. Please, you have to make time. There's too much to tell you now, and I have to tell you before I go. And I want your counsel too about certain things."

    "Judy," Rosemary said, "in my culture, which is basically Omaha with a thin overlay of New York, women really don't like hearing details about their sons" private affairs."

    "It's nothing like that," Judy said. "Not in the sense you mean. It involves matters you'll be reading about anyway, in April or May, if not sooner."

    Rosemary looked at her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

    "I'll tell you everything later," Judy said. "And I beg you, don't tell Andy I'm leaving. I'll call him tomorrow or late tonight, but I'll never make the break if I have to face him. He gives me his soul-searching looks and romantic words and completely derails me every time; I despise myself for it."

    Rosemary drew a breath, and said, "Okay. Tonight. Eight o'clock?"

    "Thank you," Judy said, taking her hands, clasping* them. "Thank you."

    They went out into the hallway. Hank sat waiting a few yards away, his moon face aglow, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "Okay, Rosemary," he said, "let's have the scoop about you and the King!"

    Judy said, "Oh yes please! I intended to broach the subject!"

    "There is no scoop whatsoever," Rosemary said. "You know those Brit reporters, so-called. He kissed my hand; what was he supposed to do, slap me?"

    "Oh well," Hank said, "there's fun news here. I've got the weekend poll results."

    "They're good?" Rosemary asked.

    Judy, touching her shoulder, said, "They're great. See you later." She kissed Rosemary's cheek, said "Hank…"

    "Take care," Rosemary said, and moved closer to Hank's chair.

    "For the first full week the commercial's been running," Hank said, was "Make them light candles" is down from an average of twenty-two percent to thirteen. Look."