Ira Levin (5 page)

    "Sure I will," she said, fastening thefclip of his bow tie for him. "It'll be fun." His bearded chin high, he said, "I need the tray and the cooler. Otherwise I'm going to be spotted."

    She held the door open a few inches with her slippered foot, watching him go to the bar be smiled at him as he returned. She said, "What a great Thanksgiving it's going to be!"

    "Oh shit, I forgot," he said. "I'm committed. I have to go to Mike Van Buren's. Will you be my date? Please?" He stood before her, the tray at his shoulder. "I've got to go," he said. "Half the Republican right wing is going to be there. I slept over at the White House Saturday night and it's important I stay even-handed, with the primaries beginning."

    "Well, it's not exactly my crowd," she said, buttoning his jacket for him, "but of course, my darling."

    "They're going to flip over you," he said, smiling at her.

    She stepped closer, looking up into his eyes. "Andy," she asked him, holding on to one of his gilt buttons, "have you been totally honest with me?"

    His hazel eyes-which were nice, now that she was getting used to them-gazed earnestly, unswervingly into hers. "I swear I have, Morn," he said. "I know I lied when I was little. And I do now-plenty. But never again to you, Mom. Never. I owe you too much, I love you too much. Believe me."

    Caressing his cheek, she said, "I do, my-baby." "Oh please," he said.

    They pecked, and she watched him go out with the cooler on his shoulder.

    She closed the door, frowning. mi Andy's Mom is at the Waldorf and you can bet Andy's there too-he ietted in from Arizona last night, it was on the news. And there's going to be a press conference at GCNY headquarters at three this afternoon. That's at Columbus Circle. Residents of the tristate area added together the available information, factored in a large sunny H extending over the entire region plus a four-day holiday starting tomorrow, and got into their cars, buses, Amtraks, LIRR'S, B trains, D trains, rollerblades and strollers, and out of their midtown offices. By eleven o'clock, people of all sizes and descriptions packed every square foot of sidewalk on the logical route between point A and point B nine blocks north on Park Avenue, and five blocks west, three of them double-length, on East Fifty-ninth Street and Central Park South.f

    Members of the NYPD, already burdened with preparations for the Thanksgiving Day parade, might well have been expected to show a degree of surliness as they braced themselves against creaking barriers-but smiles and good spirits prevailed. Wasn't this all for Andyl And Andy's Mom, for chrissake?

    In the foyer of the suite, Andy and Rosemary hugged each other, he in a GC zipper jacket, jeans, and sneakers, she in a designer suit, her i caret andy button, and heels. He presented the group he had brought with him-his press coordinator Diane, his buddy and driver Joe, a secretary, Judy, who would get those 429 messages transferred to GC'S computer and prioritized, and Muhammed and Kevin, already in the bedroom assembling corrugated cartons for her clothes. They had driven over in an unmarked van, through the park at Sixty-fifth Street and down Second Avenue, to avoid the crowds. "Have you seen what's going on out there?" Diane asked.

    "I can't believe it!" Rosemary said. "It's like when the Pope was here, and President Kennedy!"

    Diane nodded. Her feathered hair was gray, her eyes violet; she was late-sixtyish. A gold GC logo hung on the bosom of her dark queen-size dress. "All those patient people," she said in a diva's deep contralto, "waiting and praying for a glimpse of the mother of your son! From what I saw last night, I knew you wouldn't want to fly past them in a limousine with tinted windows; you're a gracious, warm-hearted woman. So I took it upon myself"-she clapped a hand to her bosom, sending velveteen shock waves-"Andy had nothing to do with it, it was my idea, but he's agreeable if you are…"

    Reclining side by side on patched fake-leather upholstery, their hands-his right, her left-meshed between them, they clip-clopped up Park Avenue in a horse- drawn open carriage, waving and smiling and nodding at the barrier-bound crowds clapping on both sides, at the homemade i V andy and i V andy's mom signs, at the hands waving from office-building windows.

    A rolling police car led the way; security men walked alongside; another sat high in front with the top-hatted driver. Every block or so, Andy hugged Rosemary and kissed her cheek; the crowd cheered. He leaned to speak in her ear-"Makes you feel like an idiot after a while, doesn't it?"-and the crowd cheered louder.

    News choppers whanged away at the sky. When the slow procession below took its westward turn at Fifty- ninth Street-police car, horse-and-carriage, police car- Park Avenue's left lanes were cobbled with cars all the way up through the Sixties and Seventies.

    They had to wait a few minutes at Fifth Avenue till cameras stopped rolling in front of the floodlit Plaza Hotel. He said in her ear, "Movies, commercials, fashion shoots, you can't get anywhere in this town." The crowd cheered.

    They clip-clopped along Central Park South, waving, smiling, nodding at even bigger crowds, more signs-i less-than that andy, i caret rosemary-spreading into the park, climbing the trees.

    Ahead, where the park ended, a glittering tower of golden glass rammed high in the blue sky. his Shaking her head, Rosemary ttirned to Andy. "I'm dreaming," she said, and kissed his cheek and hugged him. The crowd roared. 93aret szandr*@.andienAJ

    Pointing ahead over the slim microphone, she said, "Y."

    "Thank you. Which name do you want to be called by-Reilly, Woodhouse, or Castevet?"

    She said, "Well… everyone seems to go right to first names now-I don't know if that's Andy's influence or if it would have happened anyway"-a small laugh surprised her-"so just Rosemary will be fine," she said. "Legally, I'm Rosemary Eileen Reilly. Actually I guess the name I like best is the one I saw today on some of the signs, Andy's Mom."

    Laughter, and a spatter of clapping, a sizzle of cameras. Diane, among the standees, clapped fortissimo, smiling and nodding.

    The Tower had been an office building in an earlier incarnation, a motion-picture company's headquarters,- its high ceilings had enabled GCNY'S architect to design its auditorium, on the ninth floor, in the form of a semicircular amphitheater-Andy's concept. Five steep steps, carpeted in forest green like every square inch of the place, held sixty or so people; another twenty stood at the sides. On the half-moon stage, Andy and Rosemary sat at a table draped with sky blue and hung with a gilded GC logo. A trio of black video cameras clung to ceiling rods, turning beaked heads this way and that, pausing, turning. Muhammed and Kevin roamed with fishpole mikes.

    Rosemary, smiling as the clapping petered out, pointed to her left and said, "Y. No, you. Yes."

    "Rosemary, how do you feel about having missed out on Andy's whole growing up?"

    "Awful," she said. "That's definitely the worst part of the experience. But I'm glad"-she smiled at Andy, squeezed his hand-"that he managed so well without me."

    He leaned close. "I didn't," he said. "I didn't, and Mom didn't miss the whole thing. I told her last night- or early this morning, I should say-that she was with me during the most important years, one to six. She's the one who set my feet in the path I'm following today." He kissed her cheek.

    Clapping. Cameras. "Rosemary!" "Rosemary!"

    She pointed. "Y."

    "Rosemary, so far no one's been able to locate Andy's real father or find any information about him since the summer of 1966. Can you explain why that is?"

    "No, I can't," she said. "Guy went out to California then, and we divorced and lost touch."

    "Would you tell us more about him?"

    She stayed silent. Cleared her throat. Said, "He was a very good actor, as I said last night. He was in three Broadway plays, Luther, Nobody Loves an Albatross, and Gunpoint. We had our differences, obviously, but he was, or is-a fine person, very-thoughtful, unselfish-was "There are still areas," Andy laid, his hand on her arm, "where Mom's memory hasn't fully returned. Please, could we have a different question? John?" *-@[email protected]@lffAJ

    She wanted to speak to him alone, but when they got to her seventh-floor suite, the living room was occupied by a dozen men and women, the inner circle of GCNY. A waiter offered hors d'oeuvres, a bartender poured wine. Diane presented Williamthelegal-director and Sandy-the-publications-director, and before Rosemary had even gotten on a last-name basis with them, still on her first Gibson, Andy was touching her shoulder with a sorry-gotta-go-now look in those really beautiful hazel eyes. He apologized to William and Sandy, drawing her aside.

    "I'm sorry, Mom, I have to go now," he said. "Some public-health officials from Louisiana are coming to see me, it was set up last week and I'm not sure what it's about or how long it's going to take. If you need anything or want to see a show tonight, ask Diane, or Judy or Joe. Van Buren's farm is in Pennsylvania,- we'll be driving, leaving at noon." He tipped his tawny head toward the window. "Joe'11 call for you." He kissed her cheek and left.

    Joe stood by the window some twenty feet away, holding a glass at his lips, looking at someone or something down in the park or just thinking-big and solid looking, in a tan corduroy jacket and jeans. Men seemed to be wearing jeans everywhere now. His hair was graying but he was oddly attractive for an old man-sexy in a way. She hadn't felt that in a while.

    A

    really old man. Her age plus two. Maybe. He turned, saw her looking. She smiled. "Rosemary"- Diane clamped her shoulder, turning her-"Jay our financial director wants to meet you."

    "Such an honor, Rosemary!" Jay said. "Such a blessing! And that ride! Diane, you're a genius!" He looked like a jay-small, beaky, bright-eyed behind glasses, with hair from the raven side of the family. "Over an hour's exposure, global exposure!" he crowed. "At a total cost of five hundred dollars! That's if the stable bills us, and chances are they won't!"

    She excused herself and went to the bar for a refill.

    "We don't get many calls for Gibsons nowadays," the bartender said, stirring.

    "Andy's Mom?"

    She turned. "Crab cakes," Joe said, holding out a pair of wood picks.

    "Oh, thanks, Joe," she said, taking one.

    He asked the bartender for a scotch, and they ate the hot round crab cakes, eye-smiling at each other. His eyes were dark brown,- his nose looked as if it had survived a break or two.

    "Good," she said.

    "Mmm," he said, wiping his lips with a napkin, finishing chewing. "I can't tell you, Rosemary," he said,

    "how proud I am to know your son up close and to be able to help him. I thought my best years were behind me-I was a cop here in the city, gold badge-but was I ever wrong. And now that you're part of the picture too-well, I don't know what to say."

    "How about cheers," she said, smiling.

    "Good idea," he said.

    "Cheers," they said, and clinked glasses and sipped.

    No ring on his finger. Did that still mean anything? She rested her left hand on the bar.

    "Anybody gives you any trouble," he said to her, "I'm the guy you want to speak to. Nuts or pests-and rest assured you'll be getting them-any problems of any kind whatsoever, just let me know."

    "Will do," she said.

    "When Andy's at the retreat," he said, "or just busy somewhere and doesn't need me, I usually hang out up in the spa on the fortieth floor. And I live right over on Ninth Avenue. So don't hesitate."

    "I won't," she said. "What's your last name, Joe?"

    He sighed. "Maffia," he said. Raised two fingers. "Two F's, and no, I don't belong, and yes, I get a lot of respect."

    She smiled at him. "I'm sure you would if you were Joe Smith," she said.

    "Rosemary," Diane said, clamping her shoulder, turning her around, "Craig is especially anxious to meet you. He's our director of TV production."

    While she was talking with Craig, Joe touched a fingertip to her shoulder. "Take care," he said. "Andy said twelve noon." caret szandrfSandtandAf

    She didn't want to offend Joe Maffia-because she liked him, not for what she imagined were the more common reasons-so for the first fifteen minutes or so it was a three-way conversation. He explained over his shoulder why the Vikings had a good chance of upsetting the Cowboys, and she told him and Andy about the temptation to drop sharp objects when viewing the Macy's balloons from a floor above, and about being screamed and waved at and having to do the whole Princess-Grace-on-the-balcony bit from the bedroom window.

    When they got out of the Lincoln Tunnel, though, she signed to Andy, and in the next space of silence he put a finger into the armrest at his right. A wide black shield slid up from the back of the front seat, blocking out the balding back of Joe's head and half the daylight too, closing them in a humming black-leather roomette lit bluely through tinted glass. "Andy," she whispered, "I'm so uncomfortable having to watch what I say about Guy, and the divorce, and-was "You handled it beautifully," he said. "It was just that one question." "And the ones about Minnie and Roman right-brace was He shrugged. "Don't do any more interviews. If you don't enjoy them, there's no reason to. But really, you were fine. Here, look again. Read." He had the papers there. The front pages of both tabloids were the same full-page photo of him kissing her cheek at the press conference, one overlaid with a white giving thanks!, the other with thanksgiving! "And you don't have to whisper," he said, nodding his head toward the front. "He listens to tapes or sports. He can't hear a thing from here,- believe me, I know." He Grbucho-Marxed his eyebrows.