The Family Man (6 page)
He faces the hallway and hears the rustling of clothes coming off and clothes going on. "Not yet," she says. Then in half a minute, "Okay,
now.
"
She is wearing the navy dress. It's shinier—raw silk?—than he'd seen at first. It manages to be both too big in the bust and too short in the sleeves. Thalia twirls, and the skirt billows. She cuffs her hand around one wrist. "And can't you see it with a big wide bracelet? And very high strappy shoes? Burgundy patent? Don't you love it?" she demands. "Isn't it amazing?"
"It's all amazing," Henry says.
T
HALIA COMES DOWN
to breakfast in another Williebelle frock, this one of a translucent crinkly fabric, either yellow or yellowed with age, decorated with dainty sprays of violets. Clearly she's wearing it to make Henry laugh, over her jeans and turtleneck sweater. On her head: a short pink veil anchored with a furry bow, its netting decorated with pink velvet butterflies. Thalia says nothing but hums, "In your Easter bonnet."
Henry doesn't hear her until his espresso machine stops its grinding. Turning around, he jumps, then laughs.
"Good morning, darling host and costumer," Thalia says.
"That hat," he says. "What does it say about me that I remember it vividly, and as a child I thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world?"
Thalia kisses his cheek and says, "President of Future Homosexuals of America?"
How does she do it?
he marvels. Has anyone else of his acquaintance ever possessed this talent for simultaneously shocking and disarming?
"Did I offend?" she asks breezily.
Henry selects a mug and an espresso cup from the cabinet above and holds both up for her consideration.
"A double, definitely. You didn't answer my question—is it okay to joke about your ... personalhood?"
"From you, it's quite okay. In fact it's very nice when someone doesn't consider the topic unmentionable."
"Good! And it's out there? Friends? Relatives? Lawyers and judges?"
"Why?"
"Just asking to prevent future big-mouth faux pas." She accepts her mug of coffee and motions toward the espresso machine. "I'm watching how you do this so I know which buttons to push."
He points: This one under the green light gives you the coffee, and this one means refill the water tank. He asks if she'd like him to steam some milk and she says no, black. Did she drink a whole bottle of wine last night?
Henry says no, he helped. And wouldn't it be easier to drink her coffee minus the chin-length veil?
Thalia folds the netting up one turn into a goofy cuff. She takes a sip and says, "I'm sure it was meant to be worn at teas and ... where else did your mother go where food was served? Bridge club?"
"How do you know these things?"
"Old movies, dahling: tea parties, bridge clubs, country clubs, June Allyson, and, of course, church."
"Willie did, in fact, play bridge and go to church."
"Where was this again?"
"Wilmington, Delaware" He taps his mug against hers. "Where I was a celebrity."
"No you weren't!"
"Minor, very: I was one of those New Year's babies, first child born in nineteen fifty-two in Wilmington. My mother and I made the front page."
Thalia asks, "What time?"
"What time was I
born?
"
"To win. Was it a squeaker?"
"Not at all. Two-oh-two
A.M.
"
"Did your mother save the front page?"
Henry smiles. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But I was the fourth boy." He counts off on his fingers. "They didn't mean to have four children, they were praying for a girl, and, most likely, the photo of my mother wasn't flattering."
"I'm noting the irony of this," says Thalia. "She didn't want a fourth child or a fourth boy, but who took care of her in her old age? Whose guest room did she more or less die in? Who was such a great comfort and host while his older brothers were—I'm guessing—too busy with their wives and offspring to take her in and preserve her wardrobe?"
"She did come around," says Henry. "I didn't mean to imply that I was unloved."
"And she was fine having a gay son?"
"She was fine having a
divorced
bachelor son. Still, she left her not-insubstantial engagement ring to my future wife, the posthumous one."
"So sweet," says Thalia. She rubs the sleeve of Williebelle's dress, then sniffs it. "Did she wear Chanel Number Five?"
"Nothing but."
"Sensory memory! Very good acting tool. Maybe it's why you haven't given her stuff away: You wanted to be able to walk down the hall and open that closet and feel her presence."
"Possibly. Or maybe I didn't know who'd take it off my hands."
Thalia says, "At your service. Trash bags will work, and when I come back, I'll bring a duffel."
Henry, from the open refrigerator, a butter dish in one hand and an egg carton in the other, says, "Or you could just move in."
The phone rings. Closer and unencumbered, Thalia picks up the handset and intones in Brooklynese, "Archer residence. Thalia Archer Krouch Archer speaking."
Why didn't he anticipate Denise's post-breakfast check-in? He closes the refrigerator with a backward kick of his foot and waits for Thalia's smile to collapse.
"May I ask who's calling...?" Her eyebrows lift. "He's right here." She hands him the handset and relieves him of the egg carton, announcing, "A gentleman for you."
Henry hears an indifferent male voice announce, "I'm Denise's friend, Jeffrey ... Denise Krouch's? She left me your name and number."
"It's not a great time to talk," Henry says, as Thalia signals,
Yes, it is.
"Maybe there's been a misunderstanding," says Jeffrey.
Henry says, "Not at all. Let me call you back. Is this your home number on my caller ID?"
"Office. Denise gave you a heads-up, I assume?"
Henry repeats, "I'll call you back." He hangs up and asks Thalia if he can make her an omelet like last night's. Juice? Half a grapefruit? He's inherited Williebelle's grapefruit spoons.
"One sec. Did I hear my mother's name crackling over the wires?"
"You did."
"She's setting you up?"
"I knew she gave my name to two of her friends—a Jeffrey and another one whose name I forget."
"How did he sound?"
"Nice enough."
"Nice enough for what?"
Henry smiles. "Nice enough to ask Denise what he looks like." Thalia sighs. "You boys: so concerned with externals."
"As opposed to you girls?"
"Henry! Have you forgotten that I'm practically marrying Herman Munster?" She finally plucks the hat off her head and tosses it, Frisbee-style, onto the farthest kitchen counter. "Speaking of my romantic partnership, I think we have to meet with Leif's people and sign the papers. Unless of course I
don't
sign the papers..."
"What would change your mind?" Henry asks. "Because if it's a matter of money or a more comfortable living situation, you know I'd want to help."
"It's not. But thank you. I only meant that Leif might not have found me to his liking."
"Not possible. Unless he's daft; unless he wakes up this morning and realizes that the whole scheme is undignified and demeaning."
"For him, you mean?"
"I know your position: It's an acting challenge. All publicity is good publicity."
"Do any of us feel a little sorry for Larry Dumont, so desperate to be seen as appealing that he trades his dignity for an artificial girlfriend?" She holds her cup out. "Your coffee's delicious. Any cereal? That's what I usually have."
Henry opens a cupboard and reads, "Raisin Bran, Cheerios, Total ... nope. That one must be five years old."
"Cheerios, please."
He tucks the box under one arm and brings bowls and spoons to the island. Thalia asks, "What you said just before the phone rang? About me moving in? Were you serious? Or was it more like a stray thought?"
"Not a stray thought," he says. "Very much premeditated."
"Since...?"
He doesn't say the first thing that presents itself—
Since I learned that you bathe in your kitchen
—but substitutes a weightier, historical answer: "I bought this house because I was a father who thought his daughter would be visiting me every other weekend and on future school vacations, and I wanted her to have a second home and not some bachelor flat with a sleep sofa. You know the rest of the story: The Krouches got you."
She says, absent her usual light tone, "But you must have kept track of how much time had passed. And after I turned eighteen, wasn't it okay to get in touch with me? Didn't you wonder what I was up to?"
Now, then, is the time to confide his Carousel-induced preoccupation. "It was all I talked about after I did the math and figured out when you'd graduate from high school and most likely leave the nest."
"But what stopped you?"
"Fear that you'd shut the door in my face, call your mother, call your father, call a lawyer, call nine-one-one."
"What about a letter? I'd have rushed to the nearest phone."
"I know that now."
She pours milk into her bowl and after a few spoonfuls asks, "What were you thinking?"
Her words add up to a reproach except that Thalia is chomping contentedly on her cereal.
"I wasn't thinking," Henry allows. "I was angry at your mother, your father, myself—"
"Not that," Thalia says. "I meant the moving-in part. Did you mean I'd get Williebelle's room, or were you thinking I'd move into the maisonette?"
Has he mentioned a maisonette to her? The previous owner called it an in-law apartment, a label that has kept it fallow and unrenovated ground.
"Leif spotted it; thought it was a separate apartment. He looked in the windows before we rang your doorbell. We weren't sure if you lived up here or down below. I couldn't help noticing it was empty."
"It's a separate apartment," he says. "Three rooms, untouched."
"And a full bath?"
"Of course."
"Don't you want to rent it out?"
Henry says, "I have no desire to be a landlord."
Thalia says, "That's fine. I can appreciate that."
"Wait," says Henry. "Did you mean you? Because you wouldn't be a tenant. You'd live here. You're family. I wouldn't be renting it out. Strike all of that. The jury will disregard any mention of me as landlord."
Thalia grins and jumps off her stool. "The jury would like a tour," she says.
T
HALIA GETS
a text message at work confirming that Leif has deemed her suitable for the mission ahead. She calls Henry, who asks, "That was his wording? 'Suitable'?" Thalia says, "No, it was more personal than that. Actually, pretty nice. Don't forget: This could be leaked to a news outlet, so message number one needed a romantic ring to it."
"Such as?"
"'Can't wait to see you again. L.D.'"
"Anything about the parties getting together?"
"That's why I called: Are you free to take a secret meeting after work today?"
"Secret, but with counsel?"
"Definitely with counsel. Counsel required, in fact: Waldorf-Astoria, six o'clock. Leif's arriving via some underground entrance they use for presidents. The unknowns can walk through the front door. We're supposed to pick up an envelope at the concierge desk that will tell us what room to go to. Very
Amazing Race
"
Henry doesn't watch
The Amazing Race
but scribbles the words on a scratch pad.
Thalia asks if he could swing by the salon and they'd walk over together to discuss strategy. Giovanni is promising a quick blow-dry beforehand, so time is a little tight. Five forty-five?
Henry asks, "Does he know?"
Thalia says, "Not yet. I won't give my notice till I sign the contract."
Henry considers saying, "I inferred from Giovanni that you two have a relationship outside the salon" but then doesn't have to. Thalia says, "I hope you don't believe everything your beautician brags about."
Her hair is glossier and more asymmetric than usual, with new layers in new places. "Very nice," Henry says. "And very stylish, I'm sure." Her jacket, powder blue and pink plaid with golf-ball-sized buttons, can have come from only one source. Several bracelets fill the space between cuff and wrist. He says, "I think I'm getting an idea of what your look is. I think my mother used to wear gloves with that length sleeve."
She says, "I was so right: Nothing beats a gay father."
They are heading east on 57th, her arm hooked through his. "What remains to be discussed?" he asks.
"
Numero uno,
no sex. Mr. Munster and I can be seen holding hands and kissing, but that's only for public consumption."
"I couldn't agree more."
"Even if they say blah blah blah, there're so many shades of gray, and what if his hand slips and should cup a buttock when you're dancing? You'll explain that I'd be a paid escort if there are any sex acts involved, right?"
"Happy to."
"The monthly stipends should be in cash, don't you think? If it's by check, won't some bank employee know I'm being paid by Leif?"
"I'm sure they'll launder it. Unless they're incompetent, it wouldn't be from Leif's account or from his publicist's."
"And I absolutely have to tell Arielle and Amanda about the deal—can we ask for a couple of relatively discreet best-friend leaks, because I can't just get engaged overnight to someone I've never mentioned. They'll sign confidentiality agreements, too. In fact, I think they'd love that."
Henry asks, "Which does beg the question: Will the public buy it? Won't it appear awfully precipitous?"
Thalia says in mock dismay, "Henry, I think you're forgetting that I met Leif through Sally
years ago
and we've been seeing each other secretly for months. She had us both to dinner, a small group at her apartment on Jane Street, at which she served spaghetti with puttanesca sauce and three tropical flavors of gelato. Ages ago, as you may recall. So you see, it's been quite a long romance."
A stern female voice answers their knock with, "Door's open." Henry puts a hand on Thalia's forearm and whispers, "No. We're not room service. Let them get off their asses."
The same voice, more annoyed now, calls, "Who is it?"
Henry says, "Miss Krouch and her lawyer. We can come back if you're indisposed."
Footsteps approach. The door opens to reveal a woman in, Henry guesses, her last trimester of pregnancy, attired nonetheless in a three-piece black pinstriped suit. "We're all here now," she says as her eyes surveil the hallway.
Thalia and Henry enter the suite's living room, an old-fashioned affair in shades of gold and yam. The fringed drapes are drawn. A second, younger woman, dressed in a short leather skirt and denim jacket, is seated on a sofa, her yellow hair spiked and her eyeglasses a leopard print. On the coffee table in front of her are legal folders and a bowl of red grapes. The two women stare at their visitors for a few seconds past necessary. Thalia approaches both and shakes their hands in the manner of someone who must take introductions upon herself in the face of lapsed etiquette. "This is my lawyer," she adds. "Henry Archer."
"Attorney Michele Schneider," says the pregnant one.
"I'm Mr. Dumont's publicist," says the blond. "Wendy Morelli. New York office of Estime."
"Is Leif joining us?" asks Thalia.
A toilet flushes—once, twice. Water runs. Wendy says, "He's a little under the weather. He had vindaloo last night."
Leif emerges from the bedroom dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt bearing his production company's logo, a mummy behind a movie camera. Most startlingly: He has shaved his head and pierced both earlobes, now displaying blueberry-sized diamonds. He says, "I'd shake your hand, but I don't know if I have a bug or if it's what I ate last night."
His lawyer asks, "Shall we get started?"
The mission, she summarizes, is this: Candidate will be seen publicly and socially with Leif. Their engagement will be announced six weeks from first tabloid—print or electronic—coverage and/or tersely acknowledged after engagement ring is sighted on the future Mrs. Dumont's hand. At a point to be determined, but not before the romance has spawned a sufficient number of news items, photographs, blind items, et cetera, and Estime is satisfied that his profile has been measurably enhanced, Mr. Dumont will break the engagement when a higher-profile Hollywood actress to be named later comes between them. From the outset, the candidate will neither confirm nor deny the status of the relationship verbally—
"Why not?" asks Henry.
"We've had some disasters with that," says the publicist.
"Acting talent aside, not everyone can think on her feet," adds Attorney Schneider.
Henry says, "I have to be honest: I'm not greatly in favor of this arrangement. I don't see how it advances my client's career."
"This is a gig," says the publicist. "This is not a career. The job description is, 'Be pretty, be arm candy for Leif, and don't sound stupid. Act like you're in love and he'll do his best to reciprocate in a way that repackages him as a desirable and attractive actor.' I think you fully understand that there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of women in Manhattan alone who would gladly fill the role."
Henry doesn't speak but directs his gaze to the unappetizing groom, who has folded himself into a club chair, barefoot.
"For the sake of argument, what would make the mission more attractive to your client?" asks the lawyer.
Thalia is helping herself to grapes, eyebrows signaling,
I can't wait to hear this.
Henry declares, "We want—in the notoriety sense—a piece of the action. It's reasonable to expect that your team has contacts with studios and that Thalia will come away with a very good role in a major feature film."
The lawyer says, "I don't even have to caucus on this one. The answer is no. We are not casting directors. I'm an attorney. She's a publicist. We can't possibly commit to that."
Henry says calmly, "Our goal is to raise Thalia's profile. She's a lame duck from the outset. We are asking that your firm represent Thalia when Leif breaks the engagement."
The publicist says, "I can't authorize anything like that. I have to talk to Dorian."
"Who is...?"
"Our CEO."
"Estime is not a charitable institution," says the lawyer. "They don't do pro-bono work."
Henry says, "I'm sure Estime will want Thalia Archer on its client list after this plays out triumphantly in the tabloids." He nods to Thalia,
Follow me,
then tells Leif's people they can have their privacy. He and his client will talk outside.
From a safe distance at the end of the carpeted hallway, Thalia says, "Nice work in there. Very creative. Very ... lawyerly. But I'd rather the deal didn't fall apart."
"It won't. Leif is in there saying to Wendy, 'Look, I've got you on retainer. I'm paying you a fortune. You'll make some phone calls for her when it's over, and put out a few press releases.' They want you and he wants you and you should relax."
Thalia says, "Okay. If you're sure."
"Quite sure. I saw him staring at you. And worst-case scenario: We take what's on the table."
Thalia finally smiles. "Love the bold, spontaneous Henry. Truly—it's like improv, and someone's yelled out 'ball-buster lawyer!'"
They walk back to the suite and knock. Leif himself answers, looking a little worried. Henry suspects he's been instructed to give nothing away. Henry and Thalia take their seats and stare at the opposing team.
The lawyer says, "We were able to reach Dorian." She frowns, waits.
"And?" says Henry.
"As you can imagine, she wasn't happy. She said, 'Let's open up the search. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for the right person.'"
Henry casts another appraising look at Leif, who is hunched against a wall and gnawing on an energy bar.
"I'm sure Dorian is right and you'd have a line out the door as if this were an actual casting call," Henry says.
"Leif?" says Thalia. "Do you want to jump in?"
Leif chews, swallows, and checks with the lawyer, who signals,
Permission granted.
"I didn't speak to Dorian myself. They didn't put her on speakerphone in case you could hear out in the hall."
"But?"
"I told them that it didn't seem like such a big deal—"
"No need to rehash the entire conversation," interrupts the lawyer. "And of course there's the matter of client confidentiality."
Henry says, "Which I don't believe applies when it's the client himself speaking."
The lawyer nods to the publicist. "Eventually, after several phone calls back and forth, Dorian agreed that we'd be willing to help keep Thalia in the news."
"Meaning?" asks Henry.
The publicist snaps, "That's like asking for our trade secrets. She'll be our client. We'll do what it takes for a six-month period, post-Leif."
"Two years," says Henry.
The publicist, then the lawyer, and belatedly Leif excuse themselves to caucus in the bedroom.
Henry whispers, "It's all for effect. They know exactly what we want." He holds up an index finger and mouths
one.
Thalia unbuttons her jacket. Underneath is something pink and lacy that Henry trusts isn't an undergarment. The Leif team reappears and takes its seats. "We reached Dorian," says the lawyer. "Our last best offer is, accordingly, one year, post-Leif, if the campaign is successful."
"Thalia?" asks Henry.
"I can live with that," she answers.
"When do we start?" asks Leif.
"One last thing," Henry says, "which I offer not for my client's benefit but for Leif's. I know this young woman. You might think it prudent to muzzle her and limit her responses to 'No comment' and sly smiles because you've dealt with a great many Hollywood starlets where the less said, the better. But you won't be getting your money's worth. You should let her speak. I don't know Mr. Dumont well enough to grade him on his repartee, but I know Thalia's will be a great asset. Even with what is, in effect, a gag order, he'll want her to step up to the mike, literally or figuratively."
With only that, Thalia stands up. "...When did I
know?
It sounds almost too ridiculous, too predestined. But when he rang my doorbell for our first date, he was wearing a tie with these swirly dancing stars against a blue background. I literally gasped and said, 'Who told you?' He didn't know what I was talking about, so I led him to my computer, and then he saw why I was so flabbergasted: His tie and my screen saver were Van Gogh's
Starry Night.
We just stood there for a minute trying to take it all in."
Thalia sits down and bestows on Leif a quiver of a smile that says
love of my life.
The lawyer and publicist exchange glances as readable as a handshake. Henry maintains his game face.
Leif says, "But I don't have a tie like that."