War Baby (29 page)

‘I didn’t think that would be fair. And, to be frank, you weren’t central to the issue of US foreign policy.’

‘I wasn’t? You really know how to hurt a girl.’ Her mood changed, the playfulness left her. ‘I think I’ll skip coffee. I’m tired. I think I’ll have an early night.’

He showed her Jenny’s bedroom. She still used it when she came out for the weekends, so Webb had left it the way it was, with the Luke Perry and Axl Rose posters taped over the curled and torn photographs of Vietnam paddy fields, which in turn had been tacked over the Bruce Springsteen posters. It was the archaeology of Jenny’s adolescence. On a shelf were Jenny’s trophies from the debating society - Webb had always teased her that she had done all her practicing on him - and there was a stuffed toy, a puppy called Woofer, on the end of the bed, which was still made up with Jenny’s lace pillowslip and quilts.

‘This is my room,’ Webb said. ‘Do you want to see where you’re sleeping?’

She grinned. ‘I picked you straight away for a Guns n’ Roses freak.’

‘The soft toys, the rock posters, the lace - she’s actually not like this at all. When you meet her you’ll know what I mean.’

‘She won’t mind me using her room?’

‘She will, but not for the reason you think. She’ll just be disappointed in me. She thinks it’s avant-garde having a father who has to worry about safe sex more than she does.’

She gave him a wistful look, then opened the French windows and went out on to the narrow balcony. He stood behind her, watched the riding lights of a fishing boat making its way along the channel between the red marker buoys.

‘It’s beautiful out here. Peaceful.’ She sighed. ‘God, I’ve wasted so much time.’

‘It wasn’t wasted if it taught you something.’

‘What’s that, a quote from Richard Bach?’

‘No, I think it might have been the Eagles. Can’t remember how the tune goes.’

‘Don’t try and cheer me up.’

‘All right, I won’t. Can I ask what happened between you and Ryan?’

‘What do you think happened with me and Ryan?’

‘I think he touched his boredom threshold about three and a half hours after getting to Washington, that he had an affair a day later and on the first rainy day he didn’t find a new Watergate to report on he went off looking for a war.’

‘If you could see it coming, why didn’t I?’

‘I suppose you were in love with him. I wasn’t.’

She hugged herself. ‘You always wondered why him and not you, huh?’

‘No, I never wondered that. I could tell myself it was because I had malaria, but that wouldn’t be true. He could have caught dysentery, dengue fever and been ravaged by smallpox and he would still have got you. It’s always been the way. He has a deadly kind of charm. It seems to appeal to the masochistic in a woman. I know it isn’t politically correct to say so, but it’s true.’

‘I was flattered that a man like him really wanted me.’

‘Okay, but why marry him?’

‘I thought I could change him. I thought he really wanted to change. Here’s a guy with a famous father who abandoned him as a baby, who later publicly drank himself to death. He grows up and spends almost his entire adult life taking photographs of dismembered bodies. I thought he was damaged. I thought he needed healing.’

‘You’re breaking my heart. The man’s an emotional vacuum.’

‘He speaks well of you too.’

‘I got the man out of some deep shit. I’m allowed to say what I like.’

‘Well, maybe you’re right.’

‘You didn’t find any other guys after Ryan?’

She shook her head. ‘I gave up men for a while. They’re like cholesterol. As you get older you have to really cut down on your intake. I gave up them up along with the booze and the ER; everything I enjoyed was killing me. Last few years I’ve lived a quiet and sober life. I read a lot. I’m thinking of getting a puppy’

‘So what brought you back to New York?’

‘My mom died a couple of years ago. No more reason to stay in San Diego. I figured I was ready for one more crack at the world. I applied for some jobs, this one came up. I thought, sure, why not. New York’s as good as anywhere else. And here I am.’

‘Here you are,’ he said, still not sure where all this was leading.

‘I don’t want to waste any more time.’ She picked up his hand and placed it on her breast.

‘I don’t think we should do this,’ Webb murmured.

‘That’s my line.’ When he didn’t smile, she added: ‘I don’t want to sleep in here with Luke Perry. I’m forty-three years old.’

He took his hand away. He wanted her, always had. But she was dangerous for him. ‘Let’s slow down a bit.’

She folded her arms, leaned on the railing, close to tears. ‘You’re still mad at me?’

‘Of course I’m mad at you. You broke my fucking heart!’

‘Well, give it back, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if I can mend it.’

He led her upstairs to his room. They stood facing each other in the dark. She could hear the murmur of the waves lapping on the shale at the bottom of the garden.

‘I’ve never done it on a water bed,’ she said.

‘It’s easy. You start with a six inch wave, build to a three-foot swell and finish with a
tsunami
.’

‘The six inch wave sounds do-able. But a three foot swell? You fishermen always exaggerate.’

He took her hand. ‘I’m nervous.’

‘Me too.’

‘After all this time I’m afraid this is going to be a disappointment for you.’

‘It’s got to be better than the first time.’

‘You fell asleep.’

‘No reflection on your performance.’

‘The second time was okay. Of course you were a lot younger then.’

He kissed her gently, felt the answering pressure of her body against his. This isn’t going to work, he thought. After all this time, after Ryan, after everything, it just isn’t going to work.

He rolled on to his back, his heart banging in his chest. He turned towards her and they both laughed.

‘Wow. You must have every divorcee in Lincoln Cove queuing up here during the week.’

‘I’ve been saving that up for twenty years.’

‘It feels like it.’ The moon shining through the open window sculpted shadows on her body. She held him in her fingers and stroked him. ‘If only he could talk.’

‘It would be a pretty short and boring conversation.’

‘I don’t see any signs of rust. Come on, I’ve been honest with you. Let’s hear all your dark secrets. I can tell you haven’t let this enormous talent go to waste.’

‘I nearly married an editor at my publishing company a couple of years ago.’

‘What happened?’

‘She wanted to leave work and have children. She was too good an editor to lose.’

She laughed at that. ‘And now?’

‘There was a divorcee lives on Baypoint Road. She’s some sort of investment adviser. She used to call by every Monday and Thursday to examine my portfolio.’

‘Didn’t work out?’

‘She traded in her options to go long on a retired banker on the point.’ He groaned. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘Do what?’

‘Do what you’re doing.’

‘What am I doing?’

‘For God’s sake, woman.’

‘I think he’s reloading.’

‘Mickey, I can’t. You’ll kill me.’

‘It’s okay. I know what I’m doing. I’m a medical professional.’

‘Mickey, I’m forty-three. I have a sedentary lifestyle.’

‘Look, I think he likes me.’

‘He adores you.’

She astride him and with one sinuous movement of her hips he felt himself slide inside her. She leaned over him and he felt her hair on his face. ‘No more tidal waves,’ she breathed. ‘Let’s just surf for a while.’

He couldn’t help it; he felt cheated. This was the way it should have been from the beginning. Mickey was right what she said; so much wasted time. But then he thought: no, there is a season for everything. Perhaps back then it could not have been like this. Now they had both grown up a little, perhaps they had a chance.

* * *

Webb sat at his desk, staring at the cove, whistling tunelessly between his teeth. Sunlight bounced off the windscreens of the cars crossing Southampton Bridge. Two hours at the keyboard and he had written perhaps fifty words.

The phone rang, snapping him from his reverie.

An international connection. ‘Webb.’

‘Hugh, it’s me, Croz.’

‘Croz. Where are you?’

‘Rome. IPA made me bureau chief here.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Don’t bother congratulating me, they did it because my knee’s fucked. I’m deskbound for a while. Look, Hugh, you been watching the TV?’

‘The cartoons mostly.’

‘Yeah, sure. You seen what’s happening in Yugoslavia? It’s an unbelievable story out there. Unbelievable.’

Webb steeled himself for the pitch.

‘I thought maybe you could do some feature stuff for me. Anything we don’t use, you can put in your next book. I’ve got authorization to offer you some very serious money for your byline. What do you think?’

Webb almost asked him what he meant by ‘very serious money’ but stopped himself. As soon as someone mentioned a figure they thought you had accepted the offer and were just quibbling over price. ‘I think you’re crazy.’

‘Hey, you can’t sit on your ass down there for the rest of your life. You’ll go crazy, man.’

‘No, going back to a war zone when I don’t have to - that’s crazy.’

‘You do need to do this. It’s not about the money. I read you last book.’

Not such a non sequitur as it sounds, he thought. The bastard’s on to me.

‘Think about it, Hugh. Sarajevo’s getting pounded to shit every single day and no one gives a damn. Except us, right?’

‘I’ve paid my dues, Croz. I’m not going back.’

‘Think about it. That’s all I ask. I’ll leave you my number. Okay?’

Afterwards, he sat for a long time staring at the phone, as if it were an Aladdin’s lamp. All he had to do was pick it up, dial a number...

‘Still life with troubled journalist,’ he said aloud. No, it was impossible, he had finished with all of that. He was not going back there. In one year almost as many journalists had died in the Balkans as the whole ten years of Vietnam.

No. No way.

* * *

He had lunch with his new editor at a Park Avenue restaurant and then, instead of going to Penn, he took the subway to Houston. Mickey’s apartment was not far away and she finished her shift around three in the afternoon. He thought he’d surprise her. He bought roses at a florist on the corner of Houston and 67th.

A young man, dressed entirely in black, was sitting on the stoop of her West Village brownstone. He wore purple-tinted granny glasses and he had a row of gold earrings through his left ear. He looked like one of Jenny’s boyfriends.

It was meant to be a security apartment but there was someone just ahead of him and he simply followed them in before the front door clicked shut. Great security. He took the stairs to the third floor and knocked on the door of 3E.

It opened.

Sean Ryan flashed him a grin. ‘Well, how about that. Instant reunion.’ He looked down at the roses and raised his eyebrows.

Webb looked over his shoulder. Mickey was standing in the middle of the room in a white bathrobe. Nice. Cosy.

He held out the flowers and gave them to Sean. ‘These are for you.’

‘Thanks, Spider.’

‘Well, I’ve missed you.’

Ryan lowered his voice. ‘You wearing that aftershave for me as well?’

‘I just had lunch with my editor. He’s gay and I like to tease him.’

Mickey stood there, looking guilty as hell. Well, there was no law against sleeping with your former husband. ‘Well. Great to see you again. I’d better be going.’

She pushed Ryan out of the way. ‘Hugh, don’t go. Come in. Please. I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘Clearly.’

Ryan had overcome his initial surprise. ‘Yeah, come on, Spider. I haven’t see you in God knows how long. At least have a drink with me.’

Webb shrugged and turned around.

Mickey fussed in the kitchen. ‘I get home from work, suddenly I have all these visitors. You guys want orange juice? I don’t keep anything stronger.’

Webb shrugged. ‘Sure. Orange juice is fine.’

Ryan held out the flowers. ‘Can you put these in a vase for me?’

Mickey took the flowers and slammed them on the counter top in the small galley kitchen. She went to the refrigerator, took out a pitcher of orange juice and fetched three glasses.

The door to the bedroom was open and the bed was a mess. ‘I didn’t have time to make it this morning,’ she snapped, and pulled the door shut with her foot. She put the orange juice and the glasses on the coffee table. Ryan and Webb sat awkwardly side by side on the only sofa.

Mickey dragged over a chair from the dining table. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘this is really nice.’

‘Saw Crosby in London,’ Ryan said. ‘He told me how he’d met Mickey over here. I got her address from him, thought it would be a surprise. And there you were thinking you’d surprise her too. Now look at us, mate. All of us sitting here. Surprised.’

‘When did you get into New York?’

‘Last night.’

‘Still with CNN?’

‘Pays the bills. What about you? Still churning out bestsellers?’

‘I’m the darling of the talk shows’

‘I always thought you would be.’

A strained silence.

‘So what brings you to New York?’

Mickey poured the juices and slammed the glasses on the table. She was in a bad mood. Getting caught out did that to people, Webb supposed. ‘I came to see Mickey. What brings you here?’

‘I came to see Mickey.’

‘What a coincidence.’

‘Isn’t it?’

Her eyes were bright and angry. Well, he didn’t know what she had to be pissed about. He was the one being messed around. ‘So, how’s things going? I’ve seen you on television a few times. Hardly recognized you just now without your flak jacket.’

‘Mate, I’ve tried to tell them but they won’t listen. Suppose it doesn’t do the ratings any harm to play up the risk angle a little bit. You know how it is.’

‘Sure I do.’

‘You’re looking well, Spider.’

‘Thanks. You haven’t changed a bit either.’

‘Clean living.’

‘I can imagine.’

Ryan sipped his orange juice. ‘Funny, I was hoping I might catch up with you while I was here. From my lips to God’s ear, eh?’ He was smiling and tapping his foot at the same time. Webb could feel the anger radiating out of him. Because Mickey had found herself another man or because the man is me? He probably preferred it if his women took themselves off to a monastery after he’d finished with them, pined after him forever. That would suit his ego. ‘Mate, I read all of your stuff. It’s not bad. My favorite was
Deception
. You’ve got a gift, Spider. You know how to make your point in a very entertaining way.’

‘It’s not meant as entertainment.’

‘No, but it’s got to be, hasn’t it? If you want to get people’s attention. It has to be either grotesque or gruesome or exciting or people just switch off. When you’ve got something to say you have to mesmerize them with blood stains, then creep up behind them and shout your message in their ear while they’re distracted. We only have to do it for thirty, maybe sixty seconds. Doing it in a whole book is a lot harder. I admire you for that.’

Webb watched his face for signs of irony. But there were none. He meant it.

‘Where are you living now, Spider?’

‘Out on Long Island. You’ll have to come out before you go back.’

‘Yeah, I’d like that. I can bring Mickey out with me.’

He smiled ingenuously. Webb looked at Mickey.

‘High and I are sleeping together,’ she said to Ryan.

‘I would have put it another way,’ Webb said. ‘I would have said I was in love with your ex-wife. But there you are. Different perspectives.’

‘Shucks, you two,’ he grinned. ‘Now don’t you mind me.’

‘Fuck you,’ Mickey said, and got up and went into the bedroom, slamming the door.

Webb stood up to leave.

Ryan looked up at him. ‘Nothing happened, mate,’ he said. ‘I mean, before you got here. We’re all finished years ago.’

‘Been great catching up.’

‘Can I still come out to Lincoln Cove?’

Christ, Webb thought. He sounds like a small boy who thinks he’s just missed out on a holiday treat. ‘Mickey will tell you how to get there.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’d better be going. My train leaves Penn station in half an hour.’

He walked out. Screw Sean Ryan.

And screw her as well.