TWENTY-FIVE


I WAS IN my office on Wednesday morning, eating some sugared donuts and drinking coffee and reading the paper. Wednesdays were always promising, because Susan didn't see patients on Wednesdays. She taught in the morning and normally spent the rest of the day with me.

And morning was always a good part of the day. I had the paper to read. The streets were full of people, fresh-showered and dressed well and heading for work. My office was still. The coffee was recent. The donuts were everything donuts should be, and the bright beginning of the day contained the prospect of unlimited possibility. When I had finished the paper, I put my feet up and dragged the phone over, and called Vinnie Morris.

"Gino do business with any construction companies?" I said.

"Of course," Vinnie said.

"I got a heavy-equipment operator looking for work."

"He connected?" Vinnie said.

"He's connected to me," I said. "Can you get him hired?"

"Sure," Vinnie said.

"Quickly?" I said.

"Tomorrow?"

"That's quickly," I said.

"I'll get back to you," Vinnie said.

We hung up. I went to the window and looked down at Boylston Street where Berkeley intersected. A stream of good-looking professional women moved past. Their outfits were tailored and ironed and careful. I was too high to hear, but I knew that their high heels clicked on the warm pavement as they walked. And I knew most of them smelled of pretty good perfume. Had I been closer, they in turn would have noticed that I smelled fetchingly of Club Man. But there was no one to smell me… yet. I looked at my watch. Quarter to eleven. She'd be here in an hour and a half, or so she had promised. Punctuality was not Susan's strength. She always intended to be on time, but she seemed to have some kind of chronometric dyslexia, which thwarted her intent, nearly always. Had she been predictably late, say fifteen minutes every time, then you could simply adjust your expectations. But she was sometimes a minute late and sometimes an hour late, and on rare and astonishing occasions, she was five minutes early. Since I had no way to gauge her coming hither or her going hence, I accepted the fact that readiness is all, and remained calm.

I poured the rest of the coffee into my cup and rinsed the pot out and threw the filter away, added a little milk and a lot of sugar to my cup, and sat back at my desk with my feet up. I sipped the coffee and thought about the Clives and Tedy Sapp and Polly Brown and Dalton Becker and came no closer to understanding what had happened than I had before I got canned.

The phone rang. It was Vinnie.

"Crocker Construction," he said. "Tell your guy to ask for Marty Rincone. Use my name."

"Where are they?" I said.

"Building condos on the beach in Revere. He'll see the trucks."

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome," Vinnie said. "You know where Hawk is?"

"France," I said.

"Working?"

"I don't think so. He went with a good-looking French professor from BC. Can I help you with something?"

"You could, but you won't."

"Okay, if I hear from Hawk, I'll tell him you were asking."

"Today or tomorrow, or don't bother. After that I'll have done it myself."

We hung up. Vinnie wasn't a chatty guy.

The mail came. I went through it. Nobody had sent me a check. Although one client had written a grateful letter. There were a couple of bills, for which I wrote a couple of checks. I threw away several offers to make my phone bills lower than a child molester.

Susan arrived. However late she might be, she was always worth the wait. Today she had on cropped white pants, and a striped shirt, and sneakers. I sensed that our afternoon would be informal. She sat on the couch and wrinkled her nose.

"Are you wearing Club Man again, or have they just painted the radiators?"

"You fear Club Man, don't you?" I said. "Because you're afraid that after just a single whiff, your libido will jump out of your psyche and begin to break-dance right here on the rug."

"That's probably it," she said. "Would you like to hear our plans for the rest of the day?"

"Yes, but first I need to find work for a nanny," I said.

"A nanny," Susan said.

"Yes."

I told her about Kate and Kevin and Valerie and Miranda.

"Things are not always as they appear," Susan said.

"You've noticed that too," I said.

"I'm a trained psychologist," Susan said. "You've gotten Kevin a job already?"

"Yep. Through Vinnie Morris."

"I'm not sure I have Vinnie's clout."

"Thank God for that," I said.

"But I can ask around," Susan said. "Most of the women I know work."

"As do most of the men," I said.

"Your point, Mr. Politically Correct?"

"Could be a father needs a nanny," I said.

"I'll ask the men too," she said. "Now would you like to hear our plans for the day?"

"Do they involve heavy breathing?"

"Absolutely," Susan said. "Whenever I smell your cologne."

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