The City When It Rains

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

IT HAD BEGUN to rain again by the time Corman reached Seventh Avenue, only harder this time, with gusts of wind driving the thick gray drops against the lighted windows. At first, he tried to go on despite it, then gave up and ducked under the doorway of a small coffee shop to wait it out.

He’d expected it to trail off almost immediately, but for several minutes the rain continued to fall in long wet sheets. Across the street, he could see another small restaurant. It had a French name and a dark-blue awning. From time to time people moved in and out of it, huddled briefly under the awning, then either signaled for a cab or rushed down the street, shoulders hunched beneath their umbrellas.

Corman took out his camera, stepped back into the shadows slightly and began taking pictures. He was still taking them when a large, well-dressed man came out, a woman holding tightly to his arm. The man was laughing, his face was so bright and youthful that for an instant, Corman didn’t realize it was Edgar. When he did, he shrank back quickly, put away his camera and pulled his hat down over his face.

Edgar gave the woman a long, lingering kiss, then stepped out from under the awning and hailed a cab. The woman rushed over to it when it stopped, kissed Edgar again and got inside. Her hand shot out the window and waved back at him as the cab lurched forward and pulled away.

For a few seconds, Edgar lingered on the sidewalk, smiling sweetly as he watched the cab move away from him. Then he turned back toward Seventh Avenue, his eyes sweeping the opposite street until they stopped, hung like two frozen circles in the air.

Corman nodded but did not move toward him.

Edgar stood stiffly, his arms at his sides, the rain pelting him mercilessly. He seemed unable to move, as if his indiscretion had suddenly encased him solidly within a tomb of ice. For a few more seconds he stared into Corman’s face with a calculating intensity, then walked quickly across the street and joined him in the cramped doorway.

“No bullshit story, David,” he said determinedly. “You won’t get anything like that from me.”

Corman said nothing.

“I don’t know what shook me up there for a minute,” Edgar added. “I mean, it’s an old story, right?”

Corman waved his hand. “Forget it, Edgar.”

Edgar shook his head. “No, I don’t want to do that,” he said. “I don’t want to forget it.” He drew in a long, slow breath. “I’m tired of keeping everything to myself. It can kill you, doing that.” He paused a moment, as if to gather the whole story together in his mind, then went on. “I’ve known her for five years. It’s not just some little trinket on the side. It’s better than that.”

“Edgar … ”

He put up his hand. “Love makes it better, that’s what I’m telling you.” He seemed embarrassed by his own statement. “I’m no philosopher, not like Victor, with big ideas to justify every fucking thing he does. I don’t know if love makes it okay. I’m not saying that. But I know it makes it better.”

“You don’t have to … ”

“I know, I know,” Edgar said. “Believe me, I know. But to tell you the truth, I want to talk about this.” He smiled. “I’m glad you’re here. I really am.” He took Corman’s arm and eased him toward the door of the coffee shop. “Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

They took a small table in the back and ordered two coffees. Edgar glanced at the bowl of pickled green tomatoes, the place setting on its white paper napkin, the speckled Formica surface of the table itself while he searched for the words. Finally, he seemed to find them. “She’s a little chunky,” he said happily. “I guess you could tell that.”

Corman nodded.

Edgar laughed. “When it hits her, her whole body trembles, and there’s this long thing that sweeps over her. I don’t know what you’d call it. A peace. You know what I mean? A calm.”

His eyes were very bright, cheerful, childishly amazed. “And she starts to laugh, David, right out loud. It just comes over her, this uncontrollable laugh.” He shook his head. “Jesus Christ, it brings tears to my eyes.”

Corman pulled out his cigarettes and offered one to Edgar.

Edgar hardly seemed to notice. “You know what she makes me feel?” he asked emphatically. “She makes me feel like I’m doing something good, comforting somebody, making her life better.” He lifted his hands upward. “How often do you get to do that in life? I mean, do it in a way that you see it right in front of you? How often does that happen?”

Corman didn’t answer, just let him talk.

Edgar stared him straight in the eye. “I can’t be with her on Christmas, you know? But, David, about once every two weeks or so with her, I’m goddamn Santa Claus.”

Corman smiled and lit his cigarette.

Edgar studied Corman’s face. “I hope you’re not laughing at me,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“Good,” Edgar said, a little doubtfully. “Because you’re not saying much.”

“Just listening,” Corman said.

The coffees came. Each of them took a quick sip and returned the cups to the table.

“Her name’s Patty,” Edgar said. “Patty Lister. She lives down in Tribeca. A little studio all done up in this sort of Victorian style, doilies everywhere, little framed pictures.”

Corman nodded again. He could see the place just as Edgar described it, a room out of time, from a lost age.

Edgar grabbed him by the wrists. “You know what it is, David?” he said. “This thing with Patty? I’ll tell you what it is. It’s fucking beautiful.” He laughed. “It’s fucking gorgeous. The sex? Let’s face it, strictly double-vanilla. But, Christ, it makes my heart sing.”

Corman tugged gently at his hands, but Edgar refused to release them. Instead, he tightened his grip. “Remember when we were kids? You know, before Dad made it in the ad game?”

“Yes.”

“We had some pretty lean times,” Edgar went on. “Chipped plates. That’s what I remember. All the time at dinner, these fucking chipped plates. You remember them?”

“I guess.”

“Well, I remember them very well,” Edgar said. “And when I was about fifteen, I said to myself, ‘When I get out of this goddamn place, I’m going to make sure I never have to eat off a chipped plate again.’” He sat back slightly, his eyes fixed rigidly on Corman. “And that’s what I’ve done, what I’ve achieved. My wife doesn’t have to eat off chipped plates. I don’t either. And Giselle? Christ, she’s never even seen one.” He stared at Corman hungrily. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

“It’s something,” Corman admitted quietly. “Yeah, it’s something, Edgar.”

“But there’re other things,” Edgar added quickly. “Things you forget.” He watched Corman silently for a moment, as if trying to find something more to say. Finally, he gave up, released Corman’s wrists and sat back in his chair. “So, as the saying goes, ‘What’s new with you?’”

“Nothing much.”

“Anything new on the money front?”

“Not yet.”

Edgar’s face turned grim. “You need something to break, what with Lexie on the prowl.”

Corman nodded.

“I’m supposed to call her tomorrow, set everything up. The meeting, I mean.”

“If you could delay it a little … ”

“I don’t think so,” Edgar said. “She’s not in the mood.”

“No, I guess not.”

Edgar looked at Corman very intently. “David, I hope you know, it’s not like you’re alone in the world.”

“I won’t take money, if that’s what you mean.”

“Call it a loan,” Edgar said. “For Lucy. A loan to her. She’ll pay me when she gets to be a rocket scientist.”

Corman shook his head. “Jeffrey offered. I said no to him, too.”

“Jeffrey?” Edgar said unbelievingly. “Offered what?”

“Lots of things. Money.”

“Money?”

“To pay for a different apartment,” Corman told him. “A school for Lucy. Stuff like that.”

“He offered to pay? Jeffrey? Himself?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus,” Edgar groaned. “Lexie must be burning the bed.” He looked back at Corman awkwardly. “I mean … bad choice of words.”

“No, you’re right,” Corman said. “She probably is. She knows how.”

Edgar thought a moment, his eyes on the coffee cup. “Look, David, you have to face facts,” he said when he looked up again. “When you have your meeting with Lexie, you’re going to have to … ”

“I’m working on something,” Corman said quickly.

“But it’s not coming through,” Edgar said. “Something needs to come through.”

“It will,” Corman told him. “I hope.”

Edgar shook his head determinedly, wagged his finger. “Not hope. That’s your first mistake. Fuck hope. Hope and two bucks, that’s what bets the Lotto. We’re talking about keeping Lucy.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“Well, you have to do better,” Edgar said. “What about that other thing, that permanent thing you were talking about?”

“It’s shooting society.”

“So?”

“I don’t know, Edgar.”

“What? You don’t know what?”

Corman looked at him pointedly.

“A compromise?” Edgar asked. “Is that what you mean? That it’s a compromise? If that’s what you mean, say it.”

“It’s a compromise.”

Edgar glared at him fiercely. “It’s a fucking living,” he cried. “That’s what it is.”

“That much, yes.”

“As if it’s shit. What kind of attitude is that?”

“It’s my attitude.”

“It’s a living, for Christ’s sake,” Edgar said loudly. “Compromise? Let me tell you something. If you look at things a certain way, everything’s a compromise. Food’s a compromise. A roof over your head. Shirt, shoes. Everything.”

“Some are worse than others.”

Edgar shook his head. “No. That’s where you’re wrong. They’re all the same.”

“And that’s an argument to make one?”

“You’re goddamn right it is,” Edgar bawled. “Absolutely.”

“Come on, Edgar.”

“I mean it,” Edgar said. “Christ, David. Don’t be a kid. You can’t afford it.”

Corman leaned toward him and stared at him intently. “Why do you want me to keep Lucy?” He paused a moment, unsure. “Or do you?”

“I do.”

“Why? Is it just because I want to, and you’re my brother, lawyer, whatever?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“You’re her father.”

“Lexie’s her mother.”

“Lexie’s a space cadet.”

“No, she’s not,” Corman said. “And you know it.”

“Jeffrey’s a twit.”

“That’s not true either,” Corman said. “But I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about me. Why should Lucy stay with me? Why would she be better off?”

Edgar shook his head, as if defeated. “I can’t answer that, David. I really can’t. Maybe you were right the first time. Maybe it’s because you’re my brother. I love you. When you love somebody, you want them to have what they want. You want Lucy. So, there. I want you to have Lucy. Maybe it’s just that simple.”

Corman slumped back into his seat. “That’s not good enough, Edgar. Not for me. Not for Lucy.”

“Well, what are you looking for?” Edgar asked. “A compliment? You want me to say what a great father you are?”

“No.”

“Good,” Edgar said bluntly. “Because there are problems.” He looked at Corman fervently. “We’re talking about very basic things here, David. Support. How basic can you get?”

“It always comes down to that.”

“Out of the dreamworld, yes, that’s what it comes down to,” Edgar said. “Support. Protection. How well you can provide these things.” He leaned toward him. “Listen, I see Patty, right? Okay, maybe to some people that’s wrong. But let me ask you a question. Does it take anything out of Giselle’s mouth? Does it mean the rain comes through the roof?” He shook his head. “No. So really, when it comes down to it, who gives a shit? It’s something anybody can understand. Nobody’s hungry. Nobody’s out in the … the …” He glanced toward the window. “Nobody’s out in the fucking rain.” He shrugged. “Out of the dreamworld, that’s the way it is.”

Corman remained silent for a moment, staring into Edgar’s exasperated face, then glanced away from him, toward the front of the restaurant. The rain had slackened. “I’d better go,” he said. “Before it starts up again.”

Edgar nodded wearily. “I wish I could have been more help.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s you I worry about,” Edgar said.

“I’ll find a way,” Corman assured him.

Edgar pulled himself to his feet. “As always,” he said. “Whatever I can do, I’ll do.”

Corman offered him a consoling smile. “I know.”

They walked outside and stood for a moment in the doorway.

“At least let me give you a ride home,” Edgar said after a moment.

“All right, thanks.”

The ride was very short, and at the end of it Edgar suddenly draped his arm around Corman’s shoulders. “Thanks for listening to my bullshit, anyway,” he said. “I mean, about Patty.”

Corman nodded.

Edgar’s face softened suddenly. “I really feel like I have a brother, someone at my side, you know? I hope you can feel that way, too.”

Corman smiled thinly then realized that he had never in his life felt more entirely alone. “Absolutely,” he said.

As he stepped off the elevator, Corman noticed Mr. Ingersoll standing at his door, quietly reading a piece of paper someone had taped to it.

“Oh, sorry,” Ingersoll said quickly, when he caught Corman in his eye. “I wasn’t meaning to …”

“What is it?”

“Looks like an eviction notice,” Ingersoll said. “From Trang. The asshole.”

Corman began to read the notice.

“Slope-headed bastard,” Ingersoll hissed. “Ever notice his teeth? Like they’ve been filed down or something.” He shook his head. “Slope-headed bastard. Some right he’s got. How long’s he in this country? Two years? Three? Five at the most? What right’s he got to …”

“It says I have ten days,” Corman said.

Ingersoll looked at him sadly. “To show cause, right? To show cause why they shouldn’t kick you out?”

“Yeah.”

Ingersoll stared at the notice sourly. “Back when, in the old days, the Depression, they used to try to kick people out, put their furniture on the streets. But it wasn’t that easy. They had hell to pay then. You took your life in your hands, you fucked with people’s homes.”

“Times have changed,” Corman said. He pulled the notice from the door and waved it in the air. “Do you have any idea when they put this up?”

“I saw the little slope-headed bastard prowling around,” Ingersoll said. “Maybe around eight, something like that.”

“Around eight,” Corman repeated to himself, hoping Lucy hadn’t seen it.

“Some right, he’s got,” Ingersoll said irritably. “Did he build the bridges, that little gook? The buildings? The goddamn skyscrapers? Did he build them?” He waved his hand. “He was wading through a rice paddy when we built this city.” His lips curled downward bitterly. “New York, New York,” he sang coldly. “What a wonderful town.”

Lucy and Victor were sitting in front of the television, polishing off a bowl of popcorn, when Corman walked in.

“Uncle Victor said I could have butter,” Lucy told him.

“Gives it flavor,” Victor said. He looked at Corman pointedly, all but plastered the eviction notice to his face. “I hope everything is all right,” he said.

“Everything’s fine,” Corman said crisply. He could feel the paper beneath his arm, hanging there, a strange crinkly growth. He quickly stepped over behind the sofa and touched Lucy’s hair. “What are you watching?”

“Some movie about a stolen bird,” Lucy said. She looked over at him. “We had Japanese food.”

Victor laughed. “She’s a real sushi expert now.”

“Then we saw a show,” Lucy said.

“Which one?” Corman asked.

“Cats. It was pretty good. But there wasn’t much of a story.”

Victor grinned happily. “Lively, though.” His eyes swept back toward the television.

Corman glanced at the screen. It was a colorized version of TheMaltese Falcon. Humphrey Bogart was talking out of the side of his mouth to a bemused and unflappable Sydney Greenstreet. Both of them looked as if their faces were covered with pink icing.

“It’s about your bedtime, isn’t it?” Corman said to Lucy.

“It’s almost over,” Lucy protested. “Can I just see the end?”

“Okay,” Corman said. He looked at Victor and forced a smile.“You want to stay and see the end, too?”

“Sure, why not?” Victor said. He put his arm around Lucy’s shoulder and squeezed. “Should I see the end of it with you?”

“If you want to,” Lucy said with a shrug, her eyes fixed on the screen again.

“Maybe I will, too,” Corman said wearily. He pulled a chair over from the dining table, sat down, and watched the movie as if he were actually interested in it. For a time, he was able to follow the action, but his mind began to drift, and soon everything seemed strangely funny, Trang’s teeth, Edgar’s affair, the endlessly falling rain, absolutely everything, as if it were all one big joke that thundered through space, raising the rooftops. Then suddenly, he thought of Sarah Rosen, saw her face amid the throng, staring vacantly and chewing her lip as the punchline finally came home.