The City When It Rains

CHAPTER

THIRTY

“IT’S AWFULLY LATE,” the woman behind the reception desk told him.

“Well, he doesn’t sleep much,” Corman said.

“Yes, but, we have regular …”

“I can’t always make it during regular visiting hours.”

The woman eyed him a moment longer, trying to determine what she should do.

“Look, nobody else comes to see him,” Corman said softly. “Just me. Nobody else.”

“Well, okay,” the woman said reluctantly. “Go on down.”

The room was at the end of the corridor and Lazar’s face filled with quiet recognition as Corman came through the door.

“How you doing?” Corman asked.

The old man’s light blue eyes rested silently on Corman’s face. He sat up very slightly and pulled his head forward. A long strand of gleaming white hair fell at a slant over one eye.

Corman walked to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. “I’m sorry I missed you last weekend,” he said. “I had some things I had to do.”

The old man nodded. “D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d … ”

“I had to handle some things about Lucy,” Corman continued. “Nothing big. Just some stuff with Lexie and her and … you know.”

One of Lazar’s eyes narrowed. “D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d.”

“Nothing bad,” Corman assured him quickly. “She’s not in any trouble or anything.” He tried to smile. “This’ll surprise you. I did a shoot with Harry Groton this week.”

A small hesitant smile formed on Lazar’s lips. “D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d.”

“At the Waldorf,” Corman said. “Some big wedding or something.”

The old man grinned dismissively. A silvery string of drool descended slowly from the corner of his mouth and gathered in a glistening pool on his white bedshirt.

Corman took a cloth from the end of the bed and wiped the old man’s mouth.

“Groton’s leaving the paper,” he said. “Pike offered me his job.”

Lazar shook his head slowly. “D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d.”

Corman smiled thinly. “You probably think I shouldn’t take it.”

Lazar nodded. A single hand came from under the sheet, crawled toward Corman’s wrist, then encircled it.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Corman said. “But I have to have some money, Lazar.”

Lazar’s face softened almost imperceptibly.

“You know how it is,” Corman added. “With money.”

Lazar nodded. A second tangled strand of white hair fell across his forehead, dangling between his eyes.

Corman pushed it back. “Do you have a comb?”

Lazar shook his head.

“I’ll bring you one next time.”

The old man stared at him scoldingly for an instant, then smiled.

“I have to let Pike know in the next few days,” Corman told him. “I don’t know what to do.”

Lazar’s head drooped forward slightly.

“It’s steady money. That’s the one good thing about it.”

Lazar raised his head slowly, the white eyebrows twitching slightly. “D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d.”

“A woman jumped out a window down in Hell’s Kitchen about a week ago,” Corman said.

The old man’s eyes widened somewhat.

“I took some pictures,” Corman added. He drew the small stack from the camera bag and showed them to Lazar one by one.

He looked at them intently, eyes narrowing more forcefully with each one. Then he nodded slowly.

“I don’t know much about her,” Corman said. “She went to Columbia. She wrote an essay.” He returned the photographs to his bag. “There’s this guy I know in publishing. He says maybe a book, something like that.” He heard his own words, how disjointed they were. He leaned forward and drew the old man gently into his arms. “Christ, Lazar,” he whispered. “I’ll never be the same because of you.”

The old man began to cry softly, his shoulders shaking.

“I know, I know,” Corman said, then waited until Lazar had regained himself and eased him back onto his pillow. “Lucy says hi,” he told him.

Lazar smiled tremulously.

“I was going to bring her by on Sunday,” Corman said. “But she’s going to be with Lexie. You know, up in Westchester.”

Lazar grasped Corman’s hand again and squeezed.

Corman’s eyes fled to the window, the dark city beyond it. He could feel small bones breaking in his soul.

“D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d.”

Corman turned back to the old man. “I’ll let you know what I find out about the woman,” he said. Then he lifted himself to his feet. “I have to be going now, Lazar. Lucy’s home, so I’ve got to head back.”

Lazar’s body suddenly tensed. His eyes searched the room frantically.

“You want something?” Corman asked.

“D-d-d-d-d-d-d.”

“Water?”

“D-d-d-d-d-d-d.”

Corman tried to follow the movement of Lazar’s eyes. They were darting furiously in all directions, as if he were following the movements of an invisible bat.

“Food?” Corman asked. “You cold? Hot?”

The eyes continued to dart around. He seemed to be indicating everything in the room, the pictures on the wall, the television, the window. Then suddenly they stopped dead and fell toward the police band radio at Corman’s side.

Corman smiled. “The city,” he said. “You want the city.”

Lazar nodded fiercely. “D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d,” he said loudly.

“You want to hear what’s going on.” Corman took the radio from his belt. “SOD okay?” he asked as he wrapped the old man’s fingers around it.

“D-d-d-d-d-d-d,” Lazar said happily.

“Okay,” Corman said softly. He switched the radio on, dialed the SOD code, then propped it firmly against the old man’s ear. “That ought to keep you busy for a while.”

Lazar nodded vigorously as the first click of the radio sounded in the silent room.

“See you soon,” Corman said as he stepped away from the bed.

He walked to the door, then glanced back. The old man had eased himself into the pillow once again, the slender black receiver perched at his ear. His eyes grew intense, his brow slightly wrinkled in concentration as he listened to the first call. A fire was burning in a Brooklyn warehouse. No one knew if there were still any people trapped inside.

Trang was more or less poised at the entrance to Corman’s building, squatting silently, his eyes following the traffic up and down the street. He rose quickly as Corman approached.

“How you doing,” Corman said, as he tried to pass.

Trang stepped in front of him. “Good evening, Mr. Corman,” he said. “As you know, we have a few matters to discuss.”

“I haven’t sold anything yet,” Corman told him. “I’m still working on it.”

Trang looked unhappy. “It is very serious now. You many months in arrears.”

“I realize that,” Corman said crisply.

Trang’s body seemed to puff out slightly, make itself appear more formidable. “I’m afraid I have taken steps.”

Corman stared at him expressionlessly.

“Filed papers.” Trang looked exasperated. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Mr. Corman. Eviction. You left me no choice. I did it with regret.”

In his mind, Corman saw two small white fangs slide down from Trang’s mouth, then rise up again and slip behind the thick pink cloak of his upper lip. He felt his body tighten, make a quick, violent move toward him, then ease back, regain control.

“You’ll get your rent,” he said curtly, then turned quickly and headed for the elevator doors.

Lucy groaned sleepily as he kissed her. She looked up briefly from the pillow, her eyes fluttering softly before they closed tight again. “Oh, Papa,” she groaned, a little irritably. “I was sleeping.”

“Go back then,” Corman said softly. “Good night.”

He walked out of her room as the phone rang. It was Edgar.

“Glad to see you’re home at night,” he said. His voice seemed slightly strained. “Uh, I’m at home. I mean, in bed,” he added quickly. “You know, with Frances.”

“I understand.”

“But, uh, I wanted to let you know that I’ve made all the arrangements with Lexie.”

“Okay.”

“Saturday night.”

“Where?”

“She’ll meet you at your apartment,” Edgar said. “She’s going to be in the city all day, she told me. Probably shopping for some art. They’re building a new house, you know.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Edgar didn’t go into it. “Anyway, she says she can meet you at your apartment.”

“Okay.”

“I tried to talk her out of meeting you there,” Edgar added.

“Why?”

“Come on, David,” Edgar said. “The way it looks. Grist for her mill.”

Corman glanced about the apartment, noting its disarray, and saw it as Lexie would, scattered, unkempt, collapsing at the center.

“She’ll come by around eight,” Edgar said.

“I’ll be here.”

“Make sure you are,” Edgar warned. “If you weren’t, she might take that in a very bad way.”

“I’ll be here,” Corman repeated coolly and started to hang up.

“David?” Edgar said quickly, stopping him.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound it.”

“I’m busy, Edgar.”

“Developing?”

“Yeah, developing.”

“Well, listen,” Edgar said. “If anything happens. I mean, with money. It would be helpful if you could mention it to Lexie. Strictly in passing, of course.”

“Okay.”

“Technically, it’s not her business,” Edgar added. “But we’re dealing with a mood here.”

“I understand.”

“Just a passing mention, that’s all.”

“If I sell anything,” Corman assured him, “I’ll let her know.”

“All right,” Edgar said. “Get some sleep, for God’s sake.”

“I will,” Corman told him, then hung up and walked to the window. Outside, the city struck him with such broken beauty that after a while, he pulled his eyes away from it and let them drift downward until they caught on a little feather of dust which clung to the thigh of his trousers. He brushed at it softly, but the faint brownish mark only sank further into the cloth, so he slapped at it harder, then vehemently, with his fist, until suddenly he stopped and began to cry, gently at first, then in wrenching shudders until he finally stepped back from the window, raised his hand to cover his mouth, and waited for it to pass.

When it had, he returned very quietly to Lucy’s room. She’d turned over on her back, sleeping deeply, her arms spread wide apart, head arched slightly back, throat exposed, as if waiting to be sacrificed.