What I Saw and How I Lied

Chapter 19

We pulled up at the hotel and Wally walked forward, almost casually. Usually he raced to get to the car door before you could open it. "Here you go, young Walter," Mr. Grayson said, and gave him a quarter.

Wally didn't say anything. He just took the keys. As we walked into the lobby, Mr. Forney the manager was standing there, as though he was waiting for us.

"Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, I need a word. Over by the desk."

It was the absence of please. Usually the guy pleased all over the place. Please, sir, your messages. Please, sir, your dinner reservation is confirmed. Please step this way, sir, please.

Just the way Wally had run out of yessirs.

I saw Mrs. Grayson's spine snap to. She looked over

at Mr. Grayson, but he stood, still with a pleasant smile on his face, not moving.

"How about right here?" he asked.

Joe moved closer, flanking Mr. Grayson. "Is there a problem?"

"You received a telephone message this evening," the

manager said. "From a Mrs...." he cleared his throat

"...Garfinkle." He said the name like a wet tissue he was holding by a corner. "She requested that you call home. Something about a wire transfer of funds." He paused. "The lady in question claimed to be your mother."

Mr. Grayson took the message slip out of the man­ager's hand and turned away. "Thank you.”

“I have to ask ..."

Mr. Grayson whipped around so fast Mr. Forney had to step back. "Do you? Do you have to ask?"

"If, in fact, this lady is your mother."

"Last time I checked," Mr. Grayson said.

"Tom," Mrs. Grayson murmured. She touched his sleeve.

"I'm sorry, we do have a strict policy," the man­ager said.

"And that is?"

"Mr. Grayson, we trusted that you and your wife were

Gentiles. But from speaking to your mother, we believe this is not the case.”

“You didn't ask."

"It is an established Palm Beach custom. I understand that your people are happier down in the Miami area. I'll send a bellhop up for your luggage."

Mr. Grayson's face flushed. "Are you kicking me out of this hotel?"

"We find that your booking was open-ended, and we have a large number of guests arriving soon."

"That's bull," Joe said.

"We here at Le Mirage strive for the comfort of all our guests, and they have a right to expect —"

"Tom." Mrs. Grayson tugged on his arm. "Let's go."

"Not tonight. I'm not driving out tonight and looking for a hotel in the dark."

"I'm sure I can recommend some motels."

Mr. Grayson stared Mr. Forney down. "We'll be gone before breakfast."

The manager held his gaze for a moment. Then he inclined his head slightly. "I think that will be accept­able." He walked away stiffly, as if he was the one with the right to be angry.

For a minute nobody said anything.

"Let's go, Tom," Mrs. Grayson said.

"You're not going to say it?" he answered dully. "You're not going to tell me that you were right?"

"Sweetheart," she murmured. There was so much lovely warmth in that word, it was a wonder he didn't turn to her, but he didn't, he just kept staring ahead.

"Tom," Joe said. "Is there anything we can do?"

Tom's mouth twisted. "Like help me pack?"

"This is terrible," Mom said. "I ..."

But this moment was for the Graysons. Nobody else. Mrs. Grayson looked at Mom with a "butt out" look that even I could read.

So we just stood there and watched them push the elevator button. Watched them wait. Watched them get on. We didn't move a muscle.

Ugly. Once in the schoolyard Herbie Connell threw a rock and it hit me in the back. This felt like that, ugly hitting me in the back.

"Whew," Mom said as soon as the door to our suite closed behind us. "That crummy little pipsqueak manager. I should have stuffed that stupid bow tie down his throat."

"I can't believe this is happening to me," Joe said. "We're signing tomorrow. This is going to blow everything."

"How do you mean?" Mom asked. "They're getting kicked out of the hotel, not Florida. Why won't he sign the deal?"

"Did you see their faces? Don't you get it?" Joe said angrily. "The deal is off! Christ, Bev, can't you get anything?"

"It's not my fault," Mom said. "You get that, Joe? Everything is not my fault!"

Joe paced to the bed and back. "I've got to think."

"What's to think about? You'll talk to Tom tomorrow and get it straightened out."

"You think we can buy this hotel now, the two of us? Now that they know?"

"So buy another hotel! It doesn't have to be in Palm Beach. Who needs it, anyway?"

"And you weren't any help. Why did Arlene sour on you that way? Couldn't you help me out? What hap­pened with her, anyway?"

"It didn't take you long. What was it, maybe thirty seconds? I knew you'd come around to blaming this on me. You knew the deal was risky. You knew he was Jewish, didn't you? That's why he needed your name on the deed."

"He was going to be a silent partner. Who would care?"

"They'd care! So maybe he wanted to bust this place wide open — I'm not saying he's wrong — but I'm saying, you shouldn't be surprised that it blew up, that's all. That's what happens when you try to fix things sometimes. Things that the swells like just the way they are."

"So this is my fault."

"No, it's not your fault, Joe." Mom sounded tired. "But it's not mine, either. You never tell me the real deal. You screw up, it's my fault. I want to make my own screwups, thank you."

"Oh, you're plenty good at screwing, dollface," Joe said. "That's clear."

"Stop fighting!" I yelled. But they didn't stop.

"Why'd you marry me, Joe? Why'd you ask me to marry you?"

"I thought different then."

"You didn't trust me then, though, did you? You never did, but I didn't want to see it. I thought it was because you loved me so much. But no, you made sure I had a chap-erone while you were overseas. Your mother, watching me like a hawk. So if I stopped to buy a pack of gum, she'd want to know what I was doing for those five minutes."

"Did you need a chaperone, Bev?"

"Stop it," I begged. "Please, stop it."

"You must have met a lot of fellows, selling ties."

"Stop it!"

I wanted to put my hands over my ears. I was gulping my tears into my mouth. I didn't want to hear any more ugly tonight. So I ran.