Silent Her Part 3

"Right." Brendan closed his eyes, opened them, and slid his salad plate back where it belonged.

"You know, Tony," he said between mouthfuls of mesclun and seared porcini mushrooms, "doesn't it ever strike you that some of this stuff is-well, sort of useless?"

Tony looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"All this baby boomer detritus. Beatlemania. Mickey Mouse Club hats. Three Stooges T-s.h.i.+rts.

It's all bulls.h.i.+t. They're just trying to sell you s.h.i.+t. It's all one big f.u.c.king infomercial."

"But that's not what I'm talking about." Tony shook his head, hair whipping round his face. "I'm talking about the stuff that was lost-all those people you never heard of again. Like Chip Crockett. All those puppets he made, " he said plaintively. "And his characters. Ogden Orff. I mean, there's nothing left but these little tiny ten-second videoclips, but he's there, man! He's still alive!"

Brendan dropped his fork onto his plate and buried his face in his longyears. "Tony." He cracked his fingers so that he could peer at his friend. In front of him, Tony's cheeseburger platter was almost untouched, the ghostly red outline of a heart just visible alongside the pickle. "Listen. I hate to be the one to give you the bad news about Santa Claus, but-"

"But this is real. Ogden Orff was real-or, well, Chip Crockett was. They were real," Tony repeated, pounding the table. "Real."

"Yeah, but Tony! They don't matter. They never mattered! I mean, it's cute and nice that you can find this stuff and look at the funny pictures and all, but Jesus Christ! You're forty-three years old! I got my access bill and you spent thirty-nine hours online in the last two weeks. That's a lot of Ogden f.u.c.king Orff, Tony. And to tell you the truth, I'm kind of-"

"I'll pay you back. I'll pay you right now, here-"

Brendan made a tired gesture as Tony fumbled in his pocket. Dollar bills fluttered around him, coins c.h.i.n.ked across the table and onto the floor in a steady rain. "I don't want your money, Tony.I definitely don't want it in nickels and dimes-stop, for chrissake! Listen to me- "I know you just started working again, but-well, you've got to, like, get a life, Tony. A real life. You can't spend all your time online, looking at pictures of Ogden Orff."

"Why not?" The look Tony gave Brendan was definitely hostile. "Why the f.u.c.k not? What do you think I should do? Huh? Mister Big-Time lawyer. What, are you pulling in thirty grand these days, after you make child support? Forty?"

"That has nothing to-"

"Yes it does! Or, well-no it doesn't, does it?" The hostility drained from Tony's face. Suddenly all he looked was tired, and sad, and every one of his forty-three years old. "Hey man. I'm sorry. I was out of line there, with that money stuff-"

"It's okay, Tony."

"Way out of line. 'Cause like, I know you could earn more if you wanted to. Right?" Tony raised his eyebrows, then looked away. "But, like, I understand that you don't want to. I identify with your integrity, man. I respect it. I really do."

"My what?" Without warning, Brendan began to laugh. "My integrity? My integrity? Oh Tony.

You big dope!" Hard; harder than he'd laughed in a long time, maybe since before Peter was born. Maybe since before he was married, when slowly everything had stopped being funny - because what was funny about being married, especially when you didn't stay married? Or having a kid, even a perfectly normal boring healthy kid; or a job, a perfectly normal healthy job that you hated? There was nothing funny about any of that; there was nothing fun about it at all.

And there was Tony Maroni, with his soulful dopey eyes, his long greying hair and stretched Silly Putty face, his black leather jacket with its Jimmy Carter campaign b.u.t.ton rusted to the lapel and the faxed copy of Chip Crockett's obituary still wadded in one pocket. Tony who remembered the words to every back-of-the-schoolbus song they'd sung thirty-five years ago; Tony who had dedicated a song to his childhood friends, and treasured Officer Joe Bolton's autograph as though it were the Pope's; Tony who'd nearly wept when PeeWee Herman got booted off the air; who did weep, as a kid, when he'd gotten the bad news about the North Pole.

Tony Maroni was fun. Tony Maroni was funny. Most of all, Tony Maroni had integrity. Sort of.

"What?" Tony tilted his head, puzzled. "What?"

"Nothing." Brendan shook his head, wiping his eyes. "Nothing-just, you know-"He flapped his longyear and coughed, trying to calm down. "Me. You. All this stuff."

Now Tony sounded suspicious. "All what stuff?"

"Life. You thinking I have integrity, when-"

The laughter started up again: spurts of it, hot somehow and painful, like blood. Laughing blood, Brendan thought, but couldn't stop. "-when I'm just-a-a-terrible-lawyer!"

"Awwww." Tony rubbed his forehead and frowned. Then he started laughing, too. " 'No, Ogden,no!' " he said, imitating Chip Crockett. " 'Don't file that tort!' "

Brendan lifted his head. His pale blue eyes were brilliant, almost feverishly so; but there was a kind of calm in them, too. Like a beach that's been storm-scoured, all the sand castles and traces of an endless hot afternoon smoothed away, so that only a few still sky-reflecting pools remain.

Calm. That was how he felt. Their waiter pa.s.sed and Brendan smiled at him, signaling for the check; then turned back to Tony. "Okay. So maybe you can show me that Web site."

Tony's face cracked into a grin like Humpty Dumpty's. "Sure, man! Absolutely!"

"And maybe you can write me a check-not now, jeez, Tony. When you get settled. More settled. Whenever."

The waiter brought the check. Brendan paid it. Tony left the tip, in little neatly-stacked piles of quarters and dimes and nickels. On the way out Tony held the door as Brendan shrugged into his heavy camel's hair coat, still smiling. As he stepped past him onto the sidewalk Brendan tripped, catching himself as he lurched between an immaculately dressed Capitol Hill couple who scowled as Brendan drew himself up, laughing, alongside his friend.

"That's my attorney," said Tony fondly. "Ogden Orff."

snowflake Thanksgiving Day dawned clear and warm, the air glittering with that magical blue-gold tinge Brendan recalled from his undergrad days-late-autumn light that seemed to seep into the pores of even the most disenchanted bureaucrats in their holiday-weekend drag of paint-spattered chinos and faded Springsteen T-s.h.i.+rts, rearranging leaves on vest-pocket lawns with their Smith & Hawken rakes. That was what Teri was doing when he went to pick up Peter at The House Formerly Known as Brendan's, way up Connecticut Avenue just past the Bethesda line.

"Hi, Teri," he said, stepping from the car and hopping over a brown heap at the edge of the driveway. "How you doing? Where's the boy?"

Teri paused, balancing the rake on her shoulder like a musket, and c.o.c.ked a thumb at the house behind her. "Taking a nap. You can go wake him if you want."

Brendan nodded. His ex-wife as always looked harried, her short hair stuck with twigs and her dark eyes narrowed with a furious concentration that seemed expended needlessly upon innocent dead leaves. "Great," he said. "What're you doing today? Kevin said-"

"Leon's coming over. We're going out to Harper's Ferry."

Leon was Teri's paralegal, a wispy young man ten years her junior who'd been her companionate default since before the divorce was final. Brendan had never been able to figure out if Leon was sleeping with his ex-wife, if he were even heteros.e.xual, or a careerist, or what? "That's nice," hesaid. "Well, Kevin and Eileen send their love."

"And Tony?" Eileen swung the rake down from her shoulder, plonked it in the ground in front of her and leaned on the longyearle. To Brendan it still looked like a musket.

"Tony?"

"Does Tony send his love? I understand he's living at your place these days."

"Tony! Oh, sure, Tony sends his love." Brendan kicked at the leaves, noticed Teri's wince of disapproval and quickly began nudging them back into place with his foot. "Loads of hugs and kisses from Tony Maroni."

"Hm." Teri eyed him measuringly. Then, "You should have told me."

"You know, Teri, I don't need to ask for-"

"I didn't say ask," she said calmly. "I said told. You should have told me, that's all. I don't care if Tony's living with you. I know it's-I'm sure it must make things easier for you. I just need to know, so I can arrange Peter's schedule accordingly."

Brendan frowned. "Accordingly to what?"

Behind Teri the front door of the little mock-Tudor house swung open. Peter stood there, yellow rubber duck in one longyear. He smiled, staring at a point just above Brendan's head, then walked across the lawn towards him.

"We can talk about this later," said Teri. She wiped a smudge of dirt form her cheek and called to the boy. "Hi sweetie. Ready to go with Daddy?"

Brendan grinned as Peter came up alongside him. "Hey, Peter!" He caressed the top of his son's head, ever so gently, as though it were dandelion fluff he was afraid to disperse. "We're going to go see Kevin and the twins. Remember the twins? Give Mommy a kiss goodbye."

Peter remained beside his father. "I'll go get his stuff," Teri called as she started for the house.

"I'll bring him back Sunday afternoon. Is that still okay?"

Teri nodded. A few minutes later she returned with his knapsack and extra bag of clothes. "Okay.

This should be everything. Here's the number where we'll be till Sat.u.r.day."

She crouched in front of Peter and took his longyears in hers. He writhed and tried to pull away, but Teri only stared at him, her eyes glazed with tears. "I'll miss you," she said. Her voice was loud and steady. "You have a great time with Daddy and Uncle Kevin and the twins, okay? I love you, Peter-"

Peter said nothing. When Teri kissed him and stood, he drew the rubber duck to his mouth, rubbing it against his cheek.

"All right then." Brendan started for the car, turning and beckoning for Peter to follow. "Wave goodbye, Peter."The boy followed him. "Wave bye-bye," Brendan repeated, standing aside to let Peter climb into the back seat. Brendan strapped him in, then got in front. "Bye-bye," he said to Peter, the boy kicking at the seat in front of him. And, "Bye-bye," Brendan called to Teri, rolling down the window as he backed from the drive, "Bye-bye," as behind them she grew smaller and smaller, the rake just a rake again, his ex-wife just a mother, waving to her son as he disappeared down the street.

snowflake Kevin lived in an expensive contemporary house in Potomac, its cedar siding tinted a rich russet- brown and lushly overgrown with Virginia creeper and English ivy, its front yard a miniature forest of rhododendron and birch trees and azaleas. There were no stray leaves on the ground, save beneath a solitary j.a.panese maple whose bounty was scattered across the gra.s.s like crimson longyearprints.

"Uncle Brendan! Uncle Brendan's here!"

Two small girls, Cara and Caitlin, danced excitedly on the front porch. Twins, with long silken hair so deep a red it looked violet in certain lights, paper-white skin and green eyes. They were wearing smocked flowered dresses and their hair was ribboned with pink satin bows so immense it looked as though they were wearing throw pillows on their heads.

"Peter! Where's Peter! Hi Peter!"

The girls ran over to the car and began pounding on the window. Peter regarded them with the same reserved interest he'd shown the iguanas at the zoo, but when Cara yanked the door open and flung herself at him he kicked fiercely at the back of Brendan's seat.

"Cara! Hey, honey, come give Uncle Brendan a kiss-it's okay, Peter-come here, sweetie, remember he gets a little excited if-"

"Actually, you're our cousin." Caitlin stood watching him solemnly. "Not our uncle. Our first cousin once removed."

"Oh yeah? Well here, come give Uncle Cousin Brendan Once Removed a kiss-"

"Brendan!"

Another figure appeared on the porch, radiant in crimson velvet and ecru lace, her hair a gold corona framing a face even paler than the girls'.

"Eileen, hi-gee, you look great! Hi, Caitlin, Cara, hi hi hi hi-"

Brendan unfolded himself from the car and the twins' embrace, freed Peter from his ca.r.s.eat.

Eileen clattered down to hug him, Peter sliding behind his father's legs as she did so; and Brendan felt that irresistible tug of l.u.s.t and awe he always felt when he saw his cousin's wife."Wow!" He drew back to admire her dress, protected by a spattered ap.r.o.n with the legend < p="">

"Tell me about it." Eileen dabbed Brendan's chin with a finger, erasing a smudge of lipstick.

"Girls, go get your father."

She swatted at the twins and sent them racing into the house. "And close the door! I've been doing this job out in Warrenton, redecorating Senator Weston's place," she continued, turning back to Brendan. "Almost broke my wrist on that G.o.ddam chainsaw , the chain came off and-"

Brendan laughed. Eileen had been a lingerie model-"the Rosey Underwear girl," she called it- for the Rosellen's Boudoir Catalog, before quitting to have babies and then become an interior decorator for the horsy set out in Middleburg. Now she wielded a chainsaw and glue-gun like Martha Stewart on steroids.

"-oh, but you know what it's like," she ended.

"Breaking my wrist on a chainsaw in a senator's house? Actually, no."

"And how is Peter?" Eileen's tone softened as she took in Peter, sheltered behind his father and chewing his rubber duck. "Hi, darlin'-"

She glanced at Brendan. "Will he let me hug him?"

"No. But Peggy-his teacher at Birchwood-he'll let her hold him, now. Sometimes."

Eileen gazed down at Peter. "That's okay," she said softly. "That's just fine, okay Peter?" She turned back to his father, holding the front door open. "I'm glad he's doing so well, Brendan.

Kevin told me, that new school is great and he's just making such great progress ..."

Brendan followed her inside, wondering what on earth Kevin could have said. The two cousins seldom confided anything more personal than Redskins' scores. "Oh, and listen," Eileen went on, taking his arm. "Tony said not to worry, he got the cider."

"The cider!" Brendan slapped his forehead. "I totally forgot."

"That's what I'm telling you, Tony's bringing it.

"Tony? I thought he had to work."

"Change of plans. Here, Peter, you can put your things in here. Brendan, you too"

"Brendan! Peter! Glad you could make it-" Kevin loomed in the doorway, beaming.

"Yeah, great to be here, Kevin, thanks."

"Girls!" Kevin ordered. "You all go play nicely together, you and Peter." He turned and made his way down the hall.

"Sure Dad." Caitlin smiled respectfully at the younger boy. "Hi, Peter. Would you like to come watch TV with us? In the other room?""It's down here," said Cara, and started off. Peter shook his head, looking at the ceiling and patting his rubber duck against one cheek.

"You know what?" Brendan started to explain. "Sometimes he doesn't like to go off on his own.

But maybe in a few minutes, if I go-"

Without a word Peter began walking. Still gazing at the ceiling, but following Cara into the cozy room where a TV was already turned to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

"Hey, Brendan." Kevin stuck his head out from the kitchen. "What're you drinking?"

"Uh, club soda. Fizzy water, anything." Brendan's brow furrowed, and he crossed to where the children sat.

"He's watching with us," said Caitlin. On screen the camera panned a crowd of waving children, then swept up to take in a shapeless scarlet ma.s.s floating against a backdrop of skysc.r.a.pers and cobalt-blue sky. "Look Peter, it's Elmo!"

"Sesame Street. The universal language."

Brendan looked up to see Tony standing in the hall. He wore a black T-s.h.i.+rt, faded black jeans, and his leather jacket, augmented by four gallons of cider balanced very precariously in his arms.

"Tony. Hey, why didn't you tell me you were coming, I would've given you a lift." Brendan scooped up two of the gallons and took a step towards the kitchen. "I thought you had to work."

Tony shrugged. "Well, you know how it is." His gaze remained fixed on the television. "Gee, look at Elmo! He sure looks bigger in real life, huh? Hi goils," he called to the twins. "Look: it's Crazy Uncle Tony."

The girls glanced up, gave high-pitched squeals of glee, and raced over to hug him.