The Family Man Part 20

"To Trance. It's a club."

Henry knows it's a club, Philip's club. "So he just dropped you off and went home?"

"I can't hear you," she yells, then volunteers, "Philip gets off at two."

He thinks of what a mother might ask an unmarried daughter in this uncommitted city: Are you chasing this boy? Shouldn't you let him make the first, second, and third moves? Instead he says, "You know best. I'm here. Come for breakfast."

"Don't worry, you," she says.

He runs a deep bath, turns on the Jacuzzi jets, sinks in. Yo-Yo Ma and Emanuel Ax are playing Beethoven through the newly installed bathroom speakers. He closes his eyes and smiles. When was the last time he entertained a thought close to Life is good? Immediately, this unaccustomed peace concerns him. He searches his mind for anxieties that will protect and balance his good fortune. There's always Thalia's psychos.e.xual judgment, which might not be as sound as it could be. There's Denise to worry about ... no, worry is too strong; Denise is a potential burden and pain in the a.s.s. But then again, without her reentry there would be no Thalia at a parental crossroads. And most a.s.suredly no Todd.

He runs more hot water. What about the promises he made to himself with respect to good deeds in early retirement? He should get going on the pro-bono work, on volunteering, on finding a legal clinic where the indigent need help with their tax returns. He leaves the tub and returns with the legal thriller he was reading in lonelier days. He'll buy smoked salmon when Zabar's opens, or find some frozen Belgian waffles he'll dress up with berries and whipped cream. Once again he thinks of Celeste. All of this would please her. Odd how an unusual number of blessings have rained down on him since he lost Celeste. Immediately, he chastises himself for the quasi-religious thought of fairy dust sprinkled by the dead. He thinks of Leif's box of flowers, unattended, and feels a twinge of pity for someone less fortunate than himself.

His landline rings at 9:00 A.M., and it's Todd asking jovially, "Do you want the good news or the bad news first-and relatively speaking, the bad news isn't half-bad."

"You choose."

"The good news is patently obvious: Lillian adores you. She adores me-no change there, except now she can sleep at night. There's the worry that you'll drop me for someone who has a sw.a.n.kier job, but she's not going to dwell on that. She's dying to see your house and meet Thalia, but I'm not supposed to tell you that. Of course I didn't say a word about Leif and the engagement plot. How did it go, by the way?"

"I don't know. We spoke for thirty seconds from the club where her deejay friend works."

"With or without Leif?"

"He was invited but declined. Not his scene. I'm sure she figures it's something like a last fling before the publicity blitz begins."

"Did she come home?"

"Can't say. I know her friend wasn't getting off work until two."

"Welcome to your new life-wondering if the kid made it home safely."

Henry says, "Not unwelcome, my new life."

"What's a decent hour to call down there?"

Henry laughs. "Now who's worrying about her safe return?"

Todd says, "You give me too much credit. It's the t.i.ttle-tattle I'm after." He reminds Henry that he hasn't heard the bad news yet, so here it is: Denise wants to throw them a c.o.c.ktail party.

"Because?"

"Because she's thrilled that her matchmaking succeeded, and it would be a reason to reach out to some friends who aren't speaking to her."

"Did you tell her that widows should wait a year before they throw parties?"

"I didn't. But I did say, 'I don't think that's necessary. We can just have a quiet little get-together'-don't shoot me-'just the three of us.' That was my guilty conscience doing the inviting. If you don't want to come, that's fine. Although she did say she refuses to lose you as a friend after all those years of being estranged."

Henry says, "Or maybe we're in a contest for Thalia, and Denise wants to keep an eye on the compet.i.tion."

"It could be both-she wants to win and she needs a friend. She said you were the nicest man she ever married."

"How kind of her to notice," says Henry.

Of course he would run into Sheri Abrams at the smoked fish counter at Zabar's. Without being asked, he volunteers that everything is great. The person he's seeing is named Todd. "You'd like him. I've met his mother."

Because Sheri appears unmoved, he elaborates. "And with Thalia living in my house, I recognize that I'm acting like a father. I have to think about things like, Did she get home last night?" Her blank reaction puzzles him, until he sees that his ex-shrink is sharing a shopping basket with a tweed-jacketed man who has the very fine white hair and pink scalp of the Mayflowered.

Henry offers his hand and states his name. The man looks to Sheri for what can only be permission to speak. She says, a warning, "Henry and I have a professional relations.h.i.+p."

"Not to worry," Henry says. "I'm an ex-patient now."

"It's always a tricky situation," says the man.

"How's that?"

"We share office s.p.a.ce."

"You've seen his name next to the buzzer a million times: Axel Rice, marriage and family counseling." She traces the air between herself and her companion. "But this is a new development."

"And shopping for smoked fish together is tricky how?" Henry asks.

"I used to be married to another tenant," says Dr. Rice.

"Who not only has her dermatology practice in the building, but lives there," Sheri adds.

Henry can't help smiling. "And didn't I date her in high school?"

Sheri doesn't laugh. "You seem good," she allows. "Really good"

"I'm in love," he tells her.

There is still no word from downstairs by noon. He's set the table, read the entire Sunday Times, rewrapped and re-refrigerated the two varieties of smoked salmon. At 12:30 Thalia calls upstairs, groggily. "Let me jump in the shower, then I'll come up. Am I keeping you from anything?"

"Nope. I bought bagels at H and H this morning."

"Ten minutes," she says.

Just before one she lets herself in through the kitchen door, wrapped in the faded periwinkle robe, hair wet, her feet half into untied running shoes. She hands Henry the florist's box. "Pour vous. I only have one vase, and it's currently in use. Give these to your sweetheart."

"Or his mom."

"I sense progress," she says as she slumps onto the nearest stool. "Do tell."

"You first. Sesame, poppy, or sourdough?"

"Just coffee to start."

Over the hissing and frothing of milk he hears, "Checking coats wasn't such a terrible day job, was it? I was a relatively happy person when you met me, right?"

Henry asks, "That bad? Those talking points you mentioned?"

"At first. Then imagine this: Leif. Flirting." Thalia shudders, a full-body theatrical spasm. "His advisers must have told him to act seductive in public. Which Leif interpreted to mean, 'Give the waiter reason to run back to the kitchen and repeat what you blurt out over the amuse-bouche.'" She compliments the artistry of his smoked salmon arrangement. A magenta baby orchid tops the little haystack of thinly sliced red onion.

"Now I give you Leif's leading-man impression," she continues. She pushes her wet hair away from her face, twists and tightens it to suggest baldness, then says in a monotone, "'I found the panties you were looking for this morning, Thalia. They were buried under the covers, at the end of my bed.'"

"What?" Henry squeals.

Thalia continues lifelessly, "'They were my favorites. Pink. Can I keep them?'"

Henry says, "Even I could do better than that."

"I couldn't resist. I had to say, 'The pink transparent ones with the b.u.t.terflies embroidered on the crotch?'"

He delivers a cup and goes back to fix his own. "How did that go over?"

"I swear the waiter gulped. He said, 'This is from our chef, a mini sas.h.i.+mi of fluke with pickled radish.' Leif asked if it contained mushrooms, then returned to the script. He said, 'I've cleaned out a drawer for you at my place.' So I felt compelled to say, 'No. Put them in the refrigerator. They're edible.'"

"This, too, in front of the waiter?"

"Of course! That was the point." She smiles over the rim of her coffee cup. "Most rewarding."

Henry says, "I never liked this arrangement. We should have asked for a trial period. Or at least dialogue approval. Wouldn't you think a trained actor would know how to carry on a conversation?"

Thalia is peering into the bag of bagels. "Too many years of playing monsters-and monsters without lines, don't forget."

Henry repeats, "Sesame, poppy, or sourdough? Let me do the cutting." Her cell phone vibrates on the granite, two low growls. "It's him," she says.

Her side of the conversation is short, businesslike. "My place," she says. She looks up at the microwave clock. "Two thirty's a little better. Do you have anything like a tape recorder...? Okay, bring that. Ciao."

"Philip?" Henry asks.

"Leif."

"Leif," Henry repeats. "In that case, you may want to take the flowers back. And also in that case, I'm completely stumped."

Thalia is discarding the fleshy inside of her bagel and dropping capers into the gullies. "It's my idea: Obviously Leif needs help, big-time-coaching, tutoring, rehearsing. We'll start with the dialogue. If necessary, I'll tap Sally Eames-Harlan-"

Henry is shaking his head.

"No? No Sally, or no tutoring?"

"No tutoring by you. Let Estime contract with Sally if he's so unpresentable and insufferable."

"Because it's extracurricular on my part? Not in my job description?"

Henry returns his bagel sandwich to his plate. "No. Because it's kinder in the long run to stick with the game plan."

"Because..."

"I think you know. Todd and I are quite sure that Leif already has a crush on you, or will develop one shortly. He could easily misconstrue these rehearsals as your wanting to spend more time with him."

Now Thalia is shaking her head strenuously and flapping her free hand. When she's swallowed her substantial first bite, she says, "No, wait. I left something out."

"He's gay," says Henry.

"Please. Has there ever been such an unattractive gay man? Wrong. The reason why I can testify that Leif does not and will not have a crush on me is this: He's in love. Deeply, madly, eternally."

"With whom?"

"I'm not supposed to say. Estime didn't want me to know, but when I told him I had a boyfriend-I know, a little premature, but a good move-he told me he had a serious girlfriend at home. I believe he even used the term secret love."

"And why is this a secret if the whole mission is to make the world think he's the object of someone's affection?"

"My question exactly."

"And what did he say?"

"He said it has to be a secret for a while because it might be viewed as creepy. Or worse."

"Meaning the woman is creepy? He showed you a photo?"

"No, creepy as in-don't freak-the woman is a girl and she's still in high school."

That does it. Henry's fears now have a name, and he is filing a motion on Monday.

Thalia says, "Please note I said creepy rather than criminal?

"What year in high school?"

Thalia winces. "Junior. But here's the silver lining: He managed to fall in love with the president of the Beverly Hills High School's Abstinence Club."

"I'm speechless," says Henry. "I don't know where to start. A teenage girl returns his affections? Is he deluded? Is she? Do they go on dates? And why, if it's all so kosher, does he need an elaborate series of faux engagements?"

"That part, the campaign, is separate. He needs to get his name or his mug out there to create an image of him as a normal guy. Then we do the math: He dates me for six months, then a hotter chick for six more. That equals one year, at which time-voila-Caitlin will be legal."

"And she's going to wait for him on the sidelines while all this promotional nonsense plays out?"

"Leif said they have a secret pact, a pledge, a contract, whatever, and a year isn't so long. He did seem a little worried about being so far away. But I pointed out, even if she cheats on him, it'll be with a member of the Abstinence Club."

Henry is out of his seat, jabbing b.u.t.tons on his cappuccino machine. "I still don't like it. And I don't like the thought of you alone with him downstairs, teaching him how to be a better flirt. You could be an accessory to a crime."

"First of all, I'm a big girl. Second of all, he swears she's a virgin. And third, aren't we a little happy for him? Isn't it a relief, cosmically speaking, that such a specimen could find true love in this cruel and superficial world?"

"We'll see," Henry grumbles. "I doubt it."

"It's all very wholesome. They met at a cheerleader compet.i.tion. He was a celebrity judge and Caitlin watched Land of Louie in syndication."

"Does she have parents? Do you have her last name?"