The Family Man Part 23

25. The Perp.

AT LAST, PAPARAZZI! Two men with long professional lenses are waiting outside Thalia's apartment. Henry, on lookout, would like to know where they're from and the degree, if any, to which this is genuine reporting. It's too late to call Estime in New York, and perhaps too much of a nonevent to call the parent company's answering service to ask, "Are they yours?"

What is protocol here? Thalia is out with Leif. Tonight's date is a late dinner at a restaurant behind an unmarked door in the Meatpacking District. After that, clubbing. Leif's driver has a list of hot spots, admission guaranteed. No, they won't be going to Philip's club, Thalia told him, then asked with an airy smile, "Would I do such a thing?"

One photographer spots Henry looking out the window and aims his lens at him, with a grin that says, Only kidding; not interested in you, old man. Henry would like to point out that they're violating his privacy, but he's quite sure that their presence has been bought and paid for by Estime. He calls Todd's cell and gets his voice mail. "Paparazzi, here," he announces.

Todd calls back, can't talk. "You're bored. Ignore them. Go see a movie."

"I'm not bored."

"How ironic," says Todd. "Because I am, and I'm at work."

"Should I tell them that she won't be home for hours?"

"And bake them a cake, too, while you're at it. Listen, hon-keep your distance. If you have to go out, brush right past them, unseeing, like you're under a gag order. Like you work in the West Wing."

"I think not," says Henry.

Todd has teased him: Get a stethoscope, why don't you, and listen at Thalia's door. Or why not just go all the way and bug the maisonette? He always answers that it isn't nosiness that keeps him attuned to the bas.e.m.e.nt, but acute hearing. Where there used to be the silence of an empty three rooms, there is now his preternaturally socially active twenty-nine-year-old daughter. At 11:35 P.M., when he snaps off the news and goes down to the kitchen for a frozen yogurt bar, he hears music, loud music, rock 'n' roll music, much too early for Thalia to have returned from formal date number two with Leif. Listening at the door, he hears another sound: the clothes dryer, located in the unfinished, communal part of the bas.e.m.e.nt. An opportunity! He won't pretend he's throwing in a wash-she knows Lidia does that-but he'll say, "I heard the dryer going. I wondered why you were home so early. How did it go?"

But it is not Thalia thumping out a beat on his appliances. It is a bare-chested young man in crossword-puzzle boxer shorts-not Philip; not anyone Henry has ever met. He's heard of this, the Goldilocks syndrome of breaking and entering, whereby the intruder raids the refrigerator or tries on clothes. It is too late for Henry to retreat unseen. "May I ask who you are and what you're doing here?" he asks, not as sternly as the situation might warrant if the young man were fully clothed, or looked less like a prep school lacrosse player.

The stranger, to Henry's relief, startles as if Henry were the trespa.s.ser. "I'm Alex-Thalia's friend. Sorry! I'm doing laundry."

"I can see that."

"I'm her roommate. Or was. At her last place."

"What address?"

"Mott Street! Four B. I'm still there. My place is getting exterminated, so she said I could stay here." The was.h.i.+ng machine bleats. Alex says, "I'm done except for maybe one more dryer cycle. You live upstairs?"

"Correct. I own the building."

Alex extends his hand but Henry doesn't shake it. "I think you should get dressed," he says.

"All my stuff's in there. Sorry. I didn't expect to be running into anyone. Thalia said she was the only one who used these machines. You're the dad, right?"

Henry does not think it's proper for him to be carrying on a conversation with yet another handsome young man in Thalia's circle, especially such a well-toned one wearing threadbare boxers. He says, "I came down to investigate because I heard the dryer and I knew it couldn't be Thalia."

"We're just friends. I didn't take my clothes off until she left"' Alex lifts the lid of the washer and stares into it. After a pause he says, "She sees me more as a little brother. I'm okay with that. I'll take platonic over nothing."

If he didn't know Thalia's crowded dance card, Henry might cite May-December romances in the headlines and in the works of George Bernard Shaw, but he knows there is no room for encouragement. He asks, "So will you be leaving once your clothes are dry?"

Alex repeats in remedial fas.h.i.+on, "My place is being exterminated. It's toxic. It's not safe to breathe the air."

"I understand that. I meant, 'Will you be going out?' Which I ask because there are photographers outside. They're here because the man Thalia is dating is a producer, director, and movie star."

"Thalia told me. I had to look him up. Leif somebody, right? Used to be on a sitcom?"

"Leif Dumont. They're bound to ask you who you are and where Thalia is and what time she's coming home."

He grins. "Cool."

"What I meant is, they might think you live here. With Thalia."

"Can't I just tell them the truth? I'm cras.h.i.+ng here because my place is being exterminated and we used to be roommates?"

"I don't know. This isn't my forte. The culture of gossip columns has escaped me completely until now."

Alex opens the dryer, feels its contents, frowns, pulls out a pair of jeans-still damp, judging by his expression-and explains as he pulls them on, "Here's how it works: D-list celebs want scandal. They act bad on purpose so it gets into the gossip columns and the blogs."

"Your point being?"

"My point being: I walk out of her apartment. I look a little-sorry, man-happy, satisfied, but deer in the headlights. I run. They put two and two together. They snap my picture. She becomes a blind item. Bingo: more interest in Thalia because she's cheating on her boyfriend!"

"If you really think you have to go out at this hour-"

"It's like, what? Midnight? There's nothing to do here. She doesn't even have cable. If they stop me, I can just tell the truth. I'm a friend. My place is toxic. She's got a futon. It is what it is."

"Do you have a s.h.i.+rt to wear?"

Alex opens the dryer door. He takes out a black T-s.h.i.+rt, feels it, puts it back. "Ten more minutes," he says.

"And Thalia definitely knows you're here?"

"Honest. She let me in. I saw her before she went out."

Henry can't help himself. He asks what she was wearing. Alex appears stumped. "Jeans, definitely." Then he pantomimes: things on top. "A blouse? Maybe two together. Like a see-through thing over a black thing?"

"Layers?" Henry asks.

"Yeah, layers. She looked pretty." He pushes a b.u.t.ton on the dryer. "Mind if I do the whites when I come back?"

"From where?"

"Pizza? Beer? Know a place around here where they sell it by the slice?"

"This is New York. Pizza comes to you. No need to leave the house."

Alex grins. "That's what my dad would say: 'You're in New York City. Why go out and risk your life when everything's delivered? And what about homework, Alexander? Don't you have papers to write?' He wouldn't care that I had my last final two weeks ago."

"We're all pretty much alike," Henry agrees.

More excitement of the variety he doesn't need. He wakes to find Thalia and a fully clothed Alex eating cereal in his kitchen just after 8:00 A.M. Thalia is dressed in what must be last night's jeans and gauzy layers, and her hair is up in a slipshod ponytail.

"I have news to report, plus I didn't have any milk," she explains. "You met Alex last night, right?"

Alex wags a finger from the hand that is shaking more Cheerios into his bowl.

Henry says, "I would've thought you'd be asleep at this hour."

"Didn't go to bed."

"What's the news?"

"You might want to sit down," says Thalia.

Henry tilts his head in the direction of Alex.

Thalia says meaningfully, "Alex knows I'm dating Leif, and that we're in sort of a discovery phase, but it might be serious." She widens her eyes: How was that for delivery and discretion?

Henry musters his best faux father-of-the-bride inflection. "Are you about to tell me that Leif popped the question last night?"

"Not even close," Alex answers.

Thalia says, "I regret to say that Leif was arrested last night." Henry feels a surge of grapevine adrenaline. "For what?"

"Are you ready? Fare evasion."

Spoken through a mouthful of Blueberry Morning, those syllables don't add up to an offense that Henry recognizes. He asks her to repeat the charge.

"Fare evasion! He jumped a turnstile. If they catch you, they arrest you-like immediately."

"Are we talking about a subway turnstile?"

"Do you believe it? In Times Square, no less. Cops everywhere."

"What an idiot," says Alex.

"Why the h.e.l.l did he jump the turnstile and what was he doing on the subway in the first place?"

Thalia says, "I believe there is a twofold answer: He wasn't carrying any money, and he was trying to impress me. In flip-flops, no less. Alex, give Henry your seat, please."

"He did this in front of police officers?"

"MTA guys, but the police were there in ten seconds. And it doesn't help when you miss the train and you're standing around waiting for the next one like a shmuck."

"What the h.e.l.l were you doing on the subway in the first place?"

"Leif sent Rico, the driver, home at midnight. He has a new baby. Which was actually very sweet of him. And he thought that taking the subway was kind of a date-y, young-and-in-love thing to do. He didn't have any money, but I said it was fine because I had my MetroCard-"

"You know what that is, when you wait around after you break the law? Suicide by cop," says Alex.

"They killed him?"

Thalia says, "Not that I know of; last seen being led away and arguing. I did not accompany the perp."

"What an a.s.shole," says Alex, who is now sitting on a counter and peeling a banana.

"Would you mind if I had a moment or two alone with Thalia?" Henry asks.

Alex says sure, no problem. Okay to take an apple, too?

Henry waits until he hears Thalia's kitchen door closing. "Do you think the arrest was staged?" he asks.

"If it was, he's a better actor than I've been giving him credit for."

"Did he call a lawyer?"

"We'll find out!" she says cheerfully. She reaches into her back pocket and brings forth her cell. "Let's see ... nope, haven't heard from him. Maybe he's still in the slammer."

"Doubt it. He was probably put in a holding cell, then night court. Lots of waiting in between."

"Too early to call," she says.

"I couldn't care less if he's asleep! He gets arrested on your second date! I'm checking the contract to see if there's any language covering this situation."

Thalia thumbs two b.u.t.tons and puts the phone to her ear. Her expression changes, and she puts down her spoon. "My stepfather wants to talk to you," she begins.

Henry motions, No, no, not yet. Didn't mean that.

Thalia says to Leif, "He's furious. He's thinking deal breaker." She listens, rolls her eyes, puts him on speakerphone. Henry hears, "I suggested community service, but when they saw I had no other warrants, I was released on my own recognizance."

"But now you have a rap sheet, right?" Thalia scolds. "For the rest of your life you're going to have to tell HR people that you were arrested for jumping a turnstile like a juvenile delinquent, except you were thirty-nine going on forty."

There is no response, until they hear a forlorn, "I had to walk home."

Thalia claps her phone shut and asks, "Was I awful?"

"I'm calling his lawyer this morning. I have her card somewhere. Michele somebody."

"She's on maternity leave."

"Someone has to be covering. I guarantee he made a call, and some lawyer got to night court in time to plead 'showing off for his girlfriend.'"

Thalia says, "Let me know what the lawyer says. I'm going to kick Alex out and get some sleep."

Henry asks, "What time did all of this go down, as they say?"

"A little after midnight."