The Family Man Part 26

"But he's out of town. He's shooting a movie in-" Thalia snaps her fingers. "What town did I tell you guys?"

"Gettysburg, Pennsylvania," says Todd.

"A Civil War epic," says Henry.

"Are you going to be in it?" asks Lillian.

"He asked me, but I said no. I'd always have to prove that I got the part on my own merit, and not because of the casting couch."

"A figure of speech," says Henry.

"Are there any roles for women in a Civil War movie?" asks Lillian.

"Scarlett, Melanie, Mrs. O'Hara," says Thalia.

"Suellen O'Hara," says Todd. "But weren't you up for the role of Clara Barton, Civil War nurse and founder of the American Red Cross?"

"So true," says Thalia.

"Who got it?" Lillian asks.

"I can't answer that. One of our understandings, Leif's and mine, is that we don't talk about his casting decisions."

"Very smart," says Todd.

"Although I did carry on a bit when he pulled that Clara Bunyon rug out from under me. She was always one of my childhood heroines."

"Barton," says Henry. "Rhymes with carton"

"Was that on purpose?" Denise asks. "What?"

"Carton," Denise repeats. "As in Krouch and Sons Cartons?"

"Completely inadvertent," says Henry.

"Denise's late husband owned a box company," Todd explains.

"Widowhood." Denise sighs in the direction of Lillian, whose wedding and engagement rings also rest forlornly on the fourth finger of her right hand. "One day I was married with no end in sight, and the next day-gone. Everything, and I mean everything. Which reminds me, Henry-I haven't heard from your lawyer friend Mr. Quirke."

Henry says quietly, "I'll give him a prod."

Denise blots her mouth, then says, "Albie? Should we hit the road and let the party pick up where it left off?" Albert Einstein scrambles to his feet. "Very nice to meet you, Lillian. Todd, nice to see you. Thalia: Anytime you're ready. Henry, would you see me out?"

At the door Denise says, "I am a woman without a country. Except for you, I have no one to talk to. I would appreciate it if you could help me smooth things over with Thalia. 'Civil War epic!' I recognize bulls.h.i.+t when I hear it. And I recognize the game you're playing: Let's gang up on Denise."

"Thalia is a grown woman, Denise. I can't tell her how to feel about her mother."

Denise takes a step closer and grips his shoulders. "I'm desperate," she whispers. "I can't even say for what-family, my old life, my rotten husband. But I need someone at my side."

Henry does not want Denise's hands on his shoulders or this close-up of her smudged eyes and rouged cheekbones. "It's going to be okay," he tries, backing up a step.

"How do you know?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure ... If George could do a little something with the pre-nup? I'd have to talk to him first."

"Do something? Like what? A loophole?"

"Not a loophole," he says. "Look into case law. Possibly find a precedent where the burning of a doc.u.ment proves intent..."

Now it is worse: Denise lunges to wrap her arms around his neck and to place a wet kiss on his lips. Albert Einstein growls. "Denise-" Henry protests.

"Was that so terrible?" she asks.

28. The Boys.

IN MORE THAN thirty years' residence in Manhattan, Henry has never been to Long Island City, nor taken the number 7 train. Krouch & Sons Cartons is a factory on the corner of two city blocks, whitewashed brick, three tired stories high, nearly windowless. A side entrance next to the loading dock turns out to be the unceremonial front door. Inside, there is no reception area and no receptionist. Machines screech at, he is sure, unsafe decibels. He knocks on the closed door that has "Office" hand-lettered on its pebbly gla.s.s. A woman's voice calls, "Come in. It's open." He enters a room frozen in 1958, its floor swirly green vinyl tiles. An older woman with unnaturally black hair is seated at what might be an army surplus desk; behind her, family photos are mounted on a Scotch-tape-scarred wall. "You're the guy who called, right? About a family matter?"

"Correct: Henry Archer."

"They're expecting you." She points-there and there, separate offices. "Stick your head in," she advises.

What would one expect in a second-generation box manufacturer, once described by Todd Weinreb, astute social observer, as "Tweedledee"? Behind three-story wire in-boxes, and possible samples of Krouch corrugation, is one son and his paperwork. He looks astonis.h.i.+ngly like his father, at least from the photographic gleanings Henry has collected over the years. His blond hair is straight and combed over a balding crown. His eyes protrude in something of an amphibian manner. Henry thinks: Time has pa.s.sed him by-a young man stuck in his father's chair. "You wanted to see me about what?" asks this Krouch.

"I'm Henry Archer. And you are which brother?"

"Glenn."

"And Tommy will be joining us?"

Glenn pushes a b.u.t.ton on his desk phone, says, "The lawyer's here," and hangs up.

Henry asks-pointedly; an etiquette lesson-"Shall I take a seat?"

With his eyes back to whatever paperwork had his attention before his guest arrived, Glenn mumbles something vaguely affirmative.

Henry begins with what he believes is full disclosure. "I'm not sure if you're old enough to remember that I was the immediate past husband whom your stepmother divorced to marry your father."

Still not looking up, but with a twitch of a smile, Glenn says, "I'd express my regrets, except you probably got the better deal."

Despite his own distaste and old wounds, Henry takes umbrage. "Your stepmother is suffering the loss of the man she was married to for twenty-five years," he begins.

"Twenty-four years," says a voice from the doorway. Henry turns around and has one overarching thought: that son number two got the looks, the height, the hair. "Tommy Krouch," says the new arrival, and shakes Henry's hand.

"Sit down," says his brother.

"Where?"

Glenn rattles a folding chair next to his desk. Its unformed carton slats slip to the floor. Tommy flips the chair around so he's straddling it back-end-to. "So why are we talking about Denise?" he asks Henry.

"You can't possibly be here as her lawyer," says Glenn. And then to his brother: "He used to be married to her."

"I'm not here as her lawyer. I'm here of my own volition, as a favor-"

"Not a big grudge holder, I sense," says Tommy.

"I thought you were coming all the way over here to talk about Thalia," says Glenn.

Henry hadn't thought of framing the situation as an orphans-in-the-storm housing dilemma, but now he says, "I've taken Thalia in. And I dearly hope I don't have to do the same for her mother."

"What are we talking about?" Glenn asks.

"You won't be surprised to hear: your father and stepmother's prenuptial agreement."

"Which Tommy and I are not parties to."

"Gentlemen," says Henry. "Don't insult my legal IQ. You're co-executors of the will. Except for that pre-nup, Denise would have everything. My guess is, you hold its twenty-five-year benchmark very dear."

"Actually," says Tommy, "we don't. Because that would be the equivalent of celebrating our father's premature death, wouldn't it?"

What has Henry been expecting? Not thoughtfulness or dignity. Why hadn't anyone told him that the boys might be decent lads? Thus far he's interpreted their walkout at their father's funeral as intolerant hotheadedness. But now he's wondering: Could it have been their attempt at restoring decorum? Henry says, "Of course I wasn't implying that. I apologize. I only meant on the narrow issue of the duration of the marriage-"

"It's not greed," says Tommy. "It really isn't. It's more like this: We hate our stepmother. Period. Oh, and one other little thing? At the time of our father's death, she was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around."

Henry pretends that nothing impeachable has registered. "I've consulted a partner in our trust division whom I consider to be an expert on prenuptial agreements." Henry pauses; is he imagining a soupcon of worry pa.s.sing between the Krouches?

"Go on," says Glenn.

"Simply put: Your father burned the pre-nup on their first wedding anniversary, doc.u.mented by photographs."

"How do you take a picture of a burned doc.u.ment?" asks Tommy. "I mean, even if there were a photo of every page being thrown into the flames, and close-ups, how do you prove it wasn't just a stunt?"

"It is Denise's contention that he meant it. And in the Polaroids, he's the one holding the match."

"Where are you going with this?" asks Tommy.

"To court," says Henry.

"In your capacity as Dad's wife's ex-husband and quite obviously her very close friend?" asks Tommy.

"He means are you romantically involved with Denise again?" asks Glenn.

"I am not," Henry says. "Nor would I be."

"Says you," barks Glenn.

"I'm gay," says Henry.

After an unhappy pause, Glenn says, "But you were married?"

Tommy says to his brother, "Like you don't know a dozen guys in that same boat-married but gay?"

"Not a dozen," says Glenn.

Henry senses a s.h.i.+ft: Will Tommy's social sensitivity lead him onto a statesmanlike path? He says, "We are quite sure that if this question goes before a judge, he'll be persuaded, particularly after twenty-four years, that your father's intent in burning the pre-nup was, ipso facto, the destruction, elimination, revocation, you name the synonym, of the agreement. In which case, with the bang of a gavel, Denise inherits everything."

Glenn says, "I don't think so."

"What does she want?" asks Tommy.

Glenn says, "We're not asking what she wants without our lawyer present!"

"I'll answer, then, without being asked," says Henry. "She wants to keep her domicile of twenty-four years. And half."

"Half of what?" Glenn asks.

"Your father's estate."

"When h.e.l.l freezes over! She was cheating on Dad when he died," says Glenn.

"Allegedly."

"f.u.c.k 'allegedly'! She could've been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around for decades."

Henry says calmly, "Not that I'm stipulating to that, but the pre-nup covers the duration of the union, not the beneficiaries' suspicions."

"We have witnesses," says Glenn.

"No, you don't," says Henry.

"Thalia," says Tommy. "On a witness stand? How would you like to be up against that in full courtroom glory doing-who was that actress who stole the show in My Cousin Vinnie?"

What's this? Henry thinks. "Thalia is busy," he sputters. "She's not a party to this. She's already being pulled in several different directions."

"Like what?" asks Tommy. "Is she still working at that hair place on West Fifty-seventh?"

"As far as I know, she's not."

"I think we're done here," says Glenn.

"Denise can't touch the business," says Tommy. "Glenn and I own the business."

"Shut up, Tommy," says Glenn. "We're not saying anything. We have the pre-nup in the safe, unburned, uncanceled, unrevoked."