The Family Man Part 7

9. The Maisonette.

THALIA COMES DOWN to breakfast in another Williebelle frock, this one of a translucent crinkly fabric, either yellow or yellowed with age, decorated with dainty sprays of violets. Clearly she's wearing it to make Henry laugh, over her jeans and turtleneck sweater. On her head: a short pink veil anch.o.r.ed with a furry bow, its netting decorated with pink velvet b.u.t.terflies. Thalia says nothing but hums, "In your Easter bonnet."

Henry doesn't hear her until his espresso machine stops its grinding. Turning around, he jumps, then laughs.

"Good morning, darling host and costumer," Thalia says.

"That hat," he says. "What does it say about me that I remember it vividly, and as a child I thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world?"

Thalia kisses his cheek and says, "President of Future h.o.m.os.e.xuals of America?"

How does she do it? he marvels. Has anyone else of his acquaintance ever possessed this talent for simultaneously shocking and disarming?

"Did I offend?" she asks breezily.

Henry selects a mug and an espresso cup from the cabinet above and holds both up for her consideration.

"A double, definitely. You didn't answer my question-is it okay to joke about your ... personalhood?"

"From you, it's quite okay. In fact it's very nice when someone doesn't consider the topic unmentionable."

"Good! And it's out there? Friends? Relatives? Lawyers and judges?"

"Why?"

"Just asking to prevent future big-mouth faux pas." She accepts her mug of coffee and motions toward the espresso machine. "I'm watching how you do this so I know which b.u.t.tons to push."

He points: This one under the green light gives you the coffee, and this one means refill the water tank. He asks if she'd like him to steam some milk and she says no, black. Did she drink a whole bottle of wine last night?

Henry says no, he helped. And wouldn't it be easier to drink her coffee minus the chin-length veil?

Thalia folds the netting up one turn into a goofy cuff. She takes a sip and says, "I'm sure it was meant to be worn at teas and ... where else did your mother go where food was served? Bridge club?"

"How do you know these things?"

"Old movies, dahling: tea parties, bridge clubs, country clubs, June Allyson, and, of course, church."

"Willie did, in fact, play bridge and go to church."

"Where was this again?"

"Wilmington, Delaware" He taps his mug against hers. "Where I was a celebrity."

"No you weren't!"

"Minor, very: I was one of those New Year's babies, first child born in nineteen fifty-two in Wilmington. My mother and I made the front page."

Thalia asks, "What time?"

"What time was I born?"

"To win. Was it a squeaker?"

"Not at all. Two-oh-two A.M."

"Did your mother save the front page?"

Henry smiles. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But I was the fourth boy." He counts off on his fingers. "They didn't mean to have four children, they were praying for a girl, and, most likely, the photo of my mother wasn't flattering."

"I'm noting the irony of this," says Thalia. "She didn't want a fourth child or a fourth boy, but who took care of her in her old age? Whose guest room did she more or less die in? Who was such a great comfort and host while his older brothers were-I'm guessing-too busy with their wives and offspring to take her in and preserve her wardrobe?"

"She did come around," says Henry. "I didn't mean to imply that I was unloved."

"And she was fine having a gay son?"

"She was fine having a divorced bachelor son. Still, she left her not-insubstantial engagement ring to my future wife, the posthumous one."

"So sweet," says Thalia. She rubs the sleeve of Williebelle's dress, then sniffs it. "Did she wear Chanel Number Five?"

"Nothing but."

"Sensory memory! Very good acting tool. Maybe it's why you haven't given her stuff away: You wanted to be able to walk down the hall and open that closet and feel her presence."

"Possibly. Or maybe I didn't know who'd take it off my hands."

Thalia says, "At your service. Trash bags will work, and when I come back, I'll bring a duffel."

Henry, from the open refrigerator, a b.u.t.ter dish in one hand and an egg carton in the other, says, "Or you could just move in."

The phone rings. Closer and unenc.u.mbered, Thalia picks up the handset and intones in Brooklynese, "Archer residence. Thalia Archer Krouch Archer speaking."

Why didn't he antic.i.p.ate Denise's post-breakfast check-in? He closes the refrigerator with a backward kick of his foot and waits for Thalia's smile to collapse.

"May I ask who's calling...?" Her eyebrows lift. "He's right here." She hands him the handset and relieves him of the egg carton, announcing, "A gentleman for you."

Henry hears an indifferent male voice announce, "I'm Denise's friend, Jeffrey ... Denise Krouch's? She left me your name and number."

"It's not a great time to talk," Henry says, as Thalia signals, Yes, it is.

"Maybe there's been a misunderstanding," says Jeffrey.

Henry says, "Not at all. Let me call you back. Is this your home number on my caller ID?"

"Office. Denise gave you a heads-up, I a.s.sume?"

Henry repeats, "I'll call you back." He hangs up and asks Thalia if he can make her an omelet like last night's. Juice? Half a grapefruit? He's inherited Williebelle's grapefruit spoons.

"One sec. Did I hear my mother's name crackling over the wires?"

"You did."

"She's setting you up?"

"I knew she gave my name to two of her friends-a Jeffrey and another one whose name I forget."

"How did he sound?"

"Nice enough."

"Nice enough for what?"

Henry smiles. "Nice enough to ask Denise what he looks like." Thalia sighs. "You boys: so concerned with externals."

"As opposed to you girls?"

"Henry! Have you forgotten that I'm practically marrying Herman Munster?" She finally plucks the hat off her head and tosses it, Frisbee-style, onto the farthest kitchen counter. "Speaking of my romantic partners.h.i.+p, I think we have to meet with Leif's people and sign the papers. Unless of course I don't sign the papers..."

"What would change your mind?" Henry asks. "Because if it's a matter of money or a more comfortable living situation, you know I'd want to help."

"It's not. But thank you. I only meant that Leif might not have found me to his liking."

"Not possible. Unless he's daft; unless he wakes up this morning and realizes that the whole scheme is undignified and demeaning."

"For him, you mean?"

"I know your position: It's an acting challenge. All publicity is good publicity."

"Do any of us feel a little sorry for Larry Dumont, so desperate to be seen as appealing that he trades his dignity for an artificial girlfriend?" She holds her cup out. "Your coffee's delicious. Any cereal? That's what I usually have."

Henry opens a cupboard and reads, "Raisin Bran, Cheerios, Total ... nope. That one must be five years old."

"Cheerios, please."

He tucks the box under one arm and brings bowls and spoons to the island. Thalia asks, "What you said just before the phone rang? About me moving in? Were you serious? Or was it more like a stray thought?"

"Not a stray thought," he says. "Very much premeditated."

"Since...?"

He doesn't say the first thing that presents itself-Since I learned that you bathe in your kitchen-but subst.i.tutes a weightier, historical answer: "I bought this house because I was a father who thought his daughter would be visiting me every other weekend and on future school vacations, and I wanted her to have a second home and not some bachelor flat with a sleep sofa. You know the rest of the story: The Krouches got you."

She says, absent her usual light tone, "But you must have kept track of how much time had pa.s.sed. And after I turned eighteen, wasn't it okay to get in touch with me? Didn't you wonder what I was up to?"

Now, then, is the time to confide his Carousel-induced preoccupation. "It was all I talked about after I did the math and figured out when you'd graduate from high school and most likely leave the nest."

"But what stopped you?"

"Fear that you'd shut the door in my face, call your mother, call your father, call a lawyer, call nine-one-one."

"What about a letter? I'd have rushed to the nearest phone."

"I know that now."

She pours milk into her bowl and after a few spoonfuls asks, "What were you thinking?"

Her words add up to a reproach except that Thalia is chomping contentedly on her cereal.

"I wasn't thinking," Henry allows. "I was angry at your mother, your father, myself-"

"Not that," Thalia says. "I meant the moving-in part. Did you mean I'd get Williebelle's room, or were you thinking I'd move into the maisonette?"

Has he mentioned a maisonette to her? The previous owner called it an in-law apartment, a label that has kept it fallow and unrenovated ground.

"Leif spotted it; thought it was a separate apartment. He looked in the windows before we rang your doorbell. We weren't sure if you lived up here or down below. I couldn't help noticing it was empty."

"It's a separate apartment," he says. "Three rooms, untouched."

"And a full bath?"

"Of course."

"Don't you want to rent it out?"

Henry says, "I have no desire to be a landlord."

Thalia says, "That's fine. I can appreciate that."

"Wait," says Henry. "Did you mean you? Because you wouldn't be a tenant. You'd live here. You're family. I wouldn't be renting it out. Strike all of that. The jury will disregard any mention of me as landlord."

Thalia grins and jumps off her stool. "The jury would like a tour," she says.

10. A Piece of the Action.

THALIA GETS a text message at work confirming that Leif has deemed her suitable for the mission ahead. She calls Henry, who asks, "That was his wording? 'Suitable'?" Thalia says, "No, it was more personal than that. Actually, pretty nice. Don't forget: This could be leaked to a news outlet, so message number one needed a romantic ring to it."

"Such as?"