George Mills Part 48

"He was going to the country," the other guard said. "To his residence there."

"I hate to have to be the one ..."

The guards nodded. The Invigilator put his hand on Mills's arm.

So he protocol'd his way out the front door of Yildiz Palace and was protocol'd into an Imperial coach standing in the spectacular driveway and told the driver to take him to the British emba.s.sy, where he asked for and was granted a political sanctuary which was never violated the whole two months it took Moses Magaziner to get him aboard a French s.h.i.+p which was bound (since Magaziner had said "my" and not "our" king, and evidently Mills really was no longer a British citizen) for America.

Which was also protocol.

PART FIVE.

1.

Laglichio sued the black furniture removal company and obtained a restraining order. His lawyer argued that Laglichio's civil rights had been violated, that he was being prevented from doing business in the projects and black neighborhoods strictly on the basis of race. The judge agreed and, in addition to issuing the restraining order, awarded Laglichio damages.

"Landmark decision, Prince," Laglichio remarked to Bob, the das.h.i.+ki'd warrior who had tried to bust his truck. "What do you say, George? The system works."

So Mills was once again employed full time, though he found that, having been away from it so long, he was no longer in shape. His back troubled him, his breath was short.

"You wouldn't think," he told Louise, "such shabby stakes and sticks could weigh so much."

"Get out of it, George," Louise said. "Why don't you talk to some of your new contacts? You could ask Mr. Claunch if he's got anything for you. Even Cornell could probably put you in the way of something. And Sam, Mr. Glazer, is settled as dean now at the university. He probably has lots of influence. I'm sure he could get you a position with maintenance or housekeeping."

"Buildings and grounds. He already offered."

"Buildings and grounds," Louise said. "He offered?"

"He said I could work indoors in winter and keep warm, and outdoors in summer and get my fresh air."

"He knows all you did. It's nice when people appreciate."

"I'd push the clocks forward an hour in spring and turn them back again in fall," Mills said. "There were strings, Louise. I told him no deal."

All this during the first phase after George Mills returned from Mexico.

When he'd been their whatdoyoucallit, Father Confessor. They were spilling their beans, dumping their c.r.a.p in his lap. Gossiping, tattling on themselves, one another.

As if he gave good advice. As if he even believed in it.

He gave no advice, put his faith in the insolubility of problems. You never laid a glove on the serious stuff. Disease played for keeps, and though he was no expert on world affairs, he knew that if things as inanimate and impersonal and off to the side of real life as nations could get into difficulties they couldn't slip, people had no chance at all. Things gone off like b.u.t.ter would never be sweet again. His back would fail him, the shortness of breath he now felt hustling furniture for Laglichio would show up again while he was sitting on the toilet one day, while he was watching TV, when he slept.

In the months following Judith Glazer's death Messenger continued to keep in touch. Sometimes he phoned, more often he just popped in. He was still driving Judith's Meals-on-Wheels route. (Rust along the wounds of his notched car like a sort of jam.) "The Judith Glazer Memorial Meals-on-Wheels Luncheon Rounds," he called it. He brought the Millses news of Mrs. Carey and Mr. Reece and the others on his itinerary and sometimes-you could smell the pot on his breath, his clothes, pungent, sweet as campfire, burning leaves-came to them with covered styrofoam trays of leftovers.

"What am I going to do about my kid, George?" Messenger would ask between mouthfuls of cooling chili-mac. "What do you say, Lulu?"

The Claunches, too, were into him, or their lawyers were. Judith's sanity was in question. She'd made no eleventh-hour revisions of what they regarded as her cogent, ordinary enough wishes, but her wild, middle-of-the-night calls to her friends, even to some of the Meals-on-Wheels contingent, had prompted some of them to believe that she'd intended to make provision for them. She'd hinted at, and evidently actually promised, small gifts, semiprecious jewelry, shoes, dresses, coats--relics.

No codicils had been formulated, no substantiating notes found. The claimants, though even the lawyers acknowledged that "claimants" was too strong a term-no one had actually made or even threatened a legal claim against the estate-had all rather shyly indicated their limited expectations in condolence letters--to Sam, to Harry Claunch, to Judith's father on his now public private phone numbers. One or two had appealed directly to Mrs. Glazer's daughters. The Claunch lawyers were inclined to honor what they called these "nuisance claims" on the dead woman's estate. (Louise herself, though they'd never met, only spoken to each other once on the phone, had been the recipient of one such gift-a tiny pillbox, purchased during their first days in Mexico, in which Mrs. Glazer had kept her Laetrile. Like the others to whom such tokens had been granted, she'd had to sign a notarized quitclaim.) But something was up.

One night the senior partner-he was the man who'd indicated an interest in Mills's car the day of the funeral-in the law firm that was handling things for the Claunches, called George at home.

"Still got that car, old man?"

"What car?"

"That snazzy Special of course."

"Oh yeah," Mills said, "sure."

"You'll come round. You will."

"Make me an offer."

The lawyer chuckled. "You make me one."

"Four thousand dollars," George said, not knowing what it might be worth but certain he'd asked too little.

The lawyer laughed into the phone. "Oh that's a good one," he said heartily. "It really is. Never mind. I'm a patient man, you'll come round. Actually I guess I deserved that," the lawyer said, "trying to mix business with pleasure."

"Business?"

"Well, it's just that we'd like you to drop by the firm. At your own convenience of course. We'd like to take an affidavit from you."

"What for?" Mills asked nervously.

"No real reason," the lawyer said, "we'd just like to have it on file in case anything comes up. We'd like your statement that Judith was in unexceptionable health when you were caring for her in Mexico."

"She was sick as a dog."

"No no." The lawyer laughed. "I mean her mental health."

"I can't give any affidavit," George said. "I can't come down at my convenience. My boss would dock me."

Then Sam Glazer called.

"I understand they're trying to pressure you," he said. "Listen, you hung in there. I'm grateful for that." Mills didn't know what he was talking about. "No kidding, George-may I call you George?-I really am. I'd just like your a.s.surance that you'll continue to resist them when they start turning the screws on you."

"No one's going to turn the screws on me."

"That's the way," Sam said, "that's the way to handle it."

When he called again he sounded as distraught as Messenger.

"She must have been crazy, George. She must have been out of her head. I blame myself. I'm at fault. Partially. Partially I am. Poor Judith. Poor, poor Judith. G.o.d knows what she must have suffered. All that pain and anger, all that mental anguish."

"No, no," George said, trying to rea.s.sure him. "Her spirits were good. good."

"How can you say that?" Glazer demanded furiously. "Is that what you said? Is that that what you told them? Her spirits were what you told them? Her spirits were good? good?"

"Hey," George said.

"What about the pesos? What about all those pesos she gave away? What about the time she tried to get herself murdered? What about that funeral service? Her psychiatrist's ruined. You know that, that, don't you? Being made to say that stuff in public. Judith washed don't you? Being made to say that stuff in public. Judith washed him him up with her crazy arrogance. You call that cheerful, you call that good spirits?" up with her crazy arrogance. You call that cheerful, you call that good spirits?"

"Listen, Mr. Glazer ..."

"Listen? Listen? Listen? No I won't listen. No I won't listen. You You listen! What about heredity? What about our daughter Mary? You call listen! What about heredity? What about our daughter Mary? You call her her sane? She's crazy as h.e.l.l. All she thinks about is s.e.x. She doodles genitalia in her geometry book. She doodles f.e.l.l.a.t.i.o. The men have embouchures like symphony musicians. She draws gleaming wet p.u.s.s.y in her Latin text. The l.a.b.i.a are tattooed with boys' names. She does t.i.ts, stiff, ugly little hairs coming up out of the nipples. She says she's engaged to be married. Some squirt at school she says she's been sleeping with since fifth grade. She sane? She's crazy as h.e.l.l. All she thinks about is s.e.x. She doodles genitalia in her geometry book. She doodles f.e.l.l.a.t.i.o. The men have embouchures like symphony musicians. She draws gleaming wet p.u.s.s.y in her Latin text. The l.a.b.i.a are tattooed with boys' names. She does t.i.ts, stiff, ugly little hairs coming up out of the nipples. She says she's engaged to be married. Some squirt at school she says she's been sleeping with since fifth grade. She tells tells me this! She says 'He can't come yet, Daddy. I got my o.r.g.a.s.m even before my periods started, but Stevie still can't come. I tell him to be patient,' she says, 'that he'll probably be in p.u.b.erty by the time we're married and it'll all work out.' me this! She says 'He can't come yet, Daddy. I got my o.r.g.a.s.m even before my periods started, but Stevie still can't come. I tell him to be patient,' she says, 'that he'll probably be in p.u.b.erty by the time we're married and it'll all work out.'

"This is sane? sane? What What about about heredity? These are good spirits? The kid's a nympho. That stuff has to come from somewhere. It comes from her mother." heredity? These are good spirits? The kid's a nympho. That stuff has to come from somewhere. It comes from her mother."

"Why are you telling me this?" George said.

"It comes from her mother, the madwoman! How'd they get to you, Mills? Just tell me what they promised."

"n.o.body promised anything. n.o.body got to me."

"You swear you didn't give them your affidavit?"

"I didn't," George said.

"Jesus," Sam Glazer said, "you scared me there, George. You really had me going for a time."

It was crazy, George thought. As if by saying his wife had been in good spirits he had somehow slandered her. Glazer was calm now. He was calm when he spoke to George about the possibility of something opening up in buildings and grounds, calm when with practically no transition he he asked Mills for his affidavit, calm when George turned him down, calm, even smooth, when he told him that all he really wanted was for George to keep an open mind, not to say anything to the Claunches until he'd had another chance to speak with him. asked Mills for his affidavit, calm when George turned him down, calm, even smooth, when he told him that all he really wanted was for George to keep an open mind, not to say anything to the Claunches until he'd had another chance to speak with him.

"You're in the catbird seat, you know," Sam Glazer said pleasantly before ringing off. "You're the only eyewitness."

The senior partner called again.

"You know," he said, "I've given more thought to what you asked for your Special. You did say it's the original grille, didn't you?"

Even Laglichio. He was impressed, he said, with Mills's apparent ability to deal with blacks. He wanted, he said, his input on some schemes he'd been developing.

Then there was Coule. The minister wanted to know when Mills was going to make good on that sermon he'd promised.

"What sermon I promised?"

"Testimony then."

"Oh yeah," George said, "sure thing."

"You're not not saved, are you?" Coule demanded. "You made all that up about grace. Boasting." saved, are you?" Coule demanded. "You made all that up about grace. Boasting."

"Who'd brag anything small potatoes as salvation?"

"You're outrageous."

"Yeah? Am I? You're this man of the cloth, this cloth man. It rumples your tail feathers, don't it, Reverend, I got grace, you got s.h.i.+t? Sure. I'll fill in for you. I'll give you my affidavit on holiness. Name the day. Easter? Christmas?"

As if they were waiting for him to pounce, as if he were some blackmailer. As if all they ever thought about was that whatever he'd learned in Mexico would be used against them. Or not a blackmailer at all--a sort of cop. George Mills, the arresting officer, their prosecutor, the law, the state. Their rights read at them like charges, boredom and cynicism built into their inner ear, hearing fair warning, the rattler's obligatory sizzle--then sock! pow! blammo! and all bets off.

Mills unable to rea.s.sure them, unable to convince them they had nothing to worry about.

"Why did you let me take her to Mexico?" he asked Harry Claunch.

"She was inoperable," Harry said. "Even the oncologist said the chemotherapy was tearing her guts out. Under the circ.u.mstances, could we deny her her long shot?"

"But why me?"

"Why not you? She would have laid it all out for the woman who brought her bedpan."

So he had his legacy too. Their secrets like so many pieces of costume jewelry, like so many hand-me-downs. The repository now not only of Mills history but everyone's. And he'd told Coule he was saved.

But mostly Messenger. Messenger's hang-ups, Messenger's circle, Messenger's kid.

"Yeah," Cornell, high, told him one day over a ham and ravioli sandwich, "I take the cake. Here I sit, enhanced and laid back as some California surfer-want a drag? no? it's sinsemilla, two hundred fifty bucks a lid-and ... What was I on about then? Oh yeah, the cake. It's Chocolate Mint Heart today, Lulu. I'm going to tell you something, George. You think it's because I'm enhanced I say this. But I was telling whoosis, my paraplegic lady, Gert. She thinks so too." He fell silent. The rusts from his ham and ravioli sandwich smeared the corners of his mouth and lips, turning them down like the sad-face expression on a clown. "It's the applesauce. Meals-on-Wheels puts out a great applesauce, maybe the best in the world." And he tore into the applesauce, shoveling it into his mouth with his plastic spoon. "You got a slice of bread, Lulu, I can soak up the juice? Hey," he said giggling, "don't bother. I'll use a Kleenex. The horror, the horror, hey Mills?" He grinned at them. "I'm bold," he said. "What the h.e.l.l, what's there to hide? Judy G. told you all about me. She gave you my mantra. Well, her her mantra. I can't get the G.o.dd.a.m.n thing to work. Did you know they were her last words? Big-deal holy lady, big-deal saint. Pain up to here and her brother bending down over her bed for, for G.o.d mantra. I can't get the G.o.dd.a.m.n thing to work. Did you know they were her last words? Big-deal holy lady, big-deal saint. Pain up to here and her brother bending down over her bed for, for G.o.d knows knows what--instructions probably. 'Do thus and so with the kids. Give Sammy my love. Tell the Mex to leave the room and smother me with the f.u.c.king pillow.' G.o.d what--instructions probably. 'Do thus and so with the kids. Give Sammy my love. Tell the Mex to leave the room and smother me with the f.u.c.king pillow.' G.o.d knows knows what! 'Christ's a redhead. He wears designer jeans.' And what does he hear? ' what! 'Christ's a redhead. He wears designer jeans.' And what does he hear? 'Mahesvaram, mahesvaram, mahesvaram.' The born-again son of a b.i.t.c.h off to Heaven on a wave of transcendental meditation, at one with her cancer, the lint on her pesos. That lady could have been buried out of the Ethical Society, the Automobile a.s.sociation. I tell you, George, she left me a haunted mantra. She squeezed the blood out of it, Lulu. I can't even levitate. The horror, the horror."

"You can't levitate? You're high as a kite."

"Because I'm in pain, George and Lulu. Because I'm in pain. Because the griefs ain't leaking no more, they're whelming. whelming. There's flash-flood griefs, man overboard. Let me just tell you a few of the things that have been happening in my neighborhood. Oh, look at Lulu, she likes it when I talk Despair. Despair's her turn-on." There's flash-flood griefs, man overboard. Let me just tell you a few of the things that have been happening in my neighborhood. Oh, look at Lulu, she likes it when I talk Despair. Despair's her turn-on."