The Family Man Part 14

"Set up by...?"

He puts his mug down and says, "I don't see any reason to lie about this: He's an acquaintance of your mother's."

Thalia says, "Why would I mind that? She owes you, big-time. Do I know him?"

"Todd Weinreb."

"Well, good for her. A good deed at last. Is he fabulous?"

"There's only been one date and another upcoming, this Thursday. Plus a few conversations."

"Cute, I bet."

"Quite."

"Did you Google him?"

"No need. In the sense that he's not someone about whom articles would have been written."

Thalia says, "Fine. Absolutely. No need."

"He works at Gracious Home."

This is why he loves Thalia: Her response is backlit by an enthusiasm that even great acting talent couldn't manufacture. "Gracious Home! Which department?"

"Table tops," says Henry.

"Did he pick out my shelf paper?"

"He helped."

"Can I meet him? Is it too soon? I know it is, but it would be fabulous if we can sneak in a meeting before the Leif thing hits. Be honest. Say no. I'll completely understand."

Henry says, "Normally, it would be too soon. But given what's ahead-"

"Where and when? I could give you two a half-hour alone before I barge in."

"Not necessary. You and I can walk over together, or cab together. We haven't picked the restaurant yet. And I should check with Todd first."

"You know what this makes me think? That he must be great."

"Based on...?"

"Based on your knowing you can drag me along on a second date. I think that shows he has excellent family values."

He smiles. "Hard to say at this juncture."

"One possible hitch: Let's say I reach Philip, and Thursday's the best night for us to get together."

Now he must tell her what he hasn't fully confessed or aptly characterized: his mismanagement of the future boyfriend. He winces, then reports, "Philip didn't take kindly to your giving him my phone number in lieu of yours."

Thalia gets up from the table and opens a kitchen drawer, already a mess of papers and takeout menus. "My files," she explains.

"I tried to correct that impression," Henry continues. "But after all, what could I promise? That you'd go out on a date, or arrange a clandestine meeting in a parking garage? I didn't have that authority."

More searching produces a business card, black with silver engraving, which she slips into her bathrobe pocket.

"Is that his card?"

"His club." She pats the pocket. "Of course you are welcome to finish your tea, but I'm going to jump into the shower and head out."

"It's almost twelve-thirty. Don't you have work tomorrow?"

Thalia laughs. "I do. I'll pack fresh underwear." She pauses to say, "I'm teasing you! Stop worrying."

"How will you get there? Not by subway this time of night? Take a taxi. My treat." He reaches back into the pocket where his wallet would be if he hadn't left it upstairs.

"Don't be silly. I have money." She smiles. "Petty cash for moving extras. Merci, Estime International."

"Irony noted," says Henry.

She is pulling the rubber band out of her hair and tousling the new layers. "So you'll check with Todd about Thursday night?"

"First thing tomorrow."

"Great. I can't wait. More tea? I forgot to ask if you take lemon. Not that I have one."

"I'm all set," says Henry.

As soon as she's out of the kitchen, her baritone Henry impersonation reaches him: "Todd, I'd like you to meet my daughter, the hussy. She'll join us for dinner before she goes clubbing. No, not every night. But she's sowing her wild oats before her soul gets sold to the devil next week."

He chuckles, then calls back, "Okay. Point taken." Suddenly he is thinking of Celeste, how much she would have enjoyed the one-woman show that is Thalia. He rinses their two mugs and leaves through the kitchen door, up the secret staircase, and into bed. Due to baseline paternal worries about third rails, alcohol, drugs, unprotected s.e.x, and breaches of contract, he takes a pill.

17. Thank You for Joining the Boys Tonight.

AT GRACIOUS HOME, Henry watches as Todd waits on a tall young woman in workout clothes whose navel is exposed and whose emerald-cut diamond engagement ring is colossal. From her backpack she brings forth a tablecloth depicting scenes that might be Colonial Williamsburg or Plimoth Plantation. Todd, at the register, asks her where she acquired this piece of homespun Americana.

"At one of my bridal showers."

"From anyone you'd ever invite to dinner?"

"My fiance's mother."

"You poor child," clucks Todd.

"She's okay," says the future bride unhappily. She slides the tablecloth across to Todd. "It's a family heirloom."

"Are you thinking table runners to disguise it?"

"I was just thinking napkins. I have a gift certificate."

Frowning, Todd runs his right hand across the surface. "This kind of thing usually came with matching napkins."

"It did. I have seven. She said the others were either lost or stained."

"Seven's plenty! You're just having the in-laws, right?"

"I think I have to use it for Thanksgiving." She points to the artwork: Indians. Corn. Stockades. "So I'll need a total of ten. Eleven if my sister brings someone."

"You know what I'd do, hon? See what you get for wedding presents and what you still need, then come back with your gift certificate and ask for me, Todd. As for filling in with napkins? I'd go kitschy, paper, Thanksgiving-themed, and I'd find some really awful retro salt and pepper shakers on eBay, turkeys or Pilgrims. You've got time. And next year? Tell this mother-in-law that the dry cleaner lost the tablecloth. Believe me, she hates it, too. She couldn't wait for her son to get engaged so she could dump it on his unsuspecting bride."

From the sidelines, Henry adds, "Besides, she should have Thanksgiving at her house next year."

"You're right," says the customer. "I'm not doing it two years in a row. I hate Thanksgiving."

Todd folds the tablecloth into an expert rectangle, wraps it in tissue paper, and slips it into a Gracious Home bag. "It'll be fine," he says. "Big platters covering the settlers. A gravy boat, a centerpiece. Now give me a hug. When's the wedding?"

"June ninth."

"Lots of luck. You'll be a gorgeous bride." He takes an appraising step backward. "Vera?"

"Vera," she confirms.

"And tell your intended that I said he's a lucky guy, unless he's the jealous type. In which case, tell him I was not flirting."

She says she will tell Patrick, but won't hug due to still being sweaty from her Pilates. Halfway up the escalator she blows several kisses.

"I didn't want to get you in trouble, socializing at work," Henry tells Todd.

"Are you kidding? Me? Mr. Retail? Mr. Sell-Ice-to-the-Eskimos?"

"Low to no pressure, I noticed."

"That's my secret: If they see you're not pushy, they trust you. And if they want something we don't have, I tell them who carries their miserable little item." He smiles his best retail smile and says, "And what may I help you with this morning, sir?"

Henry and Thalia walk together down Columbus to West 64th at an hour and a location designed to overlap neatly with the end of Todd's workday. Trying not to hover or interrogate, Henry hasn't seen Thalia since her post-midnight departure for the East Village three nights earlier. He's pleased that she has dressed up tonight-a long skirt, hippie-ish, and a lavender twinset that was Williebelle's. It is, she tells him, in recognition of her second-to-last night of anonymity and fashion freedom.

"Sat.u.r.day night," he confirms. "Do you know the particulars?"

"Absolutely: Dinner first. Very fancy. Per Se. Then we go clubbing. We dance. We fall in love. We get noticed. All plants, of course. There's no turning back or getting sick or chickening out because it's already in the pipeline."

"In its own way, it's fascinating," says Henry. "For me, a crash course in celebrity journalism."

"Me, too," says Thalia.

"Not a word to Todd, though. Do we agree?"

They walk a half block in silence before Thalia says, "I'm not big on impulse control."

"So I've noticed."

"Philip, you mean?"

"Is that anything we have to worry about? In terms of nondisclosure?"

She smiles. "I'd say no."

"Did you speak to him at his club?"

"I went. I stood back. I waved." She demonstrates, just barely a raised palm. "He knew what it meant that I came."

"But you didn't exchange any words?"

"As in 'talk'? Actually not. But that was fine. It was"-she makes a complete stop to study a gauzy, ruffled dress of pale yellow in a shop window-"what you might call a meaningful exchange of smiles." She walks to the far edge of the window. "Can you see the b.u.t.tons on the back? They're red! Isn't that great? Would you have thought red on a yellow dress?"

"Never in a million years," says Henry.

"Am I stereotyping? Because I wouldn't have asked a straight guy a question about b.u.t.tons."

"If you are, I don't mind." They continue south, Henry mindful of the nineteenth-century father-and-daughterliness of their stroll. He hopes onlookers are noticing, further hopes he will run into acquaintances, setting in motion introductions. He adds, "b.u.t.tons, color, fashions-all very safe topics with Todd. In fact I can picture him soliloquizing about crimson b.u.t.tons. Or maybe that's the wrong word. Maybe I mean extemporizing. In very entertaining fashion."

"Cannot wait," says Thalia.

Todd is ten minutes late, apologizing and confiding that he ran home to shower and change for this most important night. He kisses Thalia on the knuckles and Henry on the lips, then straightens up to blink theatrically and ask, "Where the h.e.l.l are we?"

Thalia laughs. Henry says, "The cheese cave. I asked for it when I made the reservation."

"It's a relationship test," Todd confides to Thalia. "Extreme frontage"

Henry says, "Too much?"

"Actually," says Todd, "I might love it here." He pulls out the chair next to Henry's, spreads his napkin across his knees, then surveys the walls. "It's like a cheese version of the candy house in Hansel and Gretel. Don't you just want to reach over and break off a piece of Wisconsin cheddar?" Immediately he turns back and says, "So, Thalia! Thank you for joining the boys tonight."

"It was my idea. He was worried it was too soon to inflict his daughter on you."

Todd bites his lower lip. "I am quite reserved. And bashful. Henry probably told you that."

"Apparently," says Henry, "there's a chemical in cheese that brings out his uninhibited side."

Thalia looks at Henry. "Well, well, well," she says.

"What?"