The Family Man Part 21

"Eat your bagel," says Thalia.

23. Who Jumps to Such a Conclusion?.

HENRY IS TOO POLITE to turn his back on Denise indefinitely. This morning's voice mail-initially ignored from the treadmill across the room-begins with, "Guess who has a job? But that's all I'm telling. Don't call me for the details." A laugh. "How's that for reverse psychology?"

He makes it to the phone just in time. "Job?" he asks.

"You're there! Yes, a job-I'm in real estate! With Stribling."

"How is that possible?"

"You mean, how am I employed in real estate without any experience other than going to open houses for the fun of it?"

"Precisely."

"You know how these things happen-serendipity! Being in the market myself-well, if you can call my pitiful price range the market-I was meeting with an agent and she was apologizing for being late, distracted, phone interruptions, all of that. She said her a.s.sistant hadn't shown up for a week. I said, 'That's outrageous. I would never do that. I'd fire anyone who didn't show up for a week ... Are you hiring?' That was a Tuesday. I started Wednesday. I love it. I'm getting much better on the computer, and I'm learning very practical skills."

"Such as?"

"I make coffee for the visiting clients. And chai. Do you know what that is? We use instant. I make appointments, I change appointments, I clip our ads from the cla.s.sifieds. I call the newspapers and yell if there are typographical errors, which I now call typos."

"Are you getting benefits?" Henry asks.

"Don't be a wet blanket! You're supposed to say, 'Congratulations! I knew you'd land on your feet.' No, there aren't any benefit-benefits, but I'm learning a lot, and if I combine my paycheck with my monthly allowance, and I sell my jewelry, I'll get by."

The last door Henry wanted to open is the one marked "legal adviser." But the phrase "I'll get by" prompts him to ask if she's consulted a matrimonial lawyer or just the attorneys in her social circle.

"I thought you'd never ask!"

"I'm a corporate lawyer, Denise. Pre-nups aren't my bailiwick."

"But you must have the right kind of lawyer in your firm. Who did your will?"

When Henry merely grunts, "George," and nothing more, she asks, "Are you still mad at me? I get bonus points for Todd, right? If my worst enemy fixed me up with a man I liked, and it developed into a relationship, all would be forgiven."

Henry says, "I should have thanked you before this. You did a good thing."

"He's crazy about you! And Thalia-everyone's favorite human being. How is your stepdaughter-slash-new tenant?"

Henry has prepared for this question. He says, "She's fine, working on her craft. Going to auditions. All those things that actress-hopefuls do."

"Do you think I should call and tell her about my job?"

"Up to you."

"I'm looking for a little guidance here, something in your voice that says she misses me. She feels sorry for me. She misses Glenn. She wants to get past whatever unforgivable thing she thinks I did. Do you know if she's going to be home tonight?"

"I don't know. She's out a lot. Happily, she has many irons in the fire."

"What kind of irons?"

"Work. Gigs."

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

Should he say no or should he say several? He is saved from fashioning an answer because her toast pops up. She says, "I'll call her today and I'm sure one of us will give you a report."

The phone rings within minutes. Denise, who must have just sat down with her toast and Daily News, shrieks in Henry's ear, "OhmiG.o.d! Oh. My. G.o.d!"

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"You won't believe it! It's Thalia! I was leafing through it and I swear it's her. I almost had a heart attack."

"What page?" Henry asks.

"What page? Is that all you want to know? It's the gossip reporters, the married ones, Rush and Molloy, their page, with a big picture."

"Can you read me what it says?"

"It says, 'Horror helmer Leif Dumont haunting Gotham.'"

"What else?"

"It says under the picture, 'Boo, from nineties sitcom Land of Louie, above, with companion, makes a swift exit from chef Thomas Keller's Per Se.'"

"'Companion'? Not her name?"

"No name. She's getting into a limo ahead of him, and she's wearing a very low-cut dress, very low for her. If it isn't Thalia she has a bosomy twin."

"It is Thalia," he says. "I'm just surprised her name's not there."

"This guy, this Leif, looks like death warmed over. He's old and bald. Or maybe he's not bald. Or old. Maybe it's shaved. He doesn't look like her type at all. Why is she suddenly out on a date with someone who can afford to eat at Per Se?"

"He's an actor," Henry says. "She knows him through work. And he's not old. He's under forty."

"What kind of work? Are they on a project together?"

"Something like that."

He thinks he hears-please may he be wrong-Denise sniffling. "Are you crying over a silly photo?" he asks.

"I'm not crying over a silly photo. I'm crying over what it says to the world."

"Which is what? That she's dating a character actor?"

Denise spits out, "'Dating'! Look at her. The red dress, the big hair, the f.u.c.k-me shoes! Does the term escort not spring to mind?"

"You're hysterical," says Henry. "Your daughter is not an escort. I happen to know that this was a blind date and she's doing him a favor."

"A favor? A blind date? If I were going to run an escort service I'd name it 'Blind Date'! That's not what a mother wants to hear. If it's a real blind date, who fixed them up?"

"Sally Eames-Harlan," he says coolly.

"Why do you know so much? Does Thalia call you up and report on who she's met and where she's going? Because you're sounding as if you knew her picture was going to be in the paper."

"How does anyone know that?"

"Because who calmly asks, 'What page?' when someone hears his stepdaughter's picture is in the Daily News? You weren't thinking gossip column. You were thinking police log because you know what these gigs are. And why besides sloppy reporting isn't her name in there? Because she refused to give it. Don't you know the way the world works?"

"I'm dignifying none of this. You're insulting her and you're insulting me to suggest I'd sanction this, as if my gay moral fiber wouldn't even know right from wrong."

"Oh, please. I'm only saying find out something, anything, that proves this is a real blind date and not a trick."

Desperate to end the conversation, Henry barks, "Fine. I'll speak to her."

"And you'll get back to me? Because you're not so great at returning phone calls."

"Because we weren't on speaking terms for a while."

"And even though I p.i.s.sed you off again, you'll still take a look at my pre-nup?"

"I'm sure there's nothing-"

"Can I bring it by? Or should we meet for lunch? Or I could cook dinner for you tonight. Veal saltimbocca. I never cook anymore. Or if that's too much too soon, you and Todd could take me out for a drink to celebrate my new career."

"I don't know. I have to recover from this. Maybe a drink next week. I'll check with Todd to see if and when he's free."

"And you'll get back to me? Was that the rest of the sentence? See how real estate is teaching me to be a.s.sertive?"

He walks to the nearest newsstand and buys three copies of the Daily News. There indeed on page twenty-two is Leif, convincingly projecting C'mon, guys. Can't we celebs enjoy a little privacy? As for Thalia, it is true: Photographed from above, bending forward to enter the limo, she is revealing an expanse of skin that misrepresents both her outfit and her principles. Does she know? Should he call?

When he turns the corner to his own block, he sees her ahead, dressed in powder pink running clothes, sitting on his front steps. "When you weren't home, I was hoping you had a sleepover," she calls to him.

"Sorry-just a trip to the newsstand." Seconds later he is at her side, the tabloids in a fat roll under his arm.

"What's with that?" she asks.

He peels off one of the copies and hands it to her. "Page twenty-two."

"Moi?"

He nods, one firm, joyless nod. Thalia flips the pages. "Oh, gawd. I'm all b.o.o.bs. The G.o.dd.a.m.n photographer must have had his lens down my dress."

"At first I was upset, too," Henry says. "But on my second viewing, I realized that the eye of the reader is naturally drawn to this"-he points to the sequined mummy peeking out between Leif's lapels. "My larger concern, given the mission, is that you're identified only as Leif's companion."

"Thank the lord!" She rips the page out and crumples it. "All that styling and primping for one hideous photo. Not a good start," she says. "Let's hope no one recognizes me."

When he doesn't respond, Thalia says, "I detect a meaningful silence. Who saw this and tipped you off?"

A better liar might say "Todd" or "anyone" or "no one." But Henry answers truthfully, "Your mother."

"Unacceptable!" Todd cries. "Leif should fire that farshtinkener public relations firm. The whole point of this ... what does one call it?-charade!-is to get Thalia's name and face out there. Thalia. Archer. Actress. How hard is that? Who'd you call?"

It is Todd's lunch hour. They are sitting on a bench in Central Park, each holding half of a bulging pastrami sandwich.

"Two schools of thought here," Henry answers, carefully drawing a squiggle of mustard across his bread. "One is that Thalia was cheated because she wasn't identified, and the other, advanced by the subject herself, is that she's lucky she wasn't named."

"Did anyone call in a correction?" Todd persists.

"She doesn't want a correction."

"I don't get it. This is a nice juicy piece of gossip: 'We now know who was seen leaving Per Se with actor/director/producer Leif Dumont: actress Thalia Archer, whose credits include The Devil Wears Prada.' Look, it's right here: gatecrasher at daily news dot com. It's practically an invitation."

"Can't. I checked the contract. It a.s.signs all publicity initiatives to Estime International."

"This is so not a publicity initiative! This is a citizen journalist who happened by the Time Warner Center as Leif Dumont was ducking into a limo with fan fave Thalia Archer. Besides, I don't think there's anything wrong with the photo. Granted, you can't see much of her face. And I know this fact may astonish you, but b.r.e.a.s.t.s sell newspapers." He opens his half of the sandwich, says, "Nice and lean. Good work." Then, "You know who's gonna love this and hate it at the same time?"

"Your mother?"

"Your ex! I bet she picks up the phone and calls Thalia, and poof, they're talking again."

"Not even close," says Henry.

With his mouth full, Todd gestures, C'mon, out with it.

Henry recites, "Because of the word companion, because of the cleavage, because her date appeared to be an unattractive old guy throwing money around, because of the low-cut dress and cheap shoes, and mostly because Thalia's life and work are a mystery to her, our friend Denise has concluded that her only child is a woman of the night."

Todd's eyes widen above the sandwich, his mouth full. He speed-chews, then swallows with a theatrical gulp. "To which you replied...?"

"Is there any question what I said? I yelled, 'What is wrong with you that you'd think that your wonderful, smart, accomplished, talented daughter is, what? A paid escort culled from the Yellow Pages? This was a blind date with a fellow actor. Who jumps to such a conclusion about one's own daughter?'"

"A nut case! And mark my word, when her fetching daughter continues to be seen with"-he checks the headline-"'horror helmer Leif Dumont,' Denise will keep digging and squawking. I wouldn't put it past her to go to the press herself. Or call in the vice squad."

"So now what? Do I keep this to myself? Do I warn Thalia that her mother is advancing a slanderous theory?"

"The latter, definitely: Warn her. If I know Thalia, she'll find the whole c.o.c.kamamie theory entertaining. And who knows? It could lead to a phone call, which could lead to a lunch, which could lead to Thalia confiding in Denise about signing a contract with Leif, which could lead to the end of the mother-daughter rift. Peace could be as close as one more teeny little breach of the confidentiality clause."

Henry says, "I don't want Denise on the team. Denise is not to be trusted. Whatever inane thoughts pa.s.s through her brain end up in a diatribe. Or a eulogy, for chrissakes. And I haven't even given you her whole critique."

Todd says, "I have exactly ten minutes before I have to be back at work, so start now."

Henry eats his last bite of sandwich so he can count on his fingers. "She thought the hair was too big. The dress wasn't Thalia. And before, when I said she called the silver sandals cheap? That was me being euphemistic because you helped pick them out. The actual descriptor was 'f.u.c.k-me shoes.'"