The Family Man Part 27

"Talk to your lawyers, gentlemen," says Henry.

How many admirers can one unavailable young woman juggle? Henry asks no one but himself as he waits for a 7 train to take him to any stop where he can hail a taxi. Has Thalia's overactive love life made him a bad judge of simple brotherly solicitude? Tommy, he reasons, was just the nicer stepbrother, closer in age to Thalia. He's seeing social outreach where there is none. Aren't both Krouch boys married to women who left the funeral by their sides, in protest? He'd quiz Thalia or Denise on that point-except for now he wants to keep his Long Island City mission off the record.

He calls Thalia from the back seat of a taxi, safely across the Queensborough Bridge. "Lunch anytime soon?" he asks. "I have a sudden craving for chicken tikka masala."

"Like, right now?"

"Earthen Oven? One hour?"

"I could almost do that."

"Where are you now?" he asks.

"Not home," she answers.

She slips into a seat opposite Henry and blows a kiss across the pappadams.

He asks, "Remember when we first met? This was our plan: weekly lunches. And now look at us." He opens his menu and smiles down at it. "You, me, and Williebelle."

"Ran home to change just for you," she says. "I believe this is what your mother would have called a housedress. The belt is mine."

Pleasantly, unaccusingly, Henry asks, "Still seeing Philip?"

Thalia hums, scanning the menu.

"Philip?" he prompts.

"He's okay. Why?"

"Just making conversation."

She looks up. "It's not a huge deal."

"But?"

"We had a little-what shall I call it?-misunderstanding. Now fixed."

Henry is never sure where his conversation ends and cross-examinations begin. He takes several casual and dilatory sips of water before asking, "About?"

"A photo he took of me. That I didn't appreciate."

She is speaking with remarkable equanimity, Henry thinks, considering that an incendiary device has just exploded in my head. He looks around, judging waiter proximity. "A compromising photo?" he whispers.

"Here's the thing: I was in fact naked but I had a sheet over me." She runs a finger across her clavicle. "All the way up to my armpits."

"Awake or asleep?"

"Asleep!"

"Did he ask your permission?"

"No, but really-I don't want you to worry. He snapped it with his phone so there aren't enough pixels to do much with."

Henry says, his voice barely restrained, "You are to tell him in no uncertain terms-or I will-that he is to erase that photo of you."

"I already did."

"And?"

"He said he'd never e-mail it, sell it, put it out there, whatever, so it came down to a matter of trust."

"Oh, please."

"He said it never would have occurred to him in a million years that taking my picture would be seen as morally reprehensible."

"Because he was born yesterday? Every time you turn on the news you hear about some contestant whose wet T-shirt came back to haunt her."

She motions to the bartender, who sends over a waiter. "Two chicken tikka masalas," Henry says. "And do we want beer?"

"At the very least," says Thalia. As soon as the menus are collected she says, "Shall we change the subject to something equally annoying?"

"Sure."

New patrons are being shown to the next table, two women with enough shopping bags to identify them as out-of-towners. Thalia lowers her voice. "Estime told Leif on Friday that no one's interested in Thalia Archer. He needs to find someone the public cares about."

"Just like that? 'No one's interested in Thalia Archer'? Whose fault is that? What are you supposed to do? Get arrested? What nerve. What arrogance!"

"They're giving it one more try. With cash."

"For whom?"

"Paparazzi-the ones you can buy off."

The waiter returns with two beers and two pilsner gla.s.ses. "We're fine," says Henry, nearly shooing him away.

Thalia says, "I figured you'd be happy about this."

Henry the parent is happy. Henry the lawyer asks, "Were they expecting instant results? Overnight limelight for a guy who's been under the radar his whole career?"

Thalia shrugs. "He says he stuck up for me. Might even have said 'fought' for me. Hard."

"Because he wants to do the right thing? Or because it would be excruciating for him to start over with a new faux girlfriend?"

"The latter, I suspect."

"Such a web of lies," says Henry. "I don't know how I ever let you say yes to this scheme."

"Because on paper it looked doable. And because I was deluded enough to think I could pull it off." She returns the smile of the newly seated neighboring diners, who, Henry realizes, are enjoying Williebelle's paisley housedress and its mother-of-pearl snaps. Thalia turns back to Henry. "Please don't make your au contraire speech now about what a talented and delightful person I am."

"I won't," he says unhappily.

She hands him one-half of the last pappadam. "Although, if you wanted to say something philosophical and parental that puts everything in perspective, this might be a good time."

Henry picks up his beer gla.s.s, thinks, puts it back down without taking a sip. "How's this: Sometimes I look down the road, and I wonder what toll it will take. I mean, will you tell your children that you pretended to be someone's girlfriend-"

"For money! For alleged fame and fortune. Because a man thought he was so unappealing he had to hire an agency to hire a girl to fall in love with him?"

"Not true?" asks Henry.

Thalia reaches down into her backpack and brings forth a folded piece of paper. "See what a nice world we live in," she says.

It is a printout from a website, a place he's never visited, The Superficial.com. Above a photo-finally, the two of them together, by name, allegedly being turned away from too-hot Bungalow 8. The headline above it declares, "Thalia Archer Has Terrible Taste."

29. The Long View.

AS AN ACT of good faith, Philip has purged his phone of the evidence after e-mailing it to Thalia, who forwards the photo to Henry. He calls Thalia immediately to say, "Now I know for sure I've been corrupted."

"I doubt that," says Thalia.

"It's true. I could see this perfectly lovely photo of you on some website with a clever headline such as 'Wake Up, Thalia Archer!' The implication would be, 'You're a smart and talented girl. What are you doing with Leif Dumont? You don't need him to make your way in the world. In fact, he's proving to be a millstone around your neck.' Is that something Gawker or TMZ might run?"

Thalia says, "Neither. I think I'd find that on Fatherly Advice dot com."

He loves fatherly; at the same time, he's embarra.s.sed by his pop-culture clumsiness. "Never mind. Stupid thought. I guess I was supposed to say, 'Good for Philip. He's an honorable young man.'"

"He's right here. Do you want to tell him yourself?"

Henry says, "No, thank you. I'll let you get back to your company."

"Are you doing anything today?" she asks.

He isn't; he reminds her that the retirement consultants all say one shouldn't do much of anything for the first six months. But he'll take a walk and read. He and Todd are going to see an early movie and have a late dinner.

He changes into his new brown suede sneakers and has one proud foot out the front door before ducking back inside. Denise and her dog are carefully descending Thalia's steps, one paw at a time. He waits and listens. Should he make a run for it or stay put? He retreats to the kitchen and within seconds hears footsteps on the back stairway, followed by a sharp knock.

"You there? My mother's at my front door," Thalia calls. "Can we hide upstairs?"

He opens the door to find Philip at Thalia's side, wearing drawstring pajamalike pants and a T-shirt that says "Audioslave." She is, thankfully, in her pink sweats. "Sorry, man," says Philip. "No time to get dressed. I'm Philip. We met on moving day."

Henry says, "Come in. Does that woman ever call before she shows up on a doorstep?"

"I was going to ignore the knock," Thalia says, "but I could see the doork.n.o.b moving this way and that. Like a horror movie. I thought maybe I hadn't locked it and she was going to come charging in. So we bolted."

"Is she still down there?" Henry asks.

Thalia asks, "Which window is your lookout?"

Henry smiles and says, "I resent that," immediately followed by "Either one on the south wall of the parlor."

When she's left the kitchen, Philip asks, "This woman-was she Thalia's mother, or stepmother?"

"Mother. Still is, present tense. Her name is Denise. You probably know they're more or less, despite drop-in visits, estranged."

"Was there an argument? I mean, did they have a fight and no one wants to be the first to apologize? Or is it more all-encompa.s.sing?"

"You'll have to ask Thalia. I do know that Denise mortally offended everyone with thoughtless remarks at the funeral of her most recent husband."

Philip calls out rather jovially in the direction of the parlor, "Come back. I want to discuss what the big deal is. Life is short. You'll feel bad when she's dead. Just go talk to her."

Thalia's head appears, peeking around from the hallway. "Do you know something I don't know? Is Denise sick?"

"Denise is fine," says Henry. "Annoying as h.e.l.l, but as far as I know healthy."

Philip says, "I'm not speaking from any insider knowledge. I'm just asking, What did she do that was so terrible that you can't have a conversation?"

Thalia says, "I'd need a couch."

"What's the worst thing?" asks Philip.

"The worst? Okay. How's this: terrible mother. I was baggage from the dead husband, and it didn't help that I looked like him. I was like a chaperone on a honeymoon, except that it went on and on. She was always trying to please Glenn, to show that she wasn't the wife who'd had two previous husbands. She wanted to erase her history, so how does a kid fit into that?"

Henry is thinking two things: I'm learning a lot. And look what an in-depth and openhearted conversation she is having with this young man.

"So? You're a grownup now," Philip says. "She was a lousy mother. She wanted to prove he was the great love of her life-sorry, Henry-but it's not like she fed you bread and water and someone discovered you under a trapdoor ten years later."

Henry says, "Philip does certainly take the long view."

"Have you and your mom ever been in therapy together?" Philip continues.

"They sent me to a shrink when she ran off with Glenn and I was torn asunder from Henry."

"They did?" Henry asks.

"I don't remember any of it except there were puppets and M&M's."

"What about now?" Philip asks. "Would your mother agree to family therapy?"

"Are you speaking from experience?" Thalia asks. "Did you hate your mother, then find out you didn't, but it was too late? Something tragic like that?"

"Not me. A friend of mine was always on the outs with her mother-young, like fifty, healthy as a horse. And she was. .h.i.t by a car-get this-on the way to the post office to mail a letter to my friend."

"What kind of letter?"