Schmidt Delivered (27 page)

He hasn’t fucked up, I swear.

All right. Tell me anything you want. I’m ready.

You know, it’s kind of hard to know where to start. Bryan’s been living in Springs, doing odd jobs. Like all summer he was washing windows and refinishing decks. He’d rent this power machine that sprays water and gets all the mold off and then he sands down the wood and paints it with a finish.

No, I hadn’t realized.

Yeah, he made good money this summer and got some good customers. Like people who have bought houses and don’t have anybody steady working for them. He’s watching houses when they’re away, the way he used to, doing the trim
or taking care of their cars. Shit, he can do anything with his hands.

Yes, yes, he and his hands.

Schmidtie, you’re not fair to Bryan. He’s changed. Honest.

She wiggled in his lap.

I knew you were going to be like this.

All right. I won’t. Please go ahead.

OK. If you promise. OK. Bryan’s been working for this guy who’s got a marina in Three Mile Harbor. Helping him with the dock and the workshop and also with the boats. You know, things that need to be fixed. He can do that too, like if you don’t need to take the boat to a real boatyard. This old guy wants to sell his business, or maybe take in a partner or a couple of partners and let them buy in, over time. He’d even help the new guy get established. It’s a good business.

I can imagine that it might be. Have you seen the place?

Yeah, with Bryan and Jason. It’s cool.

And how old is this guy?

Oh, he’s real old, maybe sixty-five. But is he strong! His wife’s got arthritis so they want to like go somewhere warm, maybe Arizona? Her voice turned up at the end of the sentence, signaling they were in the realm of invention. The thing is if you keep boats for customers, you’ve got to be here in the winter. That’s when her arthritis is real bad. This guy’s got no kids.

Lucky bastard, thought Schmidt.

So Jason thought if he had that marina he’d build the business, maybe get some boats he could rent out, on charters,
and maybe give lessons, you know, driving motorboats and sailing. All the summer people want to do it.

Ah, he’s a sailor as well as a trained killer.

Cut it out, Schmidtie, Jason’s from Nova Scotia. He was brought up to be a fisherman. That’s what his folks do. It’s real cool. So what do you think?

Perhaps this was it. Steady, he said to himself, it’s not the time to get out ahead of them or to scare them off. Easy does it. This has to be their show, and if they are going into business they should use their brains.

What do I think? As I said, I can imagine that it’s a good business. It obviously helps that Jason knows boats and boat repair and can do these other things, like running a motor-boat or sailing on the side. But he’s got to think this through. Giving lessons, you know, is not a one-man job, particularly if you’re also taking care of boats. You’ve got to have a staff, insurance, maybe even a license. I don’t know about the license part, I’ve never looked into it.

His speech had turned out to be pompous, not friendly, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Jason has thought about it. He’s been real careful.

That’s terrific. Then there is the business part of the deal. What does this ancient guy really own, is there a mortgage and what kind, how much is the marina really worth, and so on. Probably Jason has thought about this too. There is one thing that does bother me. Bryan. How come Jason wants Bryan in this business with him? A kid who has pushed dope and gotten himself into some sort of trouble in Florida? How
does that fit with Mr. Clean? That’s part one. Now part two. How much does Jason know about you and Bryan? Nothing? Everything? Somewhere in the middle? If he knows, does he mind? If he doesn’t, what kind of surprise will he get and what will he do about it? Please answer the question, Miss Gorchuck.

Gross, Schmidtie, I knew you’d get pissed about Bryan. OK. All right. Yeah, I’ve told him. I’ve told him everything, like I’ve told him about you. So there. And I’ve told him about Mr. Wilson. Jeez, sometimes I can’t figure you. What do you think I am?

A magnificent young woman. It’s just that these things are tough to talk about so almost anyone might be tempted to play them down. It wouldn’t have been good policy in this case. Now explain to me why Jason wants this guy.

All right. Bryan’s clean now. He’s OK. Jason says so and he should know. He was in the narcotics unit. This stuff in Florida was chickenshit. Like nothing. He’s looked into that too. Jason wants him because the guy really knows how to work and knows what he’s doing. How is that?

Chickenshit. That was the expression Bryan used. Schmidt resisted pointing out the coincidence and said: Pretty good. I’ve got to hand it to you. Thank you.

You’re welcome.

She wiggled off his lap and moved back to her chair across the table. Hey, you want to hear something? Mike Mansour said if Jason sets this up he’s going to buy a big speedboat, you know, and let him take care of it. Wouldn’t that be something? You know, like being able to say to a customer, You got nothing to worry about, Mr. Mansour himself keeps his boat here!

Not bad at all. So Mike knows about this plan.

Yeah, Jason talked to him. Mike said he’d get some of his people, like an accountant or something like that, to check on the books. Just like you said.

He should rejoice but couldn’t. Final judgment had been entered in the remaining great case of his life. As though that did not suffice, Mr. Mansour’s powerful, long arm had shoved him aside. These young people already had all the advice he could have given.

Good for Mike. Is he going to invest in this business?

He says that if Jason needs it he’ll make him a loan. I don’t know. Jason thinks he can get money from the bank.

That’s simply terrific. I guess I have to ask you one other question. What will this plan mean for you personally?

Schmidtie, I want to live with Jason. Mr. Mansour said if he gives notice now he can let him go before Christmas. We’d go to see his folks. It sure will be cold!

In Nova Scotia? I don’t think so. Not so bad as all that. Anyway, you know what they say: “I’ve got my love to keep me warm!”

Yeah. Then I’m going to help them, like do things around the office. I want to finish college too.

Well, that seemed to be it. It was he who got up this time, waddled ponderously over to her chair, and planted a kiss on the top of her head and then another. She hugged him, as if in response. All this is so strangely chaste, thought Schmidt. In this kitchen, in this house. When he looked at her he saw she was crying. Don’t, sweetie.

It’s OK. I’m going to get a Kleenex.

Her face, when she returned, was a beautiful blank.

Hey, can I say something?

He nodded.

Schmidtie, I didn’t sleep with Mike Mansour. Never. Isn’t that something? What a weird guy! He really turned me off. I guess I was real lucky.

He held out his cup, pointing to the coffeepot, which was almost full. To hell with tea!

She busied herself with the coffee, filling their cups, getting milk for hers.

Hey, I guess you and I aren’t going to make it anymore either. That’s too bad for the little guy. Huh, Schmidtie?

He nodded again.

So what do you say? Now you can do it. That’s if you want to.

Of course, there it was, the change in circumstances. He should have understood right away. Whatever he did, he was on his own and so was she.

Sweetie, he said, I think I owe you one million American dollars.

You really meant it! You’re going to do it!

Of course. I’m putting my money where my mouth was.

Oh! Oh! Oh!

It was she who began to laugh first, but then he laughed too, uncontrollably, the marvel of it being that he had begun to feel pretty good. In fact, he had misread the holding of the judgment; he too had been delivered.

Look, he said, I can get that money to you very quickly. I’d like to. Is this money going into the business? Should I talk to
Jason? I want to see him anyway—offer my congratulations. Why not, over a bottle of champagne. We could break one, like when they launch a ship.

I haven’t told Jason. Schmidtie, if you really do this, don’t you think it should be kind of between you and me? Like it’s something I can tell him later. You know, the marina’s OK. He and Bryan don’t think they need any money for it. Could you like set it up so it’s for me? She giggled. Invest my money for a rainy day?

For a retired financing lawyer, he was spending an unusual amount of time setting up trusts. With his own money, too. At last, though, he had a contented beneficiary. This was the holiday season, when for as long as Schmidt could remember, whether by reason of the ever longer lunches, carol singing, and other such useful activities, combined with the demands of inconsiderate clients intent on squeezing in tax-saving gifts before the end of the year, having postponed until the last minute the pain of parting with their funds, Dick Murphy and his other Wood & King trusts and estates colleagues were unwilling to do any work at all. The very thought of it provoked a fit of foul humor. Especially if it was work for retired partners. Schmidt resorted to the ultimate threat—he would take his will and Charlotte’s trust, and therefore his estate, away from Wood & King. What other firm might want a client like him, who wasn’t going to make any lawyer rich, he had no idea. But he had pressed the right button. Murphy didn’t relish the prospect of Jack DeForrest’s mentioning the matter at firm lunch. Partners might ask questions, for the pure pleasure of needling Murphy, even if they didn’t give a
hoot about Schmidt, alive or dead. A week later he drove into the city with Carrie—not that it was necessary to take her to see Murphy, there being nothing for her to sign except investment authorizations and bank cards that could be handled by mail, but to make her feel that what he had done was quite real and irreversible, meriting a special expedition. He wanted to have fun too. Let the receptionist and Murphy take a good look—why not DeForrest too, he thought at first and then relented. Really, Carrie didn’t deserve that, although the notion of showing her off to that horse’s ass about to taste for himself the joys of retirement was almost irresistible. She looked as good as the million dollars he had just handed over to her, far better in fact than an equal amount in any currency. No stack of cash had ever smelled so sweet or had a body that exuded such nice even warmth. When you slid your hand under her arm, just above the elbow, for instance to guide her along the corridor, you wanted to stop, take her by the shoulders, turn her toward you, pry her lips open with yours, and drink from them until the world ended. He was thrice and four times blessed. Still, even dying swans must eat, before they head for the East End of Long Island. He decided he would take her to lunch at his club, where she had never been, and, he supposed, would not have occasion to visit in the future. Rituals and greetings to soothe the bruised soul: shake the hand of the jovial hall porters, introduce to them Miss Gorchuck, and enter Miss Gorchuck’s name in the great guest register; wave to acquaintances with whom he used to lunch at the members’ table; mount the green-carpeted stairs to the dining room, pausing
on the way to point out to Carrie the club’s memorabilia and portraits of its past presidents and other notables glistening in their good black broadcloth.

This place is cool, she told him once they were at table. You’re going to come here a lot when you move to the city?

I don’t feel it will be a real move. More like camping out between weekends. But yes, I’ll come here. You get a meal and, while you’re at it, you remind a bunch of other old geezers you’re still alive. Two birds with one stone. Whether the second bird is worth a stone is open to question.

You’ll want to see people again.

Probably. I’ll miss you.

Hey, you’ll see me on weekends. If you want to.

She picked at her eggs Benedict, took a sip of the wine, and put her glass down.

You think I can have some mineral water? Any kind is OK.

Sure. In that case I’ll drink your wine and let you drive.

He knew, of course, that wine or no wine she would want to drive, listening to one AM station after another while he dozed. But he felt grateful and happy.

That’s the life! he continued. But first we’re going to do some serious shopping. I’d like to buy something nice for you, your Christmas present—I’ve been thinking of a fur jacket for Nova Scotia. That way you can leave your red parka in the house. It will be like a silver cup I’ve won.

Her foot found his under the table.

Is that OK to do here? She giggled. Hey, no one’s looking. I wonder what else you can do. Schmidtie, you remember everything. I wore that parka when I came to see you the first
time—in the middle of the night. I was one fresh kid! You almost brained me.

That’s because I thought you were a burglar. I was right. You were. You broke into my heart.

I did? Then keep me there.

If only he could keep the use of some of his old freedoms. He pressed her foot.

Schmidtie, can you be serious one minute.

The smile that had been spreading from ear to ear turned shy.

I want to tell you something. I wanted to tell you yesterday, when I got back from school, but I kind of thought I should wait until we’d seen the lawyers. I know it sounds crazy, but I didn’t want it to like make any difference if you like wanted to change your mind or something. You want me to tell you now? OK. After my first class, I went to the hospital.

She waited for the effect on him.

Come on, Schmidtie, guess!

I can’t. I had no idea that there was something the matter. You didn’t tell me.

Yeah, I know. I was worried. That’s why. I’d gone there twice before.

Carrie dear, should I be worried? No, it’s too late now, I am worried. Tell me what’s going on.

But as he spoke those words, he already understood. There was no need to tell. This was a conversation with a pattern as fixed as that of the minuet. How odd that he should be the wrong partner to bow to her now, having completed his own
leisurely turn. Had she already had the same conversation, on the telephone of necessity, with Mr. and Mrs. Gorchuck? Had Jason spoken to his seagoing parents and siblings? Mike Mansour and Bryan could contend for avuncular standing, but surely he, Schmidt, had every chance of becoming the supernumerary grandfather.