The Paper Dragon (63 page)

"Drinking? What do you mean?"

"Oh, just a little beer, Daddy, one of the senior boys had a six-pack."

"Honey, you're a little young, don't you think, to be…"

"Daddy, he was a senior boy, he must have been seventeen at least."

"I know, honey, but you're only twelve."

"I'll be thirteen in May."

"I know, but still…"

"Anyway, I only had a sip. What we did mostly was sing. It was such fun, Daddy, and we go there so
faaaast
, it seemed like no time at all. Have you ever seen such crowds, did you call Mother?"

"Yes, I called her. She's expecting you."

"I know, I spoke to her last night."

"Good."

"Are you going to come up?"

"I don't think so, Amy."

"All right," she said.

In the taxi, she said, "What are you working on now, Daddy?"

"We just concluded a trial today," he said.

"Something good?"

"A plagiarism case."

"Did you win?"

"I think so. We won't know for a while."

"How can you bear waiting?" she said.

"Well, there are always other things coming up. In fact, when I got back to the office today, there was a new case already waiting."

"What kind of a case?"

"An exciting one, I think. A man's been charged with income tax evasion, but he claims he's not
evading
anything, he's simply refusing to pay. He says he will not give money to support an undeclared war, and that unless Congress is allowed to decide whether we should or should not be at war, why then he's being deprived of representation. And without representation…"

"No taxation," Amy said, and nodded. "But doesn't
everyone
have to pay income tax?"

"Certainly, honey."

"Then he's guilty. I mean, if he won't pay…"

"Well, there are principles involved," Jonah said.

"Will you take the case?"

"I think so. Yes, I think so, honey." He grasped her hand and squeezed it.

"Oh my God, I almost forgot!" Amy said, pulling her hand away and reaching for her suitcase. She unclasped it quickly, burrowed beneath a sweater and a blouse and produced a small slim package wrapped in red and green paper, tied with a bright green bow. He remembered in that instant that he had not yet bought her the ring.

"I got this in New Hope," she said. "Merry Christmas, Daddy."

"Christmas isn't until next week, honey," he said.

"I know, but I wish you'd open it now."

"Shouldn't I wait?"

"Open it, Daddy. Please."

He nodded. Carefully, he slid the bow off the package, and then unwrapped it. It was an address book, black leather, his initials in gold on the cover, J.W.

"It's beautiful," he said.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, very much."

He knew he should have had the ring to give to her now, knew that this was a very private and personal moment to Amy, this offering of her gift in a taxi speeding to her mother's apartment. He had nothing to offer her in return. He had forgotten to buy the ring, and so he sat and stared at the leather address book with his initials on the cover, J.W., and wondered what he could say, wondered how he could begin to make her understand that he had really intended to have a present for her, to meet her with it at the station, but instead had become involved the moment he got back to the office. Surely she would understand. Surely she would realize that Christmas was still more than a week away, there was still time, wasn't there? Wasn't there still time?

"There's something nice I plan on getting you," he said, and patted her hand.

"Oh, sure, it can wait," Amy said.

"I'll get it to you before Christmas," he said, "don't you worry."

"Oh, sure," Amy said, and was silent. Then, unexpectedly, she shrugged and said, "Christmas is all craparoo, anyway."

He did not call his uncle until eleven o'clock.

He did not know why he was calling, unless it was because he and Ebie were leaving for Vermont in the morning, and Vermont was more distant from Fort Lauderdale than New York City. His uncle's voice was just as he remembered it, gravelly, with a hint of a brogue; he recalled in a rush the living room on West End Avenue, the Chickering piano, his uncle's pink shirts.

"Hello, Uncle Benny," he said, "this is Jimmy."

"Jimmy? Jimbo? Where are you, Jimbo? Are you in Florida?"

"No, no, I'm in New York."

"Hey, Vera, it's my nephew," Uncle Benny shouted. "Hey, how are you, Jimbo?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Benny."

"Good, good.
Vera
," he shouted, "it's my
nephew
!" To Driscoll, he said, "She's upstairs in bed, Jimbo, hasn't been feeling too well."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Well, it's nothing serious, just a little cold."

"A little cold is what we have in Fort Knox," Driscoll said, and smiled.

"No, that's a little gold," Uncle Benny answered. "What you're thinking of, lad, is a tiny creature in a monster movie."

"No, that's a little ghoul," Driscoll said. "I hate to correct you, Uncle Benny, but I think you mean a small measure of unmitigated nerve."

"Unmitigated nerve?"

"That's right."

"A little
gall
!" Uncle Benny shouted, and burst out laughing. "Ahhh, Jimmy, Jimmy, it's good to hear your voice. How are you, boy? How
are
you?"

"I'm fine."

"And Ebie?"

"Fine. Fine."

"When does the trial start? Is that why you're in New York?"

"Well, yes, but it
ended
today, Uncle Benny."

"It
did
? Did you win?"

"I think so. Yes, I think so."

There was a silence on the line.

"What's the matter, Jimmy?" his uncle asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you calling me at eleven o'clock at night?"

"I just wanted to talk to you, Uncle Benny."

"What about?"

"I just wanted to talk to you."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, I just felt I had to talk to someone I… someone who…"

"Isn't Ebie there?"

"Yes, she's upstairs. In the room. Upstairs."

"I see," Uncle Benny said, and was silent.

Wise old Uncle Benny, he thought, and listened to the crackling silence on the line, the seconds ticking away.

"Uncle Benny," he said at last

"Yes, Jimmy?"

"I don't know what to do."

"About what?"

"Uncle Benny?"

"Yes?"

"Uncle Benny?"

"Yes, boy, what is it? What is it, Jimbo?"

"Help me."

"How?"

"Help me, Uncle Benny."

"Is it Ebie?"

He nodded, and then realized his uncle could not see him. Very quietly, he said, "Yes, it's Ebie."

"What about her?"

He could not tell him. He sat in the phone booth in the lobby of the hotel, and looked at the receiver clutched tightly in his hand, and could not tell his uncle. The silence lengthened.

"Jimmy?" his uncle said.

"Yes, Uncle Benny."

"Jimmy, whatever it is…"

"Yes?"

"Face it. Face it, and it'll vanish."

"Vanish is when you kick somebody out of the kingdom," Driscoll said, and tried a smile.

"No, that's banish," Uncle Benny said automatically, but there was no humor in his voice.

"No, banish are guys who wear masks and go around stealing," Driscoll answered.

"Jim," his uncle said, "don't play games."

"What?" Driscoll said.

"I think you heard me, Jim."

"Yes, but…"

"Do you understand me?"

"Uncle Benny, I called because…"

"Yes, I know why you called, Jim, now you listen to me, Jim. Where are you?"

"I'm down here. I'm in the lobby. Near the drugstore. Uncle Benny…"

"Now you listen to me, Jim, and don't play games, do you hear me? You go right upstairs, do you hear? You go right upstairs and you face whatever it is that's waiting for you there, you face it, Jim, now that's what I'm telling you."

"Yes."

"Do you hear me?"

"Yes."

"All right, that's what you do."

"Yes."

"Good. I've got to go up to Vera now, I think I hear her calling me. Do you understand me, Jim?"

"Yes, Uncle Benny."

"Good. You keep in touch with me."

"Uncle Benny?"

"Yes?"

"Give my regards to Vera."

"I will."

"Uncle Benny?"

"Yes?"

"I… I hope she feels better."

"I'm sure she will. Good night, Jim."

"Good night, Uncle Benny."

There was a click on the line.

He stood holding the dead receiver, and then he looked at it in disbelief and slowly replaced it on the hook. Well, that was very helpful, he thought, who the hell called you to play games, Uncle Benny, would you mind telling me? That was really quite helpful, thank you very much, Uncle Benny, I'm certainly glad I called you all the way in Florida to listen to your homespun philosophy. Thank you very much, Uncle Benny, you've certainly set everything right with your words of wisdom, and as a matter of fact I happened to think the banish definition was very good indeed. The phone rang. He lifted the receiver.

"Yes?" he said.

"One moment for additional charges, sir," the operator said.

"Thanks," he said. Additional charges, he thought. That's exactly what I need for a call that I was crazy to make in the first place.

"That'll be thirty-five cents, sir," the operator said.

"Thank you," he said. He dug into his pocket, found a quarter and a dime, and deposited them in the box.

"Thank you, sir," the operator said.

"Sure," he said, and again hung up. He went out of the booth. Tomorrow morning they would leave for Vermont, back to the old hay, alfalfa, and oats, back to the farm he hated, the most insistent crop of which was rocks. What the hell was a city boy doing in Vermont, anyway, how far can you run? Face it, Uncle Benny had said, face it. Thank you, Uncle Benny. Thank you for all the good things if I seem ungrateful now for this singular piece of worthless advise.

She was asleep when he got back to the room, snoring very lightly, his charming wife. He undressed quietly in the dark, and then got under the covers and lay there silently with the green neon Sardi sign illuminating the black windowpane across the room, and Ebie snoring lightly beside him, her body warm, his hand lying close to the curving flank of her naked flesh. She never slept with a stitch on, his sweet Southern flower, never when he first met her and not now either. He wondered if she had slept naked with Peter Malcom, wondered, lightly snoring, and wondered why he did not leave her. Face it. The bed was strange, he did not like hotel rooms. In Vermont, you could hear the mice rattling away the night in the attic. They slept in separate beds in Vermont, twin beds are for Englishmen and other people with severe cramps Uncle Benny had said one night dis
gost
ingly drunk. Face it. He listened to her even breathing, the snoring had stopped now, felt the warmth of her close to him and wondered again why he James Driscoll the Cat did not leave her, sleeping side by side in the Vermont twin beds with the mice racing in the attic, face it, tickytackyticky
tack
their little feet on the ceiling, face it, and then wondered why
she
did not leave him, why Ebie did not leave him.

He touched her shoulder.

She did not stir. He touched her again, more insistently this time. She murmured something in her sleep, and then turned toward him. She sat up. He could not see her face in the darkness.

"Ebie," he whispered.

"What is it?" she said. "What's the matter?"

"Ebie," he said, "do you love me?"

"Yes," she said.

"I'll never understand," he said. "Ebie," he said, "I love you."

"I know."

"I love you very much, Ebie."

"I know."

"But, Ebie, I'll never understand. As long as I live, I will never understand."

"Do you have to?" she asked.

He closed his eyes. "Never understand," he said, "never understand," and was suddenly exhausted. He sighed heavily. As he drifted off into folds of unconsciousness, he thought
Ebie, let's try
, and then was not certain whether he had thought it or said it, and said aloud, certain that he was saying it this time, "Ebie, let's try, Ebie," and sighed again, and said, "I love you, Ebie," and fell into a deep sleep.

He could not seem to get drunk.

He had begun drinking shortly after dinner, sitting in his apartment alone, refusing to answer the telephone because he knew each time it rang that Stuart Selig or Oscar Stern would be on the other end, and he did not know what he wanted to tell them. The bottle of scotch was half empty now, and he still did not know what to do, except sit here alone in his apartment, the way he had been sitting alone in his life from the time he was eighteen and went into the Army, the result of which was
Catchpole
. He could not believe that Driscoll's wife hadn't been coached, could not believe her testimony had not been carefully prepared beforehand, and then sprung by Willow at precisely the right moment, the courtroom magician pulling a rabbit from his tophat, a cuddly Southern bunny with large wet eyes, he could not believe his play had not been stolen.

Well, he thought, it's because I let them do it to me in the first place, I let Freddie and Fielder talk me into making all those changes, I wrecked my own play, and Driscoll stepped in and made a success of it, it's all my own fault when you get right down to it. Which is why I should tell Selig and Stern to go screw, along with Hester Miers and Mitzi Starke, and Walter Kerr thrown in for good measure. Tell them all to go screw, I will not make the changes in my play, I'm going to
win
this damn case and produce the play myself, maybe buy the Helen Hayes, no, not the Helen Hayes, not that jinx Fulton of a theater, I'll buy something nice and cozy and lucky, and maybe I'll buy the
New York Times
as well, how much do you want for your little paper, Mr. Sulzberger?

He was tempted to call Julie in Minnesota, because what they were asking him to do, really, was obliterate his past by obliterating his family, his sister, and by rights she should have something to say about her own demise. He wondered what time it was in Minnesota, and he lifted the telephone receiver from its cradle and when the operator came onto the line, he said, "Operator, I'm thinking of making a long-distance call to Minnesota, can you please tell me what time it is there?"