Turning Idolater (14 page)

The
concierge
snarled, his thick mocha lips
twitching as if to warn. “I know who lives in this here place,
Sonny Jim. You say Thomas Dye. Do ya think I’d call up the mayor or
the district attorney? If you don’t move on, I’ll call the damn
dogcatcher, and he’ll do jest as good a job as me.”

Philip sighed. The promises were fading and trust
ebbed with the tide. The
concierge
’s snarl transmuted to a
broad grin — a triumphant grin — one that probably gave him a heap
o’ satisfaction and a mighty grip o’ power. Then, the phone rang.
He snapped it up with authority, nodding as he listened to some
instruction that neither gave him pleasure nor wiped the grin from
his face. He hung up, and then nodded.

“Well it’s a good thing you decided to stick around,
Sonny Jim, ‘cause Mr. Dye has suddenly recalled your name — Mr.
Flack-soon. Do you know where you’re goin’?”

“Yes.”

“Then be on your way.”

Philip didn’t linger for the glory. He scurried
through the lobby to the silver elevator, and then paced until it
came. Up the three floors, he was filled with anxiety. Had Tee
changed his mind — second thoughts reflected in that confusing
double-phone call to the desk? Perhaps Philip should just stay in
the car when it stopped at three — stay in the car and press
L
.
But what then? Back to Avenue A?
Bridges weren’t
burned yet. Sprakie would welcome him back, perhaps with a
browbeating lecture, but his place wasn’t offered up to the next
incumbent yet.

The door opened. Moment of decision. Philip was
unaccustomed to indecision, but his feet decided for him this time.
They plodded forward toward the floral arrangement. Tee’s door was
ajar, and suddenly opened — the man himself in the doorway.

“You came back.” He beamed. “I prayed that you
would.”

“Then, why did you have that thug in the lobby turn
me away?”

Thomas shook his head. “Misunderstanding. Come
in.”

Philip straddled the threshold, and then spied the
shadow — the ubiquitous Florian Townsend. He guessed at the
misunderstanding.

“Flo answered the call and he forgot your name.”

Philip glared. “Likely story.”

“No, really,” Flo said, off-handed. “The lobbyman
has an accent and my hearing isn’t as good as it was. Easy
mistake.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Now, Philip, let us all be friends. I take it that
since you have returned, you mean to stay.”

“Stay?” Flo said, suddenly frayed. He had been
studying a proposal, clipped at the top and folded over neatly.
That document flipped closed now, Mr. Townsend drifting into the
office, muttering indistinctly. Thomas followed him

“Yes, Flo. I have offered Philip a place to
stay.”

Flo turned, shaking the proposal. “It’s your place.
You can do what you please.”

“Yes, I can.”

Philip tugged Thomas back into the living room.
“Don’t quarrel over it, Tee. If you’re having second thoughts, I’ll
leave.”

Thomas grasped Philip’s shoulders. “No. No second
thoughts.”

“Okay then, but . . . I do have a few
conditions.”

Flo was at their side. “Conditions? That’s rich. You
get the opportunity to sponge off your betters and you dare to
mention conditions.”

“Flo, shut up.”

“Tee,” Philip said. “Actually, he’s right. I mean,
it looks like I’m a grifter homing in on the ham, but I’m not. I
couldn’t live that way. I try to always pay my own way.”

Flo spluttered. “I bet you do.”

“No, not that way.” Philip understood Florian’s
reaction. It was a sourer version of Sprakie’s, based on the same
concerns. Philip couldn’t disregard Flo’s reaction, now that he
knew that this was Tee’s former lover. There would always be tough
turf between them. “No, I mean in a way that doesn’t give me a free
ride.”

Thomas glared at Flo, and then settled cross-legged
on the Ottoman. “What did you have in mind, Philip?”

“You mentioned that I could get credit — some
assurances, you said.”

“Assurity,” Thomas said. “Of course.”

“Based on what?” Flo asked. “You need property for
assurity and if you had property you wouldn’t be on his doorstep.
Or did you win the lottery?”

Sprakie’s words echoed in Philip’s head.
Yes, Flo
was nothing more than an older and sourer version of Sprakie.
However, Philip hadn’t revealed his hand to Sprakie, so why should
he do it for Flo? Unfortunately, that choice was lost to him,
because Thomas smiled and latched onto Philip’s backpack.

“Is it still in here?”

Philip let the pack fall, and Thomas dove into it,
unleashing
the book
with the flourish of a game show
host.

“What do we have here?” Florian said. Tee handed the
first edition up, watching Mr. Townsend’s eyes squint as he
recognized the genuine article. “I’ve seen this before. Tee, why
would you give this street . . . person your valuable first
edition?”

Thomas flew to the bookshelf for the other copy.
“No. Mine is still here. This one came with the . . . the street
person. It is truly his.”

Florian’s cheeks flushed. He held
the book
up
like
Exhibit A
. “Where did you get this?”

Philip remained silent. He wasn’t about to announce
that he had turned a trick for an old geezer, who was a nice old
geezer, who had tipped him with this old, but rare book. There was
no need to introduce the age controversy into this conversation.
However, Thomas again trumped Philip’s choice.

“Philip got his copy in the same place I got
mine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it.” Thomas snapped
the book
from
Flo before it fell. He returned it to Philip.

Florian turned away, his eyes cast to the ceiling.
“Uncle Dean?” he said.

“Yes, your Uncle Dean.”

Philip clutched his first edition and bounced into a
chair — the red Chippendale. Something was operating here, and
above the surface. So why couldn’t he figure it out? Flo snapped
closed the proposal, and then marched into the office. He slammed
the door.

“What’s with him?” Philip asked. “I chalked it up to
jealousy, but now?”

“It still is jealousy, Philip.” Thomas hunkered down
beside the chair resting his first edition on Philip’s. “I do not
have a degree in psychology, but I would say you are seeing a
supreme display of jealousy.”

“But you said . . .”

“It is not entirely this thing between you and me.
No, no, no, no. That is just a residual of the ruin abandoned. No.
Florian feels that everything that his uncle has is, by rights, his
own.”

Philip gazed down at
the book
. “He wants my
book?”

“He wants my book too, but Uncle Dean is a shrewd
man. He uses his assets to fulfill his desires and, perhaps, his
fantasies. I believe he has pulled you and me together in some
small way that I do not object to, but that Flo resents
wholeheartedly.”

Philip gazed toward the office. “I don’t know
whether I like having my strings pulled.”

“Nor I. Pinocchio is not my style either, but Dean
Cardoza is a master at it. In fact, I find it amusing that he could
spin all three of us in consternation around his gift giving.”

The door opened and Florian emerged again as if
nothing had happened. He was reading another proposal. “We have
business, Tee, or did you forget?”

Thomas stood. “I did not forget. My new friend here
has proposed that I extend him credit based on his possession of
this singular example of incunabula.”

“Not so singular,” Flo said. “Given that I see two
of them and know of two more.”

Thomas gathered his own book and returned it to the
shelf. “One fourth of the whole is worth more than an entire
library. I think my wherewithal can make due here to put this brave
new worlder on his feet.”

Philip arose to those feet. “It’s not charity. I
mean to work.”

“By all means,” Thomas said. “So we need an
agreement.”

“In writing,” Philip quipped.

Thomas smiled. “Well, Philip, we are in the presence
of one of the finest contract spinners in my acquaintance.”

Flo smirked. “I’ll see to it. Just tell me how much
and the terms and you can spread as much ink on it as you want.
It’s your money.”

“True,” Thomas said. “But it is Philip’s
credit.”

Philip was still uneasy. He could see that despite
Flo’s sudden compliance, the earthquake still trembled in the
recesses of his soul. Philip was unaccustomed to tension. He had
been subjected to his father’s outbursts and the need to eke an
existence from hand to mouth, but that stress was his own — life’s
little dole, a birthright from the cave dwellers. This, on the
other hand, was a refined stress, one that whittled at the nerves,
setting them to simmer beyond their relevance. Philip looked to
Thomas for a sign — a love wink or a friendly grin. However, as
long as Flo played sentinel on the threshold, the tension continued
to simmer.

“Perhaps I should go,” Philip said. He looped his
backpack in the crook of his arm.

“Perhaps you should,” Thomas said.

Philip halted. He wasn’t sure whether he had heard
Thomas’ voice wrapped around those words. The words wounded him. He
hitched his breath, and then gazed at Thomas. “I will then,’ he
said.

“I meant,” Thomas said coolly, “perhaps you should
go and check your room out. Settle in. We can finish this business
later.”

Philip smiled. “I can still stay then?”

“There was never any doubt.”

Flo shuffled his papers. “Well, I should go then.
You’ve set me to a task and you
do
pay my salary.” Flo
nodded to Philip. “You see, I’m on the clock now, and if
you’re
going to work, as you say you are, perhaps you should
gear up. What’s that pretty thing you do?”

Thomas frowned. “He does a very pretty thing,
Flo.”

“No I don’t,” Philip said. He settled back into the
chair. “I mean, I did. I like what I do. It’s nothing to be ashamed
of, but I told Sprakie to give the . . . the proprietor my
notice.”

Thomas applauded. “So you mean to follow my leads
and connections.”

“If it’s okay. If the offer still stands.”

Flo shook his head. “I’m out of here.”

Thomas waved goodbye, but then snapped his fingers.
“By the way, Flo. Could you call Miriam for me?”

“Miriam Kelso or Miriam Duncan?”

“Duncan.”

“Really? Is
that
necessary?”

“Yes,” Thomas said. “I think we need a modest, but
lavish celebration.”

Flo’s eyes closed. Philip wished the man would
disappear. In fact, Philip closed
his
eyes hoping that when
they reopened the dour Mr. Townsend would be gone. His wish was
granted.

Simultaneous with the departure of Florian Townsend,
Thomas Dye wrapped his arms around Philip like a jellyfish in heat.
Philip expected no less, but didn’t want to start the arrangement
with a misconstrued down payment. He kissed Thomas fervently, and
then opened
the book
. Thomas plopped to the carpeting,
appearing quite content by the turn of events, although Philip knew
that they could have headed straight to the bedroom for a late
morning lark.

Philip was tired now — very tired. Between the night
of conversation and the high-tension wires of Florian’s antics, he
could use a nap — a real one, unaccompanied by this lovely man who
spoke like the minister in the Whaleman’s pulpit. Therefore, Philip
hoisted the signal flag and yawned.

“I need a nap,” he declared.

“So do I,” Thomas countered. “Shall we?”

Philip stood. “Actually, Tee, I really do need to
sleep, and I think you do too. Which room is mine?”

Thomas grinned. “Take your pick, but if I were you,
I would select the first door on the left.”

“Why? Does it have a secret passage to your
room?”

“No. We will be quite remote.” He winked, and then
gathered himself to the Ottoman. “In fact, you go take a nap and I
shall visit the gym, unless . . .”

“No. You go. I want you fit. No heart attacks under
me.”

“When I return, we shall go shopping — for a new
wardrobe. If I am to have a party, you must shine resplendently.
Then,
you
can take
me
to an early dinner. We shall
start using your credit wisely, and what better way than working it
up for a buff, mature author.”

“MacDonald’s?”

“No. I know just the place.”

“But Tee, I mean to pay you back, you know.”

“Absolutely. In fact, the reason for the celebration
is to introduce you around to some folks that might be able to help
in that regard. I said I would get you to work around books, and
that is the plan.”

Philip kissed him, and then gazed down the hallway.
“First door on the left, you say.”

“As I say.”

Philip sauntered past the kitchen. He had had the
grand tour and had already seen the guest rooms. They were all
spacious, larger than most full apartments. At the time, however he
hadn’t noticed anything special about the first door on the left.
As Philip approached the door, he gazed back at Thomas, who still
sat on the Ottoman, smug and self-satisfied.

“Go ahead,” Thomas said.

Philip puckered, and then grasped the doorknob. One
push and a cool breeze rushed him. The windows were awash with the
rippling wind. The sunlight danced over the tan satin sheets like
butter on pancakes. Pillow mounds jumbled at the bed’s head. They
sang to Philip a song he knew, the one beckoning him to coast over
the waves and scoot across the pristine sea. Then, he noticed it.
On the bed sat a teddy bear — a strange besotted thing with a
wooden leg. It wore a Nantucket slicker.

“Ahab,” Philip muttered. He lapped it into his hands
and held it high in the breeze. “I love it.” He thought to run back
and thank Tee, but the breeze caught his face and, instead of the
city noises and odors, he heard the bo’sun’s whistle and sensed the
clam beds as his bark rounded the reef, steering him over the shoal
water. He tossed the backpack aside and plowed into the pillows
clutching Ahab to his heart — clutching Ahab to his mind. Philip
had his assurity and, like most commitments of this sort, it was as
safe as the shoal water that he navigated.