“First year I was here. The old man made fun of me. But he wrote them down in a notebook. I kept on making them, he kept on ridiculing them, but he also followed my advice sometimes. When I was twenty-three, twenty-four, he said to me one day out of the blue, ‘I’ve followed some of your hunches, Mac, as you’ve probably noticed. We made a lot of money on them. So I’m promoting you to the title of investment adviser. Your job is to find good investments. I’ll pay you a hundred dollars more a week.’ He was a hard man with the buck, but that’s what comes of growing up during the Depression. ’Course I got raises later on, and especially when Jackie came on board. But I’ve been contributing highly to the success of this firm for a hell of a long time. I tell myself that they couldn’t have done it without me!”
“Could you have done it without them?”
“All I needed was a college education and a little bit of class. But I went to work here straight from DeLaSalle High School, because we couldn’t afford college. In our neighborhood you didn’t acquire ‘class,’ not unless you went to college and for a lot of us even if you did go to college. That’s why I sent my own kids to Yale and Princeton. That’s why I’m happy they didn’t marry a girl from the neighborhood or move back into it. The neighborhood girls they were dating were good kids, but not the right kind. I had to be candid with my guys about where that would end. They didn’t like what I said at first, but they followed my advice. I’m sorry that I don’t see them more often, but they probably had to break away from me too. I have no regrets. . . .”
His words were spoken brightly but his face was sad. We were no further removed from the immigration experience than he was, but River Forest is in another world, compared to 42nd and Wentworth. And an MD father was different from a streetcar motorman.
We were both silent for a moment.
Then Joey McMahon hastened to clarify his vision of his own impact on the firm.
“But, hey, I don’t want to minimize the importance of the old man and Jackie in this firm. It’s one thing to come up with the bright ideas and it’s another to take full responsibility for them. I don’t have to do that. . . . Every one of my bright ideas has to pass two scrutinies, mine and the boss’s. If it’s still a bomb the boss has ultimately to blame himself. Sometimes I’m wrong, sometimes the boss is wrong.”
“No one keeps score?”
“The old fella did. Kept a chart in his office. Jackie doesn’t do that, but with that memory of his he knows. They have made a lot more money by following my leads than they’ve lost. We all know that. I don’t have my reputation as a wizard for nothing.”
“What’s your technique?”
“You worked on the CBOT for a time, didn’t you? How did you do? Make a lot of money?”
“A ton of money, mostly by mistake. I quit when I was ahead. Turned it over to investors I trust more than I trusted myself, including this firm.”
“You were just lucky? What about the longtime players?”
“They all had theories, but it came down to instincts. I didn’t and don’t trust mine.”
I was not cut out to be a gambler. Only one big gamble in my life and I made it that night in O’Neil’s pub on College Green. I was a winner that night.
That’s what you say.
That’s what I know.
“Yeah, that’s it all right. Instincts. I read everything I can get my hands on, pursue hunches. Poke around. Mine are still good, real good . . . I weigh the pros and cons, let them percolate around in my head and then make a recommendation—strong, not so strong, and maybe. Mostly the boss buys only the strong ones. Only once did he go for a ‘maybe.’ Biggest risk he’s ever taken. Spam catcher on the net. Good deal so far.”
“What’s the history of the Oakdale company?”
“A lawyer from out there comes in to see me. Highly reputable man—Langford Greenwald. Sounds crazy to me. Yet I do due diligence and it seems to be one of those new projects that might just catch on. It has three negatives—Oakdale, real estate, and a woman CEO. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no chauvinist, but you still raise your eyebrows. I poke around a lot and I bring it to the boss. His reaction is the same as mine—dubious, but let’s check it out. Finally it depends on both our instincts. His are more in favor of innovation than mine. Just the opposite with the old fella. He didn’t like new things, which is why we weren’t hurt by the dot-com bubble as much as other guys.”
“The woman was a problem?”
He hesitated.
“Not really. She’s a real dish of course, but she’s also highly smart and honest and works hard. Better bet than a lot of men with bright new ideas. Like a dummy I didn’t think he’d fall in love with her. It would have been a good deal if he had cooled it. Now, well, you see what’s happening.”
“And what is happening . . .?”
“Controversy. In our business controversy is death. If this keeps up, the boss will have to step down. Maybe even sell the business at a huge loss. A big price to pay for a bit of fluff.”
“Do you mean he should have considered the bad publicity beforehand?”
“He should have considered the possibility. If he told me he would get the hots for her, I would have said, forget the deal. Highly risky. He should have figured it out himself or wait till the publicity over the deal died down.”
“You told him that?”
“It wasn’t my place.”
“I see your point. . . . But surely you must have been aware of the danger. . . . Jackie is still a young man. His first marriage was very difficult. He is lonely and unhappy. If a smart and beautiful woman should come his way . . .”
“Maybe I should have seen it coming. I had too much respect for him to think he’d go down that path.”
“I see . . .”
His ordinary dour face changed to a look of grief.
“I’ve learned that marriage is a sacrament, no matter how tough it might be. If you lose your spouse, the sacrament is still there and you should respect it. I loved my wife and always will, even if sex didn’t mean much to us after all those years together. A lot of women tried to land me after she died. I didn’t give them the time of day. They wanted my money anyway. I had to be faithful to Barbara. After a while it wasn’t hard. Lot less complications. I was wrong to think that the boss would operate the same way. . . . He should go to Mass every morning like I do. That’s a big help.”
His eyes filled with tears, a loyal follower deeply disappointed by his hero.
“Uh-huh.”
“There are a lot of things more important in life than sex, like loyalty to your family and your colleagues and your friends. I was really disappointed in the boss at that wedding, none of his kids there and then the cancellation. I suppose Cronin didn’t have much choice about doing the wedding Mass himself the next day. There’s clout everywhere, even for a highly respected cardinal. Then this business last night . . . I don’t know, I simply don’t know. . . .”
“You believe the firm is in serious trouble?”
“A half a step away from it . . . You’re a serious investor, you take one look at pictures of that woman and you know something fishy is going on. . . . You figure pretty soon she’ll be running the firm. It’s like Hillary Clinton . . . One more scandal and you’ll hear the pitter patter of rodent’s feet scurrying off the ship. . . . The boss has chosen pussy over loyalty.”
Outside, in the Daley Plaza I phoned home. “Nuala Anne.”
“ET calling home.”
“So?”
“He’s one very creepy character. His last words, just before I fled, were, ‘The boss has chosen pussy over loyalty.’ ”
“I suppose a lot of men will think that way. If only Maria were ugly, then women wouldn’t envy her and men wouldn’t demean her.”
“I take your point. . . . What’s happening in your life?”
“Phone calls . . . Panic from the CTN people . . . They need to panic to do their jobs. I don’t.”
“Ah, soul transplant!
”
“Friggin’ gobshite!”
“If there is enough order in the house in this new modality, I thought I might drive out to Forty-second and Parnell, find a pub, and have a bite of lunch.”
“Go on, letcher, Danuta is here and Ellie will be back from school after lunch. The punk already wants his afternoon nap, lazy loafer. I’ll drive over to the soundstage for a run through. The moms will bring the kids down after school and we’ll do it again.”
“I’ll be back in mid afternoon in time for my nap.”
“Isn’t it meself that needs the nap?”
“The ashram on the phone this morning?”
“I’ve always been a little sister, Dermot love, I don’t quite fit in this big sister role.”
“You’ll play it well though.”
“I love you, Dermot Michael Coyne.”
“Not as much as I love you.”
“Gobshite!”
My sexy Irish Tiger was tired. She needed a vacation. In a warm place. And winter coming to Chicago. The idiot Brit poet who said that if winter comes, can spring be far behind didn’t have to live in Chicago.
In fact the Christmas show would be a splendid success. The producers from CTN would quickly discover two things: the Chicago freelancers my wife used as technicians and musicians and singers were pros and Nuala Anne was the boss, especially if she wore her boots and her black leather jacket.
Still she had to worry about it in line with the ineluctable Irish conviction that if you didn’t worry yourself into sleepless nights about things going wrong, they surely would. God might be good and generous and eager to smile on your parades, but the fates were something else again.
Nuala Anne
HARDLY HAD my beloved spear-carrier ridden off in his chariot to do battle with this Joey McMahon person, when his private line rang.
“This is Dermot Coyne’s private wife. Mr. Coyne is away. You can probably leave a message with me. I usually remember them.”
I had a headache, needed a couple hours more of sleep, and was in a generally foul mood.
“Hey, Nuala, it’s Dominic.”
“Hey, Dom, what’s happening?”
I did a little acting when I was at Trinity College Dublin—me Dermot said I’m acting all the time, which is probably true. I love to play the moll with Dom.
“Certain individuals I know want to pass on a message to Dermot about what went down last night.”
“Yeah, we were expecting a call. We were upset, as I’m sure your individuals understand.”
“Yeah, they want me to tell Dermot that they deplore the incident. Also the cops got the right perps.”
“One feels safer when one knows the cops did a good job.”
“Uh, yeah, and they say that the punks were freelancers. . . .”
“Gangbangers on crack.”
“Right. They want Dermot and his friends to know they are trying to find out who the real perps are. Punks from out of town probably. Clumsy like the gangbangers.”
“Clumsy punks can do a lot of harm, Dom.”
“The individuals I’m in contact with know that . . . they were impressed with what Mrs. Donlan did to the punks. She’s a brave woman.”
“Tuscan, Sienna.”
Why did I say a thing like that? Maybe me Dermot is right, I am a shite kicker.
“Brave and beautiful people . . . Well, I have to get back to work. . . . Looking forward to the Christmas concert . . .”
“Don’t we have a Neapolitan lullaby this year?”
“Hey, that’s great! My kids will love it.”
What was the point in that conversation? I thought as I hung up. I’d pass it on to Dermot, who could probably interpret it better than I could. I was sure that Dom and his family were likable people, good neighbors, fine Catholics. But there was an aura about them of the IRA Provos at their worst. Then the phone rang again.
It was the third call as I tried to make a list of the “must-do” matters for the session at the soundstage. The most important challenge was to shut up the CTN producers who would want to mess around. The technicians and the musicians were all right, but the new folks in town from Hollywood would surely want to throw their muscle around, especially about the filming of Christmas lights at the Daley Center.
The first call was from a timid Evie.
“Mrs. McGrail . . .” she said tentatively.
“Ms. McGrail is me mother and isn’t she off in Ireland enjoying the benefits of the Irish Tiger? And Ms. Coyne is me mother-in-law and herself a wonderful and sweet woman putting up with a screaming fishwife like meself . . . I’m Nuala Anne.”
She gulped.
“I want to thank you for last night. . . .”
“Och, didn’t me hound Maevie do all the work and herself all curled right next to me in me study?”
The good dog Maeve perked up at the sound of her name and shifted closer to me for some petting.
“You saved my marriage and maybe my life. I will always remember that. . . .”
“You saved it yourself, child.”
“That’s what Mary Fran says. But you and Tony and the dog woke me up. . . . Mary Fran says that I should see a shrink. She says I have a lot of hate for my mother who left us when I needed her the most and I’ve got to work that out of my system. So I have already called the woman she’s recommended.”
“’Tis good, but don’t let the woman violate your common sense.”
“I won’t. . . . I probably need a spiritual director too. . . .”
Brigid, Patrick, and Colmcille! It was like I had hung out a shingle.
“Wouldn’t that be a good idea?”
“I, uh, wonder if I might come over and see you sometime . . .”
I didn’t need any more kids. I already had four. “Wouldn’t I be willing to share a drop of tea with you. . . . Though we’d better ask Maeve to join us?”
“Wonderful! There’s no rush! I know you have a TV program . . .”
“Sure that’s no problem at all, at all. . . .”
Liar.
Fiona ambled in and curled up next to her daughter. Often when me husband isn’t around they both set up camp in my study, in case I need help or protection.
“How’s your da keeping?”
“He’s sore all over and wants to get back to work. Mom won’t let him even think about going home till tomorrow. . . . She’s such a fine woman. . . . I can’t believe I hated her so much. . . .”
“Well, child, overnight you have a ma, a shrink, and a loudmouth spiritual director. . . . All ready for a new life!”
“A second chance . . .”
“Don’t wait for a third one!”
“I won’t, believe me, Nuala Anne, I won’t.”
Good on you!
The two hounds were sniffing uneasily. I reached into the drawer of my desk where I hide a box of their treats. As soon as I touched the door they were on their feet, mouths open, eyes begging. I removed four treats.
“Oldest first!”
I offered one to Fiona who took it from my hand with great delicacy and then inhaled it altogether. Maeve had not yet learned such delicacy.
“Gentle, gentle,” I warned her.
Poor thing, she tried hard. But still a puppy.
I repeated the process and they both reclined again on the floor, content up to a point; well aware that I never went beyond two treats.
They were big dogs, I assured myself. I wasn’t spoiling them, was I?
The phone rang again. This time Maria Angelica.
“How’s your old man keeping?” I asked.
“He’s edgy and uncomfortable and wants to go back to work. . . . His daughter, well, our daughter, came to visit this morning. She is a very sweet child, terribly conflicted now, but I think she’ll be all right, thanks to you and that doggie of yours. . . . Remember, I have an option on her first puppy.”
“’Tis only fair,” I agreed. “Mind you they are terrible nuisances altogether. Shed a lot of h
air, smell terrible, make demands, eat a lot . . .”
“As bad as human children!”
“Ah, no, not that bad, at all, at all!”
“Still they become part of the family, don’t they?”
“Me Dermot says that’s how they domesticated us. They ensconced themselves in our families and were so cute we couldn’t get rid of them. ’Tis the way of things. . . . You’ll keep your fella there for another day?”
“Or two! The doctors are still cautious and he’s not in any condition to go back to the office. . . . Oh, that Eyes and Ears person called and asked if it was true that there had been a reconciliation. I told them that I would not deny it.”
“Good on you!”
“Well, I’m going to ride over to my office and make sure the firm still exists.”
I opened my notebook, waited for the phone to ring again, and started working on a “must-do” list.
I was uneasy, anxious. So were the hounds who were now stirring restlessly. I knew that something bad was going down. . . . What?
Nuala Anne, you frigging eejit!
I grabbed me black leather jacket and me camogie stick.
“Come on, girls, we have work to do!”
The hounds bounded up, ready for action.
We thundered down the stairs.
“Is yourself here?” I shouted at Ellie.
“I am, Aunt Nuala!”
“You’re in charge. The doggies and I have to prevent a murder!”
We rushed down the stairs and jumped into me Navigator.
Dermot
IN MY venerable Benz, I exchanged my blazer and tie for my own black leather jacket, unlike Nuala’s BLJ, even more venerable than the Benz. It was the perfect uniform for a pilgrimage to Back O’ the Yards, which is south of the Yards as opposed to the “Royal Borough” of Bridgeport which is east of the Yards, an essential distinction, if not to all Chicagoans, and least to those who live in the eleventh and twelfth Wards.
The bar I chose—Mike’s in bold green and gold letters—was an old storefront just down the street from Joey McMahon’s residence. It was filled with a well-mannered, if boistrous, lunchtime crowd. It was a modern layout, if by modern you mean what was modern when aluminum and red plush were in fashion. There was even an elaborate jukebox in one corner, though it did not appear to be operational. The place was spotlessly clean which suggested to me Polish rather than Irish ownership. The only smell was disinfectant. It would have suggested a waiting room in an older hospital if the conversations were subdued. However, the talk was often loud as was the good-natured laughter. The clientele knew one another and enjoyed the constant bantering in which friends engage. The room was decorated with pictures and banners from the Chicago White Sox. Just behind the bar was a very old picture of a football team.
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