“Two fronts? You lost me.”
Preston’s legs were moving up and down so fast the table started to shake.
“Are you all right?” Missy asked.
“Great. Just great. Got a one-year-old who’s deaf, a twenty-three-year-old daughter I never knew about, and a wife about to leave me.”
“What? Hold it. A daughter you never knew about? Did you tell Tommy about this?”
“No.”
“A daughter shows up after all these years, and you don’t tell Tommy? He’s not going to like that. Anyway, that’s another problem. Anything more you can tell me about your new-found daughter?”
“Her name’s Katherine. She’s smart, lives in New York, and has a master’s in journalism. I met her mother when I was twenty-three. She was a nurse and took care of me while I was briefly in the hospital, and I took her out after work for something to eat. It became a little more than that, but that’s the only time I spent with her. I never gave it another thought, never had any reason to. Then out of the blue, she calls me, tells me I have a daughter, and suggests I get to know her.”
“This is probably a stupid question, but how do you know she’s your daughter?”
“I went through all of that, Missy—paternity test—the whole nine yards. She’s mine, and to tell you the truth, I’m happy about it.”
“And how about Marcia?”
“She’s fine with Katherine, likes her, been supportive on this. She told me it’s not about Katherine; it’s about her, our son, and me. She said something about our fabric stretching and tearing. That’s the way she talks. She said we repaired it once, and she didn’t know if we could do it again. I asked her what all of that meant, and she said not enough to me, and then just shut down.”
“You really know how to ruin a girl’s breakfast, Preston,” Missy said. “I don’t know if I can be of help or not. You’ve dug a pretty deep hole. I’ll give you a few observations for what they’re worth. Marcia’s a fine woman. It’s all about trust. It takes a short period of time to lose it and a long period of time to get it back. Tommy’s really smart about these things. He said you’re not an all-in kind of guy. Marcia’s feeling that right now. She’s protecting her cub and you’re not getting it. She’s right. What harm can it do to fit P.J. with hearing aids if they may help him? What are you really worried about? Is your son not looking as good to you with hearing aids? This is not about you, Preston. Kids have special needs. Your indifference to that disappoints me. It must outrage your wife. I don’t know if you can fix this one.”
Missy reached over the table and gently put her hand over Preston’s. “You’re a good person, Preston. Don’t give up on yourself. It’s hard to look deep inside and find the best parts, especially when you’re lonely and scared. Only you can decide whether it’s worth the effort. But if you want to keep Marcia, that’s a place to start. And, if you want a relationship with Tommy, you can’t just pretend you’re his friend.”
Tears slowly slid down Preston’s cheeks. The coffee shop was full of people, the smell of hot coffee, excitement in the air. He was looking at one of the most beautiful women he knew, and she was giving it to him straight. He had never felt more alone.
Preston thanked Missy, paid the tab, and headed back to his hotel. He stopped by one of the crap tables, but without Tommy to watch, he managed to drop two thousand dollars in half an hour. Not a good day. He went to the spa, got a massage, stretched out by the pool, and gave Tommy a call.
“Hi, Tommy. When could we get together? I’d like to see you before I get tied up with meetings and head home.”
“I’m over at Caesar’s, watching some games, managing some accounts. Come on over.”
“How long are you going to be there?” Preston asked.
“Another hour. Two.”
“I’m going over to the convention center, check on my team. Then I’ll find you.”
* * *
Preston found Tommy talking with two men in corner seats in the large sports center, where huge screens depicted an array of basketball and baseball games, NASCAR races, and horse races.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, Preston,” Tommy said.
Preston sat down in front of one of the races and watched with intensity while he waited.
“You like the ponies?” Tommy asked, coming up behind Preston and catching him by surprise.
“I like to watch them run,” Preston said, seeing Tommy give him a funny look.
“Nobody just watches them. Here, have a cigar.” Preston followed Tommy to a nearby lounge, where they ordered drinks and lit up their cigars.
“What’s on your mind?” Tommy asked.
“Just want to hang out with you a little.”
“What’s on your mind?” Tommy asked again.
“I had breakfast with Missy. She’s quite a woman.”
“For the last time, let’s have it.”
Preston took a long pull on his cigar and blew out the smoke. He tried to control his legs and keep his voice steady. “I’m in a bit of a spot,” he said.
“The ponies’ll get ya. How much you owe?”
“It’s not that.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“That’s not what I want to talk to you about. Marcia and I are having some problems. When I first met Missy, she gave me some insight, you know, how women look at things. It helped, and Marcia and I got back together. Now I’m going through that again.”
“Missy’s got a heart bigger than those screens,” Tommy said. “But she ain’t a marriage counselor. She’s busy right now trying to plan the camp, talk to our contributors, line up the kids, supervise the improvements. I don’t want her overworked right now, or put under any more stress.”
“I totally understand, Tommy. Missy has a way of talking to you where she ends up getting it all. In the course of our discussion, I mentioned that I now have a twenty-three-year-old daughter, and she was upset that I hadn’t told you about her when we had dinner in New York. So I am telling you now.”
“That don’t compute. How’d you find the years to make her twenty-three?” Tommy asked.
“It’s a long story.” Preston took another pull off his cigar.
“They all are. Make it short.”
“I was twenty-three, same as she is now. Met a girl. Went out one night. Never saw or heard from her again until she called me out of the blue two months ago and told me I have a daughter living and going to school in New York and that I should get in touch with her. That’s as short as I can make it.”
“So you did, right?”
“Right.”
“And she’s a nice girl, right?”
“Right.”
“And Marcia ain’t going to kill ya—over this at least, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay. So ya told me. How’s the cigar?”
“Good.”
“I gotta go,” Tommy said. “Good luck with your meetings. Stay in touch.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Preston’s meeting with Tommy in Vegas hung in his head like a cobweb. Nobody just watches the ponies. The guy was uncanny. Either that or he was just taking a wild swing. Preston couldn’t decide which. It’s not like I don’t have enough to worry about, Preston whined to himself, without Marcia adding his betting on the horses to her list of complaints. And what was wrong with that anyway?
Preston was reacting to all the external pressures on his life. The cumulative effect of obligations imposed upon him by his wife, P.J., Casey’s threat to leave, reaching out to the Collectibles, hit him like an allergy—his mind breaking out in mental hives. And the guilt. He was always feeling the guilt. He hated it, but he knew the only way to make it go away—or at least diminish it—was to do what he’d been putting off. At this point in his introspection, Harry popped into his mind.
Harry was the last Collectible on his list—the one he never got to until Joe’s funeral. Tommy had told him over clam shells that he and Missy didn’t know Harry until then either, but they weren’t under an obligation. Tommy thought a lot of Harry, a stand-up guy, said he was close to Joe. Then the photography at the wedding and the oompah band, whatever that was. And now I have to reach out to this guy, earn his trust, and take care of him . . . forever.
“He’s not a fast response kinda guy,” Tommy had said when he gave Preston Harry’s number. At what point is enough enough? But guilt ruled. He made the call.
“You’ve got the oompah man,” a booming voice said on the recording. “Hit a note and leave it. If you’re lucky, I’ll get back at you.”
Preston hesitated for a moment, inclined to just hang up and then said, “Hello, Harry. This is Preston Wilson. We met briefly at Joe Hart’s funeral. I would appreciate it if you would call me.” Preston added his telephone number. He hoped Harry wouldn’t call.
But within seconds his phone rang. “Hey, car man. What’s happening? Are you knocking ’em dead? I see on your fancy website you’re selling the big stuff. How’s it going?”
Preston didn’t know which questions to answer first. He decided to start with hello. After that, he said, “The car business is cyclical, but we’re getting along at the moment,” immediately feeling that the response was too technical or, at least, too formal.
“What’s on your mind, big guy?” Harry asked.
“Well, we didn’t get a chance to talk much at the funeral. I spoke with Tommy recently, and he was singing your praises. I thought I’d reach out—see how you’re doing.”
“Tommy and Missy are good people. Man, can they dance. You should have seen them at their wedding reception.”
“I understand you have a band, played at the reception.”
Harry’s booming voice burst into song, “We sang at the wedding, too, we sang especially for you. We played the brass, you danced on the grass. We played especially for you.”
Preston managed a synthetic laugh. “Where are you, Harry?”
“The great state of Buffalo. It’s actually a city.”
“What are you doing up there?”
“Having the time of my life. A bunch of us have a band and, to our amazement, we’re in demand. VFW, Elks Club, Fourth of July picnics, Oktoberfest, school dances, private gigs, you name it.”
“Are you still doing photography?”
“Once in a while, when I’m moved to take the shot.” The one thing Preston remembered about Harry was his placing a picture he’d taken of Joe on the bridge of his boat on an easel for all to see at Joe’s funeral. The photograph showed Joe looking forward, with a relaxed smile on his face and a hopeful expression in his eyes, illuminated by the sun’s rays.
“How about our getting together sometime, hanging out?” Preston said, immediately dissatisfied at the cavalier tone of his question.
“Why?”
Preston was stunned by Harry’s response, mainly because Preston was wondering the same thing. What is it about these guys? They’re all freaking mind readers.
“So . . . I can get to know you better.”
“Do you play an instrument?” Harry asked.
“No”
“Hunt, fish, shoot trap?”
“No.”
“Write, act, sing, dance?”
Preston said no again.
“What do you do?” Harry asked, “Other than play golf, sell cars, and drink at the country club? Just guessing there.”
“Well, once in a while I shoot craps and smoke cigars. Does that count?”
“Hell, yes. It shows you’re human. I was doubting that for a minute,” Harry replied.
“So, what do you say?” Preston continued. “Do you want to figure out how we can get together? Do you ever come to the city?”
“Joe told me about you. He spoke about you in a positive light—that’s what he does . . . did. I’m not sure I want to get together with you. I have good days and bad, ups and downs. I’d hate to meet you on a down day.”
Preston was at a loss for words.
After a while, Harry broke the silence. “If we ever get a gig in New York City, I’ll let you know. You can come and hear the music, meet the boys. How’s that sound?”
“Evasive,” Preston said. “Frankly, I’m disappointed by the way this conversation has gone.”
“I can fix that,” Harry said.
Preston heard the click and dial tone on the other end, and for the second time that day was left feeling like someone who’d just had a glass of cold water thrown in his face.
CHAPTER FORTY
Feeling refreshed, Katherine sat at her desk and reviewed the draft of her story. She decided it was too long and cut it down where she could, but the revisions were taking a while.
She stopped for a quick lunch to clear her head and walked down Hampton Road to the Golden Pear Café. Not a minute in the door, she spotted Marcia Wilson, two ahead in the short line. There was no way to avoid being spotted, and Katherine feared an awkward moment might be brewing. Marcia, however, made the first move, with a genuine kiss on Katherine’s cheek.
“Hi, Katherine. What a surprise! It’s good to see you. Are you working here now?”
“Yes—still learning the ropes, actually. Good to see you, too. Are you—what are you doing in Southampton?”
“We have a summer place not far from here. Nadine is in the city today with P.J., and Preston’s away at a car dealers’ shindig in Las Vegas. I wanted to take care of some errands at our place, and then I was going to treat myself to a day at the club, the spa, the whole nine yards, but, you know, I’m just not in the mood for the bitchiness some of our girls can bring to the table.”
Katherine could see the strain in Marcia’s neck and the tightness in her lips. “Their loss is my gain,” she said. “Let’s have lunch together.”
“You’re a dear. I’d love to,” Marcia said, taking Katherine by the arm and escorting her to the table a waitress had just then signaled was free.
“I didn’t realize you had a home in the Hamptons,” Katherine said.
“Yes. It’s a little house here in Southampton. Not on the water but comfortable. To tell you the truth, I like it better here. The Trump Tower thing was your father’s idea.”
Katherine reached for her pen and pad but stopped short. She thought Trump Tower was pretentious and priced for a migraine. But what intrigued her was the assignment of its choice to her father. Marcia could have said my husband’s idea. Her mind swiftly scanned the implications, even responsibility, and her conscience was telling her to pay attention to Marcia. The scan won the battle. Your mother’s a nurse. Your father’s a war hero. Pride. Susan: My father and mother are drunks. Shame. Your father’s idea . . . her conscience won the war.
“How’s P.J. getting along?”
“Very well. Thanks for asking. And I mean that.”
Their food came, and Katherine started to eat as she wondered why the last four words were necessary. The answer came soon enough.
“P.J. finally has hearing aids—both ears. Because they were fitted this late, there’s a process we must go through to put him at ease, so that he’ll accept wearing them. It must be a happy experience. We’re working on it, but it would be nice if your father was interested enough to participate.”
So much for a pleasant lunch, Katherine thought. She searched for a different topic. “You said he was in Las Vegas. Did he see Tommy and Missy, or was it all business?”
“Yes, he said he had dinner with them. As I think we mentioned, they are opening a camp for children with special needs. I admire that.”
“So do I. Like to meet them one of these days.”
“How is your job going?”
“I’m already in over my head, but, hones
tly, I love it.”
“Can you talk about what you’re doing?”
“Sure, without getting into specifics. In addition to the usual round of rookie assignments, I’m working on a story about the banking world, specifically the impact on the little guy when bank officials do what they shouldn’t and not what they should.”
“Are those two different?”
Katherine laughed. “A distinction without a difference? Technically, there are omissions and commissions. I’m looking into both.”
“Well, I know banks can be difficult, and we need them. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“I wish what I’m looking for didn’t exist.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Marcia said with a smile.
“Do you miss teaching?” Katherine asked.
“Yes, but I love P.J. to death, and I want to be the best mother I can. The first year or two can be a challenge . . . to sleep, if nothing else.”
Suddenly, as if they were discussing a nuclear bomb or the bubonic plague, a sadness appeared to overtake Marcia. Her head dropped, and out came her handkerchief from her handbag—just in time to catch a miniature Niagara Falls.
“Are you all right?” Katherine asked, getting up and putting her arms around Marcia. “Can I take you somewhere, do anything?”
“No, let ’em look. I don’t care. It’s been a bad few months, that’s all. Sometimes it just hits me.”
“What’s wrong? Can you talk about it?”
“I can, but in this case I don’t want to because it involves your father, and I don’t want to let him down. Or you either for that matter.”
Now it was Katherine’s turn to feel upset. “Does it have something to do with me?” she asked in an even, low but stern voice.
“Oh no, absolutely not. If that were the case, I would not be sitting with you right now. It is definitely not about you. It’s about your father, P.J., and me. But If I go into it with you—and criticize him—it would place you in an awkward position, and I don’t want to do that. Your father loves you, adores you. He so wants to be your father in your eyes.”
The Concealers Page 24