by Nan
“Irene?”
“Irene at Pocket Books.”
“You discussed me with someone in paperback?”
“Actually, I discuss you as little as possible.”
“Do you go out with Irene at Pocket Books?”
“I rarely go out with Irene. As a matter of fact, we hardly ever leave the apartment. We order up Tex-Mex and spend our nights rejecting as many manuscripts as we possibly can. It’s wonderful what publishing has done for women. Such a healthy outlet for aggression.”
A Secret Service agent appeared at the table. “Excuse me, Miss Borden. The President is ready to see you and Mr. Gilbert now.”
“Thank you,” Mary said. She reached across for Ed’s arm. “This is your payoff for losing Tully. Don’t fuck it up. I’ve been working on this deal for months. Two million five advance in an escrow, interest-bearing account. You become a member of the White House family. The good news is you’ll get to plan the book yourself. He’s basically illiterate. I handle the paperback auction.” She smiled. “And you can bet your ass it won’t go to Irene at Pocket Books.”
After seating Cal at Meryl’s table, Libby knew that she had solved only one problem. There were a thousand to go. Like Scheherazade after the first night, she had survived merely to be put to the test again. She would have to take it one night at a time.
Steven motioned her over to the reservations desk. “Well, we seemed to have solved The Big Mystery. Apparently, the reason the President is here,” he said, “is to see Mary Borden and Ed Gilbert.”
Libby felt her insides churn. “I guess the laughs really are on the house.”
“According to United Waiters International, our peerless leader has just lunched himself into a seven-figure book contract.”
Libby tried to hide her anger. Her whole life had been turned upside down because the President wanted to make a deal in her restaurant. “Well, why the hell not?” she said. “That’s what people come here for, isn’t it? Why should he be any different? That’s what they all come to Libby’s for. To make a deal.” She waved a trembling finger at Steven. “And you’re in big trouble, sonny boy, if you don’t know that by this time!”
Steven threw up his hands and walked to the bar. “Here I thought everybody came just to see the fabulous Libby!”
The fabulous Libby turned to Birnbaum and whispered, “I must have been crazy.”
Birnbaum reached out. “No,” he said softly. “I must have been crazy.” He glanced at the bar and signaled Meehan to take over. Then he led her past Taylor and around the corner into the phone room. Birnbaum stood with his back to the glass panel so that no one could see in as he pulled Libby close and kissed her. “I should never have let you go last night.”
Libby put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I wanted you to stop me.”
“Stop.” He held her tight. “Don’t go.”
“Don’t let me go.”
He nestled his face close and began kissing her on the neck. His mouth followed the outline of her chin. “What about Cal?”
“I don’t know.” She could barely catch her breath. “What about your wife?”
“I don’t know.”
Libby took his face in her hands. She kissed him. He kissed her. They couldn’t stop.
“I want to make love to you again,” he said.
She lay her head against his chest. “Don’t let me go.”
He kissed her. “I’ll never let you go.”
Norm came over to Alfero’s table with a big smile on his face. He was carrying a phone. “I thought you might like to call and find out what happened to Mr. Pérez.”
Alfero was terrified. He didn’t know Pérez’s number. “¡Sí!” Suddenly, he noticed the square red pin in Norm’s lapel. He looked around the room. All the waiters and busboys had the same square red pin.
“Here you go,” Norm said, plugging in the phone and handing Alfero the receiver. “I’ll be right back.”
Alfero stared at the dial. It was a push-button phone. His head told him to push any seven numbers and pretend that he was talking to Pérez. Instead, he dialed Dolores.
“¡Hola!”
“I wish to speak to Mr. Pérez.”
“¿Querido?” She began to cry. “¡Venga a casa! ¡Por favor! ¡Querido!”
“Why do you mean Mr. Pérez is not there?” Alfero said.
“¡Te amo!” she pleaded. “¡Los niños aman tu!”
“But Pérez was to have lunch with me!”
Someone took the phone from Dolores. Alfero could hear her screaming in the background. “¿Está loco?” Carlos shouted. He slammed down the receiver.
Alfero sat listening to the dial tone. “Then I will wait no longer for Pérez.”
Libby walked back into the dining room as though nothing had happened. In truth, everything had happened. The President had happened. Cal had happened. And worst of all, Birnbaum had happened. She couldn’t hide or protect herself any longer. It was time for Libby Dennis to face the music and dance.
Hots motioned her over to his table. “Whatever you do,” he said, “don’t take rat poison. I had a client once who did. Had to be hospitalized. She grew a long tail and big whiskers.”
Libby smiled. “I’ve decided to tell Cal the truth.”
“I don’t think Hallmark has a card for that one.”
“I have to tell Cal and I have to tell Steven.”
“No, you don’t! What the hell do you think lawyers are for? If people could tell the truth to one another, lawyers would go out of business.”
“I want to do it myself.”
“Not now, you don’t!” He lowered his voice, widened his eyes and banged his fist on the table. “You’re out of control!”
“No. I’m finally in control. No more lies. I have to be honest with Cal.”
He shook his head. “Listen, bubeleh. The Lord High Executioner isn’t going to say one word while The Mikado is still here. You’ve got time. You and I can work it out together. Trust me. In the entire history of mankind, no one ever got anywhere being the first to tell the truth. The truth is like a piece of cheese. You have to let it age properly.”
“Hots, I’m through being a victim.”
“That makes you a definite threat to the rest of us in the gulag.”
She took his hand. “Look across the aisle at Andre.”
“The poor schmuck is still pitching Grandma Moses?”
“No. Andre is dead.”
“Well, I told him it was a stupid idea.”
“Andre is dead,” she repeated. “Dead dead.”
“Sure. And I’m the Canterville Ghost.”
“Look at him. He’s not moving. The guy with the button in his lapel is a Secret Service agent. They won’t let me take the body out. No disturbances allowed while the President is here.”
Hots stared open-mouthed at Andre. “I don’t even know if that’s legal,” he mumbled. “There must be something about equal rights for the dead.”
“When you think about it, maybe it’s not so terrible,” Libby said, staring into Andre’s face. “He’s got a great table. Nice bottle of wine. Good company.”
Hots grabbed Libby’s hand. “Please! Don’t tell me you’ve reserved a table for two at the morgue.”
“No. But maybe being dead isn’t so bad.” Libby and Hots stared at one another. “At least he doesn’t have to pay the check.” She shrugged. “Hots, I’ve been paying the check for more than twenty years. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
“So what are you going to do, Mrs. Anna? Whistle a happy tune?”
“No.” Libby leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “A different tune.”
Special Agent Barnes had a tap on all phones while the President was at Libby’s. He had just listened in to Ensesa’s call and shouted across the Command Van to the agent in charge. “Hey, Cooley, I got something here I don’t like.”
Libby slid in next to Janos. “Those were some flowers you sent Cal.”
“It was the least I could do.”
“That’s true.”
Janos became defensive immediately. “Don’t start in with me. If he had done what I told him. . .”
“What you told him was disgusting.”
“What I told him was a lot of money.”
“I hate what you did, Janos.”
“So maybe that’s the real reason you gave me such a good table.”
“I would have sat you in the toilet if I could.”
“What’s wrong with the toilet?”
“You always come out on top, don’t you?”
“Always.” He smiled. “You tell yourself you’re a winner, you’re a winner. Darling girl, listen to me.” He took her hand. “There are little villages in Czechoslovakia where the farmers can afford wine only one day a year. All year long they look forward to that day. They think they’re very lucky!”
Libby pulled her hand back. “I know a village where they can afford wine every day of the year.”
He nodded. “I smell a deal.”
Libby smiled. “You smell deals the way a pig smells truffles.”
“It’s easy. Everything is a deal. You make a deal at the store, it’s shopping. You make a deal with the bank, it’s high finance. You make a deal with God, it’s religion. You make a deal not to make deals, it’s a vacation.”
“Janos, before I begin, it is necessary that you understand exactly how I feel about you.”
“This has got to be some deal.”
“I meant what I said about your being a pig.”
He sat back. “You must really want a lot of money.”
“This has to be strictly business. Our personal feelings for one another have to be kept out of it.”
“I have nothing but happiness in my heart for you!”
Libby took a deep breath. “And I think you’re a vulgar, offensive slob.”
Janos shrugged. “A deal is a deal.”
“I need four million to open Libby’s in LA.”
He banged his fist on the table. “Have I been telling you to do that for years?”
“You get your money back off the top. Then we split the profits fifty-fifty.”
“Whose profits? Your accountant’s profits or my accountant’s profits? Please, I don’t do business through my tuchis. Ten percent of the gross.”
“Five.”
“Five in LA and five in New York,” he said.
“Seven in LA and nothing in New York.”
“What do you mean nothing in New York?”
“You had nothing to do with New York.”
“One percent of the New York gross. For good will.”
Libby shook her head. “There is no good will in New York.”
Janos leaned forward. “My table in LA and New York. Free. Forever.”
“There is also no forever. A hundred years is as far as I’m prepared to go.”
“Free?”
“Free.”
“Four million,” he said. “Paid back off the top. Seven percent of the LA gross. My table free in New York and LA.” He smiled. “A hundred and one years. Take it or leave it!”
Libby held up her hands. “You win.”
Janos sat back. He was suspicious. “So what are you pulling here? You selling New York?”
“No. I’m giving New York. I’m giving the restaurant to Steven.”
Janos rocked his head from side to side. “That’s some present.”
Libby smiled as her eyes filled with tears. “When you have a son like Steven,” she said softly, “nothing is too much.”
Steven knew that Birnbaum had been watching him. Even though he assumed it was merely part of the trimmings, it gave him a sense of power. He smiled at the thought that he posed a threat to the President.
The phone rang. It was Phyllis. Steven glanced around nervously. “Will wonders never cease,” he said into the receiver.
“Apparently not. I’ve spoken to Fay. She’ll break the story tomorrow. I’ll offer Cal a blank check to star in the play.”
“Good.”
“Now that Mommy and Daddy will live happily ever after in the same zip code, I want to warn you about something, Steven.”
“I have no time to talk now.”
“You’re in a dangerous position, little man. Your prayers have been answered.”
“If you don’t mind . . .”
“Now it’s time for my prayers. I’ll get you, Steven. Watch the skies.”
Alfero had to make his move. Not because guerrilla cunning alerted him to the moment. Simply, he had to erase the sound of Dolores’s crying.
He rose from the table as soon as he saw Esteban come out of the kitchen. Alfero walked quickly to the service area, startling the young busboy. “Kid,” Alfero said, “I am a very rich millionaire. I am sorry I yell at you.” He tucked a five-dollar bill into Esteban’s shirt pocket, pretending to fumble just long enough to remove the square red pin from the busboy’s jacket. “You are a nice kid. Like my sons.” Alfero paused. “Here is an extra tip.” He took another five and handed it to Esteban before heading toward the men’s room.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Stu the waiter said. “The men’s room is closed. You’ll have to use the ladies’ room.”
Alfero was suddenly enraged. “You try to insult me?”
“No, sir. The men’s room is reserved for the President.”
“So, in this great country of yours, the land of the free and the home of the brave, I am not good enough to pee with the President?”
“Security, sir.”
“Oh,” Alfero said. “Very smart.”
“You can go in,” Stu said, pointing to the ladies’ room. “It’s only one person at a time.”
“No ladies in there?”
Stu smiled. “Well, if you want one, I’ll see what I can do.”
Alfero pretended to laugh. He waved his hand in front of his face for the last time. Once inside, he leaned back against the door and locked it. Alfero had never been inside a ladies’ room before. It was all pink with big glass lamps. A pink marble counter. Pink tissues. Pink towels. There was even a long pink velvet bench. It was the most beautiful room he had ever seen.
As he began to take off his clothes, he thought again of Dolores. How she would love such a room.
After Mary Borden and Ed Gilbert left, the President glanced at his attorney. “You still think I should have canceled?”
Sherman smiled. “Even I can’t argue with three million dollars.”
“You really threw her,” the Chief of Staff said. “She obviously pegged the deal at two point five.”
The Secretary of State laughed. “You see the look on his face? I haven’t seen that kind of panic since we threatened to cut aid to Ethiopia.”
The President sat back feeling very pleased with himself. “Plus another two minimum for paperback. That makes this a five-million-dollar lunch, gentlemen. Not too shabby.”
The Chief of Staff finished his bourbon and water. “I thought for a minute there you were going to lose it.”
“That’s because you don’t know anything about making deals,” said the Secretary of State. “Maybe up on the hill they’re interested in saving money. But out in the real world, power is calculated on how much you spend, not how much you save.”
The President smiled. “I’m afraid I have to disagree with you, Mr. Secretary. My definition of power is how much you get.”
Cooley’s voice was on the line. “Headstart, do you copy?”
Birnbaum was following Steven down the aisle and didn’t want to draw attention to himself by taking out his transmitter.
“Will someone copy me on Ensesa?” shouted Cooley.
“Spotter One. Copy,” Birnbaum heard. He looked across the room and saw Johnson speaking into his unit. “Ensesa is in the toilet.”
“There’s something funny going on,” Cooley said. “I want you to hold him when he comes out.”
“What have you got on him?” Johnson aske
d.
“Nothing,” Cooley said. “Just my gut.”
Libby closed the reservations book. Not for the symbolism of the act, but to feel the leather binding with her name inscribed in eighteen-carat gold. Libby held on to the last of Libby’s—her own personal book of days, her book of revelations, her bible.
She recalled what Mr. Pagano had said after his wife died. He told her he felt like a stranger. The heart had been taken out of the Villa Capri. As Libby glanced around the room that had become Steven’s Restaurant or Chez Steven or Steven D’s, she felt very much like a stranger, too. She was eager to leave it all behind, brokenhearted that her departure would have so much more meaning for him than her presence. Libby understood the sweet sadness of Charles Darnay’s final steps. It was a far, far better thing that she had done. . . . But Libby wasn’t going to the guillotine, she was going to Los Angeles. Comes the revolution, there would be no revolution. No one would find Libby Dennis hanging headless from a traffic light on West Fifty-fifth Street. She had out-couped the coup. Not that she had any choice. No matter how much Steven hated her, she couldn’t let him walk out. The risk was far too great. He might not survive.
She saw Steven head toward her. He had that look in his eyes. But suddenly it didn’t matter. Libby no longer felt guilty. “You look as though you lost your best friend.”
“I’m used to that. Apparently, I have yet to lose my own worst enemy. El Presidente refuses to reveal his lunch preferences to a mere maître d’. He wants the one and only.”
“What?”
“He said he came to Libby’s and expects Libby to take his order.”
She smiled. “Good thing he didn’t go to Café Napoleon!” She took a deep breath and pushed back her bangs. She grabbed the menus from him and put them on the desk. “We don’t need these.” Libby cleared her throat and arched her feet. “Come on, kiddo. Mommy’s going to teach you how to fly.”
As they walked down the steps into the dining room, Libby glanced at Meryl’s table. Cal was holding court. He didn’t need her anymore. She turned to Steven. “What is the kitchen pushing today?”
“We’re going to be stuck with an awful lot of bluefish.”
“You want to bet?” Libby had taken care of Cal. She had taken care of Steven. And now she was about to take care of the President.