apartment by 11 A.M. He had another thirty hours or so before the children were to be returned to Manhattan by a cousin of Broeden’s while the newly weds honeymooned in Europe.
“What are you doing today?” Bob said to him on the phone.
“I’ve got some articles to read.”
“What you need is a steam bath, a massage, a movie, then dinner.”
“What is this about?”
“We start with the steam bath and the massage.”
“You want me to go to a massage parlor?”
“This is not dirty. This is the real stuff. Al Butteroni at the Saint George Hotel.”
“I never had a massage.”
“All the more reason. Doug, your ex-wife is in Paris getting married and you’re home alone with your dog.”
Bob persisted and Doug made arrangements with a handyman in the building to feed and walk the dog later in the day. Bob arrived for Doug in a chauffeured limousine, grinning widely, insisting he was paying for the excursion. They went to Brooklyn Heights to the St. George. Doug thought the steam room and the massage were wonderful; several older men were taking the steam, their girth making him feel undeniably slim. They returned to Manhattan and saw a revival of Red River at the Bleecker Street Cinema, then they went to City Island for dinner and sat overlooking the water, drinking wine and eating lobster.
“This is such a great day,” Doug said.
“We should do this every once in a while, get together on a weekend without women. You get older, the weekends come, and you don’t hang around with a buddy anymore.”
“I used to spend so much time, when I was a kid, hanging around with friends.”
“I spend most of mine working. That’s my biggest regret. I haven’t spent enough time with my daughters. I envy you for that, for all the time you spent with your kids.”
“Many hours.”
“It’s going to change for me. I’m working on a deal where I’m going to walk away with big dollars. At least a million. Then I’m going to buy a house in the Hamptons and spend more time with everybody. Helena would have liked a house in the Hamptons,” he said with a distant tone in his voice. “Anyway, I’m going to be more like you, get involved with my kids. I regret I haven’t done that. What about you, Doug, any regrets? And I don’t mean Susan. This is one day we can leave her out of it.”
“I remember a night in Amagansett, when we were in the house with Jeannie and this pretty girl came to a party on the deck. She was young, a senior in college, and she thought we were big-time stuff, working men. She was obviously coming on to me, she was very lovely, and I passed. I thought she was too young. And now she’s a middle-aged woman.”
“There can’t be any real regrets for you, Doug. The way you are with your kids, the kind of things you write about, it’s all clean. I’m in with the dirt.”
“Maybe,” Doug said without force.
“You have to know that what you’re doing is valuable,” Bob said, upset.
“What is it?”
“My entire position is that morally I’m all right because I represent you. ”
They returned to Manhattan and drank beer from the bar in the limousine. Tipsy and silly, they were singing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” knowing that was silly, singing it to be silly. They stopped the car a few blocks from Doug’s apartment and walked, the driver following them slowly along West End Avenue as they strolled with their beers. They approached the apartment house and Doug looked at his watch.
“Trying to figure out what it is, Paris time?” I was.
“She’s married.”
“Somehow the divorce doesn’t make you as officially finished as the remarriage,” Doug said.
“You’re going to be all right.”
Bob had orchestrated the elaborate day to see Doug through this. Doug put his arms around Bob and hugged him. He could feel Bob’s belly pressing against his, and the whiskers on his cheek. He had never held a man so close—his father when he was little, not anyone as an
“What are you doing today?” Bob said to him on the phone.
“I’ve got some articles to read.”
“What you need is a steam bath, a massage, a movie, then dinner.”
“What is this about?”
“We start with the steam bath and the massage.”
“You want me to go to a massage parlor?”
“This is not dirty. This is the real stuff. Al Butteroni at the Saint George Hotel.”
“I never had a massage.”
“All the more reason. Doug, your ex-wife is in Paris getting married and you’re home alone with your dog.”
Bob persisted and Doug made arrangements with a handyman in the building to feed and walk the dog later in the day. Bob arrived for Doug in a chauffeured limousine, grinning widely, insisting he was paying for the excursion. They went to Brooklyn Heights to the St. George. Doug thought the steam room and the massage were wonderful; several older men were taking the steam, their girth making him feel undeniably slim. They returned to Manhattan and saw a revival of Red River at the Bleecker Street Cinema, then they went to City Island for dinner and sat overlooking the water, drinking wine and eating lobster.
“This is such a great day,” Doug said.
“We should do this every once in a while, get together on a weekend without women. You get older, the weekends come, and you don’t hang around with a buddy anymore.”
“I used to spend so much time, when I was a kid, hanging around with friends.”
“I spend most of mine working. That’s my biggest regret. I haven’t spent enough time with my daughters. I envy you for that, for all the time you spent with your kids.”
“Many hours.”
“It’s going to change for me. I’m working on a deal where I’m going to walk away with big dollars. At least a million. Then I’m going to buy a house in the Hamptons and spend more time with everybody. Helena would have liked a house in the Hamptons,” he said with a distant tone in his voice. “Anyway, I’m going to be more like you, get involved with my kids. I regret I haven’t done that. What about you, Doug, any regrets? And I don’t mean Susan. This is one day we can leave her out of it.”
“I remember a night in Amagansett, when we were in the house with Jeannie and this pretty girl came to a party on the deck. She was young, a senior in college, and she thought we were big-time stuff, working men. She was obviously coming on to me, she was very lovely, and I passed. I thought she was too young. And now she’s a middle-aged woman.”
“There can’t be any real regrets for you, Doug. The way you are with your kids, the kind of things you write about, it’s all clean. I’m in with the dirt.”
“Maybe,” Doug said without force.
“You have to know that what you’re doing is valuable,” Bob said, upset.
“What is it?”
“My entire position is that morally I’m all right because I represent you. ”
They returned to Manhattan and drank beer from the bar in the limousine. Tipsy and silly, they were singing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” knowing that was silly, singing it to be silly. They stopped the car a few blocks from Doug’s apartment and walked, the driver following them slowly along West End Avenue as they strolled with their beers. They approached the apartment house and Doug looked at his watch.
“Trying to figure out what it is, Paris time?” I was.
“She’s married.”
“Somehow the divorce doesn’t make you as officially finished as the remarriage,” Doug said.
“You’re going to be all right.”
Bob had orchestrated the elaborate day to see Doug through this. Doug put his arms around Bob and hugged him. He could feel Bob’s belly pressing against his, and the whiskers on his cheek. He had never held a man so close—his father when he was little, not anyone as an
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