have to bring it to him. I can read it right here, and sign it. I trust you.”
“No,” he insisted. “I want you to give it to him. If he wants, we can modify it. I want you to be absolutely confident, absolutely reassured.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I want you to be happy.”
Moved by this, for many reasons, some of which seemed even to her to be mysterious, Lilly looked away—at the long sweep of the bar at which they sat, and the blur of waiters and barmen in white, moving like the crowds in Grand Central, even busier, and the noise like that of water and ice flowing in a rock-strewn brook.
“Tell me why you value honor,” she said.
“I’m fifty-three,” he answered with analytical detachment. “My father died at fifty-nine. What good is money? If I have six years left or thirty, it makes no difference. My life will be buoyant, and my death will be tranquil, only if I can rest upon a store of honor.”
“There are other things.”
“Name them,” he challenged.
She met his challenge. “Love.”
“Harder than honor, I’m afraid, to keep and sustain.”
This startled her into silence.
“Y OU ’ RE AN IDIOT ,” Gustavo said, as he and Fitch were measuring in Lilly’s dust-filled duplex. The first day after the permit, the demolition had been finished in record time and removal and cleanup were under way, with nine men moving about like the builders of the Panama Canal. Gustavo was insulting only when he was frightened. “Here, because there are so many people with Ph.D.s, they have to drive taxicabs and mix drinks.”
Fitch wasn’t entirely sure what Gustavo was trying to say. Nonetheless, he answered. “But Gustavo,” he said, “that’s why we’re a great power. It’s how we invented the blender.”
“You can’t throw away the whole business for one crazy thing.”
“Who’s throwing away? Everyone’s getting paid.”
“From your pocket.”
“So?”
“How are you going to retire? With the materials you’re going to use here, and this kind of detail, it will cost us half a million dollars. No profit, and two hundred thousand dollars from your pocket.”
“No,” Fitch said calmly. “Five hundred thousand. I’m not going to charge her.”
Gustavo put his clipboard down where he was kneeling, and straightened his back. “That’s everything you have.”
“Don’t worry, Gustavo. We’re going into U.N. Plaza on the eighteenth. We won’t be late. We’ll be early.”
“The eighteenth of what?”
“March. Monday, the eighteenth of March.”
“We’ll finish here in less than a month?” Gustavo was stunned.
“I’m going to call in as many subcontractors as we need, pay overtime, work day and night myself. It’ll be done by that date. When she returns from California she’ll come back to the most beautifully done space she’s ever seen—in pristine condition, clean, quiet, safe, complete—with a Fitch Company bill that says, ‘No Charge.’ That’s what I want.”
“Why?” Gustavo asked. And, when Fitch was not forthcoming, Gustavo commanded, “You’ve got to tell me why.”
“If you could see her …,” said Fitch.
“I saw her when we did the kitchen. She’s pretty. She’s beautiful. But she’s not that beautiful.”
“Yes, she is,” said Fitch. “She bears up, but I’ve never seen a more wounded, deeply aggrieved woman. It’s not because she’s physically beautiful. What the hell do I care? It’s because she needs something like this, from me, from us, from everyone. Not that it would or could be a substitute, but as a gesture.”
“A substitute for what?” Gustavo asked.
“Her husband.”
“Her husband left her?”
“Her husband was in the south tower when it came down,” Fitch said. “For Christ’s sake, they’ll never even find the bodies. Vaporized, made into paste. What can she think? What can she feel?”
Gustavo looked away to his left, at the wall where he had drawn some lines and written some letters. “How
“No,” he insisted. “I want you to give it to him. If he wants, we can modify it. I want you to be absolutely confident, absolutely reassured.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I want you to be happy.”
Moved by this, for many reasons, some of which seemed even to her to be mysterious, Lilly looked away—at the long sweep of the bar at which they sat, and the blur of waiters and barmen in white, moving like the crowds in Grand Central, even busier, and the noise like that of water and ice flowing in a rock-strewn brook.
“Tell me why you value honor,” she said.
“I’m fifty-three,” he answered with analytical detachment. “My father died at fifty-nine. What good is money? If I have six years left or thirty, it makes no difference. My life will be buoyant, and my death will be tranquil, only if I can rest upon a store of honor.”
“There are other things.”
“Name them,” he challenged.
She met his challenge. “Love.”
“Harder than honor, I’m afraid, to keep and sustain.”
This startled her into silence.
“Y OU ’ RE AN IDIOT ,” Gustavo said, as he and Fitch were measuring in Lilly’s dust-filled duplex. The first day after the permit, the demolition had been finished in record time and removal and cleanup were under way, with nine men moving about like the builders of the Panama Canal. Gustavo was insulting only when he was frightened. “Here, because there are so many people with Ph.D.s, they have to drive taxicabs and mix drinks.”
Fitch wasn’t entirely sure what Gustavo was trying to say. Nonetheless, he answered. “But Gustavo,” he said, “that’s why we’re a great power. It’s how we invented the blender.”
“You can’t throw away the whole business for one crazy thing.”
“Who’s throwing away? Everyone’s getting paid.”
“From your pocket.”
“So?”
“How are you going to retire? With the materials you’re going to use here, and this kind of detail, it will cost us half a million dollars. No profit, and two hundred thousand dollars from your pocket.”
“No,” Fitch said calmly. “Five hundred thousand. I’m not going to charge her.”
Gustavo put his clipboard down where he was kneeling, and straightened his back. “That’s everything you have.”
“Don’t worry, Gustavo. We’re going into U.N. Plaza on the eighteenth. We won’t be late. We’ll be early.”
“The eighteenth of what?”
“March. Monday, the eighteenth of March.”
“We’ll finish here in less than a month?” Gustavo was stunned.
“I’m going to call in as many subcontractors as we need, pay overtime, work day and night myself. It’ll be done by that date. When she returns from California she’ll come back to the most beautifully done space she’s ever seen—in pristine condition, clean, quiet, safe, complete—with a Fitch Company bill that says, ‘No Charge.’ That’s what I want.”
“Why?” Gustavo asked. And, when Fitch was not forthcoming, Gustavo commanded, “You’ve got to tell me why.”
“If you could see her …,” said Fitch.
“I saw her when we did the kitchen. She’s pretty. She’s beautiful. But she’s not that beautiful.”
“Yes, she is,” said Fitch. “She bears up, but I’ve never seen a more wounded, deeply aggrieved woman. It’s not because she’s physically beautiful. What the hell do I care? It’s because she needs something like this, from me, from us, from everyone. Not that it would or could be a substitute, but as a gesture.”
“A substitute for what?” Gustavo asked.
“Her husband.”
“Her husband left her?”
“Her husband was in the south tower when it came down,” Fitch said. “For Christ’s sake, they’ll never even find the bodies. Vaporized, made into paste. What can she think? What can she feel?”
Gustavo looked away to his left, at the wall where he had drawn some lines and written some letters. “How
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