“Hello, Grandfather,” she said. She said this title loudly, as though they both should know what it meant.
“Hello.”
Her face was heavy with exhaustion. She sat at the other end of the table. Before she did this, she moved a large crystal urn of flowers to the floor.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I want to be able to see you when we talk.”
He eyed her and ate a forkful of eggs. Rosita placed a croissant before her. Aurora was staring at him, drumming her fingers on the tablecloth.
“I have a question.”
“Yes?”
“How does it feel to be syndicated in forty-three countries?”
“Forty-four. Somalia just signed on.”
“Forty-four.”
“Very good.”
“Your first episode of Anything for Money had the biggest television audience ever.”
“That is true.”
“How did you get Ringo Starr to do a guest spot?”
“He asked to come on.” He looked up. “Is this an interview?”
“I’ve read 127 articles about you. In all the major magazines. More on the Internet. On the authorized sites.” She went through four slices of bacon. “Is it true that you only stock water in the back of the set so that contestants will get hungry and meaner?”
“No.” He lifted the paper in front of his face. “Anything you need, ask Rosita.”
“I would like an office.”
He lowered the paper. “For what purpose?”
“The production of my feature film.”
He folded the paper.
“I am currently in preproduction.”
“You are twelve years old,” he said.
“I know,” she said, as though that were a compliment. “I have read many books on the subject. I am writing a script. If you want to know the title, I can—”
He marched out of the dining room; she followed. He was not used to waiting for another person, and he could sense her trailing behind him, trying to catch up.
He pushed open two doors embossed with a gold pattern identical to the doors of Il Duomo in Florence. The room overlooked the rose gardens.
“Your office,” he said.
She seemed surprised that her request had been obeyed so swiftly; then she walked in, hands clasped behind her back like Napoleon inspecting the troops. She went to the windows and looked outside. The morning sun fell in wide bright strips across the lawn, so that the pink- and cream-colored roses gleamed like satin.
“Do you require use of a phone?”
“No,” she said.
“A fax machine?”
“No, thank you.”
She rose up on half-toe and then down again — later, he realized this was the gesture she used when she had more on her mind that she wanted to talk about, trying to make herself physically taller to give herself stature to ask for what she wanted.
“Your office,” he said. “Now. My headset.”
“Your what?”
“My headset. I need it.” He tried to smile, attempting to appear more relaxed than he felt. “Now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, curtly, so like her mother in fact it confirmed she knew where it was. She sat in the dark vinyl chair and leaned back in it. “Now. Tell me your opinion. I want to describe the sky over a new planet that has been created by the explosion of a supernova. Should it be pink or yellow or blue or a combination?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Pick.”
Her stubbornness made it hard for him to think. “Blue,” he said, helplessly.
She spun the chair. “Thank you. I have to get to work.”
LENNY DRIFTED THROUGH HIS DAY AT WORK, LISTENING TO HIS writers knock around ideas: How about having contestants drink a concoction made by a four-year-old out of items he found in the refrigerator and medicine cabinet? What about telling people they had to walk down the street dressed like a chicken, slapping every third person on the face? That’s Anything for Money! When he left, the sky was dark and furred with purple clouds. He told the chauffeur not to drive him home immediately. He was glad for the sensation of motion as the car floated over Beverly Hills, West Hollywood, Silver Lake; he did not want to be still.
When he got home, he found the staff assembled in the living room. They were clutching pieces of paper. Rosita was wearing a large pot holder on her head. Carlos was wearing a cape. He saw other employees, whose names he did not remember: a gardener wearing a chiffon scarf around his neck, the pool man. Aurora was standing on a chair in front of them. They were listening to her.
“Rosita!” Aurora commanded. “Your turn!”
“You! You have cursed me!”
“It is what the forces said to do,” Carlos said, in an eerie voice.
“Hello,” Lenny said.
There was a silence. Rosita took the pot holder from her head. Carlos removed his cape and smiled brightly.
“What is going on?” asked Lenny.
“We’re rehearsing,” said Aurora.
“For what?”
“My movie.” She smiled. “They’re all good in their parts. I didn’t know they all wanted to be actors!”
He had not known that they had any other aspirations at all. He studied them. They looked away, trying to erase the animation in their faces.
“Thank you all,” she said. “We’re done.”
Carlos picked up Lenny’s briefcase and walked, stiffly, up the stairs.
“Rosita! My dinner,” Lenny ordered.
“Can I have mine, too?” Aurora asked.
“You haven’t had dinner?”
“I wanted to wait.”
“Children shouldn’t eat at nine o’clock,” he said. It occurred to him that he had no idea when a child should eat dinner.
“I always wait for my mom to come home.”
“When is that?”
“Six. Nine. Never.”
“What do you eat when it’s never?”
“Whatever’s around. Yogurt. Ritz Crackers. Raisins. Chips.”
“Rosita, give her some dinner,” he said. He went to his room.
HE ENTERED HIS BEDROOM AND CHANGED INTO HIS SILK SWEAT suit. Then he looked for his favorite comb. It was not in his bathroom or his bedroom; nor could he locate his cologne. Standing in the middle of his bedroom, he wondered what the hell was going on. He went to the balcony and listened; he heard the clatter of a fork and knife; she was eating. He went down the hall to Aurora’s room and opened the door. The large green sack was on the floor; he unzipped it. It was full of small brown paper bags. One was marked MY GRANDFATHER LENNY; inside was his headset and his comb and cologne. He peered into the other bags. One was marked MADAME FOURROUT, and inside was a postcard of Paris, a snapshot of a friendly baker, and a wooden spoon. Another bag said SAM FROM OXFORD, and inside was a snapshot of a college student and a silver pen engraved with the initials SNE. There were men and women of all ages and nationalities, and their toothbrushes, cosmetics, office supplies. The people represented in the bags were from Paris, Milan, Athens, Buenos Aires, everywhere that Charlene and Aurora had lived.
He zipped up the sack and walked out of the room, embarrassed by what he had just done. Embarrassment was an unusual feeling for him — he mostly encountered others experiencing it — and he did not know what to do. His chest felt empty, and he had to sit down, waiting for the feeling to go away. He did not know why she had taken these objects from these people, but he believed he understood in some way as well.
Lenny did not come to the table for another half hour. He was shaken and did not want her to see him. But when he came into the room, she was still there, waiting for him.