"Does Andrus know?"
"Not yet. I left a message at the school for her to call."
"Tommy Kramer?"
"Yes. He's reviewing my will and… oh, I'm sounding pessimistic, aren't I?"
When I didn't reply, Bacall went on. "There will be good days and bad days. This is one of the good ones, I'm pleased to tell you. And Del's been able to keep me from looking ghastly by the judicious application of makeup. He's a marvel at it, used to work backstage in summer stock here and there. I must admit, though, it makes me feel just a bit like a drag queen to doll up this way."
"What about those new drugs?"
"My doctor – or doctors, one of the problems with the disease is that you suddenly have more médicos on you than a star halfback with a bruised toe. My doctors are not optimistic about them because of the diabetes. But they're thoughtful, caring people, and they're working on it."
I nodded.
"There's something else I want you to know, too, John. My condition doesn't affect my concern for Maisy and her situation. Not one iota. Whatever you need from me, you'll have. Del and I will be winding down the business to manageable proportions. If worse comes to worst, he can decide whether to revive it or instead sell it for the good will and leasehold value." Bacall gestured at the window. "It is a hell of a view."
"Alec, I won't – "
"Forgive me for interrupting, John, but I want this understood. Winding down the business means Del and I will have more time for each other, but it also means that, good day or bad, I'll have time for Maisy and the cause. More time, ironically enough, than I've ever been able to devote before. I intend to stay active for a long, long time. If you need energy, resources, just plain legwork or telephoning, you let us know, and it's yours."
"I understand. Thank you."
Bacall swiveled his chair gently toward the window, so that he could appreciate the view without turning his back on me. "When I took these offices, I arranged the furniture this way because I was afraid the scenery would be a distraction." Keeping the chair stationary, he brought his head around to me. "The last few days, I find I look out often, probably more than I have the last few years. I look out on that graveyard, men and women who died before I was born. Before AIDS was born. And I realize that people have always died from something, and most before their time."
"Cemeteries can do that for you."
Bacall began to rock slowly in the chair. "As a boy, with all the doubts and conflicts I felt, there was one thing of which I was absolutely certain. I would live forever. I might never feel completely at ease with myself, but there would never be a time when there wouldn't be a me. Then I learned that forever has just one rule."
"What's that, Alec?"
"Forever's rule is that nothing is forever." Turning his face to the window, Bacall seemed to sit straighter in the chair. He kept rocking, but his speech became as clipped as his beard. "Sometime, if we could, I'd like you to tell me more about life, John."
"I doubt I know more to tell you."
"Sometime we might try. But just now, I'm afraid this good day is tripping into bad. On your way out, could you ask Del to come in, please?"
I got up quickly and left him, rocking and watching his view.
23
"NOW THAT WEJRE HALFWAY THROUGH FEBRUARY, JOHN, YOU' VE got to start thinking specifics, not just general stuff anymore. The distances are coming along fine, and you're running on the packed snow like it was a groomed, gravel track. But it's time to start planning the race in your mind. Go out and drive the course, all the way from Hopkinton into Boston. But drive her like a runner, not a driver. You're gonna notice something. Except for some miles in the middle, you've got rolling hills. That means you have to run a little different. On the way up, keep your knees high to synchronize the arm and leg motion. Don't look down at the ground unless you've got paper cups and orange peels to step around. Keep your eyes on the horizon. That way, you don't get discouraged by glancing up and seeing how far you still have to climb. The idea is to run up the hill, not into the hill. So lean forward on that incline, like you're riding a horse and coming forward in the saddle for him. On the decline, lean back, like you're still on that horse and laying back in the saddle to balance him. Don't let gravity help defeat you.
"People talk a lot about Heartbreak Hill. Fact is, Heartbreak isn't just one hill, it's a series of them, with plateaus in between. From mile seventeen to mile twenty-one. That's the firehouse at the inter-section of Route 16 and Commonwealth all the way to the top of Chestnut Hill at Boston College. The inclines are bad, but the plateaus are worse. The plateaus, they remind your legs of how much nicer it is to run on a flat surface. Remind you just enough to take the starch out of those legs for the next incline. Then you think, 'Well, at least I get to go downhill too,' but the decline is the worst of all, because it stretches the wrong muscles at the wrong time.
"Yes, you've got to respect Heartbreak, John, respect it and learn it. Go out to the firehouse and run just Heartbreak, when you're good and fresh. Run it nice and easy. See how it feels, how long it really is. Spot some landmarks and memorize them. Marathon day, it's the landmarks that'll tell your mind how much farther you've got to go after you can't depend on your legs for messages no more. Yes, once you train a little on Heartbreak, you'll know you have to ease off earlier in the race.
"What I 'm saying is, save some for Heartbreak, John. Save a lot."
Absolute temperature, five above. With the wind chill along the frozen river, nearly thirty below. Doing eight miles instead of ten, a concession to the February weather. Thanking God and Nancy for the Gore-Tex suit, I wore longjohns underneath it, wool mittens and ski mask over it. I even stuck the temples of a pair of sunglasses through the edges of the eye slits on the mask, the lenses reducing both the glare and the bite of the wind. If you're not too cold, you're not too old, right?
The temperature made the running paths icy. By the time I'd turned for home at the four-mile point, my stride and my breathing were on automatic pilot, my mind drifting to the Andrus case. It had been a month since I'd seen the professor at the Ritz for breakfast, and she was due back in Boston that day to deliver a lecture. In the interim I'd helped a defense attorney on a questionable manslaughter charge. I'd also called Inés Roja three times: no more notes at the school or house, Andrus telling Inés the same thing from San Diego.
The notes. Our boy sends one when Andrus leaves for Sint Maarten, but none when she comes back. And none when she leaves for San Diego. Does that mean he knew about the Caribbean trip but not the California one? Walter Strock, Tucker Hebert, and Manolo obviously knew about both junkets, Louis Doleman probably neither. Ray Cuervo and Gunther Yary each were sharp enough to find out where Andrus was at any time.
Another thing. The mode of delivery varies: U.S. mail, by-hand delivery, pasted label, intraschool system. Why be erratic in both when and how the notes are sent? To throw Andrus even more off balance?
My frustration level was lowered by Andrus being three thousand miles away as her case went nowhere. Passing the Hyatt Regency, however, I decided to burn off the frustration I did feel by upping my pace a little, the wind flapping the Gore-Tex jacket against my shoulders as I ran before it.
At the office that day, Inés Roja called. The professor had arrived from the coast for her lecture that night. If possible, Andrus wanted me to come to the town house by five P.M. and ride with her to the site. I said I'd be there.