Edgar unnecessarily straightened the collar which circled Giselle’s throat. “Just be careful,” he said to her. “And watch for glass.”
The two girls nodded obediently, then darted toward the immense gray stone which rested at the other side of the playground.
Edgar turned to Corman, smiled. “So, how you doing these days?”
“Okay.”
“Still shooting the city?”
“Yeah.”
“I cover the waterfront,” Edgar said, his standard line for Corman’s work. “Shot anything interesting lately?”
Corman thought of the woman, the blue blanket, nodded.
Edgar didn’t go into it. “I’m handling that plane crash outside Las Vegas. It’s a real tangle. Multimillion-dollar damages. Excluding punitive.”
“How’s Frances?”
“Sick,” Edgar said wearily. “Like always.” He shrugged. “The whole thing could be in her head.”
“I doubt it.”
“I’m not so sure,” Edgar admitted. “But what can you do? Nobody can get to the root of it.” He stroked his sleek, clean-shaven chin. “When you get to be our age, things start to break down.”
“She’s only thirty-seven,” Corman reminded him.
“With some people, it starts early,” Edgar said casually. He glanced toward the rock. Lucy and Giselle had nearly made it to the top. “If she gets hurt, Frances’ll kill me,” he said.
Corman’s eyes drifted toward the traffic on Fifth Avenue, for an instant envisioning the carriage parades of the old city, opera singers in their barouches, couples in sleek white phaetons, the elegant black victoria of Madame Restell, the Avenue’s luxuriant abortionist.
After a moment, Edgar touched his knee gently. “It really is good to see you, David. We should see each other more often.”
Corman nodded. “Victor, too.”
Edgar frowned, waved his hand sourly. “Forget Victor. He’s in his own world.”
“You always say that.”
Edgar shrugged. “Anyway, as far as we’re concerned, the two of us, we should get together more often.”
Corman said nothing.
“But your work,” Edgar added tentatively. “It keeps you busy.”
“Yours, too.”
“But you’re out at night again,” Edgar said. He looked at Corman pointedly. “Or am I wrong about that?”
“Sometimes I work at night.”
“Sometimes? Or is it pretty much a permanent thing?”
“It varies.”
“Two, three nights a week?”
Corman sat back slightly, stared evenly into his brother’s eyes. “Why all the questions about how often I’m out at night?” he asked.
Edgar laughed edgily. “You’ve got a good eye,” he said. “You always had a good eye.”
“What’s on your mind, Edgar?”
Edgar cleared his throat sharply, glanced away, then returned his eyes to Corman. “I got a call from Lexie. She’s making noises. Like a couple of years ago.”
“About Lucy?”
“Yes.”
“What is it this time?”
“She wants to talk to you about a few things. She’s a little concerned about how things are working out.”
“Things are fine.”
“She doesn’t see it that way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know where she gets her information,” Edgar said. “But she knows you’ve gone back to working nights.”
“How could she know that? It couldn’t be Lucy. She knows to keep quiet.”
“No, I don’t think it came from Lucy.”
“Frances,” Corman blurted. “It must be Frances.”
“It could be,” Edgar admitted reluctantly. “She doesn’t mean to let things slip, but sometimes she gets on the phone with Lexie and, you know how it is, the ladies exchange information.”
“So she’s told Lexie I’m working nights again?”
Edgar nodded. “You’re not supposed to be working nights, David. You know that. It’s part of the custody arrangement.”
“I don’t have a choice right now.”
“Well, that’s also a problem.”
Corman looked at him quizzically.
“I’m talking about your ability to support Lucy,” Edgar added.
“I can support her.”
“But to do it, you work this night shift thing,” Edgar said. “That’s a problem when it comes to custody.”
Corman turned away. He could feel his blood heating and worked to cool it off. “What can I do?” he asked finally.
“My advice is for you to talk to her,” Edgar said. “You know Lexie. She’s not a bitch. She’s concerned about Lucy, that’s all. It’s not a spiteful thing. No bitterness. With you two, the whole thing was mutual. Even in the decree. Mutual. Mutual. Mutual. Every other word.”
Corman’s eyes shot over to Edgar. “It’s about money. It always is.”
Edgar stared at Corman sternly. “David, if I thought it was just the money, I’d tell Lexie to do her worst, and we’d see her in court.”
“But money’s what it comes down to,” Corman said. He looked at Edgar knowingly. “Look, Edgar, you and I both know that whenever anybody says it’s not just the money, it’s just the money.”
Edgar shook his head. “Not always. In this case, it’s part of it, but it’s not the whole thing.”
“What else?”
“Well, for one thing, where you live.”
“What about it?”
“Not just the apartment,” Edgar said. “Although that could be an issue too.”
“How?”
“It’s pretty cramped, you got to admit.”
“Cramped?” Corman blurted. “Cramped? Jesus Christ, Edgar, in this city in the nineteenth century people were piled into …”
“Nineteenth century?” Edgar cried. “Nineteenth century? Who gives a fuck about the nineteenth century? We’re talking about the here and now, David.”
“But you have to …”
“Face the facts,” Edgar said sharply, finishing the sentence. “That’s what you have to do.” Suddenly his face softened, his voice grew less tense. “Look, David, you’re my brother. I know how you feel about things. You have a—what would you call it—a romantic streak. Not everybody does.”
“Romantic streak?” Corman said. “Edgar, what are you talking about?”
“Photography, that sort of thing. Working the nights. It’s not the usual thing.”
“So I have to do the usual thing to keep my daughter?”
“No, but you have to make a living at it.”
“See what I mean?” Corman said icily. “Money.”
“Money,” Edgar repeated. “All right, money. I mean your apartment, where it is, the neighborhood around there, the school Lucy goes to.” He lifted his hands, palms up. “All of that’s a problem for Lexie. She has concerns about it.” He waited for Corman to respond, then added cautiously, “Legitimate concerns.”
Corman gave him a withering look. “Christ, you sound like her lawyer.”
“Not at all,” Edgar said. “But I’d be a fool to ignore the nature of her complaint. I know how a judge can see it.”
“See what?”
“The way you live. Things you’ve done. Leaving your teaching job. At least Lucy could have stayed at that little private school if you hadn’t quit.”
“And been a society doll, like the other girls there?”
“A what?”
“A debutante at some stupid ball.”
“David, I hate to break it to you, but not everybody sees that as a fate worse than death,” Edgar said. “They see that Lucy had a few chances which she doesn’t have anymore because you quit your teaching job and ran off to be a photographer.”
“But that’s the point, isn’t it?” Corman said insistently. “I didn’t run off. Lexie did.”
“And maybe that was a little self-indulgent on her part,” Edgar said. “I’m not denying that. But quitting your teaching job, that could be seen as self-indulgent, too.”