“You don’t have to … ”
“I know, I know,” Edgar said. “Believe me, I know. But to tell you the truth, I want to talk about this.” He smiled. “I’m glad you’re here. I really am.” He took Corman’s arm and eased him toward the door of the coffee shop. “Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee.”
They took a small table in the back and ordered two coffees. Edgar glanced at the bowl of pickled green tomatoes, the place setting on its white paper napkin, the speckled Formica surface of the table itself while he searched for the words. Finally, he seemed to find them. “She’s a little chunky,” he said happily. “I guess you could tell that.”
Corman nodded.
Edgar laughed. “When it hits her, her whole body trembles, and there’s this long thing that sweeps over her. I don’t know what you’d call it. A peace. You know what I mean? A calm.”
His eyes were very bright, cheerful, childishly amazed. “And she starts to laugh, David, right out loud. It just comes over her, this uncontrollable laugh.” He shook his head. “Jesus Christ, it brings tears to my eyes.”
Corman pulled out his cigarettes and offered one to Edgar.
Edgar hardly seemed to notice. “You know what she makes me feel?” he asked emphatically. “She makes me feel like I’m doing something good, comforting somebody, making her life better.” He lifted his hands upward. “How often do you get to do that in life? I mean, do it in a way that you see it right in front of you? How often does that happen?”
Corman didn’t answer, just let him talk.
Edgar stared him straight in the eye. “I can’t be with her on Christmas, you know? But, David, about once every two weeks or so with her, I’m goddamn Santa Claus.”
Corman smiled and lit his cigarette.
Edgar studied Corman’s face. “I hope you’re not laughing at me,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Good,” Edgar said, a little doubtfully. “Because you’re not saying much.”
“Just listening,” Corman said.
The coffees came. Each of them took a quick sip and returned the cups to the table.
“Her name’s Patty,” Edgar said. “Patty Lister. She lives down in Tribeca. A little studio all done up in this sort of Victorian style, doilies everywhere, little framed pictures.”
Corman nodded again. He could see the place just as Edgar described it, a room out of time, from a lost age.
Edgar grabbed him by the wrists. “You know what it is, David?” he said. “This thing with Patty? I’ll tell you what it is. It’s fucking beautiful.” He laughed. “It’s fucking gorgeous. The sex? Let’s face it, strictly double-vanilla. But, Christ, it makes my heart sing.”
Corman tugged gently at his hands, but Edgar refused to release them. Instead, he tightened his grip. “Remember when we were kids? You know, before Dad made it in the ad game?”
“Yes.”
“We had some pretty lean times,” Edgar went on. “Chipped plates. That’s what I remember. All the time at dinner, these fucking chipped plates. You remember them?”
“I guess.”
“Well, I remember them very well,” Edgar said. “And when I was about fifteen, I said to myself, ‘When I get out of this goddamn place, I’m going to make sure I never have to eat off a chipped plate again.’” He sat back slightly, his eyes fixed rigidly on Corman. “And that’s what I’ve done, what I’ve achieved. My wife doesn’t have to eat off chipped plates. I don’t either. And Giselle? Christ, she’s never even seen one.” He stared at Corman hungrily. “That’s something, isn’t it?”
“It’s something,” Corman admitted quietly. “Yeah, it’s something, Edgar.”
“But there’re other things,” Edgar added quickly. “Things you forget.” He watched Corman silently for a moment, as if trying to find something more to say. Finally, he gave up, released Corman’s wrists and sat back in his chair. “So, as the saying goes, ‘What’s new with you?’”
“Nothing much.”
“Anything new on the money front?”
“Not yet.”
Edgar’s face turned grim. “You need something to break, what with Lexie on the prowl.”
Corman nodded.
“I’m supposed to call her tomorrow, set everything up. The meeting, I mean.”
“If you could delay it a little … ”
“I don’t think so,” Edgar said. “She’s not in the mood.”
“No, I guess not.”
Edgar looked at Corman very intently. “David, I hope you know, it’s not like you’re alone in the world.”
“I won’t take money, if that’s what you mean.”
“Call it a loan,” Edgar said. “For Lucy. A loan to her. She’ll pay me when she gets to be a rocket scientist.”
Corman shook his head. “Jeffrey offered. I said no to him, too.”
“Jeffrey?” Edgar said unbelievingly. “Offered what?”
“Lots of things. Money.”
“Money?”
“To pay for a different apartment,” Corman told him. “A school for Lucy. Stuff like that.”
“He offered to pay? Jeffrey? Himself?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus,” Edgar groaned. “Lexie must be burning the bed.” He looked back at Corman awkwardly. “I mean … bad choice of words.”
“No, you’re right,” Corman said. “She probably is. She knows how.”
Edgar thought a moment, his eyes on the coffee cup. “Look, David, you have to face facts,” he said when he looked up again. “When you have your meeting with Lexie, you’re going to have to … ”
“I’m working on something,” Corman said quickly.
“But it’s not coming through,” Edgar said. “Something needs to come through.”
“It will,” Corman told him. “I hope.”
Edgar shook his head determinedly, wagged his finger. “Not hope. That’s your first mistake. Fuck hope. Hope and two bucks, that’s what bets the Lotto. We’re talking about keeping Lucy.”
“I’m doing the best I can.”
“Well, you have to do better,” Edgar said. “What about that other thing, that permanent thing you were talking about?”
“It’s shooting society.”
“So?”
“I don’t know, Edgar.”
“What? You don’t know what?”
Corman looked at him pointedly.
“A compromise?” Edgar asked. “Is that what you mean? That it’s a compromise? If that’s what you mean, say it.”
“It’s a compromise.”
Edgar glared at him fiercely. “It’s a fucking living,” he cried. “That’s what it is.”
“That much, yes.”
“As if it’s shit. What kind of attitude is that?”
“It’s my attitude.”
“It’s a living, for Christ’s sake,” Edgar said loudly. “Compromise? Let me tell you something. If you look at things a certain way, everything’s a compromise. Food’s a compromise. A roof over your head. Shirt, shoes. Everything.”
“Some are worse than others.”
Edgar shook his head. “No. That’s where you’re wrong. They’re all the same.”
“And that’s an argument to make one?”
“You’re goddamn right it is,” Edgar bawled. “Absolutely.”
“Come on, Edgar.”
“I mean it,” Edgar said. “Christ, David. Don’t be a kid. You can’t afford it.”
Corman leaned toward him and stared at him intently. “Why do you want me to keep Lucy?” He paused a moment, unsure. “Or do you?”
“I do.”
“Why? Is it just because I want to, and you’re my brother, lawyer, whatever?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“You’re her father.”
“Lexie’s her mother.”
“Lexie’s a space cadet.”