Bookman's promise

“Yeah, it is. It’s really none of my business, but Erin’s like the kid sister I never had and she’s been like a daughter to Lee. She lived with us after her father died and we love her like family. We want the best for her and she could have it all. She’s got a great legal mind; she could climb the heights and make a ton of money while she’s at it.”

“Maybe she just wants a quieter, gentler life.”

“I should have known I’d get no sympathy from you. You couldn’t care less about money.”

“Long as I’ve got enough to keep my act together.”

“Erin’s father was like that. Until one day when he really needed it and didn’t have it. Knock wood and hope that doesn’t happen to you.”

“Hope what doesn’t happen?”

“Oh, don’t ask. It’s a story with a bad ending and I never should have brought it up.”

I didn’t say anything. She gave me a sad look like nothing I had ever seen from her. “D’Angelo and Lee were partners very early, a pair of idealistic young eagles right out of law school. Mrs. D. had died. I was a silly adolescent worshiping Lee from afar and Erin was just a child.”

She wavered, like maybe she’d tell me and maybe she wouldn’t. “I really shouldn’t have gotten into this,” she finally said. “Do me a favor, forget I said anything about it.”

“Sure.”

“Promise.”

“I promise, Miranda. I will never breathe a word to anybody— not that I have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not important now. If Erin ever brings it up, fine. I’d just rather it didn’t come from me. She’s a great girl and we’re very proud of her. What’s not to be proud of? She got perfect grades all through college and look at her now, working in a big downtown law firm.”

“What’s she doing schlepping writers around? Can’t be much money in that.”

Exasperation returned in a heartbeat. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. She’s been doing that since her days at the DU law school, and she won’t give it up. Suddenly she’s tired of law. Now what rings her bell is lit-tra-ture. She’s even been writing a novel, God help her, in her spare time.”

“I can’t imagine she’s got any time to spare.”

“She works by day and drives by night, writes when she can. Are you interested, Cliff?”

“I don’t know—would you want me to be?”

Miranda gave me a long, wistful look. “You’re a good guy, Janeway, and I mean that. But I’m afraid you’d only reinforce all her bad ideas.”

The woman she had invited as my opposite was certainly nice enough—a ravishing redhead named Bonnie Conrad —and we spent much of the evening, when we weren’t listening to Archer, in a pleasant exchange of views on world events. But my eyes kept drifting back to Erin d’Angelo, who provided such a cool presence at Archer’s side. Once she caught me looking and her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she had picked up a whiff of my thought and found it as welcome as a fresh dose of herpes. Then she must have seen the beauty of my inner self, for she smiled, and in the heat of that moment all I could think was, Oh, mother, what a wonderful face.

Rounding out our party were Judge Arlene Weston and her husband, Phil, a plastic surgeon who had carved up some famous Hollywood noses before moving to Denver in the sixties. It was Phil who brought up the Supreme Court. “Arlene says you had an interview with Reagan.”

“You’re not supposed to talk about that, sweetheart,” Arlene said. “It’s bad luck to bring it up before the fact.”

“I don’t think it matters much,” Lee said. “It was just a visit, certainly not what I’d call an interview. Tell you the truth, I’m still not sure what started it all.”

“Somebody gave him your name, that’s pretty clear. Must’ve been a hell of a recommendation from one who’s very close to that inner circle.”

“Maybe he’s looking for a pal to come in on slow afternoons and keep him company while he watches his old movies,” Phil said, joshing.

“All his afternoons are slow,” said Archer.

“Whatever it was, it’s pretty hard for me to take it seriously at this point,” Lee said.

“I don’t see why,” said Bonnie. “You’d make a great justice.”

“That’s not how they choose them,” Archer said. “Politics is what counts in that game, not legal acumen.”

“Hal’s right about that,” Lee said. “I imagine it’s the same in academia. The good teachers get lost in the shuffle, while those who play the game get ahead.”

“And the same in books,” Archer said. “Them that sits up and barks gets the awards.”

“I never saw you barking for anybody.”

“Maybe the Pulitzer committee’s above all that,” Archer said. “Or maybe I just got lucky.”

“Maybe you’ll both get lucky,” Arlene said. “Wouldn’t that be something? A Pulitzer prize winner