I got the sandwich and a beer and came back into the living room. The movie was An American in Paris. ”How was the Laurel School?“ I said.
”The admissions guy was a feeb,“ Paul said.
I looked at Susan. She nodded. ”Regrettable but true,“ she said. ”Everything you hoped he wouldn’t be.“
”Effeminate?“
”Effeminate, affected, supercilious,“ Susan said.
”Susan yelled at him,“ Paul said. His eyes were bright.
I looked at Susan. ”He was a pompous little twerp,“ she said.
”Is he now aware of that?“ I said.
”That’s what she told him,“ Paul said.
”Did he get scared?“ I said.
Susan said, ”I think so.“
”Well,“ I said. ”It can’t be the only school in the world.“
There was an extended dance scene on the television screen. Paul watched it closely. We were quiet while I finished the sub and the beer. I went to the kitchen and put the can in the wastebasket and the plate in the dishwasher. I washed my hands and face at the kitchen sink and came back into the livingroom. There was a commercial on the tube.
I said to Paul, ”You ever been to New York?“
He said, ”No.“
”Want to go tomorrow?“
”Okay.“
”How about you, sugarplum?“ I said to Susan.
”I’ve been,“ she said.
”I know,“ I said. ”Want to go again?“
”Yes.“
I felt the softening of relief and pleasure in the area of my diaphragm.
”We’ll hit the shuttle, bright and early.“
”Bright maybe,“ Susan said, ”but not too early. I have to call in sick and I have to pack.“
”We’ll go when you’re ready, my love,“ I said.
And the next day we did. We got the one o’clock shuttle from Logan to LaGuardia. I had my stuff and Paul’s in a single suitcase. Susan had two. As I drove to the airport I noticed Hawk’s silver Jag parked outside my house. It followed me to the airport garage and as I turned in, it drove by and headed out the exit road. Neither Susan nor Paul noticed. I didn’t remark on it.
We got into New York at about one thirty and into the New York Hilton at about two fifteen. We got adjoining rooms. Paul and me in one, Susan in the other. The New York Hilton is big and conveniently located on Sixth Avenue. It is efficient, flossy, and as charming as an electric razor.
Paul was looking out the window of the hotel, staring down into Fifty-fourth Street far below. I remembered the first time I’d come to New York. I’d come with my father at about Paul’s age. My father had brought me to go to ball games and tour Rockefeller Center and eat in an Italian restaurant he knew of. He’d pinned half his money to his undershirt in the hotel room, and put the other half back into his wallet. I remembered his grin when he pinned the money to his undershirt. Always tell a country boy, he’d said. I remembered the smell of the city and the sound of it, and the sense of it boiling at all hours, and almost always the sound of a siren somewhere at the edge of the sound. I had stood as Paul was standing, staring out. I’d never seen anything like it. And since then I never have.
I went through the connecting door into Susan’s room. She was carefully hanging her clothes up.
I said, ”Have you ever noticed what happens to me when I enter a hotel room?“
She said, ”Yes. Actually it seems to happen in the elevator going up to the hotel room. But what are we going to tell Paul?“
”Maybe later,“ I said. ”The little fella has to sleep sometime, doesn’t he?“
”Let us hope so,“ Susan said. ”Now that we’re here, what are we here for?“
”I want to look into Patty Giacomin. She came here about once a month and stayed overnight. It’s all I could find that seemed in any way unusual. I thought I’d ask around.“
She looked at her watch. ”Do you think Paul would care for a tour of Radio City?“
”I would think so,“ I said. ”Can you stand to take him?“
”Yes.“
”Thank you.“
She smiled. ”You’re welcome. If he’s very tired tonight, he may go to sleep early.“
I nodded.
”Do you suppose they have champagne on the room service menu?“ she said.
