“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.”
“The bottom line is that Lexie gave me custody,” Corman said flatly.
“Yes, she did.”
“Well, doesn’t that mean anything?”
“It means something, but not everything,” Edgar said. “Lexie thought Lucy would be better off with you. Mainly because df the school. She hadn’t married Jeffrey yet. She didn’t have any money. You couldn’t have paid any alimony even if she’d asked for it. And without it she couldn’t possibly have supported Lucy. You could. At least at that time. The way she saw it, giving you custody was the best thing she could do for Lucy. That’s the way the court could see it, too.”
Corman’s eyes drifted down toward his hands. They seemed good to him, strong, capable of expressing complex and indecipherable forms of love; rich, abiding, infinitely subtle forms that held no status in the law.
“I told her I’d speak to you,” Edgar added softly. He touched Corman’s shoulder. “I suggest you talk to her, David. That’s my professional opinion.” He waited a moment, then added, “Also personal, my personal opinion.”
Corman shook his head despairingly. “She’s going to do it. Try to get Lucy.”
“It’s too early to tell exactly what she’s going to do.”
Corman remained unconvinced. “Do you think she’s started anything?”
“You mean, legal action?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Edgar said. “If she were determined to start something, she’d go directly to an attorney. She wouldn’t call me, and she certainly wouldn’t be interested in talking to you.”
“Then what do you think this is all about?”
“I think she wants to persuade you,” Edgar said bluntly.
Corman stared at him unbelievingly. “Persuade me? You mean to give up Lucy? You mean, just do it, voluntarily?”
“That’s my guess,” Edgar said.
Corman shook his head silently.
“What can I say, David?” Edgar added quietly. “We’re not talking about who gets a puppy. We’re talking about a child here. People change their minds.”
Corman remained silent.
“I thought Saturday might be a good time for you two to get together,” Edgar said. “I understand Lexie’s supposed to pick Lucy up on Saturday, and before that you two could go out for a drink, talk things over.” His voice took on a hint of gentle warning. “I wouldn’t let things drift if I were you, David.”
Corman’s eyes shifted over to the rock. Lucy was sitting at the rim of it, her legs dangling over the rounded ledge, her arms flying about as she talked to Giselle. Inside, he could feel a hollowness growing in him, a great engulfing emptiness expanding outward like the ripples of a cosmic blast.
Toward evening, they went to Edgar’s apartment for dinner. Frances greeted them at the door, bussing Corman brusquely on the cheek, then drawing Lucy protectively into her arms, as if trying to comfort her for the way she had to live.
“Want a drink?” Edgar asked as he stepped into the large living room.
“Scotch,” Corman said.
Lucy and Giselle bounded up the stairs to Giselle’s room while Frances bustled about, serving first one hors d’oeuvre, then another, her long, stringy arms buttoned to a silver tray. She seemed curiously drained both by petty service and by being served, and as he watched her, Corman wondered if perhaps the solution to the old war between the sexes might be the reemergence of the woman . warrior, women who resisted protection as fiercely as they did abuse—sent out that message loud and clear: No more!
“Canape?” Frances asked as she bent toward him, the silver tray flashing in the lenses of her wide designer
