“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.”
“No, she’s not,” Corman said. “And you know it.”
“Jeffrey’s a twit.”
“That’s not true either,” Corman said. “But I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about me. Why should Lucy stay with me? Why would she be better off?”
Edgar shook his head, as if defeated. “I can’t answer that, David. I really can’t. Maybe you were right the first time. Maybe it’s because you’re my brother. I love you. When you love somebody, you want them to have what they want. You want Lucy. So, there. I want you to have Lucy. Maybe it’s just that simple.”
Corman slumped back into his seat. “That’s not good enough, Edgar. Not for me. Not for Lucy.”
“Well, what are you looking for?” Edgar asked. “A compliment? You want me to say what a great father you are?”
“No.”
“Good,” Edgar said bluntly. “Because there are problems.” He looked at Corman fervently. “We’re talking about very basic things here, David. Support. How basic can you get?”
“It always comes down to that.”
“Out of the dreamworld, yes, that’s what it comes down to,” Edgar said. “Support. Protection. How well you can provide these things.” He leaned toward him. “Listen, I see Patty, right? Okay, maybe to some people that’s wrong. But let me ask you a question. Does it take anything out of Giselle’s mouth? Does it mean the rain comes through the roof?” He shook his head. “No. So really, when it comes down to it, who gives a shit? It’s something anybody can understand. Nobody’s hungry. Nobody’s out in the … the …” He glanced toward the window. “Nobody’s out in the fucking rain.” He shrugged. “Out of the dreamworld, that’s the way it is.”
Corman remained silent for a moment, staring into Edgar’s exasperated face, then glanced away from him, toward the front of the restaurant. The rain had slackened. “I’d better go,” he said. “Before it starts up again.”
