where Lazar had flung it, see the roads, tracks, rails it had been hustled down. “Yes,” he said as he spread his hand across it, left it there a moment, then drew it achingly away.
Lucy had left a note on the door telling him she’d gone to Mrs. Donaldson’s, so he trudged back down the hallway to get her. She answered the door immediately.
“Why are you here?” she asked, surprised.
He smiled quietly. “Just to pick you up.”
“I thought you were going out with Mom.”
“I am, a little later.”
“And I’m going home with her tonight, right?”
Corman nodded. Tonight and forever, he thought, and ever and ever and ever. And he would be away as she grew tall and her voice changed by imperceptible degrees. He would be away when she failed at this, triumphed at that, away when she woke up with a start, when the cat died, the bird escaped, away when she fell, away when she got up again. And in the end he would no longer feel familiar with the shape of her leg, the length of her hair, because, by some formula the world took powerfully to heart, he had failed to be what he should have been.
“So when are you meeting Mom?” Lucy asked.
“Around eight,” Corman told her. “Mrs. Donaldson will stay with you until we get back.”
Lucy turned excitedly and called to Mrs. Donaldson that her father had arrived, and that she was going home. “Is it okay if I eat with her tonight?” she asked as they headed toward their apartment. “She cooks better.”
“Yeah, it’s okay.”
Lucy slapped her hands together. “Great,” she said happily, then rushed away, bounding down the corridor ahead of him for a few yards before she stopped abruptly, as if caught by a sudden thought. Then, for no reason he could understand, she returned to him slowly, her eyes oddly tender, tucked her hand in his arm and walked beside him silently to their door.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
LEXIE ARRIVED almost exactly at eight. She smiled tentatively when Corman opened the door, then came slowly into the small foyer as he stepped back to let her pass.
Lucy rushed from her room to greet her. “Hi, Mom.”
Lexie pulled her into her arms, smiled warmly. “Hi. How are you?”
“Fine,” Lucy said. “I’m staying with you tonight.”
“Absolutely,” Lexie said. She looked at Corman, then spoke to him finally, her voice already a bit strained. “Hello, David.”
Corman nodded.
“You left the party quite early.”
“The shoot was over.”
Lucy tugged Lexie’s hand. “Did Papa tell you?”
“Tell me what, honey?”
“Mr. Lazar died.”
Lexie’s eyes shot over to Corman. “I’m sorry, David.”
“He’d had a stroke,” Corman said, almost dismissingly, carefully controlling himself. “He wasn’t in very good shape.”
“Still, it’s …”
“Yes, it is,” Corman said, cutting her off. He reached for another subject. “Well, this restaurant we’re going to, do I need a tie, jacket?”
“Well, yes, I think so,” Lexie said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Corman shrugged. “No, I don’t mind. Where are we going?”
“I thought we’d make things a little classy tonight,” Lexie told him. She smiled. “If that wouldn’t bother you.”
“Not at all.”
“He’d like it,” Lucy said enthusiastically. “He eats pizza most of the time.”
Lexie’s eyes remained on Corman’s face, as if she were trying to determine exactly what was left between them, affection, amusement, just the pull of years.
“I’ll be ready in a minute,” Corman told her. He turned, walked into the living room and pulled his jacket from the table. He could hear her moving toward him, stepping cautiously into the room, as if odd things might be lurking in its shadowy depths.
“Okay,” he said when he turned back toward her. “I’m ready.”
For a moment, she didn’t move. Her eyes scanned the room, surveying its stained walls and battered furnishings, the way everything seemed crippled by age and wear, the downward tug of squandered chances. She looked like a lawyer taking notes, building a case for impermissible disarray.
“I said, I’m ready,” Corman repeated.
“Oh, good,” Lexie said, coming back to him. She looked toward the door, smiled at Lucy as she headed toward it then hugged her once again when she got there. “See you later,” she said lightly.
Corman stepped around her and opened the door. “ ’Bye, kid,” he said to Lucy. “I’ll tell Mrs. Donaldson to come right over.”
“She’s bringing dinner,” Lucy said to Lexie. “Pot roast. It’s great.”
Lexie smiled thinly. “Sounds wonderful,” she said, her voice faintly distant, as if it were coming from a better part of town.
Corman headed down the corridor, stopped at Mrs. Donaldson’s door and knocked lightly.
The door opened immediately.
“Lucy ready for dinner?” Mrs. Donaldson asked.
Corman nodded toward Lexie. “This is Lucy’s mother,” he said. Then to Lexie, “Mrs. Donaldson.”
They shook hands quickly.
“You have a wonderful little girl,” Mrs. Donaldson said. “Such a sweetie.” She smiled sympathetically at Lexie, as if in commiseration for all the times she’d had to put up with a rootless man.
“Well, we’d better be going,” Corman said to her. “We should be back fairly early.”
Mrs. Donaldson waved her hand. “Take your own sweet time,” she said expansively. “Me and Lucy always have a grand old time.”
Lexie led the way to the restaurant, walking briskly, as she always did, until they’d made their way silently across town to a place called Pierre-Louis on East 56th Street. Pierre himself was standing at the door as Corman followed Lexie in. For a few minutes, the two of them stood together, talking of mutual acquaintances and the state of things in the Hamptons while Corman shifted awkwardly just to Lexie’s right, silent, patient, one of her retainers.
“Well, it’s very good to see you again, Mrs. Mills,” Pierre said in conclusion. “Mathieu will show you to your table.”
Mathieu did precisely that, then directed a few other people around until the table had been served with drink, bread and butter. The bread was good, like the butter. Corman recognized the scotch as the same Jeffrey had ordered for him at the Bull and Bear.
“So, it’s … the restaurant … it’s nice,” he began haltingly after the first sip.
Lexie smiled. “It’s funny how little we have to talk about.”
“Divorce puts a clamp on things.”
“Yes.”
“That’s just the way it is.”
“I’m afraid so,” Lexie said. She took another sip from her drink. “I’m really sorry to hear about Mr. Lazar.”
“I was, too.”
“Was it painless?”
