“Your ma and da were wonderful tonight. They acted like experienced world travelers.”
“Where do you think I learned how to be such a terrible faker? When you saw them weren’t they being the poor Galway peasants for your German tourists?”
She had finally made me laugh, a real laugh and not a hollow gasp. “They’re on our side, aren’t they?”
“How could they not be after they met your da and ma and the family? And didn’t Prester George charm me ma?”
“Better her than you?”
“Now don’t be jealous of the poor priesteen.”
We laughed again.
Poor little priest indeed.
“But they don’t like the prospect of a big family quarrel, do they?”
“They do not, Dermot Michael, not at all, at all. Laurence thinks me da is too old to be the head of the family and therefore he is the head. He just brushes them aside … But now, Dermot Michael, we have a major decision to make before we go to our respective beds.”
“Do we now?”
“We do.”
“And that is about?”
“Our wedding night.”
“Are we getting married?”
“This is a serious issue, Dermot Michael Coyne. We have to resolve it now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I assume that you’re planning to disrobe me when we finally get back to our house?”
“I’ll admit that thought had occurred to me.”
“All you men think about is ripping off a woman’s clothes.”
“Not all by any means.”
We were holding hands and giggling.
“There are two ways the matter can be arranged.”
“Are there now?”
“The first is that I sneak off somewhere and put on some frilly and transparent nightgown and robe and then you take those off me before you have your evil way with my body.”
“How transparent?”
She slapped my hand playfully. “That’s an irrelevant question … Transparent enough.”
“And the other delicious option?”
“You take off all me wedding clothes, piece by piece. That’ll be more complicated, and won’t you be having clumsy fingers by then?”
“Piece by piece?”
“That’s what I said. Slowly, of course, so as to embarrass and tantalize me.”
“Very slowly.”
“And very gently, mind you.”
“Naturally.”
I pretended to be thinking seriously about this difficult decision.
“The end result will be the same,” I said.
“It will be that.”
“Your radiant self.”
“I don’t know about the radiance. I’ll be blushing, that’s one thing certain and all yourself taking away all me modesty.”
“A difficult choice between two delightful experiences … Do I have to decide tonight?”
“Dermot Michael Coyne, this is no laughing matter!”
“We’re both laughing.”
“That’s because I’m so mortified.”
“Go long wid ya, woman, you love every moment of it.”
“You must decide tonight!”
“Why?”
“Don’t I have to decide on me lingerie tomorrow morning?”
“So that’s what it’s all about!”
“Tis!”
Now she was blushing.
“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’d prefer the second option.”
She smiled happily.
“Sure, wouldn’t that be my favorite, too.”
“Not that it’s the last time I’ll be doing such wicked things.”
“I suppose you think you’re going to undress me every night for the rest of me life!”
“And maybe a couple of times every day, too.”
“I’ll not tolerate that kind of lollygagging, not at all.”
“Woman, you’d better get used to spending a lot of your time stark naked.”
She was now blushing furiously, but grinning complacently. “That’s a terrible thing to say to an innocent young woman like me, Dermot Michael Coyne!”
“You started the conversation.”
“Tis true … Oh, Dermot me darlin’ man, I love you so much.”
She kissed me, despite Sonia and the other folks in the bar, none of whom were paying any attention to us in our dark corner.
“Now can we talk about the terrible, obscene things I’ll do to you after I get your clothes off?”
“We certainly cannot … Tis time you get your sleep, you’ve had a long hard day.”
“Fair enough.”
“The first thing you’ll do,” she said when we were out of the tavern and on Southport Avenue, “is kiss me boobs for the longest time and set me on fire, but that will only be the beginning, won’t it now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“A lot more fire after that?”
“Sounds like fun.”
Doubtless she had the whole scenario planned in her head and would tell me about it in due course.
Better to know what is expected of you than not to know, right?
RIGHT, the Adversary agreed.
“Go away,” I told him.
SHE JUST WENT THROUGH THAT CONVERSATION TO CHEER YOU UP, he taunted me.
“Wouldn’t I be knowing that without yourself telling me?”
25
THE MORNING papers just about put me away in a federal penitentiary, probably but not certainly a minimum security camp somewhere. They reported that it was a foregone conclusion that a plea bargain was being worked out. Cindy’s fierce denials were written off as part of the plea bargain process.
Daffy Dale must be leaking this stuff, I thought, but to what purpose? To put pressure on us to cave in? Surely she didn’t think it would be that easy. Or because she had become such a monomaniac that she actually believed that it would happen?
Most likely she wanted to establish a public image of me as a crook on the edge of admitting his guilt; then, if there were ever a trial, the jury would think me a crook even before the evidence.
As I stared out at the low gray sky and the scudding clouds that were hurrying towards the lake just above my windows, I decided that she believed the whole scenario—from Jarry’s tape to my departure in handcuffs for prison. All right, she was crazy. But wasn’t there someone else in the U.S. Attorney’s Office who could restrain her? Or in the Justice Department?
Apparently not.
A spokesman for the Feds had dismissed Sam Harris with the brusque comment that a man’s belief that he had not been a victim of fraud did not prove that fraud had not been committed against him.
How could they say that stuff with a straight face? How could the papers repeat it as though it were a serious comment?
It was all a surrealistic nightmare, leavened by erotic tête-à-têtes with a delicious woman.
I should get some exercise today. Doubtless herself had run a couple of miles this morning before her venture to the lingerie shop. I should go over to the East Bank Club and engage in a furious workout. Over there, however, I would have to answer questions about my plea bargain. So I settled for a mile swim in the pool in my building. I assured two elderly women that I was not going to prison. I don’t think they believed me.
Back in my apartment and not feeling one bit better I called my travel agent who had thoughtfully selected a hotel in Galena on the Mississippi as a substitute for San Diego. I told her not to cancel San Diego yet.
I then devoted some thought into what I should pack for the wedding trip, wherever it might end up. Actually I didn’t put much effort into it.
The phone rang.
“Dermot Coyne.”
“Mario, Mr. Coyne.”
The Angel’s pleasant thug.
“Yes, Mario.”
“We had a message from a certain individual this morning, Mr. Coyne.”
“Indeed.”
&
nbsp; “This individual is familiar with a request that you and Ms. McGrail made during your recent conversation with our mutual friend.”
“Ah?”
“The individual will be happy to meet with you and Ms. McGrail.”
“Good … When?”
“Today. At 1:30 a car will pick you up at the door to your apartment. The driver will stop at Ms. McGrail’s apartment and pick her up if she is not with you at the time. He will deliver you to wherever you wish to go at the end of your conversation. Will that be satisfactory?”
“I’m sure it will, Mario.”
“It is not one of our cars, Mr. Coyne. I assure you, however, there are no grounds for fear. But those individuals involved would not be offended if you had your friends follow you.”
“Friends” meant Mike Casey’s people from Reliable.
“Thank you, Mario, that’s very reasonable of the individuals involved.”
“We will be in touch with you subsequently to ascertain whether the conversation was satisfactory. Our mutual friend believes that it will be.”
“Thank you very much, Mario.”
“Subsequently” and “ascertain.” Did Mario have an MBA?
I called Nuala. No answer. She was, naturally, at the lingerie shop. I guessed it would be Elegante across the street in the 800 North Michigan Building.
I had guessed right.
Herself, looking like the teenager she was only a year ago, was there in jeans and sweatshirt and carrying an umbrella. A huge pile of silky-seeming bags and boxes were piled up on the counter in front of her, doubtless a treasure trove of lace and other dainty materials.
“Hi,” I said cautiously.
“Dermot Michael Coyne, whatever in the world are you doing here and yourself spying on me?”
She was more amused than displeased. Good for me.
“Pretty good detective work to figure out where you’d be, isn’t it?”
“WHAT do you want?”
Patience slipping away.
I told her what I wanted.
“We’ll have to go, Derm,” she said grimly. “No choice.”
“Certainly,” I said, not clear why we had to go.
“The priesteen is taking me ma and da for a ride on one of them big cruise boats. We were supposed to go along.”
“I can call your man and tell him that we won’t be there.”
She nodded her approval. “Tell him that I’ll explain later.”
Not “we will explain later.” Long ago, like a year or so, I had become very angry at being relegated to my spear-carrier role. Now I took it for granted.
“I’ll do that … Can I help you with these bags?”
“You certainly cannot, Dermot Coyne. Now get out of here. You have no business in a store like this at all, at all.”
She was, however, grinning.
“Won’t I be seeing them soon enough?”
She grinned more broadly and blushed.
I took my leave while the grin still lasted.
I called George and told him that something had come up which would occupy herself for the afternoon and that we would see him and the two sets of parents at supper at Oak Park Country Club. As long as I attributed the change of plans to Nuala, he did not object or even ask for an explanation.
Then I called Mike Casey of Reliable Security and told him about our planned ride in the country.
“Our people will be watching. Mario said it would be safe?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d trust those guys more than I’d trust a lot of businessmen, at least on something like this.”
Why had I said “ride in the country?”
I had assumed that Marie Kavanagh Sullivan would not be living in the city. But who would be alive in the city that might recognize her?
Promptly at 1:25 I was summoned to the lobby of the building, where a handsome and proper driver with silver hair, complete with the prescribed cap, was waiting for me.
“Good afternoon, sir; I’m Brendan,” he said, with only the slightest hint of a brogue. “I’ll be your driver.”
“Grand, Brendan,” I said, slipping into the patois unintentionally.
He ushered me politely into the vast Lincoln and asked whether there was another stop. I gave him our address on Southport. “There are refreshments in the fridge, sir.” he said, and pushed a button which closed a thick window separating driver from passenger.
The refreshments were impressive, sandwiches, small cups of ice cream, Coke, ice, and a couple of different kinds of booze. No Irish whiskey, however.
Nuala was waiting for us in front of the house, perhaps having talked to God in Church before we arrived, as she was wont to do. In her very professional gray dress with black buttons, her hair pulled back severely, she didn’t look very happy. Indeed, there was a trace of red around her eye.
“This is Brendan, Nuala, our driver.”
“Good afternoon, miss.”
“Good afternoon, Brendan.”
Inside the car, I said, “There’s refreshments in the fridge.”
“Food!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She flipped open the door.
“Have you eaten?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Neither have I … Four sandwiches. Shall we split them? You can have two of the ice-cream cups.”
“Now?”
“After you eat your sandwiches, silly,” she said with a very faint hint of a smile.
She put our sandwiches on plates, filled two tumblers with ice and diet Coke, and offered me a plate and a tumbler and a napkin.
“Now don’t spill anything on your nice blue suit, Dermot Michael.”
“No, ma’am.”
“I’m acting like a terrible bitch, am I not?”
“I figure you had more trouble with your eejit brother.”
“I excommunicated me whole friggin’ family!” Despite this catastrophic experience, she virtually inhaled her first ham and cheese sandwich.
“Not your da and ma?”
“No, not them. All the rest of the friggin’ bunch. Well not Fionna, not yet anyway.”
“What’s happening?”
“Isn’t your man having a family council in New York with Nessa and Pedar and Podraig? And don’t they want me to fly down there tomorrow to defend meself? And didn’t I tell them what they could do with that friggin’ scheme?”
Her West of Ireland accent was now as thick as a peat bog.
“I bet you did.”
“‘We’re just so worried about you,’ Nessa says, and herself friggin’ weeping. And I says I can friggin’ worry about meself. And doesn’t she beg me to think about what I’m doing to Da and Ma? And don’t I say that they’re the ones doing it, not me?”
“Aha!”
“And I tell her I’ll be marrying you a week from tonight even if they throw their friggin’ bodies in front of our cars on State Street.”
“Powerful image.”
“And doesn’t she say that she doesn’t see how she can be in the wedding party? And so don’t I fire her as me woman of honor and then hang up?”
“Nuala Anne?”
“I don’t care! I don’t want any long faces at me wedding, seeing that it will be the only one in me life.”
“You’d better believe that.”
“So then Pedar calls me with the same ton of shite and I tell him that I’m disinviting the whole lot of them from the wedding and I don’t want to see their sniveling faces. And then I hang up on him.”
“They keep calling?”
“Didn’t they ever? And didn’t I hang up on them every time?”
“You call your parents?”
“Didn’t I have to? Me ma took it pretty well. All she wants is for us to be happy and she knows we will. I tell her not to let it ruin her cruise this afternoon and she says it won’t. She knows what that asshole Laurence is like, though she doesn’t call him that. But I hate to see them suffer. I don’t give a good sh
ite about the rest of them eejits.”
Her fury was icy. No tears this time around. She turned her attention to her second sandwich, chomping at it like it was one of her siblings.
“It’s all your man,” she continued, clenching the fist which wasn’t occupied with her sandwich. “Sure, if it were someone else, I’d probably be on his side. He’s a grand troublemaker, especially when he has something to work with.”
“Like he does now.”
“Tis not your fault.”
She polished off her second sandwich and reached for an ice-cream cup.
“Me da says you should never drink when you’re angry or sad, but I’d love a touch of something stronger than a diet Coke just now.”
“No,” I said firmly.
“I know … Besides, won’t we need to be bright and quick when we finally meet herself?”
“You’re sure we’ll meet Marie?”
“No doubt about it.”
Normally the hours between eleven and two are the best time during the day to navigate the Chicago Expressway system. Brendan (“A Mayo man,” herself noted with approval) skillfully steered through the mess which Fullerton Avenue always is and then made rapid progress on the JFK. At the Eden junction, he took a right turn and headed north.
“Isn’t the weather clearing up nicely, Dermot? Sure, themselves will have a grand time on your cruise boat. Maybe the day will clear up a lot for us, too.”
“Do you think it will?”
She nodded slowly.
“I think she wants to talk to us as much as we want to talk to her. She’s a smart one, you know? Wasn’t the whole thing her idea?”
“How do you know that?”
“It was too clever for either of them male eejits to think up.”
That settled that.
I amused myself during the trip by caressing some of the more delicate parts of Nuala’s anatomy, a task facilitated by the shortness of her miniskirt. She sighed complacently as my explorations proceeded. A week from tomorrow night we’d be in bed together, no matter what Judge Crawford tried to do to us.
“I’m having meself a grand time,” I remarked, “fantasizing about yourself in all those lacy things you were buying this morning.”
She didn’t rap my arm for this indecency. “Dermot, dear, darling Dermot, I can hardly wait.”
At the end of the Eden we turned on the link to the Tri-State and continued north. We passed the exit for Libertyville and Mundelein, where Prester George had attended the seminary. Finally, only a few miles short of the Wisconsin border we exited at Highway 173 and turned towards the lake. I’d never been this far north of the city off the expressway system. We passed through wooded country with an occasional elaborate gate at the side of the road. These were surely the homes of the super rich. Finally, not too far away from the lake, I thought, we turned again to the right, went through a gate and down a curving lane with glorious red-and-gold autumn foliage towering above us.
Irish Whiskey Page 26
