“Do you two,” he asked the empty room, “ever do things analogous to what we did this morning?”
She reappeared briefly. “All the time.”
So there too, earthling.
Vincent was waiting in Neenan’s office, along with Michael, today in a dark blue three-piece suit with a carnation in his lapel.
“Hi, Vinny,” Neenan said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I was in Sacramento over the weekend, improving the fortifications. I went over to San Francisco to have brunch with Len and his partner.”
“How’s Len?”
“Seems fine. Very active in his parish.”
“He always was the most religious one in the family.”
They were beating around the bush. What should he say? Nothing till Vinny made the first move.
“Megan won’t talk to me.”
“That makes for a lot of silence.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Vinny shifted uneasily. “She shouts at me and won’t let me answer.”
What the hell do I say to that?
So he said nothing.
“She says I am a coward, a traitor, and an asshole.”
Neenan’s mind went blank. The conversation was not going well. “I knew a lot of young women like her when I was at St. George’s. Kids from Immaculata mostly. Often in error, never in doubt.” Dumb comment, albeit true.
“She’s not in error this time. I am all of those things and maybe more.”
Michael shook his head in disbelief. Neenan was blowing the conversation.
“She says she’ll divorce me if I go to work for WorldCorp.”
“That’s a little harsh.”
Michael winced.
“I wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Vinny said dolefully.
Not having anything to say, Neenan figured he’d better keep his mouth shut.
“So I’m wondering if maybe I can return to NE.”
“You tell him that will get you off the hook. Everyone in the firm is blaming you for losing him. That’s true, by the way, only they are afraid to tell you.”
“Wow! Does that get me off the hook! I’m getting blamed on all sides for losing you. As I told you, they wanted you and they figure the only reason for losing you is your old man.”
Michael nodded patiently.
“That’s not true, Dad. You know that.”
“Regardless. They don’t.”
“Tell him that he can withdraw the resignation, which hasn’t been passed on to the board yet. Then give it back to him and let him tear it up.”
“Right.”
“Simple matter. The board has not met since you gave me your formal resignation. I’ll give it to you and you can tear it up … . It’s around here somewhere.” He rummaged through his file drawers.
“Fourth drawer on your left, blue folder.”
“Right! Here it is!” He passed the letter over to his son.
“You sure you want me back, Dad?”
“Me personally? Sure I want you back, but what I think hardly matters. The team wants you back.”
Michael nodded, as if to say, you’re finally pitching strikes again.
With a broad grin on his face, Vinny tore the resignation into little pieces.
They grinned and shook hands with each other.
“Now get down to business.”
“We’re definitely going ahead with Starbridge. We have the rights already. We have to purchase the script. Has that Irish goddess to whom you’re married read it?”
Vinny nodded. “She loves it, naturally.”
“And she’s figured out who wrote the screenplay?”
“The nom de plume didn’t fool her for a second.”
“That presents a bit of a problem for us. Annie wants to remain out of the picture for the present, which is a good idea. If the media make it look like a vanity project for me, they’ll destroy it before it’s off the ground.”
“Compare you to William Randolph Hearst?”
“Or worse. So we’re going to have to negotiate indirectly with a lawyer she’ll choose. Change her name again so that other people as smart as Meg won’t figure it out. I’ll find out who she’s chosen as a lawyer and pass it on to you. You can pass it on to Joe and let him handle all the negotiations. It wouldn’t do for us to get involved.”
“Deniability?”
“I don’t want to let there be any appearance of conflict of interest.”
“I’ll take care of it, Dad. Don’t worry at all.”
“You want to tell the others or should I?”
Michael smiled happily. “Let me tell them, Dad. I’ll make a joke out of it.”
“Big joke,” Michael sneered.
“Shut up, I carried it off.”
“With my help.”
“I don’t deny that.”
“May I make a suggestion,” Neenan said, “about your wife?”
“Sure. I’m still in deep trouble.”
“Stop by Tiffany’s and buy her something truly gorgeous.”
“Hey, great idea!”
“I have an account there.”
“Really? I’ll use my Visa card, but thanks anyway.”
In the days after his double victory, Neenan discovered that nothing in real life is ever quite “happily ever after.” Anna Maria and Vincent were both a bit unstable in their relationship with him, shaken in their confidence. Moreover, the launching of Starbridge became bogged down as they tried to prepare for the press conference to announce it. Lawyers and agents got in the way.
Sex between Neenan and his wife became “spousal,” satisfying and frequent, but the ecstasy had faded. Anna Maria was not yet quite ready to forgive herself.
Or maybe their delayed honeymoon was now over.
Vincent regained his composure with the rest of the firm, but was still uneasy with his father. He had not regained the relaxed and witty camaraderie of his first few days as president of NE.
“It’ll take time,” Michael had argued.
“Time?”
“As I have said before, the Other has different perceptions of time than we do.”
Tim Walsh had settled the pension suit for all but one of his clients. The court threw out the suit of the remaining plaintiff. Neenan offered to restore his pension if he dropped the appeal. When his new lawyer deserted him, he accepted.
Neenan did not hear the Palestinian lullaby anymore and no special cookies appeared.
He talked to Len on the phone several times a week.
Anna Maria and he had canceled two weekends in Paris because of the distractions of lining up the tin soldiers for Starbridge.
Neenan felt again the sensation that he was falling apart, that what he had been he wasn’t anymore and that what he had become wasn’t really him. Melting ice, he thought. An ice floe becoming a puddle of water.
He knew his time was running out. So, he was convinced, did the seraphs, who were remarkably solicitous toward him, as if they wanted to make his final days easy.
Nothing is ever easy.
Finally everything was in place for Starbridge. NE staged a solemn high press conference at the Four Seasons Hotel in which Neenan appeared on the platform with Jerry Carter and Ms. Howatch.
Carter seemed as nice a young man as one could want for a son-in-law. He did not mention Jennifer and neither did Neenan.
The press conference was a huge success. The three participants might have made a wonderful comedy act.
The networks began a bidding war. The first one to call was Walter Murtaugh himself, the boss of WorldCorp.
“Would twenty million be a good basement, Ray?” the Scotsman asked genially.
“First one in, so it will have to do, Wally.”
“Would you grant us the right of final refusal after all the other bids are in?”
“In return for?”
“For my calling off this bloody, stupid war?”
“I guess that’s a reasonable offer.”
“Deal, Ray?”
&n
bsp; “Deal, Wally.”
“Gentleman’s agreement?”
“Why not?”
“He’s no gentleman,” Michael observed.
“Let him think that I think he is.”
Finally, the weekend before Thanksgiving, Neenan and Anna Maria flew to Paris.
“I want you all to myself for a couple of days,” she said wearily.
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”
28
The Paris weekend died the first day.
Neenan and his wife chatted and joked as the American Airlines MD-11 (Flight 42) hurtled across the Atlantic. There had been few moments of peace, little time to talk after their reconciliation. Perhaps he was slipping back into his old ways. The few days in Paris might turn that around.
When they finally arrived at the Athène Palais after a tedious ride in from de Gaulle, they sank into their bed and slept for several hours, heedless of the Arab children who were running up and down the corridors of the hotel.
Then they showered and went out for supper. They walked along the Left Bank part of the way back to the hotel and admired Notre-Dame, an illuminated ship drifting down the Seine. They made love gently—a prelude to more serious love the next day—and slipped into grateful sleep.
The phone rang from a long distance away. Neenan wondered where he was and why the phone was ringing. He grabbed for it so that Anna Maria could continue to sleep.
“Neenan,” he murmured in a groggy voice.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Vince, what’s up?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour. It’s three o’clock in Paris, isn’t it?”
Paris, that’s where I am.
“I think so.”
“Grandpa Neenan has died, Dad. He had put a padlock on the door to his apartment so the nurse’s aide could not get in for the last few days. The management finally forced the door. They found him dead of a stroke. Grandma is still alive, but out of her mind.”
“She’s been that way for some time,” Neenan said automatically.
The old man had done himself in out of his own malice.
“I took care of matters because you are so far away. We have flown Grandma to Chicago and have her in a nursing home in Lake Bluff. Grandpa’s body will come in late tomorrow, that’s Saturday here. We have scheduled a one-day wake on Sunday afternoon and a funeral at your parish on Monday morning. Burial at Calvary. I hope this all meets with your approval.”
Neenan’s head was reeling. Thank God Vinny had taken charge.
“It certainly does, Vincent,” he mumbled. “Thank you for taking over.”
“You will be coming home for the wake and funeral?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I have tentatively scheduled you on AA 41 from de Gaulle to Chicago at one twenty-five tomorrow afternoon, that’s today your time. You will arrive in Chicago about four. Will Annie be coming home with you?”
He glanced at his wife, now wide-awake. Somehow she had understood the conversation. She nodded her head.
“Yes, she will.”
“Actually I have made reservations for both of you. They will revalidate your ticket at the Admiral’s Club. An American agent will meet you at noon at their check-in counter at the airport. I’m sorry, Dad, to bring you bad news.”
The old man had his last revenge. Neenan knew that he and his wife would never return to Paris.
“Thank you, Vincent. And thank you for taking care of everything so smoothly.”
“I’m sorry your trip has been ruined … . Peter and I will meet you at Terminal 5 tomorrow, which is today where you are.”
“Your mom?” Anna Maria asked when he had hung up the phone.
“Dad.”
“I am so sorry, dear.”
“I find that I am too,” he said slowly. “I hated him, yet somehow I mourn him.”
“I understand.”
How could she?
There was grief inside him, sorrow for what might have been. But the mourning was locked up, perhaps never to emerge.
In a way the wake on Sunday would be his wake while he was still alive.
He shivered.
Anna Maria drew him into her arms. “Try to get some sleep, dear,” she said. “We will have a long couple of days ahead of us.”
She went back to sleep promptly. In the straightforward family life that had nurtured her, there was no understanding of the possibilities of ambivalence with which his family had drained each other’s lifeblood.
Would he and his father meet in whatever awaited them both?
Would he be able to smother his hatred for the old man? Or express his love?
“Sorry,” a voice said.
“Huh?”
“Michael here.”
“Oh … . Thank you.”
“We didn’t know.”
“I understand. You folks don’t know the future.”
“We knew he would die soon. We did not know when or how.”
“No problem, Michael … . I will be following him shortly.”
“These matters are in the hands of the Almighty, whose time frames are not ours … . May I help you sleep?”
“That would be great.”
The angel touched his forehead and Neenan slept almost immediately.
The wake on Sunday afternoon was sparse. A couple of old friends from the World War II years, senior executives from National Entertainment and their spouses, Michael and Gaby in solemn black, visible only to Neenan and his wife, the priests from the parish, Amy Jardine, her hair down, her dress attractive. She hugged Neenan and introduced him to her handsome husband.
At the end of the day, Jerry Carter and Jennifer walked in. “My sympathies, sir,” Carter said respectfully, perhaps knowing some of the strange story of Neenan and his family.
Jenny fell into his arms and sobbed, not for the loss of a grandfather who had ignored her, but for the pain she and her father had suffered through the years.
“I love you, Daddy,” she said over and over again as they hugged one another and wept together. “I’ll never leave you again, never.”
“I won’t let you go again, Jennifer, never.”
So his father had indirectly provided the unexpected gift of his daughter’s love. Donna had finally been routed. Not a bad trade. A lot less guilt feelings.
They went out for supper together—Neenan, Anna Maria, his daughter and her young man, his son and his wife. An almost complete family reunion. Neenan was quiet and thoughtful through the meal as he pondered his own wake, which would certainly happen in a couple of weeks. The women, however, were lighthearted, rejoicing as women do in restored bonds. Vincent and Carter watched Neenan closely, perhaps trying to figure out what kind of a man he was.
Lost cause.
The priest who had told the story about Patricia the Penny Planter said the Mass and preached about the infinite grace and mercy of God’s love.
When they returned from Calvary cemetery the next day, there was a message that his mother had died at the nursing home. Neenan reacted numbly. He sank into a chair in the drawing room of his house, Annie’s arm around him, and let his children make the arrangements.
Because it was Thanksgiving week, the wake would be postponed till Friday evening and the Mass would be on Saturday morning. Len and Johnny would be able to fly in and spend Thanksgiving with them.
A final gift from his mother, a last reunion with all his family. At Anna Maria’s insistence, they would all stay here and she would preside over the meal with Megan’s help.
Neenan accepted these arrangements without comment. What would be, would be.
Yet on Thanksgiving Day he played the paterfamilias role with wit and charm and vitality.
Later, as he stood at the window of his bedroom and stared somberly at the lawn under the bitter cold starlight, he tried to make sense of it all.
Who was his mother? Had he ever really known her? What had destroyed her life? What point did life have
for someone like her? How had it all turned bad?
He thought of her in her high school graduation picture, a bright, lively, pretty young woman with her whole life ahead of her. The hopes had all turned to nightmares. Why?
No answer, he thought grimly.
“You were wonderful today, my darling,” his wife told him. “Perfectly splendid.”
“Thank you, Annie. It was mostly an act.”
“I know that, but it was a marvelous act. You bound the family together.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t been much for you the last couple of days, Anna Maria.”
“You’ve been a wonderful example of how a man deals with complicated tragedy.”
“Have I?” he said absently.
“Come to bed now and let me hold you in my arms.”
“All right,” he said dully.
The seraphs came to the second wake, but they and their chorus were retreating into the background. Perhaps they knew that their assignment with him was coming to an end.
“Tear up the contract yet?” Neenan asked Michael at the cemetery.
“I did that a long time ago.”
29
When death came for Raymond Anthony Neenan, it came suddenly and violently.
On Tuesday the week after the two funerals, he and Peter had driven Anna Maria to her work in Pilsen. She and Neenan had hugged each other, as though they would see each other again at supper. They spoke about a trip to Paris, this time for a week of Christmas shopping. Neenan half-believed that it might happen. He thought he had a little more time. Perhaps till after Christmas.
There was a traffic jam on Halstead. Peter turned off on a side street just north of the Burlington tracks. He turned another corner. Suddenly they were in a scene out of a Scorsese film. On both sides of the street, black cars were lined up. Men, some black, some brown, dressed in dark clothes were pointing guns at one another. Two terrified little Mexican kids, a boy and a girl, maybe four or five years old, clung to each other in the middle of the street. A drug deal going wrong, Neenan thought, fear clutching at his heart.
This was probably the end. Why had he not told Anna Maria one more time that he loved her?
Automatic weapons began to pop on either side of the street.
They’ll kill those kids, Neenan thought. I can’t let them do that.
Contract with an Angel Page 31
