“You are absolutely right,” Marshall said. “You’re demon-strating real executive potential. With some coaching you could really move up in this company, especially when we expand. In feminist books you know that they advise every woman to find a mentor in her professional life.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “How come you’re reading feminist books?”
“I like to know what goes on in minds like yours.”
Oh, how far off he was. Unless a feminist book had some elegance of language to recommend it, she was apt to shun it. At least that had been so in the past when style seemed to be more important to her than substance.
“About the Bulwer-Lytton,” Marshall continued, “Hanne-lore’s probably mistaken. The materials could have been mis-placed.” You couldn’t read microfiche or microfilm unless you had the right equipment anyway. “Hannelore has a tendency to exaggerate when she’s under stress.”
Hannelore under stress? And what about me, Amalie thought, having to decide about Vermont or looking for another job? And possibly on the verge of becoming a grandmother? Maybe Ed’s daughter was telling him at this very moment that she was pregnant. It would not be a coincidence, Charlie would say. It’s karma. It was meant to be. Please let it not be Ed’s daughter, she thought.
At the staff meeting, Hannelore sat apart, tight-lipped. Marshall had taken Amalie’s advice and told Hannelore that there was to be no public accusation. He’d handle it in his own way. He reported briefly on the prospects for the company, its relocation plans, new markets, cost projections. As though, Hannelore was thinking, any of these people give a damn. Weed them out, get rid of the bad apples. Enough about the myth of democracy. She glared at the comptroller. Him with his phony British accent. Thief.
Ed reported on the library conference. Amalie, he said, deserved most of the credit. She’d buttonholed important people, scouted out new projects. “Tell them, Amalie,” he said like a proud father.
How about the peace pamphlets housed at The Hague which had never been microfilmed, she said. Also, a cache of disintegrating documents about the Choctaw Nation in a warehouse in Oklahoma, just waiting to be preserved on film. And the State Department was dying to have their correspondence with the British Public Records Office put on microfiche and distributed to academic institutions worldwide.…
Just listen to yourself, Amalie was thinking as she talked. I would hire a person like me. A new résumé was taking shape in her head. Her other thought was that she could ask for a whopping raise now and might even get it. If they wanted her in Vermont they would have to make it worth her while. After all, there might be Daddy and Charlie and baby and Mommy and God knows who else in one big house.
On the way out of the meeting, Hannelore complained again about the missing set of microfiche. “Is not missing,” Irina said, surprised. She had come in late. “You told them upstairs to ship quickly to Harvard History Department. No invoice, nothing. I told you it messes up my records.”
“Your records are always a mess,” Hannelore snapped and made for the ladies room.
“Sometimes she is a little crazy,” Irina said to Marshall. “Ask the stock boys upstairs.”
“I believe you,” he said, not at all disturbed. He seemed to be enjoying the fuss. He took Amalie aside. “Nice work. You and I should—”
“—Not a good idea,” she interrupted. “Let’s not blur the lines. Management 101.”
“You could teach the course,” Marshall said admiringly and went back to his office.
Whew! Amalie thought. My mouth said “no no” but my heart said “si si.”
Chapter 14
“Have you been discussing my personal life with grandpa?” Charlie accosted his mother as she came in.
“Whose suitcase is that?” Amalie had almost tripped on it, her view obscured by the groceries she was carrying.
“Grandpa’s.”
“Grandpa’s? What’s he doing here? Where is he anyhow?” He hadn’t let her know he was coming. All it would have taken was a simple phone call. But no, Herbert Marcus felt free to ignore the most basic social courtesies where his daughter was concerned.
“He just went up to Columbia but he’ll be back.” Charlie said. “What did you tell him?”
“Did he say he was going to stay overnight, or what?” Amalie couldn’t imagine what had brought on this urge on her father’s part to spend time with his family.
“Mom! I asked you a question. Did you discuss my personal life with him?”
“Of course not, sweetie. But wouldn’t you rather talk seriously with him than have him ask you about baseball or what you want to do when you grow up?” But of course Charlie is grown up, Amalie thought.
“You told him, didn’t you. About my friend Endive. I know you did. Because he gave me this long lecture on the joys of parenting, then he talked about abortion being a sin. I can’t believe you violated my confidence.” Charlie’s voice was getting teary.
“He’s your grandfather, he’s not a stranger.” But he might as well be, for all the interest he usually took in her and Charlie.
“Suppose he tells other people and then her parents find out.”
“Oh stop being paranoid.” Amalie was sick of the men in her family. Her father, her son, and even Stewart the holy ghost. Not to speak of Marshall Berger. They were going to drive her nuts, all these guys. “Well, I’m starving, I’ve had a hard day at work.” Not strictly true. She had surreptitiously typed up her résumé. It looked pretty impressive even to her.
The answering machine was flashing. “Who called?”
“How the fuck would I know? I don’t listen to your messages. I happen to have some consideration for a person’s privacy.”
The message was from the Mayoral Task Force on Housing. Amalie had come to their attention as a possible candidate for the assistant administrator’s position. They were accepting resumes. Her name had been passed along to them by the official at the Department of Housing Preservation and Development who’d helped dig out her landlord’s records for her second appeal—they had spoken a couple of times—and by Evan Diaz. Aha, guilty conscience, Amalie thought. Trying to make amends for his betrayal, giving the developer information he should have kept to himself. No use, Evan. You, the urban historian, are history in my book.
“Wow!” Charlie said, apparently forgetting about his impending fatherhood. “We could stay in the city, then. They probably get box seats to all the Yankee games.”
“Don’t be dumb.” Amalie was amazed that the housing official even remembered her after all these months. He must have assumed that she was more qualified than she was, or else he just liked the sound of her voice.
“You could bluff it,” Charlie said loyally. “With all the tenant stuff you’ve been doing?”
“‘Tenant stuff’ does not constitute a résumé.” But how great that Charlie was finally beginning to appreciate her. “On the other hand, I just typed mine up and it looks pretty good. There’s a lot about organizational transition and managing innovation in a new team environment.”
“Sounds a little like grandpa.”
“It’s in the blood,” Amalie said. “Now help me unload these groceries, will you.”
A note on the refrigerator door caught her eye. “Charlie, what is this note—‘Herring’? Have you stopped being a vegetarian?”
“It’s ‘Hearing.’ My court hearing is on Thursday, in two days. I hope you didn’t forget. I told you the date fifty times.”
“Thursday? A work day?” She had no recollection of Charlie telling her the exact date. But then she didn’t always listen to him carefully.
“I told you. It’s at ten o’clock. You have to be there. In case…” his voice cracked “…in case I’m sentenced to jail.”
The doorbell rang.
Arms outstretched, a beaming Herb Marcus. “My little girl!”
“What are you doing here?” Amalie said while Charlie uttered a shocked, “Mom!” Trying to recove
r her manners, Amalie said, “You could have let me know. Your timing is not exactly great.”
“Yes, I know, we have a hearing on Thursday.” Herb said smoothly. “Charlie called me in New Haven and I took the train down.”
Charlie actually called his grandfather? “Is this true, Charlie?”
“Sure, why not? The family has to stick together in times like these.”
Herb was smiling broadly.
“Oh, terrific,” Amalie said, yanking open the refrigerator door. “Here’s another entry for Ripley’s Believe It or Not.”
The bell rang again.
“Ah, that will be Alex. I called him from the station.”
Yet another mouth to feed. Amalie needed to be alone with Charlie to talk about the court date. Suppose he was sentenced to a jail term? Yes, Stewart, your fondest hopes realized. No, I’m sorry. I’m just pissed that you’re not here and that a woman’s scarf was found in your car.
Herbert opened the door. “Sparafucile!” he exclaimed.
“Celeste Aida!” Alex cried. “Our old passwords.” The two men fell into each other’s arms.
“This man saved my life once,” Herbert said.
“I have no memory of that,” Alex said. “You’re making it up like you make up all those theories I read about.” He blew his nose conspicuously.
“My daughter wouldn’t be here today if you hadn’t dragged me out of that foxhole at Messina.”
“It was Cassino, Herbie.”
Leaving them to pummel each other affectionately, Amalie steered Charlie to the kitchen table and pushed him into a chair. “Now, about this hearing. Nothing’s going to happen. Don’t worry. This is America. We’ll get the best lawyer.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mom. We already have the best lawyer. Fowler. You met him.”
“How do you know he’s the best?” A barefoot lawyer with a dog named Amicus.
“He once spent two years in a mental institution and when he came out he wrote an exposé about the rights of mental patients and the laws got changed.”
“Some recommendation. Who hired him anyway? Say, could you keep it down in there, please,” Amalie called into the living room. She’d never heard her father laugh so hard.
“The Movement hired the lawyer,” Charlie said. “They know what they’re doing.”
“Will you know what to say? Did the lawyer coach you?”
“Relax. Did you know that Gandhi did his best writing in prison?”
“So did Hitler. You know, I could strangle you sometimes, Charlie.” The mention of Gandhi brought to mind Marshall Berger’s sinister white suits. Did he think they endowed him with special powers, like a shaman’s outfit?
“See,” Charlie continued, “what they don’t know is if they give me a suspended sentence, I’m going down to Guatemala to join the student compañeros.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Amalie said loudly.
“Shhh. Mom, please. They’ll think there’s something wrong.”
“Of course there’s something wrong!”
“Do you need help?” Herbert ducked his head into the kitchen.
“Everything is just fine,” Amalie said through clenched teeth. “God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world.”
“That’s my little girl,” Herbert said gaily and retreated to the living room.
“Where were we?” Amalie said. “Oh yes, the student com-pañeros. First of all, except for that one gym class you’re no longer a student.”
“I’ll register for a class at the Learning Annex. How to talk to women or something like that. Maybe the judge will make me do community service. I’ll tell him about the teenage hotline.”
Amalie could see that Charlie was worried too. Of course. How could he not be? She leaned across the table and planted a kiss on his forehead.
“Don’t worry, Mom. They always dismiss these cases. You’ll meet Endive on Thursday.” Charlie was actually blushing. “She’s afraid to see a doctor. She bought a pregnancy test kit but she couldn’t figure out the instructions so she threw it away.”
“And she’s still not sure who—?”
“It would be nice to know,” he said wistfully. “I want Grandpa to meet her too. Just in case. He’ll be there in court. I asked him to come. I don’t think you really appreciate him enough, Mom.”
“You didn’t grow up with him, OK?” She slapped some plates down on the table. Paper plates it should have been. Who am I trying to impress?
“Well, you turned out all right, didn’t you?” Charlie said, squeezing her hand. “You are the best.”
Happy news, she thought, for however long it lasts.
“Are we going to eat soon?” Herbert called from the living room. Then he said, loudly enough for Amalie to hear, “Listen, Alex. Maybe some day we’ll be roommates again. Remember Fort Dix? You snored so loud…”
“I was composing in my sleep but you were tone deaf.”
#
When Amalie entered the courtroom on Thursday morning, the lawyer Fowler glared at her, probably still irritated because of the doubts she had expressed about his ability to bring the case to a successful conclusion. She was terrified of what might happen to Charlie. She didn’t believe in the system any more. What was going to happen to her boy now that he had chosen the path of most resistance?
Several rows in the courtroom were filled with junior high school children, here to watch democracy in action but mostly to stare at the guards’ holsters. It was stifling in the room and Amalie was fighting the urge to nod off. She hadn’t gotten much rest since her father arrived, trying to keep track of his comings and goings and worrying about today.
“I have a trumpet card,” Herbert said when they discussed Charlie’s hearing. “Even you will sit up and take notice.”
A door opened and a group of young people filed in. There was Charlie, flashing a victory sign at Amalie and pointing to the girl behind him. But all Amalie could see was a cascade of blond hair descending to her coccyx. Mother of my grandchild? Future daughter in-common-law? The two kids had met when they climbed a fence together outside a nuclear installation. Grounds for a lasting relationship.
Please don’t let them go to jail, Amalie prayed. Just give them a chance. I’ll take in the Endive and the child. I’ll find work, two jobs if necessary. She remembered the phone call from the Task Force on Housing. She would polish up her résumé and send it to them. Downplay her literary background and Berger MicroPubs experience. JOB OBJECTIVE: Position of Civic Responsibility. QUALIFICATIONS: Familiarity with NY Housing Code and agencies; HPD, DHCR, NPP, HUD—wasn’t that a movie with Paul Newman?—HDA, recent Appellate Court Decisions, Section 8, “order to correct,” maximum base rent, Senior Citizen Rent Increase Exemption. “Tenant stuff,” as Charlie put it. Just right for the Task Force on Housing. On-the-ground experience with tenant issues, conflict resolution…If Charlie was sentenced to a jail term, God forbid, she would need all the pull she could muster. Though “Housing” didn’t exactly mean the housing of prisoners.
“All rise.”
The judge’s gavel brought her to attention. Charlie had said he would join the student compañeros in Guatemala. He might be safer in jail. The matter was out of her hands. You can’t control everything, Stewart had said. But he would have tried anyway. The lawyers and assistant D.A.’s had been summoned to the bench. After a couple of minutes they burst out laughing. What could be funnier than deciding a person’s life? She noticed that her father and Alex Dobrin had come into the courtroom. Fowler handed the guard a note which was given to the judge.
Amalie’s father was going to testify as a friend of the court and expert witness if there were no objections. The judge was looking straight at her. What was her dad trying to do? At worst he might jeopardize Charlie’s case. At best he would just embarrass everyone.
Herb Marcus was holding a pack of notes. In the old days he could speak extemporaneously for hours. His memory must be failing. He was obviously n
ervous. Oh Daddy, she thought, strangely moved. You don’t always have to be perfect.
After being sworn in, Herbert Marcus began to speak. He said he would first provide some background, and began to describe his childhood in Munich, “a city not known for its civil liberties. When I was seventeen the Nazis deported all the Jews. I was strong and so I was sent to work in a munitions factory.”
Amalie was stunned. She felt her heart racing and she seemed to be having trouble breathing. Why, why had he never told her any of this? All she knew was that he was orphaned by the time he came to America. Whenever she tried to get him to talk about his youth, he always changed the subject and she had stopped asking after a while. The only past he was willing to talk about seemed to begin with his enlistment in the US Army during World War II.
“I engaged in sabotage at the munitions factory,” he was saying. “I made sure every other bolt was defective. I did it because I believed in justice. These children here believe in justice. They are not harming society. On the contrary.” He was in total control of the courtroom. Amalie could see why he had built a reputation as a mesmerizing teacher. Not a paper was rustling in the room.
I don’t understand, she was thinking, wiping her forehead and trying to piece her father’s life together. US Army corporal, super patriot at home who brooked no criticism of anything American. Justifying the most deleterious government decisions through the use of sociological research and arguing ferociously with Stewart who stopped talking to him after a while.
Fowler rose to question him, as an expert on family mores. “Given the fact that law-breaking could be construed as rebelling against the larger social family…”
What in God’s name did this have to do with Charlie block-ing pedestrian traffic outside of Dow Chemical? Amalie’s father was now making some of his typical pompous pronouncements, even mentioning genetic codes. Yeah, like Stewart’s activism was imprinted in our son.
“Suffering can be ennobling,” Herbert was saying, his eyes popping with emotion. As though he was a better person for having suffered. What nonsense. He lost his parents. He was a slave laborer as a teenager. There was no purpose in suffering, Amalie thought, picturing her father as a skinny orphan boy with Charlie’s eyes. Daddy, she thought, breaking out into a sweat, Save Charlie if you can even though no one saved you.
Amalie in Orbit Page 16
