_Sunday, April 5
9:00 A.M.
_
When Ally and Knickers walked into her lobby, Alan, the morning
doorman, was there, just arrived, tuning his blond acoustic guitar.
Watching over her condominium building was his day job, but writing a
musical for Off Broadway (about Billy the Kid) was his dream. He was a
tall, gaunt guy with a mane of red hair he kept tied back in a ponytail
while he was in uniform and on duty. Everybody in the building was
rooting for him to get his show mounted, and he routinely declared that
he and his partner were this close to getting backers. "We're gonna
have the next Rent, so you'd better invest now" was how he put it. Alan
had the good cheer of a perpetual optimist and he needed it, given the
odds he was up against.
Knickers immediately ran to him, her tail wagging.
"Hey, Nicky baby, you look beautiful," he effused. Then he struck a
bold E minor chord on his guitar, like a flamenco fanfare, and reached
to pat her. "Come here, sweetie."
"Hi, Alan. How's everything?" Seeing him always bucked Ally up. He
usually came on duty while she was out for her run, and she looked
forward to him as her first human contact of the day. He was younger
than she was--early thirties--but she thought him attractive in an East
Village, alternative-lifestyle sort of way. He was very proud of the
new yin and yang tattoos on his respective biceps. She admired his guts
and his willingness to stick to his dream, no matter the degradation of
his life in the meantime.
"Doing great, Ms. Hampton. Things are moving along."
"Alan, I've told you a million times to call me Ally." Anything else
made her feel like a hundred-year-old matron.
"Hey, right, I keep forgetting." Then he nodded at the manila envelope
Grant had just given her. "Pick that up on your run?"
"I was ambushed by my ex-brother. He passed it along."
"What's that mean?" he asked with a funny look. "Brothers are for
keeps."
"Unfortunately, you're right, Alan. The whole thing was long ago. And
not far away enough." She was urging a reluctant Knickers on through
the inner door. "Seeing him just now was sort of like an aftershock.
From a big earthquake in another life."
"Sounds like you need a hard hat," he said, and turned back to his
guitar, humming. And dreaming.
She took the elevator up to the top floor and let herself into her
apartment, as always feeling a tinge of satisfaction at where she
lived. Home, sweet home.
Her loft-style apartment was in an idiosyncratic building whose six-
year-old renovation had been designed by her old architectural firm,
just before she had to leave and take over CitiSpace. It was their
first big job in the city. She was the one who had designed the large
atrium in the middle and the open glass elevators that let you look out
at tall trees as you went up and down.
She loved the building, but at the time she couldn't have begun to
afford an apartment there. Later, when she could, none was available.
Then she heard through the managing agent that a German owner, after
completely gutting his space, had to return to his homeland in a hurry
and was throwing it on the market for half what he'd paid.
She'd built a bedroom at one end--walling off an area with glass bricks
that let light through--and installed a "country" kitchen at the other,
but beyond that it was hardwood floors and open space and air and
light, along with a panoramic view of the Hudson River out the north
window and a central skylight that kept her in touch with the sky and
the seasons. In much of Manhattan it was possible to go for months and
not actually walk on soil. You could completely lose the sense memory
of the feeling of earth beneath your feet. She didn't want to lose the
sky too. Since she couldn't afford a brownstone with a rear garden, the
next best thing was to have a giant skylight.
What she really dreamed of was to someday have a vacation home on the
Caribbean side of the Yucatan, where she could wake to the sounds of
the surf and play Bach partitas to the seabirds in the coconut palms.
She felt there was something spiritual in the pure sound of a stringed
instrument. It was sweetness and joy crystallized. It went with the
sound of surf. They belonged together.
She had actually researched and designed that dream house already. The
place itself would be based on the Mayan abodes of a thousand years
ago, on stilts with a bamboo floor and a palm-frond roof to provide
natural ventilation.
And since this was all a dream, she could fantasize that Steve was
alive and was there too. Maybe this was her version of the Muslim
Paradise, a land of milk and honey and infinite beauty and pleasure.
Sometimes late at night, when the world was too much with her, she
would put on headphones and a Bach CD and imagine she was on that beach
in the Yucatan, gazing up at the glorious stars.
The other thing she wanted to do someday was memorize the first violin
score of all the Beethoven late quartets. But now any intensive
playing, which was more tiring than it looked brought on chest pains
after a few minutes. Shit. She felt like she was slowly being robbed of
everything she loved. . . .
She decided to stop with the negative thoughts and get ready for the
stressful day to come. She just needed a few quiet moments to get
mentally prepared for it.
The first thing she did was give Knickers an early morning snack, then
a fresh bowl of water and a large rawhide chew to occupy her energy for
part of the day. After that, she would shower and change for the trip
uptown.
She had to dress for the rest of the day, which eventually might
include going down to the office, if she had the time and inclination,
so she decided to just throw on jeans and a sweater. She didn't pay any
attention to the envelope Grant had given her; she just tossed it onto
the burnt-tile breakfast counter.
She told herself there wasn't time to look at it now, but she also
realized she had a very serious psychological resistance to opening it.
She hadn't anticipated that just seeing him once more would make her
this tense and angry. His proposition was surely part of some kind of
scam. She'd vowed never to believe him again. It was going to take a
lot of persuading to get her to break that resolve.
Look at it later. Whenever.
She gave Knickers a good-bye pat and headed out the door.
In times gone by, she took Knickers with her, since her mother loved to
give her sinful sugar treats and fuss over her, but these days Nina's
condition was never predictable. Knickers was one confusing element too
many.
On the trip uptown she always stopped at Zabar's for some smoked fish
that she could pass off as "kippers" and some buttery scones. Nina was
born in a little place called Angmering-on-Sea, in southern England,
and she was an unreconstructed Brit. She insisted on oatmeal (the
nutty, slow- cooked kind) for breakfast on weekdays and kippers and
dark tea on weekends.
Now when Ally visited, she never knew what to expect. Some Sundays Nina
could be as spunky as Phyllis Diller, and other times she seemed to
barely recognize her. (Though she sometimes wondered if her mom just
acted that way so she'd leave sooner and let her get back to her
Spanish-language soaps. She claimed to be watching them to study
Hispanic culture, but Ally suspected the real reason was their racy
clothes and plot lines.)
And today, on the anniversary of Arthur's tragic death, would she even
remember him? Early-onset Alzheimer's could proceed at a frightening
pace.
Nina had been a notable Auntie Mame kind of figure around Greenwich
Village for decades. She smoked Woodbine cigarettes fiendishly and was
forever giving homeless people food and handouts. She had adopted the
garden at St. Luke's and worked there weeding and pruning and planting
and nurturing from late spring to early autumn. As soon as afternoon
tea was completed, she waited an only moderately decent interval before
her first scotch and soda. Room temperature. No ice.
"One should have a little something, shouldn't one?"
Arthur joined her to have a cocktail after work once in a while, but
mainly he successfully kept his mouth shut about her smoking and
drinking. Everyone knew she was destined to live to a hundred. Cancer
was surely terrified to go near her. But then the Alzheimer's struck.
One of Nina's greatest gifts was an unerring BS detector. She had been
skeptical about Grant since he was in his twenties. She deemed him a
hollow suit, full of vapid ambition. She also believed his
irresponsible behavior was a contributing factor to Arthur's death,
though she did not have the same ferocity of feeling about it that Ally
did. She had had him pegged as a no-goodnik for so long that she
already had zero expectations about his character.
In any case, Grant contributed nothing to the care of Nina and that
suited Ally just fine. As part of the post-tragedy financial
restructuring, she sold their Greenwich Village condo, which was too
big and too full of memories for Nina to continue living there. She
then found her a rent-regulated one-bedroom apartment in a wonderful
old building on Riverside Drive, and when Nina's early-onset
Alzheimer's progressed to the point where she couldn't really be relied
upon to take proper care of herself, she arranged for a very
conscientious and sprightly woman from the Dominican Republic to be her
full-time caregiver.
Maria was devoted to Nina, and Ally didn't know anyone who could have
been more nurturing. She had been there for nine months and she also
used Nina's space to baby-sit periodically for her daughter, Natalie,
who had a darling five- year-old son. What would the next stage be,
Ally wondered fearfully, and would her mother's medical insurance pay
for it, whatever it was? She didn't know the answer and she was
terrified.
Aging. It was nature's process to make way for the new, but why did the
last act have to be so cruel? Seeing her mother this way made her
sometimes think that perhaps Arthur was luckier than anyone knew. He'd
managed to miss out on having to watch the woman he loved go into a
humiliating decline.
Then she thought about her own mortality, the heart condition that
refused to get any better. Dr. Ekelman had never been more serious.
Slow down, take it easy, watch out for warning signs. She'd said
everything except start saving up for a transplant. Or maybe she was
just postponing that announcement as long as possible.
Dammit, why couldn't she do something to make her heart stronger? That
was the most frustrating part of all. The rest of her body could still
have run a mile before breakfast. She could traipse all over lower
Manhattan Saturdays, shopping for herbs in Chinatown and shoes in SoHo.
Damn. Why wouldn't her heart get with the program?
Half an hour later, a big Zabar's bag on the seat beside her, she found
a space for her Toyota right on Riverside Drive, just across from the
park. She took a final look at the sky, which was bright and blue and
cheerful, and then, bag in hand, she headed up.
Nina's building was a dark brick prewar and had no doorman, though the
super's apartment was right off the lobby, allowing him to receive
packages and generally keep an eye on comings and goings. To Ally, the
bland, inevitably tan hallways in many old West Side buildings had a
musty quality to them that always left her depressed. But her mother's
eighth-floor apartment was light and airy--after Ally had had it
remodeled and redecorated--and she couldn't have wanted a more cheerful
home. The wallpaper was a light floral pattern and the overstuffed
furniture was buried in enough pillows to please Martha Stewart. And in
the living room there was the piano her mother once played, now covered
with photos from happier times, and a stereo system with a turntable.
When she buzzed Maria came to the door with an unusually bright smile.
Great! Ally could always tell immediately from Maria's face whether her
mom was having a good day or bad day. Today, she knew immediately, was
going to be good.
"Miss Hampton, she was asking about you, wondering when you'd get
here," Maria said. "She remembered this is the day you come."
Maria was half a head shorter than Ally, and her hair was dyed a
defiant black. She had an olive complexion and her fine features made
her a handsome woman for late fifties. She always wore bold silver
jewelry that might have done more for her daughters than for her, but
Ally liked the spunky persona that went along with too many
accessories. She still had a trace of her Spanish accent even after all
the years in New York. On days when her mother was cognizant, Maria was
the perfect companion for her.
Ally handed over the Zabar's bag and walked in. "Hi, sweetie."
Nina was on the lounger, where she spent most of her waking hours. Yes,
she was definitely having a good day today. She'd done a full makeup
number.
Her face could only be described as youthful, no matter that she was
past sixty-five. She had elegant cheekbones and a mouth that was still
sensuous. And her blue eyes remained lustrous, though nowadays they
often seemed to be searching for something, or someone, no longer
there. She had a colorist come in every three weeks to keep her hair
the same brunette it had always been, and that had a way of making Ally
fantasize she hadn't aged at all. Ally also felt--hoped--she might be
looking at a spitting image of herself some decades hence. You could do
a lot worse.
The TV was on, sound turned low, and her mother was staring at the
multihued screen. Probably the tape of a Spanish-language soap she'd
somehow missed. Three cosmetic-heavy women in deeply cut blouses were
arguing, all appearing either angry or worried or both.
In times past Nina was always starting some new project, claiming that
was how she kept her mind alert. She had taught herself French and had
a very good accent, particularly for a Brit. Just before the
Alzheimer's hit, she decided to try to learn Spanish, as something to
divert her mind and keep it active. She also wanted to be able to chat
with the increasingly Hispanic workforce in restaurants and delis.
Now, though, Ally thought her mom was continuing the language study as
part of a program of denial. Nina knew her mind was being stripped from
her, but she was determined to try to wrestle it back by giving herself
mental challenges. The struggle was hopeless, of course, but her spirit
refused to admit that.
Ally bent down and kissed her clear white forehead. "Hey, how's it
going?"
"Look at those pathetic creatures," she declared, only barely
acknowledging Ally's presence. "If boobs were brains, they'd all be
Einstein. In my day women knew how to make themselves attractive.
Simplicity. Less is more."
Yep, Ally thought, this is going to be a good day. She's obviously
spent an hour on makeup. For all her complaining she probably watches
Maria's soaps at least in part to glean cosmetic tips. Who knew, maybe
she was learning Spanish too, like she claimed. Dear God, let her do
it.
Maria was looking into the Zabar's bag. "Oh, she's going to love this.
Could you come in the kitchen and help me fix a tray?"
That's strange, Ally thought. Maria thinks I'm all thumbs around food
preparation and she never wants me in the kitchen.
The apartment was old enough that the kitchen was a separate room with
an open doorway. When they stepped inside, Maria set down the bag and
turned to her.
"There was a man here yesterday. I never saw him before. He said he was
your brother. Is that true?"
Ally felt a chill go through her body.
"Your mother seemed to know him," Maria went on, "but I wasn't sure
whether she might have just been pretending. Sometimes you never know
what she gets or doesn't get. She's a good faker."
"What... what did he want?"
"Well, the first thing seemed to be that he wanted to ask your mother a
question about you. Then he started trying to talk her into going to
some clinic out in New Jersey, where they might be able to help ... her
mind."
Shit. What is he up to? Is he trying to get to me through Nina?
"You said he asked Mom a question about me? What--"
"What are you two whispering about?" came a voice from the doorway.
"All kinds of secrets." Ally glanced up and smiled. "Maria was just
telling me about a visitor you had yesterday, Mom. Do you remember if
anyone came to see you?"
"Pish. Of course I remember. Seth. But sometimes I think I'd just as
soon not." She stared at Ally, those searching blue eyes boring in. "Do
you ever see him anymore?"
Funny you should ask, she thought.
Then she wondered, why not tell the truth? She couldn't think of any
reason not to.
"As a matter of fact, Mom, Grant came by my building this very morning.
I hadn't seen him in ages. He called and said he wanted to meet me
while I was out running. I told him to bug off, but he came anyway. He
wanted me to... Let's just say he's still wheeling and dealing."
Nina looked at her for a long moment.
"He showed up here yesterday morning, darling, out of the blue. After
all those years when he didn't give a shit-- excuse my Francais. I acted
like I didn't quite know who he was, but I got every word. He's still
spending his salary on clothes. He talked a lot, saying he knew a man--a
doctor with some kind of experimental treatment--who could turn back the
clock on my ... or at least stop it. He could give me a chance to take
my mind back. And then he left his card. He wanted me to talk to you
about it and then call him back."
Grant, you bastard. You didn't say a word about any of this. What're
you trying to do?
No need for rocket science. He was using Nina as bait. This was his way
to make sure she was dragged into whatever shenanigans he was up to. If
he got Nina out to that place in New Jersey, whatever it was, it would
be like he had a hostage.
She was so angry she was gasping for air. And she felt that damned
tightness in her chest coming on.
"I told Maria to throw the card away," Nina went on, "but then I got to
wondering. What if it's true?"
"You don't really think--"
"Of course not," Nina declared, but Ally wasn't sure how much she meant
it. "Probably he just needs money. That'll come next. I'd guess he's
hoping I'll give him a 'down payment' for this 'treatment,' whatever it
is. That's surely what's going on. Trying to take advantage of a senile
old woman."
Nina didn't appear to be fooled. Or was she? Sometimes she did her
thinking out loud before coming to a conclusion.
"Seth may be barking up the wrong tree with me, Ally," she went on.
"I'm not sure I want any of his miracle cures. I've lived my life. I'm
tired." She looked away. "When you're young, you never think about what
it's like to be old. But then when you do get old you somehow can't
imagine being young again. Having to do it all over..." Her voice
trailed off.
Yes, Ally thought, you've had plenty of pain you wouldn't want to
relive.
Nina sat back down on her flowered chaise and closed her eyes. "Do you
know what day this is?"
"I was hoping you'd remember." She reached and grasped her hand. "It's
been five years today. Exactly."
"I still have nightmares about it, the horror, " Nina said, her eyes
still closed "but he did it for me, you know. He thought the insurance
was all that would save me. And then when it didn't . . . So now we've
got to hang on with all we've got. For him." She opened her eyes and
looked directly at Ally. "One day soon, maybe sooner than we think, I'm
going to be mad as a hatter. Time, Ally, time has played a cruel joke.
God the Prankster is keeping me in physical health so I can experience
every step of my own degradation." Then she glanced back at the Spanish
soap and went on. "I hope you know how to enjoy life, while you're
still full of it. Don't miss a minute."
"I'm going to try, Mom." Ally squeezed her hand again and for that
moment sensed Nina was her old self. She wasn't going to tell her about
Dr. Ekelman and the latest heart news. But if she did the response
would probably still be the same. _Just live life for all it's worth.
You never know if there's even going to be a tomorrow.
_"Would you put on some Janacek?" she said finally, aiming the remote
at the TV and clicking it off. "One of the string quartets. I've had my
fill of Hispanic tarts. I've learned a good deal of Spanish from them,
but sometimes I think understanding what they're saying just makes it
all that much cheaper."
That was when Ally realized with a burst of joy that Nina still had an
interior life that she was carefully hoarding. What else was going on
in that mind? The sense of the night closing in? Do not go gentle.
Please. Stay awhile with me.
She got up and went over to the record cabinet. Her mother still had
her collection of old 33s, today they were called vinyl, with
conductors from decades ago like Bruno Walter and Arturo Toscanini. She
found a Janacek String Quartet, No. 2, a rare mono pressing by the old
Budapest String Quartet fifty years ago, and put it on the turntable,
still loving those first crackling sounds that raise your anticipation.
She remembered how Nina would put on a record in the evening, after
dinner, with room-temperature scotch in hand, and make the family sit
and listen. She suspected that had a lot to do with her own desire to
play the violin herself someday. And then, in high school, she started
lessons. Better late than never.
Now, though, she sensed there was something Nina wanted to tell her and
this was her way of setting the stage.
After the music had played for almost three minutes, Nina listening
with eyes closed as though in a rapture as the movement clawed its way
toward an initial theme in an elusive minor mode, she turned and looked
at Ally.
"He didn't tell you he came to see me, did he? Seth?"
"I guess he forgot," Ally said. It was a lie neither of them believed.
"I've been thinking over all he was trying to say. I didn't get
everything at the time, but I guess my feeble mind was recording it.
Now it's all coming back. He was talking about Arthur and his suicide--
Ally, we both know that's what it was--and how he felt responsible and
how he was finally going to be able to make up for all the harm he'd
done to me, and to you. But he was worried you might not want to go
along with this special treatment for me." She was studying Ally, as
though searching for an answer. Maria had discreetly departed for the
kitchen. "He kept talking about this doctor he knew. At this clinic. He
swore this man could perform a miracle for me. He said I should do it,
whether you approved or not."
Ally looked at her, wondering what to say. This was getting too devious
for words.
Then Nina went on. "I'll probably not remember anything about this by
tomorrow. But I just wanted to tell you. When you get as mentally
addled as I am now, you compensate by developing your other senses, I
call it your sixth sense. And Ally, I think he's involved in something
that's evil. And he wants to draw me into it, maybe both of us." She
stopped carefully framing her words. "I sensed a kind of desperation
about him. I don't know exactly what it was."
As Ally listened the Janacek quartet swelling in the room, scratches
and all, she felt more and more like an utter dunce. She hadn't caught
any of this in Grant's come-on, but now . . . Nina was right about that
sixth sense.
But what could the real story be? Grant was more a simple con artist
than some embodiment of evil. Think the Music Man in designer threads,
not Darth Vader. Evil was surely too strong a word He was just the
consummate self-promoting hustler. The troubling part was, he was so
damned good at it.
"Mom, you're wonderful today. Why don't we all three go somewhere for
brunch now? Right now. There's a new French place just down Columbus
that needs checking out."
She had an eerie foreboding it might be their last chance.
"No, honey, you brought some smoked fish, didn't you? That's all I
want." Nina dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "Besides, no
one in this town knows how to brew a proper pot of tea." Then, the next
thing Ally knew, she was back to musing out loud about Grant. "I can't
stop wondering. He said this doctor he knows might work a miracle for
me. What am I supposed to think?"
Ally was trying to decide whether a glimmer of hope, even though it was
almost certainly false, might be a healthy tonic for Nina just now.
"Mom, Grant gave me some materials about that doctor. I'll read them
tonight, I promise." She was listening to the Janacek quartet soar, and
it was bucking her up. "Let me see what I can find out."
"He wants me to start in right away," Nina pressed. "I think he said
there are some studies going on at this clinic, but they're almost
over. It's free now, and unless I go soon, I can't get in the program.
He said he would take me out there Monday morning if I wanted. But if I
go with anybody, I want it to be you."
He's such a bastard, Ally thought.
She glanced at Maria, who'd been watching from the kitchen door and
listening to all that had happened. She was looking very upset and she
motioned Ally toward the doorway with her eyes.
"Let me get a glass of water, Mom." She headed for the kitchen.
"Did you hear all the things she's talking about?" she asked when they
were out of earshot.
Maria nodded. "A lot of what your mother said is true. It was very
strange. At the time she acted like she didn't understand him. Now I
realize she did. Or maybe it all just came back to her."
"What do you think is really going on?" Ally was studying her, hoping
to get at the truth. "She seems a lot better today."
Maria paused a moment. "Miss Hampton, I don't believe your mother is
going to be with us much longer. I saw my own go through much the same
thing. There's always a glimmer just before ..." She looked down and
stopped.
"You said Grant asked her something about me. What--"
"I don't think she remembers. He was asking her about your blood type.
It seemed a very strange question."
Ally couldn't think of any reason why he would be asking that.
"Maria, what was your impression of him? Overall?"
"Just that he seemed very nervous. Very uneasy." She hesitated, as
though uncertain how to continue. "He wanted something, Miss Hampton.
That much I'm sure about. But
this doctor he wants to take her to. It sounded to me like he does
things that are against the laws of nature."
"Grant wants me to go out to that clinic too."
"Whatever you do, just stay close to her," Maria said finally, picking
up the tray with its smoked fish and teapot covered with a knit cozy.
"She may not have that long."
Maria had a seer's mystical bent that sometimes troubled Ally. What if
she was right? It was moments like this when Ally truly missed having
someone special in her life.