Part 14 (1/2)

”Maybe she was that big black pimp that came in after you last night,” Edel said to me. ”I was nice to him. He was eight feet tall.”

”I missed him,” I said.

”You're lucky,” said Edel.

”You two know each other?” said Clewes.

”Since childhood!” I said. I was going to blow this dream wide open by absolutely refusing to take it seriously. I was d.a.m.n well going to get back to my bed at the Arapahoe or my cot in prison. I didn't care which.

Maybe I could even wake up in the bedroom of my little brick bungalow in Chevy Chase, Maryland, and my wife would still be alive.

”I can promise you she wasn't the tall pimp,” said the lawyer. ”That much we can be sure of: Whatever she looks like, she is not tall.”

”Who isn't tall?” I said.

”Mrs. Jack Graham,” said the lawyer.

”Sorry I asked,” I said.

”You must have done her some sort of favor, too,” the lawyer said to me, ”or done something she saw and admired.”

”It's my Boy Scout training,” I said.

So we came to a stop in front of a rundown apartment building on the Upper West Side. Out came Frank Ubriaco, the owner of the Coffee Shop. He was dressed for the dream in a pale-blue velvet suit and green-and-white cowboy boots with high, high heels. His French-fried hand was elegantly sheathed in a white kid glove. Clewes pulled down a jumpseat for him.

I said h.e.l.lo to him.

”Who are you?” he said.

”You served me breakfast this morning,” I said.

”I served everybody breakfast this morning,” he said.

”You know him, too?” said Clewes.

”This is my town,” I said. I addressed the lawyer, more convinced than ever that this was a dream, and I told him, ”All right-let's pick up my mother next.”

He echoed me uncertainly. ”Your mother?”

”Sure. Why not? Everybody else is here,” I said.

He wanted to be cooperative. ”Mr. Leen didn't say anything specific about your not bringing anybody else along. You'd like to bring your mother?”

”Very much,” I said.

”Where is she?” he said.

”In a cemetery in Cleveland,” I said, ”but that shouldn't slow you you down.” down.”

He thereafter avoided direct conversations with me.

When we got underway again, Ubriaco asked those of us in the backseat who we were.

Clewes and Edel introduced themselves. I declined to do so.

”They're all people who caught the eye of Mrs. Graham, just as you did,” said the lawyer.

”You guys know her?” Ubriaco asked Clewes and Edel and me.

We all shrugged.

”Jesus Christ,” said Ubriaco. ”This better be a pretty good job you got to offer. I like what I do.”

”You'll see,” said the lawyer.

”I broke a date for you monkeys,” said Ubriaco.

”Yes-and Mr. Leen broke a date for you,” said the lawyer. ”His daughter is having her debut at the Waldorf tonight, and he won't be there. He'll be talking to you gentlemen instead.”

”f.u.c.king crazy,” said Ubriaco. n.o.body else had anything to say. As we crossed Central Park to the East Side, Ubriaco spoke again. ”f.u.c.king debut,” he said.

Clewes said to me, ”You're the only one who knows everybody else here. You're in the middle of this thing somehow.”

”Why wouldn't I be?” I said. ”It's my dream.”

And we were delivered without further conversation to the penthouse dwelling of Arpad Leen. We were told by the lawyer to leave our shoes in the foyer. It was the custom of the house. I, of course, was already in my stocking feet.

Ubriaco asked if Leen was a j.a.panese, since the j.a.panese commonly took off their shoes indoors.

The lawyer a.s.sured him that Leen was a Caucasian, but that he had grown up in Fiji, where his parents ran a general store. As I would find out later, Leen's father was a Hungarian Jew, and his mother was a Greek Cypriot. His parents met when they were working on a Swedish cruise s.h.i.+p in the late twenties. They jumped s.h.i.+p in Fiji, and started the store.

Leen himself looked like an idealized Plains Indian to me. He could have been a movie star. And he came out into the foyer in a striped silk dressing gown and black socks and garters. He still hoped to make it to his daughter's debut.

Before he introduced himself to us, he had to tell the lawyer an incredible piece of news. ”You know what the son of a b.i.t.c.h is in prison for?” he said. ”Treason! And we're supposed to get him out and give him a job. Treason! How do you get somebody out of jail who's committed treason? How do we give him even a lousy job without every patriot in the country raising h.e.l.l?”

The lawyer didn't know.

”Well,” said Leen, ”what the h.e.l.l. Get me Roy Cohn again. I wish I were back in Nashville.”

This last remark alluded to Leen's having been the leading publisher of country music in Nashville, Tennessee, before his little empire was swallowed up by RAMJAC. His old company, in fact, was the nucleus of the Down Home Records Division of RAMJAC.

Now he looked us over and he shook his head in wonderment. We were a freakish crew. ”Gentlemen,” he said, ”you have all been noticed by Mrs. Jack Graham. She didn't tell me where or when. She said you were honest and kind.”

”Not me,” said Ubriaco.

”You're free to question her judgment, if you want,” said Leen. ”I'm not. I have to offer you good jobs. I don't mind doing that, though, and I'll tell you why: She never told me to do anything that didn't turn out to be in the best interests of the company. I used to say that I never wanted to work for anybody, but working for Mrs. Jack Graham has been the greatest privilege of my life.” He meant it.

He did not mind making us all vice-presidents. The company had seven hundred vice-presidents of this and that on the top level, the corporate level, alone. When you got out into the subsidiaries, of course, the whole business of presidents and vice-presidents started all over again.

”You know what she looks like?” Ubriaco wanted to know. know what she looks like?” Ubriaco wanted to know.