Part 28 (1/2)

”Not even myself, apparently,” he said with self-pity.

”So Martha is just going to be fired?” Henry asked.

”No one wants a practice house program,” Dr. Gardner said impatiently. ”This is 1963. Haven't you heard? Women want to be liberated from all that.”

”She has this idea that she could go on living there if it became an art studio,” Henry said.

Dr. Gardner shook his head. ”That'll never fly,” he said. ”Never. The best I can do is to try to persuade them to let her keep a room upstairs. And I was planning on doing that anyway.”

Dr. Gardner reached into his inside breast pocket for a leather case, from which he extracted a cigar. Henry noticed that his hand was shaking.

”One more thing,” Dr. Gardner said, and Henry turned back to see him scratch at the corner of his mouth with a shaking index finger.

”What is it?” Henry asked.

”Your mother,” he said. ”Have you heard anything from your mother?”

”No,” Henry said, immediately debating whether to ask the next question. ”Have you?” he finally said.

”No,” Dr. Gardner said, a pained look crossing his face. ”I guess she's given us both up,” he said, which was the closest he had ever come, or ever would, to acknowledging that Henry and he were related.

MARY JANE APPEARED on Sat.u.r.day morning and insisted she drive Henry to the station.

”I've got a taxi coming,” he said.

”Oh, Henry. Come on. So I didn't tell you I was going to Berkeley. Let's call it even, okay?”

”Okay,” he said. ”We're even.”

She looked away, and when she looked back, Henry could see that she was crying. Her nose was red, and tears ran from her good eye. ”Does your other eye cry?” Henry asked her.

”What?”

”Does your other eye cry?”

The question was so ridiculous, so inappropriate to the moment, that Mary Jane stared at him, and then they both burst out laughing.

BACK AT THE STUDIO, there was a major push to complete Mary Poppins. Mary Poppins. The opening was supposed to be in August of 1964, and there was still far too much to be done. A new cla.s.s of in-betweeners had been hired, and both Henry and Chris took deliberate pleasure in watching their relative inexperience. The hours of the working days changed, so that there were weekend and evening s.h.i.+fts as well. In February, Henry was switched from the penguin waiters to Jane's pink carousel horse, and then, in March, to the bouquet of Mary's flowers that turned into b.u.t.terflies. The opening was supposed to be in August of 1964, and there was still far too much to be done. A new cla.s.s of in-betweeners had been hired, and both Henry and Chris took deliberate pleasure in watching their relative inexperience. The hours of the working days changed, so that there were weekend and evening s.h.i.+fts as well. In February, Henry was switched from the penguin waiters to Jane's pink carousel horse, and then, in March, to the bouquet of Mary's flowers that turned into b.u.t.terflies.

Throughout the spring, Henry worked longer hours than he ever had and spent less time with the women. Fiona understood, because at the Nunnery, she was equally busy. Annie was hurt, and Cindy was outright angry.

”You're not the guy I thought you were,” she complained to him on a night in late May when they'd spent the evening in bed and he had gotten dressed to go home.

”I'm not the guy anyone thinks I am,” he said.

HE HAD BEEN PRETENDING to be eighteen for more than a year, so as his actual birthday approached, Henry found he was less happy than relieved about its arrival. He did not particularly wish to celebrate, but with some bygone, formless longing, he felt the need for attention, too.

It was Fiona who took him to dinner that night. This was not because he had decided he liked her best, and he certainly didn't love her. It was simply because she'd been the first one to ask. He might have preferred to go with Annie or Cindy. He had even thought about taking out a girl named Coco, whom he had just met at the market. Annie, perhaps, knew enough not to ask him if he wasn't asking her. And Cindy did ask, but as soon as he said he couldn't, she said she'd forgotten that she had other plans as well.

All three of them gave him presents, though. Fiona's was the dinner, and a cel she had painted of her own design: a hideous abstraction that Henry knew he was supposed to find deep.

”Thanks,” he said.

”You don't like it,” she said.

”Of course I like it,” he said. ”And I like you for making it.”

From Cindy he received a trio of sleazy paperbacks called s.e.x Hop, s.e.x Atlas, s.e.x Hop, s.e.x Atlas, and and s.e.x Pack. s.e.x Pack. It was clear that she thought her boldness would delight and inspire him. It was clear that she thought her boldness would delight and inspire him.

”Thanks,” he said.

”You don't like them,” she said.

”Of course I like them,” he said. ”And I like you for getting them.”

For her part, Annie had knitted him a scarf.

”Thanks,” he said.

”You don't like it,” she said.

”Of course I like it.”

”Then why do you look so annoyed?”

”Because you spent too much time on this,” he said.

”But Henry. I wanted to.”

”You have better things to do,” he said.

The effect on her was as immediate as if Mark Harburg had just asked her to change poses. Her eyes narrowed; her shoulders sank-so much that he felt he had to do something to open her eyes again, lift her shoulders. He stood looking down at her, and then he used the scarf to circle her neck and bring her in close, just as he'd seen some student do at Humphrey so long ago. He kissed her.

”You don't love me, do you?” she asked him.

”I couldn't love anyone more,” he said, which was not exactly a lie.

4.

To Help the Medicine Go Down By now, Henry had imagined the phone call many times, but in his imagination, it had always been Dr. Gardner calling to tell him that Martha was dead. Somehow, he had not counted on an illness, with all the attendant demands and the guilt and dread. And he had not counted on Martha herself being the one to deliver the news.

”It's cancer,” she said to him on the phone. It was the evening of August 27, the evening of the Mary Poppins Mary Poppins premiere. Her timing was perfect, he thought bitterly. premiere. Her timing was perfect, he thought bitterly.

”What kind of cancer?”