The Pursuit of Happiness (2001) (9 page)

‘What does Holly say?’

‘She … she doesn’t realize how bad things are.’

‘You mean, you haven’t told her?’

‘No … it’s just … I just don’t want to worry her.’

‘Well, she’s going to be a little worried when you’re evicted from the house.’

‘Don’t say that word,
evicted.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. What little savings we had … and some stock … it’s all spent.’

Five thousand dollars. I knew that I had eight grand in a savings account … and that Mom had a money market account with around eleven-five, which was part of the estate I’d inherit once the will was probated. Five thousand dollars. That was serious money to me. It didn’t even cover a term’s tuition for Ethan at Allan-Stevenson. Or it was nearly three months’ rent. I could do a lot with five thousand dollars.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Charlie said. ‘After all these years, his first proper phone call to me is to bum money.’

‘Yes, Charlie - that is exactly what I’m thinking. Just as I’m also thinking how badly you hurt Mom.’

‘I was wrong.’

‘Yes, Charlie. You were very wrong.’

‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was barely a whisper. ‘I don’t know what to say except, I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t forgive you, Charlie. I can’t. I mean, I know she could be overbearing and just a little interfering. But you still cut her off.’

I could hear his throat contract, as if he was stifling a sob. ‘You’re right,’ he said.

‘I don’t care whether or not I’m right - it’s a little late to be arguing about that anyway. What I want to know, Charlie, is why.’

‘We never got along.’

This was, indeed, true - as one of my abiding memories of childhood was the endless arguments between my mother and brother. They could not agree on anything, and Mom had this habit of being endlessly meddlesome. But whereas I figured out a way of deflecting (or even ignoring) her encroaching tendencies, Charlie was constantly threatened by her intrusions. Especially as they underscored the fact that Charlie so desperately missed (and needed) his father. He was almost ten when Dad died - and the way he always spoke to me about him let it be known that he idolized him, and somehow blamed Mom for his early death.

‘She never liked him,’ he once told me when I was just thirteen. ‘And she made his life so miserable that he was away most of every week.’

‘But Mom said he was away every week working.’

‘Yeah - he was always out of town. It meant that he didn’t have to be with her.’

Because Dad died when I was just eighteen months old, I was denied any memories (let alone knowledge) of him. So whenever Charlie spoke about our father, I hung on to every syllable … especially as Mom constantly skirted the subject of the late Jack Malone, as if it was either far too painful to deal with, or she just didn’t want to talk about him. In turn, this meant that I bought Charlie’s view on our parents’ fractious marriage - and silently attributed its unhappiness to Mom and her meddlesome ways.

At the same time, however, I never understood why Charlie couldn’t work out a strategy for dealing with her. God knows, I also fought with her constantly. I too found her maddening. But I would never have shut her out the way Charlie did. Then again, I did get the sense that Mom was a bit ambivalent about her only son. Of course she loved him. But I did wonder if she also silently resented him for being the reason why she ended up in an unhappy marriage with Jack Malone. Charlie, in turn, never got over Dad’s death. Nor did he like being the only man in the house. As soon as he could, he fled - straight into the arms of a woman who was so controlling, so autocratic that Mom suddenly seemed libertarian by comparison.

‘I know you never got along, Charlie,’ I said. ‘And yeah - she had her pain-in-the-ass moments. But she didn’t deserve the punishment you and Princess meted out.’

Long pause.

‘No,’ he said. ‘She didn’t deserve it. What can I say, Kate? Except that I allowed myself to be wrongly influenced by …’ He cut himself off, and lowered his voice. ‘Put it this way: the argument was always presented in
“It’s either her or me”
terms. And I was so weak, I bought it.’

Another silence. Then I said, ‘Okay, I’ll Fedex you a check for five thousand today.’

It took a moment to sink in. ‘Are you serious?’

‘It’s what Mom would have wanted.’

‘Oh God, Kate … I don’t know what to …’

‘Say nothing …’

‘I’m overwhelmed …’

‘Don’t be. It’s family business.’

‘I promise,
swear,
I’ll pay it all back as soon as …’

‘Charlie …
enough.
You’ll have the check tomorrow. And when you’re in a position to pay me back, you pay me back. Now I need to ask you …’

‘Anything. Any favor you need.’

‘It’s just a question I need answered, Charlie.’

‘Sure, sure.’

‘Did you ever know a Sara Smythe?’

‘Never heard of her. Why?’

‘I’ve received a condolence letter from her, saying she knew Mom and Dad before I was born.’

‘Doesn’t ring any bells with me. Then again, I don’t remember most of Mom and Dad’s friends from back then.’

‘That’s not surprising. I can’t remember who I met last month. Thanks anyway.’

‘No - thank you, Kate. You don’t know what that five grand means to all of us …’

‘I think I have an idea.’

‘Bless you,’ he said quietly.

After I hung up, a thought struck me: I actually missed my brother.

I spent the balance of the morning tidying the apartment and dealing with domestic chores. When I returned from the laundry room in the basement of the building, I found a message on my answering machine:

‘Hello, Kate …’

It was a voice I hadn’t heard before; a deeply refined voice with a noticeable New England twang.

‘It’s Sara Smythe here. I do hope you received my letter and I do apologize for calling you at home. But it would be nice to meet up. As I said in my letter, I was close to your family when your father was alive, and would very much like to renew contact with you after all these years. I know how busy you are, so whenever you have a chance please give me a ring. My number is five-five-five oh-seven-four-five. I am in this afternoon, if you’re around. Once again, my thoughts are with you at this difficult time. But I know you’re tough and resilient - so you’ll get through this. I so look forward to meeting you face-to-face.’

I listened to the message twice, my alarm (and outrage) growing by the second.
I would very much like to renew contact with you after all these years … I know how busy you are … I know you’re tough and resilient
… Jesus Christ, this woman was sounding like she was an old dear family friend, or someone on whose knee I climbed when I was five. And didn’t she have the decency to realize that, just having buried my mother yesterday, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for socializing?

I picked up the letter she had hand-delivered earlier today. I walked into Ethan’s room. I powered up his computer. I wrote:

Dear Ms Smythe,

I was enormously touched both by your letter and by your kind message.

As I’m certain you know, grief affects people in such curious, singular ways. And right now, I simply want to withdraw for a while and be alone with my son and my thoughts.

I appreciate your understanding. And, once again, my thanks for your sympathy at this sad juncture.

Yours,

Kate Malone

I read the letter twice through before hitting the button marked Print, then signing my name at the bottom. I folded it, placed it in an envelope, scribbled Smythe’s name and address on the front, then sealed it. Returning to the kitchen, I picked up the phone, and called my secretary at the office. She arranged for our courier service to pick up the letter at my apartment and deliver it to Ms Smythe’s place on West 77th Street. I knew I could have posted the letter, but feared that she might try to call me again tonight. I wanted to make certain I didn’t hear from her again.

Half-an-hour later, the doorman rang me to say that the courier was downstairs. I grabbed my coat and left the apartment. On my way out the front door, I handed the letter to the helmeted motorcycle messenger. He assured me that he’d deliver it across town within the next thirty minutes. I thanked him, and headed up toward Lexington Avenue. I stopped by our local branch of Kinko’s on 78th Street. I removed another envelope from my coat pocket and placed it inside a Federal Express folder. Then I filled out the dispatch form, requesting guaranteed next-day delivery to a certain Charles Malone in Van Nuys, California. I tossed it in the Fedex box. When he opened the letter tomorrow, he’d find a five-thousand-dollar cheque, and a very short note which read:

Hope this helps.

Good luck.

Kate

I left Kinko’s and spent the next hour or so drifting around my neighborhood. I shopped for groceries at D’Agostino’s, arranging to have the order delivered to my apartment later that afternoon. I walked around Gap Kids, and ended up buying Ethan a new denim jacket. I headed two blocks west and killed half-an-hour browsing in the Madison Avenue Bookshop. Then, realizing that I hadn’t eaten a thing since yesterday afternoon, I stopped at Soup Burg on Madison and 73rd Street, and ordered a double bacon-cheeseburger with fries. I felt immense high-caloric guilt as I gobbled it down. But it was still wonderful. As I nursed a cup of coffee afterwards, my cellphone rang.

‘Is that you, Kate?’

Oh God, no. That woman again.

‘Who is this?’ I asked, even though I knew the answer to that question.

‘It’s Sara Smythe.’

‘How did you get this number, Miss Smythe?’

‘I called the Bell Atlantic cellphone directory.’

‘You needed to speak with me that urgently?’

‘Well, I just received your letter, Kate. And …’

I cut her off. ‘I’m surprised to hear you calling me by my first name, as I don’t seem to remember ever meeting you, Ms Smythe …’

‘Oh, but we did. Years ago, when you were just a little …’

‘Maybe we did meet, but it didn’t lodge in my memory.’

‘Well, when we get together, I’ll be able to …’

I cut her off again. ‘Ms Smythe, you did
read
my letter, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. That’s why I’m calling you.’

‘Didn’t I make it clear that we are
not
going to be getting together?’

‘Don’t say that, Kate.’

‘And will you please stop calling me Kate?’

‘If I could just explain …’

‘No. I want to hear no explanations. I just want you to stop bothering me.’

‘All I’m asking is …’

‘And I suppose that was you who made all those message-less phone calls to my apartment yesterday …’

‘Please hear me out …’

‘And what’s this about being an old friend of my parents? My brother Charlie said he never knew you when he was young …’

‘Charlie?’ she said, sounding animated. ‘You’re finally talking to Charlie again?’

I was suddenly very nervous. ‘How did you know I hadn’t been speaking to him?’

‘Everything will come clear if we could just meet …’

‘No.’

‘Please be reasonable, Kate …’

‘That’s it. This conversation’s closed. And don’t bother calling back. Because I won’t speak with you.’

With that, I hit the disconnect button.

All right, I over-reacted. But … the intrusiveness of the woman. And how the hell did she know about the breach with Charlie?

I left the restaurant, still fuming. I decided to squander the rest of the afternoon in a movie. I walked east and wasted two hours at the Loew’s 72nd Street watching some cheesy action film, in which inter-galactic terrorists hijacked an American space shuttle, and killed all the crew - bar some beefcake astronaut who naturally foiled the baddies and single-handedly brought the damaged shuttle back to earth, landing it on top of Mount Rushmore. Ten minutes into this stupidity, I asked myself why on earth I ended up walking into this movie. I knew the answer to that question: because everything’s out of synch today.

When I got back to the apartment, it was nearly six o’clock. Constantine the doorman was thankfully off. Teddy, the nice night guy, was on duty.

‘Package for you, Miss Malone,’ he said, handing me a large bulky manila envelope.

‘When did this arrive?’ I asked.

‘Around half-an-hour ago. It was delivered by hand.’