About Schmidt - Louis Begley [104]
The room off the kitchen is all right while you’re nursing me to health. If I ever get well! Afterward, we’ll talk. I can’t think that far into the future.
He was beginning to feel tired, and wondered whether he should discreetly ring for the floor nurse.
Albert, you know it’s over between Carrie and me. You’ve won.
Schmidt smiled wanly. Was this a trap?
You know I figured it out right away, even before she moved into your house. It’s OK. We were just into some sex. It isn’t like she cared. Man, she really likes you!
Perhaps that’s how it really was and how it was to remain. One would see. We’ll talk about it when Carrie’s here, he told Bryan.
The previous day, before his lung collapsed, which happened in the afternoon and caused the nice intern to panic because, it being Sunday, he couldn’t get hold of the surgeon, Charlotte and Jon came to see him. When he asked whether they had just driven in, they said no, they had spent the night at the house. Counting the silver, thought Schmidt. He had spoken to them, Charlotte and then Jon, on the telephone, as soon as he got out of emergency care. Jon showed right away how having been trained at a first-class New York law firm makes a man useful, in all circumstances.
You know, the bum you ran into was dead when the police and the ambulance got there. Fortunately, the autopsy showed he was really tanked up. Besides, according to the skid marks, you were in your lane, going at a normal speed. I talked to Vince—that was the senior litigating partner, a former prosecutor—he doesn’t think they’ll charge you. To be on the safe side, we’ve hired that Shaugnessy fellow in River-head. He knows his way around the courthouse.
I wonder what was in my blood, thought Schmidt. Could it be that they didn’t test it?
Renata called the surgeon. He says you’ll be just fine. There’s no concussion. We’ll come out to see you on Sunday.
So there they were, right on time. No flowers, Schmidt observed, or anything else that might spoil him. Perhaps within the family one skipped these sentimental gestures. He noted with satisfaction that Charlotte’s skin sparkled. What a beautiful girl she was! He told her so, and added that she looked more and more like Martha, the Anglo-Irish beauty. Did Anglo-Irish with its High Church connotations (if she knew about them!) strike the wrong note? She got right down to business.
Dad, the Saab was totaled. If they don’t take away your license, I guess you can drive Mom’s car. What about the VW? Is it still mine? If it is, we’ll drop off the Avis car here and drive the VW to New York.
I gave it to you. The only reason it’s in my name is insurance. You know that.
All right, so that is settled. Dad, what is that Hispanic girl doing in the house, and what is she doing in your and Mom’s bedroom?
Holy cow! He had forgotten. It was bound to come up, sooner or later.
You mean Carrie? She sleeps there.
With you!
When I’m there. Yes.
Dad, how long has that been going on? That girl must be younger than me.
She is. What’s the expression for it? Winter-spring romance. Or do you say spring-winter?
We don’t think it’s funny. She looks like someone out of a movie about gangs.
Possibly. I think they look for the prettiest girls for those parts.
It was time for the lawyer son-in-law to intervene.
She’ll rob you blind, Schmidtie. You’ve got every right to do what you want and live your life, but you should be protected. I’ll speak to Dick Murphy. He’ll set up something to stop her from getting hold of your money.
I think I can talk to Dick myself if that becomes necessary. By the way, Carrie works hard as a waitress and saves her money. She doesn’t show any interest in mine.
Someone will tell her to get interested. Just wait! That was Charlotte’s contribution.