Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“They’ll only be down there for a month or so — to get the underwater stuff and to do the location work. They’ll be shooting all the interiors here.”

“Here? In New York?”

“No. Probably on the Coast.”

“Well, I can’t go to California, either.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t, Marian.”

“Sweetie, there’s something I ought to tell you.”

“What, Marian?”

“I’m not complaining, but—”

“What are you doing?”

“Look, don’t be so damn touchy. This is Marian you’re talking to.”

“I’m sorry. What is it, Marian?”

“Oh, the hell with it.” Marian paused. “But look, sweetie, I just about break my neck setting these things up for you, and this is the third one you’ve turned down. Now what gives, would you mind telling me? Are you still interested in acting?”

“Of course I am!”

“Then why—”

“I don’t want to go to the Bahamas. That’s that, Marian.”

“The Ivory commercial had nothing to do with the Bahamas.”

“I don’t think I’m going to learn anything by doing soap commercials.”

“It’s exposure,” Marian said.

“Yes, but it’s not acting.”

“I know a girl who cashes a dozen residual checks each week. She earns five hundred bucks while she sets her hair in the morning, just opening her mail.”

“I’m not starving, Marian.”

“You’re not working, either.”

“Something’ll come along.”

“Honey, things have come along. Would you mind telling me why you turned down the summer-stock job?”

“It was in Ogunquit.”

“So?”

“So I asked you to get me either Westport or Easthampton, or the Paper Mill in New Jersey. You—”

“The Paper Mill does operetta and musicals. How could—?”

“I sing, Marian.”

“Not that good. What was the matter with Ogunquit? It’s a great showcase.”

“It’s too far from New York.”

“When did you fall in love with this city, all of a sudden? You can’t go to Maine, you can’t go to California, you can’t go to Bimini, where the hell can you go? Can I book a job on West Fifty-eighth, or is that too far uptown for you?”

There was a long silence on the line.

“What do you want me to do?” Gillian asked. “Get another agent?”

“Argh, who’d have you?” Marian said. “Will you do me a favor? Will you please see this guy today? Even if you won’t go south, he’s a producer, he’s got his fingers in a lot of pies, There may be something later on.”

“I can’t today,” Gillian said. “Make it tomorrow.”

“He’s leaving for Hollywood tonight.”

“I can meet him after lunch, maybe. For a drink.”

“What time?”

“Two o’clock is the earliest I can get away.”

“I’ll try. Will you be home for a while?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll call you back.” Marian paused. “We still friends?”

“You know we are.”

“I’ll call you later, sweetie.”

“Okay,” Gillian said, and she hung up.

Her father was a half hour late. She made desultory small talk with David, certain her father would not show up, pleased when she saw him come into the restaurant at last. He looked around with that bright twinkle in his eyes, saw her, and went immediately to the table. He kissed her and then turned to David.

“Dad, this is David Regan. David, my father.”

David rose and took Meredith’s hand. “How do you do, sir?”

“How do you do?” Meredith said. “Sit down, please. I’m sorry I’m late, but we had a lunch-hour rush.” He paused. “I run a shoe store,” he said, watching David, as if anxious to get this piece of information out of the way.

“Yes, sir, Gillian’s told me,” David said. “Would you like a drink? We’re one ahead of you already.”

“Yes, I would,” Meredith said. “You’re looking well, Gillian. You should come to see us more often. The Bronx isn’t exactly the end of the world.” He looked at David. “Bring your young man. Your mother won’t throw him out.”

Gillian smiled. “I didn’t think she would, Dad.”

“Come for dinner some Sunday.”

“And will you be home?” she asked, and then wondered instantly if the question had not been too pointed.

Meredith raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Why yes, Gilly,” he said, “I’ll be home.”

“Would you like to go sometime, David?”

“Sure,” David said uneasily.

“I’m hoping your hair is prematurely gray, Mr. Regan,” Meredith said. “Otherwise my daughter’s seeing a man who’s far too old for her.”

“Would that matter very much, Dad?” Gillian said, and again Meredith raised his eyebrows and studied her, but said nothing this time.

“I’m twenty-four, Mr. Burke,” David said.

“That’s a good age. Are you studying acting, too?”

“No, sir, I’m not.”

“I saw Gillian on television a few months back. She didn’t tell us she was on, but I happened to catch the show by accident, anyway. You were very good, Gilly.”

“Thank you.”

“What do you do, Mr. Regan?” Meredith asked.

“I work for the library.”

“Oh? Doing what?”

David shrugged. “I stamp books, I guess.”

“That sounds interesting,” Meredith said.

“Well, it’s all right for now.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in selling shoes?”

“Well...” David said, and looked at Gillian.

“There’s nothing wrong with selling shoes, you know,” Meredith said.

“No, sir, I didn’t think there was.”

“Do you call everyone ‘sir’?”

“No, not everyone.”

“Then why are you calling me that?”

“You’re Gillian’s father.”

“Oh, I see. Where’s our waiter? I’d like some whiskey.”

It was one forty-five before she realized it. She made her apologies and left the men alone together. As she walked out of the restaurant, she wondered again why she was putting either of them through this ordeal. She shrugged and hailed a cab.

“Are you in love with my daughter?” Meredith asked David.

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“She’s a pretty girl.”

David nodded.

“Where’d you meet her?”

“At the Count’s... Igor’s. That’s where she’s studying.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, that’s where we met.”

“Where do you live, Mr. Regan?”

“On First Avenue. Near Houston Street.”

“Not with my daughter?”

“No, sir. I have my own apartment.”

“But you do sleep with Gillian, don’t you?”

“That’s my business, sir. And Gillian’s.”

“I wouldn’t want to see my daughter hurt, Mr. Regan.”

“Nor would I.”

“She’s a fine girl. With a lot of talent.”

“I know that.”

Meredith nodded and studied him. “How long have you known her?”

“Since last November.”

“Almost a year.”

“Almost.”

“And you love her, you say?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“You seem like a very cold person.”

David shrugged.

“Do you mind my frankness?” Meredith asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“Shall we have more coffee?”

“I’d like some.”

The waiter came, and they ordered more coffee. Meredith Burke took his black, without sugar.

“Do you plan on marrying her?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“I haven’t found the job I want yet.”

“What job do you want?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Or is there any sense to marrying a free-and-easy girl who’s already...?”

“Mr. Burke,” David said, “you’re talking about Gillian. I’d hit any other man in the world who talked about her that way.”