Эд Макбейн - Love, Dad

“I’d... feel funny.”

“Lissie, you owe it to him.”

“I don’t owe him a goddamn thing!” Lissie said.

There was a long silence on the line. Then, in a very low voice, Connie said, “Don’t you ever say that again, Liss. Not to me, not to anyone. You owe him a great deal more than you may imagine. You’re his daughter. Call him, go to see him. That’s all I’m going to say about it.”

“I can’t understand you, Mom, I really can’t...”

“Can’t you? I’m trying to breathe again, Lissie. And I suggest you start doing the same.”

She thought she heard her mother sigh.

“I’ll write to you from London,” Connie said, “as soon as I get there. Take care of yourself, darling.”

“I will,” Lissie said. “And Mom...”

But she had already hung up.

The doorbell rang at ten minutes past midnight.

This was New York City.

“Who the hell?” Jamie said.

Joanna was already sitting up in bed.

“Don’t answer it,” she said.

The doorbell kept ringing.

“It’s another burglar,” Joanna said.

“Burglars don’t ring the doorbell,” Jamie said.

He got out of bed, put on a robe, and then walked through the small library, Joanna’s flute lying in its black leather case, silver against green plush, the tiled Franklin stove and Oriental rugs, out into the corridor with the window at the end of the hall where the burglar had come in that time long ago and down the stairs to the second floor of the house, guest bedroom off to the right, kitchen and dining room just beyond the stairs, and down into the living room and past the fireplace and into the tiny entry hall with its wall pegs and the narrow frosted glass window over the front door. He looked through the peephole. “Jesus,” he said, and took off the nightchain and unlocked the door.

“Hi, Dad,” Lissie said.

She was standing in the doorway with Sparky Marshall. She was wearing a blue paisley tent dress, high-topped workman’s shoes, blue knee-length socks and her fighter-pilot’s jacket. The leather was cracked and peeling at the elbows, and the fur collar had been worn raw around the neck. The fleece lining was a dullish gray color now; he doubted she had ever had the jacket cleaned. Sparky was wearing blue jeans, brown boots, a brown leather coat and a ten-gallon hat tilted rakishly over one eye. His smile, as usual, was dazzling.

“We didn’t wake you, did we?” he asked.

“No, I had to get up to answer the door, anyway,” Jamie said.

Sparky laughed. “Thaass a good one,” he said.

“Well, come in, come in,” Jamie said, and took their coats and hung them on the wall pegs just inside the door, and then closed and locked the door again. He was tempted to tell Lissie that people didn’t normally drop in at midnight without calling first, but she was here at last, and he said nothing, simply hugged her close and kissed her cheek while Sparky stood by grinning. She broke away suddenly, as though embarrassed, and then said, “You remember Sparky, don’t you?”

“Yes, sure. Come in, don’t stand in the doorway.”

Joanna was coming down the stairs in a baby doll nightgown. She saw Sparky putting down a duffel bag just inside the front door, and immediately backed up the steps again.

“Well, come in, please,” Jamie said, “would you like a drink? Something to eat? Are either of you hungry?”

“I wouldn’t mind some Scotch over ice,” Lissie said.

“You got anythin’ sweet?” Sparky asked, and Lissie glanced at him sharply. “Some chocolate or somethin’?”

“I’ll see what’s in the kitchen,” Jamie said. “Joanna,” he called as he started up the stairs. “It’s Lissie!”

“Hey, hi,” Joanna yelled down from the top floor. She had put on a bathrobe and was starting down the stairs again. “What a surprise!” As she moved past Jamie on the second-floor landing, she whispered, “Who’s that with her?”

“Sparky Marshall.”

They were sitting in the easy chairs before the fireplace when Joanna came into the room. Sparky got to his feet at once.

“Joanna, I don’t think you’ve met Sparky,” Lissie said.

“Pleasure,” Sparky said.

“My father’s wife,” Lissie said. “Joanna.”

Joanna extended her hand.

“Sparky Marshall,” Lissie said.

“For Spartacus the slave. My great-granddaddy was a—”

“Oh, lay off the slave shit, will you?” Lissie said.

“Well... please,” Joanna said, “sit down. Is your father getting you something to drink?”

“Is that a television I see there in the bookcase?” Sparky said. “Mind if I catch a little Carson?”

“Well, no, go right ahead.”

Jamie came back with the Scotch for Lissie and a bag of chocolate chip cookies. “All I could find,” he said, handing them to Sparky who had turned on the television set, and was now sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of it. “You did want ice in this, didn’t you, Liss?” Jamie said.

“Yes, thanks,” she said, and took the glass. In front of the television set, Sparky dug into the bag of chocolate chip cookies, and then laughed at a joke Johnny Carson told.

There was a long silence.

“Well,” Jamie said, “this is certainly a surprise.”

“You said I was welcome any time,” Lissie said.

“Well, of course you are, darling.”

“Mom’s in Europe, and we felt like spending a few days in New York, so here we are,” she said, and spread her arms wide, almost spilling some of the Scotch in her glass. “Oops,” she said, and grinned, and brought the glass swiftly to her lips.

“You look great, Liss,” Jamie said. “Doesn’t she look great, Joanna?”

“Yes,” Joanna said, and smiled.

“This guy kills me,” Sparky said, laughing.

“So how’s it going up in Boston?” Jamie said.

“Colder’n a witch’s tit up there,” Sparky said. “Ony October an’ I’m freezin my ass off.”

“Are you still living in the same...?”

“Yeah, well, you know,” Lissie, “it’s tough to find a decent apartment in Boston. Unless you have tons of money, of course.”

“Sure, all those college kids up there,” Joanna said, nodding.

“Yeah, that’s just it. The nice places are pretty scarce.”

“’Specially when you’re doin’ a black-on-white number,” Sparky said, and dug into the bag of cookies again.

Lissie glanced at him again, and then — in needless explanation, it seemed to Jamie — said, “Sweet tooth,” and smiled nervously.

“This’s real nice here,” Sparky said, digging into the bag, looking around. The bag was empty. He crumpled it, and tossed it at the fireplace, missing. Joanna got up from where she was sitting, picked up the bag where it lay on the hearth, and placed it on the grate.

“Listen,” Sparky said, getting to his feet abruptly and turning off the television set, “you mind if we continue this in the mornin’? I’m really whacked out.” He turned to Joanna. “Where you want us, Joanna?”

“Well... I guess one of you can use the couch here,” she said, “and...”

“There’s a guest room, isn’t there?” Lissie said at once.

“Well, yes, but...”

“I think it’ll be okay if they use the guest room,” Jamie said.

Joanna looked at him.

Lissie smiled.

Sparky went to where he’d dropped the duffel just inside the front door, hefted it by its strap onto his shoulder and said, “Just lead the way.”

“It’s upstairs,” Jamie said.

Joanna was still looking at him.

“G’night, Joanna,” Sparky said over his shoulder.

“Good night, Joanna,” Lissie said.

“Good night,” Joanna said. She picked up the glass Lissie had left on the floor, and then watched them as they went up the stairs behind Jamie. As she carried the glass into the kitchen, she saw Lissie and Sparky down the hall, just outside the guest-room door. Lissie peeked in, and then whispered something to Sparky. Sparky giggled. Together, they went into the room.