Page 40 of A Matter of Pedigree
The videographer was already on his way to the door, followed by Salvati. “Sure,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “It was very nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, twirling his hat in his hand and smiling at Polly.
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” said Polly, giving him a big smile. “A bientot, as we say in France. That means, until next time.”
“A bientot,” he replied, with a nod toward Frank.
“Did I say get outta here, or what?” growled Frank, and Salvati quickly replaced his cap on his head and beat a hasty retreat, his shoes squeaking on the vinyl tile floor.
“What are you trying to do?” demanded Frank, turning on Polly. “Whose side are you on here?”
“I was just trying to help,” said Polly.
“Well, from now on, don’t. Just mind your own business, okay?”
“Bien sur,” said Polly. “I guess I’ll go down to the cafeteria for acafé.Anybody want something?”
Frank and Carole shook their heads, but Frank-O had a request. “Ice cream?” he asked.
“I’ll see what I can do,” promised Polly, clicking out of the room in her neat Chanel pumps.
“What is going on?” demanded Frank, closing the door behind her. “When did she get here? Why is she here?”
“She called this morning, from the airport, when I was over at Prospect Place with Mom. I don’t know why she’s here, but she is, so I’d like you to treat her like an honored guest, since she happens to be my mother. Okay?”
Frank’s eyes widened in horror. “She’s staying with us?”
“Of course she’s staying with us,” said Carole.
“My life is over,” said Frank. “They might as well put me in jail.”
“Get a grip,” ordered Carole. “We’ve got more important stuff to worry about right now.” She turned to Frank-O. “So how are you feeling, baby?”
“Rotten,” he replied, in a hoarse voice. “I got a sore throat, and it feels like I got an elephant on my chest.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“Haven’t seen one.”
“Figures,” snorted Frank. “So what were you doing down there at the Factory, anyway?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean ‘nothing’? You musta been doing something.”
“No, nothing. I was meeting a friend …”
“Who?”
“You don’t know him.” Frank-O maintained eye contact with his father as he continued. “An artist. Said he’d help me with my project. Feedback, you know? So he said come on by; he’s been squatting there.”
“Is that where the fire started? In his squat?”
“I don’t know. I was waiting around for him; I had a coffee, so I drank some of it, and I was wandering around, looking for his studio. Then I kinda got lost; I was in this corridor, and it was getting smoky, and I turned to leave, and the smoke was getting thick, and I was trying to get back to the door, so I could get out, and that’s all I remember.”
Carole was horrified by her son’s close call; she wanted to scoop him up in her arms and hug him, but since she couldn’t do that, she just grabbed his hand and pressed it to her lips. “You were lucky the firemen found you in time. Think of what could’ve happened.”
“Yeah,” grumbled Frank, as Polly returned, carrying a Popsicle.
“I hope orange is okay; it’s all they had,” she said, peeling off the paper wrapper and handing it over to Frank-O. “And thecafé, just awful. I couldn’t drink it.”
