Page 52 of The Happy Month
She pouted for a moment, then excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. Once she was gone, Brian said, “I saw Joseph about a year ago. We both go to Dr. Macht.”
“How was he?”
“He seemed good. Healthy.”
“Good for him.”
“He mentioned that he was upset when he heard that you’d died.”
“How did he hear that? I mean, why would he be reading books about The Outfit?”
“Gloria Silver put it in her column after the book came out. Made it sound like you were one of her closest friends.”
“You didn’t tell Joseph I’m still alive, did you?”
“No. It felt awful, Nick. Is all this really necessary?”
“I don’t know. But I do know I don’t want to be wrong. If I’m wrong, people die.”
A cloud passed over his face. He seemed to be remembering the time that happened to him. And in that moment, everything I’d done for the last eleven years seemed exactly right. It was hard enough to be responsible for that cloud. If I’d been responsible… I couldn’t risk that.
“You’re happy?” he asked when he came out of it.
“I am.”
“Good. That’s what I needed to know.”
INTERLUDE
Winter 1948
“The Beverly Hills Brown Derby?” Vera asked as they were parking. “Wouldn’t it be more impressive to eat at The Polo Lounge? It’s right across the street.”
“The partners made the decision, not me.”
Patrick Gill was a junior partner at Webster & Steenburgen. The dinner had been planned to impress a lawyer named Hammerstein they were courting from New York. As much as Vera’s question was right on the money, it annoyed Patrick. He was finding she did a lot of annoying things.
She’d come to Thanksgiving dinner; at which time they’d announced their engagement. She’d worn a green dress with a floral print, large skirt, matching belt, and a white collar. It wasn’t as formal as he’d have liked. She was wearing the same dress to dinner, and he kicked himself for not insisting they buy her something more appropriate. He knew the partners were expecting evening wear.
Unlike its sister restaurant in Hollywood, the restaurantwas not shaped like a hat. There was a derby on a neon sign sitting high above them as they walked under the awning into the restaurant. Inside, the walls were covered in a light beige linen on top of which hung dozens of 8x10s of movie stars neatly arranged in rows. From the ceiling hung spider-like chandeliers with two dozen light bulbs every ten feet. The round tables were surrounded by dark green leather club chairs held together with brass tacks. Dinner was well underway, and the room was filled with chatter and cigarette smoke.
The maître d’ led them to a large round table in one corner. There were already three other couples there. Seeing them, Roland Webster stood up, acting the senior partner. He was well into his fifties, balding, angry blue eyes and a phony smile. He wore a loose-fitting gray suit with a fresh white shirt and a navy blue tie with white anchors.
“Well, there you are. We’ve already ordered drinks. Patrick, this is Bernie Hammerstein and his wife Rachel.”
Bernie was just a bit older than Patrick, though he looked younger. He seemed terrified of something. Patrick couldn’t decide if it was the restaurant, Roland, or California in general. His wife looked surprised.
“It’s good to meet you,” Patrick said. “This is my fiancée, Vera Korenko.”
Bernie stood up and shook Patrick’s hand but then wasn’t sure what to do with Vera. She said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Which allowed him to sit back down. She smiled at Rachel. Dressed in a crepe black dress with a modest décolletage, she seemed in awe of everyone and everything around her.
Harold stood, saying, “Well Patrick, you know who I am, but your fiancée doesn’t. Vera, I’m Harold Steenbergen and this is my wife,Catherine.”
He was tall, in his early sixties and graying, while his wife was also tall, rail thin and around the same age. They were both in black; his suit impeccably tailored, her dress fully formal going nearly to the floor.
As Patrick held out a seat for Vera, Roland said, “I’ve been remiss. This is my wife, Olive.”
Patrick and Vera smiled and said “Hello.”
