For All Their Lives Page 3

  Mac crossed his legs and fixed his stare on his father, across the table. “I volunteered for Vietnam. I leave the day after tomorrow. My orders are carved in granite, if that’s your next question.” He signaled for a third glass of wine.

  “You did what!” the judge hissed.

  Mac smiled. He wondered how his father did it: his jaw had barely moved, his lips hadn’t parted, but the angry horror was there for anyone to see. “You pledged me ten years, Malcolm. An honorable man doesn’t go back on his word.”

  “I’m not going back on my word. One year in Vietnam will finish up my time in the service. I’m giving you exactly what I promised. When I get back, if I get back, we’ll discuss the second part of my career,” Mac said tightly.

  The salmon steak arrived just as Mac knew it would. He waved it away. Today there were two sprigs of parsley on the plate.

  The judge leaned across the table, a ghoulish look on his face. The other diners were supposed to think he was smiling. It was such a neat trick, Mac thought, being able to talk and not move your lips or jaw. “This is about the most stupid thing you’ve ever done. I’ve pulled strings, I’ve called in favors, and I’ve gone out of my way to get you a comfortable job in the Pentagon. Now you toss it all aside.”

  “I’m not needed here, and I hate staff duty,” Mac replied. “I want to contribute.”

  “Do you have any idea of what’s going on over there?” the judge demanded. He didn’t wait for a response, he never did. “You don’t have to go. Let someone else go.”

  “Father, I am the someone else. I’m not going to change my mind,” Mac said firmly.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Do you know what’s going on over there? Well, do you?”

  “I’m in the army, for Christ’s sake, of course I know what’s going on over there. I hope to make a difference. At least I’m going to try.”

  The judge laid his fork down across his plate next to his knife. Now he’s going to tell me all the things on his mind, Mac thought, all the things that are important right now, more important than me. He sat back and fired up another cigarette.

  “I have a lot going on, Mac. I don’t want to have to worry about you, and contrary to what you believe, I will worry. They’re yellow-eyed weasels, and they don’t fight the way you’ve been taught. There are no rules over there. You’ve learned jungle warfare from a book. The real thing is nothing like what you’ve been taught.

  “LBJ told me himself he had a meeting with Premier Nguyen Cao Ky on the seventh. Ky said his government would never deal with the Viet Cong. They talked about economic and social reforms to win the war against the communists. We both know that’s bull. This war will be won or lost by force of arms. That’s why I prefer you stay stateside. I don’t want to stand by your casket the way I stood by Chester Nimitz’s. Do you hear me, Malcolm?”

  “I don’t want your blessing,” Mac said firmly. “I just want your support. I need you to tell me you understand why I’m going over there.”

  Judge Carlin picked up his fork and poked at his salmon. It was the most Mac would get. There would be no words, no pat on the back. He would finish his lunch. Mac found himself grinning.

  “What’s gotten into you, son?” the judge asked.

  Son. Mac couldn’t remember the old man ever calling him son. It was always Malcolm or Mac around his friends. It was too late for words like son. It was too late for a lot of things. He steeled himself to maintain the outward show of respect that was demanded of him.

  “Jesus, Dad, I’m supposed to be a goddamn combat leader. They couldn’t wait to change my orders. They need me over there. I’m going. Do you want to say good-bye here or stop by the house? You will keep an eye on Alice for me, won’t you? Maybe this will take the edge off things. Alice is pregnant. She told me this morning. I’m not changing my mind. She wants to go to France and have the baby there,” Mac said cooly.

  The elder Carlin snapped his lips shut. He hated having his judgment questioned. He never backed down. Never. And now, on top of everything else, a brat! That wasn’t in his plan. He didn’t like children, never had liked them. He tolerated Mac because it was expected. It was wholesome. It was the way things were done. But he didn’t have to like it.

  “You could have asked me first.”

  Mac laughed, a loud guffaw that made the other diners stare at the two good-looking men dining alone. “When? As I was unzipping my pants, or when Alice couldn’t find her diaphragm? I guess there was a minute there when I could have called you.” His laugh sounded bitter. For once, he noticed, the old man actually looked embarrassed.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you damn well know it,” the judge seethed. It was a shock and he hadn’t been prepared for it. Then again, a baby, a toddler, would look good when he announced his son was going into politics. Mac was better looking than Jack Kennedy. Alice had the same kind of savoir faire as Jackie Kennedy. Maybe a stint in Vietnam would add to the political flavor of things. Providing Mac came home a hero. He gave voice to the thought.

  Mac winced. He’d known the old man would think of it. “Well, hell yes, Father, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said mockingly. “You will keep tabs on Alice, won’t you?” He waited for his father to nod, then said, “Then you won’t mind if I skip dessert. My sweet tooth runs toward apple pie, not rice pudding. And I don’t like chicory in my coffee.”

  “Your mother must be rolling over and over in her grave,” the judge muttered.

  Mac could feel the beginnings of a heat flush on his neck. He wasn’t going to get suckered into that game. The old man always pulled out his mother as a last resort.

  Mac stood, every eye in the room on him. “I guess this is good-bye, sir,” he said quietly.

  There was little the judge could do but extend his own hand. Mac crushed it. “Good-bye, Malcolm. Make me proud of you.”

  “You bet, sir. Yes, sir. Right, sir. Whatever you say, sir.” Mac fired off a snappy, mocking salute to his father before he strode from the restaurant.

  And that was the end of that.

  Outside in the brisk air, Mac inhaled deeply. He’d wanted the old man to slap him on the back. He’d wanted some encouraging words. Wanted, but never expected.

  He started to walk; it was the only thing he could think of to do to get rid of the knots in his neck, the tension in his gut. Maybe a long walk in the brisk air would heal his heart.

  He wandered aimlessly, up one street and down another; until he didn’t know where he was. Not that he cared at that moment. He walked until he was almost numb with the cold, then he hailed the first cab he saw. Forty minutes later he climbed into his own car and headed for his and Benny’s favorite bar. Their favorite because Bill’s Bar and Grill was the only place that served them when they’d been underage.

  As he was locking his car, Mac surveyed Pennsylvania Avenue. Not much traffic. The bar would probably be empty. He could sit in the back and nurse his misery until Benny arrived. He stared at the garish neon sign that burned twenty-four hours a day. It looked like a sleazy, ramshackle tavern from the outside, but it was clean inside, warm, and full of camaraderie. The clientele, for the most part, wore three-piece business suits and Brooks Brothers shoes. There were no fistfights here, and the place didn’t smell like stale beer and cigarette smoke. It was, in his opinion, a class operation. Sadie Switzer ran the place. There was no Bill. She had named it, she said, after her only true love, who had left her high and dry when he found out she was pregnant. Sadie was fond of saying she kept the exterior shabby on purpose in case old Bill ever decided to come back and ask for a part of the profits.

  There was a picture of Bill on one of the walls; it doubled as a dart board. Sadie gave free draughts to anyone who hit Bill’s nose dead center. During Mac’s senior year in prep school he’d practiced throwing darts every evening, but he’d used a picture of his father for a target. He’d gotten a vicious kind of pleasure out of plucking out the old man’s eyes and shredding his n
ose. Jesus, he’d used up a whole week’s allowance having pictures of his father blown up just so he could mutilate them. The day Sadie got tired of serving him free draughts, she asked him how he got so good at throwing darts. He told her. She’d hugged him, tears in her eyes. It was the best hug he’d ever had, sweet and motherly.

  Warm, lemon-scented air wafted toward Mac when he opened the door. He blinked several times till his eyes adjusted to the dim interior.

  In a way, coming to Sadie’s was like coming home. He felt comfortable both here, in the bar itself, and upstairs in her four-room apartment. When he was younger, Sadie had never let him drive even after just one beer. Serving him when he was underage was one thing, but letting him drive under the influence of alcohol was something else.

  If there was such a thing as a beautiful bar, then Bill’s Bar and Grill was beautiful. The bar was solid mahogany with a shiny brass rail, which Sadie polished herself. There were always bowls of pickled eggs as well as nuts and pretzels on the bar. The stools were made of matched, polished mahogany that smelled lemony and clean. The cushions were real leather and swooshed when you sat down. He’d always liked the sound. He also liked the oak floor, which was washed and waxed every night, even on Christmas Eve. The tables and chairs were also made of oak and were bright with polish. Green and white checkered cloths covered the tables. Sadie insisted that this was because Bill was Irish and his favorite color was green. Once in a while, especially on St. Patrick’s Day, she placed green candles on the tables and served green beer. It took him almost two years before he figured out that Sadie still loved Bill and would take him back in a heartbeat if he should ever walk through her front door.

  Mac sat down at the bar and ordered a bottle of Bud. His eyes scanned Sadie’s memorabilia wall. Snapshots of patrons and their families covered it, but by invitation only. One did not, ever, sneak a picture onto the wall. To do so meant instant banishment. When Sadie decided you were worthy enough, she would casually mention that it was time for a picture. Mac had waited almost a year before she asked the bartender to snap a picture of him and her standing together outside the bar with the neon sign behind them. There were all kinds of pictures of Sadie on the wall, usually taken during one of the bashes she was famous for, but there were no pictures of Sadie posing with anyone but Mac. He’d puffed out like a peacock that day, and still did when he thought about it.

  As he sipped his beer, Mac decided that someday he would do something really nice for Sadie in return.

  Her scent arrived before she did. Mac sniffed appreciatively when she walked into the bar from the kitchen.

  “Mac, honey, no one told me you were here.” She smiled, walking around the bar. “Is anything wrong?”

  The concern and worry on her face made him force more lightness into his voice than he felt. Sadie already knew he was going to Nam, she’d been the first person he’d told. “No, not at all. I’m meeting Benny here, and I wanted to say good-bye. I just had lunch with my father.” He swigged from the bottle and shrugged at the same time.

  Sadie Switzer was a tall woman, five-eleven, and she carried her height regally. She wore the best clothes, always had her hair expertly coiffed, and her makeup was so professional that it looked as if she wasn’t wearing any. Her hair was naturally white, and she refused to color it. “An old broad like me, come on,” she’d say. “I’m sixty-five. If I change myself, Bill won’t know me when he finally decides to look me up.” She was pretty, with eyes as green as grass and a straight little nose that she twitched when she was annoyed. But it was her smile, all crinkly and warm, that attracted people to her. In turn, she knew everything there was to know about her customers and their families, their pets, their in-laws, and she dispensed advice like a professional psychiatrist.

  She sat down on the bar stool next to Mac. “Ginger ale,” she said to the bartender.

  “You’re lookin’ good, Sadie.” Mac chuckled.

  “I should, it took me three hours this morning to get myself together. God, I didn’t think I was ever going to get old. Then one day I woke up, and there I was, an old broad. I think it was the same day I realized Bill was never going to come back here for me.”

  He had it, the nice thing he could do for Sadie. Find Bill.

  “Where did he go, Sadie?”

  “He said he was going to San Francisco, but that was a lie. He just didn’t want me to find him. He didn’t want a kid, that’s what it was all about. For sure he wasn’t father material, but at the time, I wasn’t exactly mother material either. I would have learned, Mac. Honest to God, I would have learned. I wanted that baby more than anything in the world, because it was part of Bill. When I miscarried, I wanted to die. I kept myself going all those years by convincing myself Bill would eventually start to think that he had a son or daughter and want to see his flesh and blood, but it never happened. I didn’t care after that, and I let myself go—physically and mentally. Then you walked in here, angry and belligerent, with a chip on your shoulder. It would have been my son’s birthday, if he had lived. Me and you, we hit it right off. I didn’t even give a damn if I got arrested for serving you, you being underage and all. Kid, when you invited me to West Point for your graduation, there wasn’t a prouder person in the world. You screwed up by getting married, but we aren’t going to talk about that. Swear to me you’re going to write to me at least once a month.”

  “I swear—every two weeks. I wrote you when I was at the Academy, didn’t I?”

  “That was different, you were lonely. You’re going to a hellhole. I can read, Mac. It’s all jungle over there. Once a month will be fine. But in the meantime, I would like to know why you’re doing this.”

  Mac signaled the bartender for a second beer. “I have to get out from under. I need some time, some space. The old man took it rather well, all things considered. He ordered me to come back a hero.”

  “It figures.” Sadie snorted. She would never forgive the judge for the way he treated his son. Neither would she ever forget the humiliating way he’d looked at her at Mac’s graduation. She didn’t like Alice either, and she had tried to steer Mac in other directions, but he’d been stubborn. If she’d had her way, she would have taken him to a high quality cathouse and turned him loose, but she didn’t have any say. It was a real pity; now Mac was shackled to someone he didn’t love with no way out.

  “And your wife?” she asked gently.

  “Ah, my wife. Well, Sadie, this morning my wife told me she’s pregnant.” He hated the pitying look in Sadie’s eyes. He took a long, hard pull at the beer bottle, almost draining it. “Say something, Sadie.”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  Sadie was wearing a raspberry-colored silk blouse with a cream-colored skirt and beige pumps. A slender strand of pearls adorned the front of the blouse, Bill’s one and only gift to her.

  She felt tears prick her eyes. She loved this boy—this young man, she corrected the thought. She felt his pain, had always felt it, and somehow she always knew when he was going through a bad time. She’d called his home for a while, but Alice usually managed to forget to give Mac her messages. When she couldn’t reach him at the house, she called the Pentagon. It was her mothering instinct, she said, which she’d never gotten the chance to nourish until Mac came along.

  “A baby is a wonderful thing for two people, Mac. Perhaps it will cement your marriage.” She didn’t believe it for a minute.

  “I’m going no matter what, Sadie,” Mac said glumly. “I have to do this—for me. If I don’t, what the hell kind of father am I going to make? Let’s not talk about this, okay? It’s my last night to howl. Me and Benny. The TFB kids. Remember? You christened us.”

  “The Trust Fund Boys. Yes, I remember,” Sadie said softly. “I think that’s the only time in my life I made a bad judgment call. I apologized to both of you.”

  “Yes, you did, and we took it real well, Benny and me.” Mac’s voice was beginning to slur. He was on his fourth beer. “Benny’s okay. M
y best friend. He’s happy, did I tell you that?”

  “Uh-huh. How about some coffee, Mac, and a sandwich? Let’s go upstairs before you start giving my place a bad name.” She almost laughed then at the way Mac snapped to attention. He removed his uniform blouse, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He stood back and pitched his visored service cap toward the bar. It landed neatly on two bottles of Bombay gin. This time Sadie did laugh as she linked her arm with his.

  In Sadie’s apartment, Mac leaned back in the comfortable chair and did his best to concentrate on her favorite show, Dark Shadows. It was four o’clock, so he still had an hour to kill until Benny arrived. Sadie was right. He needed to sober up before his best pal in the whole world arrived.

  Sadie set down a plate of thick sandwiches full of every cold cut known to man. “I put lots of mustard and mayo on, just the way you like it.” Three pickled eggs and two sour pickles, along with some potato chips, completed Mac’s meal.

  “Alice never makes me anything. The cook does it,” Mac mumbled as he chewed obediently. “Thanks for bringing me up here. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass you. I shouldn’t have had all that beer on an empty stomach.”

  “It wasn’t me I was worried about, it was you, Mac.”

  “I know, Sadie,” Mac muttered as he gulped the last of the coffee. He was more clear-headed now and he felt less woozy. “Did I tell you I’m going down to Charleston tomorrow on an early flight? I want to see my uncle Harry before I leave. I didn’t tell my father I was going. Shit, I didn’t tell Alice either. I should call her now and tell her I won’t be home for dinner.”

  “Now, that’s a thought.” Sadie grinned.

  Mac laughed. “I said I should, I didn’t say I would. Alice . . . Alice doesn’t care.”

  From long experience, she knew it was time to steer the conversation in another direction. “You haven’t been to your mother’s home for a long time, have you?”

  “The last time I went was when I was in high school. It was pure rebellion. My father forbid me to go, so I sneaked out at night and hitchhiked. I was kind of proud of that. My uncle Harry thought it was cool. He hates my old man, but then, my old man hates him too.”