I made sure to be in New York for the two social events Edgar invited me to. I attended a Mets game in his private box, correctly assuming Stick would be there; and I was his guest at a UJA benefit dinner at the Waldorf. Copley, it turned out, hadn’t been invited. But he heard I was, and that suited my purposes even better. It convinced Copley I enjoyed a degree of intimacy with Edgar that was barred to him. In fact, when alone with me, Edgar’s attitude about my consulting job with Minotaur was sarcastic. “Do you always figure out a way to get paid for your research?” he teased. Whatever Copley might fear, Edgar obviously didn’t think I had insights into the business that he needed to hear.
A month into my job as a consultant, Stick invited me to a barbecue on July 4th. That provided my introduction to his wife of twenty-seven years, Mary Catharine, an Italian-American born and raised in Boston. Halley’s small stature, olive skin and dark hair came from her; otherwise they didn’t appear related. Mary Catharine’s light brown eyes were watery. Her neck was compressed into a shapeless torso, chin either weak or disappeared by the thickening of her face. Her people were working-class. She met Copley when he was at Harvard Business School. She waited tables at the pizzeria, around the corner from his bachelor apartment. I suspected (and later confirmed by the date of Halley’s birth, seven months following their wedding) that the marriage was precipitated by a pregnancy.
Mary Catharine was an alcoholic. When I deliberately arrived forty-five minutes early, I smelled it on her breath. She excused herself to change for the barbecue. She reappeared in a half hour, wearing a bright yellow pants suit. A minty odor had replaced the boozy one. Twice during the party, I noticed her fiddle with something in a pocket and slip what I eventually discovered was a Tic-Tac into her mouth. Her drinking was camouflaged in other ways. She offered to refresh a different guest’s drink every ten minutes or so, often when their glasses were merely half-empty. Each time, when she returned with her guest’s refill, she had made a new drink for herself. During the two hours before burgers and hot dogs were served, I counted eight gin and tonics. To the casual eye, it would have seemed no more than two or three; and her behavior, although increasingly gay and friendly, was another confirmation of alcoholism — she didn’t appear drunk.
Stick knew, of course. She annoyed him at one point, interrupting a pompous monologue he was delivering into the cleavage of the pretty wife of his vice-president in charge of domestic sales, Jack Truman. “Stick, honey,” she said, blocking off his view of the Great Divide. “You don’t have to convince Amy you’re a great man. I bet when Jack comes home he neglects her to sing your praises.”
“Thanks for the hint, dear,” he answered. “You know what I need? Another drink. Why don’t you get one for me?” he said, handing her his glass. “If you’ve left any gin for the rest of us,” he added with a pleasant smile.
“Baby, I’ve only been sucking the limes,” she answered, jiggling the yellow expanse of her behind luridly. “Practice makes perfect, right?” She laughed harshly in her husband’s face, although her puzzling remark seemed to wound only herself. I was not surprised that Stick hadn’t divorced this overweight, unhappy, and socially inferior woman for what magazines call a trophy wife. Nor was I surprised by his guests, my introduction to the second-rate men who worked on the business side of Minotaur. They were sycophants, frightened of Stick, intimidated by Halley, and annoyed by their dependence on the engineers working in the labs — a frustrated envy that was expressed as contempt.
While I stood with Jack Truman at the edge of Stick’s flagstone patio, chewing our corn on the cob, he asked me about the nature of my consulting job this way: “So you’re checking out Geek Heaven. I’d love to read your report. Always wanted to know if those guys have personal lives.”
“Geek Heaven?” I asked with a smile.
“Sorry. They’re brilliant. God bless ’em. What would we do without ’em?” Jack lowered his voice. “But they’re weird, right?”
“That’s why Stick’s got me down there,” I winked. “He wants to make sure they aren’t chopping up prostitutes and stuffing them into suitcases.”
Jack threw his head back and cackled. He finished with a sigh, commenting, “That’s funny.” He poked me with his elbow and turned away from the patio toward the pool. I shifted my position as well. He whispered, “Do you know about Gene Kenny? Used to be head of R&D? He seemed like the most normal nerd in Geek Heaven. But he cracked up. You know what he did?”
I recovered quickly from the surprise that neither Stick nor Halley, or any of the engineers, bothered to gossip with the marketers enough for him to know I was Gene’s doctor. That evidently he didn’t know Halley had an affair with Gene wasn’t a surprise; I had discovered only Andy Chen was clever enough to suspect. I shook my head no.
Now I had surprised Jack. “Really? I figured that’s why Stick brought in a head shrinker.” He inclined his head toward the lawn, a signal to move with him. We stepped off the flagstones onto the grass, as if somehow this placed our conversation in a more discreet zone. Not that Jack relied entirely on the lawn’s sound-dampening. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Kenny raped and killed his ex-wife. Then he smothered his baby boy and hung himself.” Jack shuddered. “About two months ago.” He studied me. “Nobody said anything to you?”
“Stick told me Kenny committed suicide, but not Andy or the other nerds, as you call them.”
“They’re okay. I didn’t mean anything. You know, they say,” he dropped his already low voice to a whisper, “that’s why Centaur’s so late. Gene destroyed the prototype when he flipped. We had to start from scratch.”
“What are you boys whispering about?” Halley called, approaching us with a platter of watermelon and cantaloupe.
“You, of course,” I said. “We were wondering why someone so glamorous and intelligent wants to work in a nerdy business like computers.”
“Nerdy business?” Jack repeated with a nervous laugh.
“It’s simple,” Halley said, picking up a piece of cantaloupe with her free hand. “Don’t tell my mother I used my fingers.” She popped the square into her mouth and chewed. Jack and I watched solemnly while she consumed it. “Excuse me,” she mumbled with a full mouth. She swallowed. “Dad’s the only person who’d hire me. It’s shameless nepotism.” She offered the platter to me. “The cantaloupe’s good.”
Jack cleared his throat. “Now, that’s not true, Hal. Don’t give the doctor a wrong impression.” He edged in front of me and used his fork to slide several pieces of watermelon onto his plate. “She had a terrific job at Time-Warner,” he told me. He said to Halley, “And I happen to know it was for double what we pay you.” Back to me. “She’s brought us tons of contacts. We switched agencies ’cause of Hal. Wales & Simpson has been great.” He commented to her, “I think the campaign for Centaur looks fantastic. You’re doing great, Hal.”
“I guess that’s why,” she said to me. “I work here for all the good feedback. But you’re neglecting me, Doctor. Dad brings you on board to study us and I haven’t seen you at all. Aren’t I worth studying?”
“Please, I beg you, call me Rafe.”
“Well, okay, if you’re going to beg me. I haven’t seen you at all, Rafe.”
“That’s right,” Jack moved next to her, bumping her slightly. “We feel neglected,” he said.
“You should be glad,” I answered. “If I show my face in your office, you’re in trouble.” For a moment, they took this hard, mouths open, stupefied. “I’m kidding.” I laughed. Jack tried a smile. Only a corner of his lips cooperated. Halley, however, really did smile appreciatively. “Seriously,” I said. “Stick’s just being nice to me. I’m doing research on the psychodynamics of …” I slapped Jack on the shoulder, rather hard. “Nerds. I’m a child psychologist and those are basically kids down there in Geek Heaven. It’s really got nothing to do with the business. Your father’s being most cooperative.”