Chapter 35

Krupsky should be reported to the American Medical Association. The man’s a fucking menace. He didn’t even ask Muller why he drank paint. He was more interested in my stress levels. Of course I’m stressed. Who wouldn’t be stressed? Muller’s suicidal, Judy’s oblivious, and Mary thinks I’m an alcoholic. I admit, Bulgarian whiskey does have a hint of desperation to it. I’m getting stress from all sides, Muller all day, Mary all evening. Between the two of them—and Krupsky—it’s a wonder I haven’t had more attacks. “You’re a piece of work,” I say to Muller on the way home. We pick up corn and steaks at the supermarket. The new barbecue was delivered this morning. When we get to the house, Mary and Judy have nuts and bolts everywhere. Muller starts reading the instructions, lining all the pieces up according to a diagram. The girls husk the corn while I stand there feeling dizzy. “I’ll go get charcoal,” I say. Mary tells me it’s propane. “Then I’ll get propane,” I say.

I jump in the car and drive around, going down by the lakeshore, watching the beach where Muller tried to drown himself. I smoke a cigarette. The wind blows ashes back on my lap. I start thinking back to this incident years ago when we were doing a presentation to Jack Baines, the worst client in the industry. Jack was a former World War II fighter pilot. He lost a leg during training exercises. Every time he came into meetings, he’d throw his artificial leg out in front of him. Jack liked to rattle people, and this particular time, just the way he was sitting, you knew he was up to something. Don Conroy and I were starting to present when Jack suddenly said, “Any of you remember a copywriter named George Burton? Worked in our business years ago.” None of us could recall the name. “Maybe he was at Young and Rubican,” he says. “Anyway, he killed himself the other night. Did it in a hotel room with his belt. Left a wife and two kids.”

I didn’t sleep for a week after that. Don was the same way. The only person it didn’t affect was Frank. I remember him coming by my office one day saying, “Who the fuck’s George Burton? Did I fire him?” I told him the guy never worked for us. “Didn’t think so,” he said. “Frigging hotel room,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s one way of doing it, I guess. At least you’ve got a mini bar close by.” He went off down the hall, whistling away, making some joke to Margot. She had to get up and push him out the door.

I finish my cigarette, pick up some propane at Walgreens, and drive home. Everything’s ready to go when I get back: steaks, corn on the cob, a big tossed salad. Mary and Judy are sitting at the picnic table, going through books on children’s nurseries. I hook up the propane tank and everything starts okay. I leave Muller to the cooking and go inside, taking some gin out of the liquor cabinet. Judy comes in and stares at me. “Are you okay, Daddy?” she says. “You’re starting to worry us. Mom thinks it’s a sugar spike from Muller’s brownies.”

She puts her arm around my waist. Judy’s a sweet girl. It makes me want to brain Muller even more. “Are you okay?” Judy asks. “Muller says you had another attack. What did Dr. Krupsky say?”

“He thinks I should take up dancing.”

“What’s wrong with that? Muller loves to dance.”

“Good for him.”

“We used to dance together all the time. Muller’s a terrific dancer. We went three times a week at one point.”

“Where did you and Muller dance?”

“At a dance studio.”

I swirl the ice around in my glass, imagining Muller doing a fox trot. “Do you have to be any good?” I ask. “What if you’re terrible?”

“Everyone’s terrible starting out, Daddy. I couldn’t even do a simple waltz. You pick it up pretty quick.”

“Do they grade you and stuff?”

“They have different levels. You move up from beginner to intermediate to senior.”

“What if you really suck?”

“Everyone’s real supportive, Daddy. You should try it.”

“Maybe I should.”

“I can find a dance studio near here,” she says. She’s already at the computer on the kitchen counter. “There’s probably one close by. They’re all over the place.”

“Okay, sweetheart. If you find something, book us all in there. I think it’s a foursome kind of thing, don’t you?”

“We’d love to,” Judy says. “I know Muller would.”

I pour another drink and take it outside. “We’re taking dance lessons,” I say to Mary and Muller. “The four of us. It’ll be a good family exercise.” Mary looks at me over her glasses.

“I didn’t know you liked to dance, Sam,” Muller says.

“You seriously want to dance?” Mary says.

“Sure, why not?”

“You’ve never danced in your life.”

“So I’ll start now.”

Muller turns the steaks and licks his fingers. “I love to dance,” he says. “Judy and I are pretty good.”

“Keep that under your hat,” I say to him. “We need you in the beginner classes with us. Moral support, and all.”

“No problem,” Muller says.

Mary gets up and comes over to me. She puts her arms around my neck. “Nice one, Sam,” she says. “You’re quite something, you know that? I’m proud of you. What made you think of it?”

“Krupsky,” I say.

“Krupsky?”

“I saw him twist.”