Chapter 86

We all sit together in the sunroom, Krupsky rubbing Judy’s stomach, a smile on his face as big as the moon outside. It’ll soon be New Years. Looking at my daughter now, I think back to the day she was born. The agency was pitching a new account and Frank kept coming down the hall, yelling, “What’s taking you bastards so long?” I was in the art director’s office, getting the last of the layouts together, when our receptionist came over the intercom: “Sam, Mary’s in labor.” I dropped everything, grabbed my coat, and headed out the door. “Where are you going?” Frank said, and I told him Mary was about to give birth. “Go on then,” he said. “You probably want to take a few pictures. Go on then, you git. Hand out your cigars.”

That afternoon, Judy came into the world, seven pounds, six ounces. The rest happened in a blink of an eye: nappies turning into underwear, t-shirts turning into bras, a graduation and then she was gone, off to Seattle to meet the man of her dreams. She looks up at me now and smiles, the dimples growing. Krupsky pats her hand and stands up. “You should be very happy, Sam,” he says.

“I am, Krupsky. I’m tickled.” The lights are on around the pool. Steam floats through the trees, disappearing into the blue-black sky.

“Imagine that,” Krupsky says. “Swimming on New Year’s Eve.”

We go outside for a cigar. “Any plans for the New Year?” I ask. “Resolutions?”

“At my age, Sam? What do I have to resolve?

“Probably right.”

“What about you?”

“I still get dizzy spells.”

“So, sit down when it happens.”

“Mary thinks I need medication.”

“Do you think you need medication?”

“I don’t know what I need.”

“Look out there, Sam,” he says, pointing up with his cigar. “Lots of stars. Thousands—millions. We’ve seen a few galaxies beyond Pluto. After that, bupkis, Sam, bupkis.”

“What are you saying, Krupsky?”

“We’re specks in the universe, Sam. Most of our decisions are made for us. It’s called the earth’s rotation. The world spins around, we spin around with it.”

“Not very encouraging.”

“So it’s not very encouraging,” he shrugs. “You know what I’d like to do, Sam?” More than anything else? I’d like to swim.”

“If that’s what you want. I’ll find you some trunks.”

“I thought this was a naked deal?”

“So now you’re a hedonist?”

“What have you got against nudity?”

“Depends who’s naked.”

“Again, sue me.”

Five minutes later, wrapped in bathrobes and snow boots, Krupsky, Muller and I cross the lawn. People are running out of Riley’s house, dropping towels, jumping in the deep end. Riley and Pam are naked. “Eighty-six degrees, Sam,” Riley says.

Krupsky laughs and drops his robe. He jumps in the pool with his cigar. Muller and I jump in after him. Krupsky moves to the shallow end. “Pam, this is my doctor,” I say. “Krupsky, this is Pam.”

“Glad to meet you, Pam.”

“When did you start hanging out with your doctor?” Riley asks.

“We’ve been dancing together,” I say.

“Not with each other, of course,” Krupsky puffs away.

“Riley, Krupsky,” I say. “Krupsky, Riley.” They shake hands. Muller swims over to the diving board. He gets out and does a belly flop. Krupsky laughs himself silly.

More people emerge from the house, shaking their thighs, jumping in the water. They’re counting down in the house. Then someone yells out, “Happy New Year!”

Krupsky’s eyes shine. “Happy New Year, Sam,” he says.

“Happy New Year, Krupsky.” Now he’s blubbering again and Pam’s giving him a hug. Lucky prick.