Chapter 91

“I thought we were starting early today?” I say when I come through Otis’s back door. Max is the only one up. He yawns and scratches his chest. Then Ruby appears in her dressing gown. “What time is it?” she says.

“Eight o’clock,” Max says. “We told Sam we were starting early.”

“Let me get ready,” she says. She goes off while Max sits and drinks his coffee.

Margot comes upstairs with Bisquick on her shoulder. “Morning, Sam,” she says. “God, my head hurts. Krupsky came back with us and made hot toddies. The man’s a machine.” She puts bread in the toaster. Bisquick tries to pull it out. “Buzz off, Bisquick. Go on, get down.”

Otis stumbles through to the washroom. “Otis, I’m doing something here,” Ruby yells, and he bounces off walls coming to the kitchen.

“Keep that bird away from me this morning, Margot,” he says.

“Keep him away yourself. I’m not your bodyguard.”

The toilet flushes and Ruby comes out in jeans and a flannel shirt. Her hair is up under a bandana. “Let’s go if we’re going,” she says.

In the truck, I roll down the window and light a cigarette. “Damn, that smells good,” Ruby says. “Give us a puff.”

“I thought you weren’t smoking anymore?” Max says.

“I just want one puff.”

I feel the sun warming my face, the light against my eyelids. I picture the rooms we’re painting now, each one needing a little sanding, a little priming. I can feel the brush in my hand. “Where are we going, Ruby?” I say.

“A new job, Sam. I thought I’d keep it a surprise.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s someone you know.”

“She’s talking about Iris, Sam,” Max says.

“Iris O’Conner? When did she call you?”

“Just before New Year’s. She wants some painting done.”

We’re driving up past Lincoln Park. Frank’s place is a big old Georgian with white columns. Over the years, Iris has fixed it up, extending the gardens and putting an atrium off the back. It wasn’t that big when they bought it, but there have been additions. Frank would always come in the office saying, “Iris is up to her old tricks again. Look at these bills, for crying out loud.” As much as he complained, he had pictures of the house framed on his wall. The shingles on the roof were replaced with tile, the front door painted an ivy green. I’ve only been over there a few times. We pass big houses, each with low flagstone walls. Frank and Iris live down near the end. Max starts unloading things from the truck while Ruby and I go up to the front door and ring the bell. Frank opens the door in a purple cardigan, looking like he hasn’t slept. Loose skin surrounds his jaw, the shine replaced with stubble. “Sam,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“Iris wants some painting done,” Ruby says.

“Painting?” he says. “She never told me.”

“Who’s that?” Iris says from another room.

“What are we painting?” he says. Iris appears in silk pajamas and a yellow dressing gown. Her hair is pulled back, face drawn, no makeup. “Don’t leave them standing out there,” she says. “Come in, Sam. You must be Ruby. Mary’s told me all about you. Just push Frankie out of the way. He’s always getting under my feet. Come in the atrium, we’re having tea.”

“Max is getting things out of the truck,” Ruby says.

“That little bastard?” Frank says. “Christ, why didn’t you tell me you were painting, Iris? Now I’ve got to deal with that little fucker.”

“Come through to the atrium, Ruby,” Iris says. “We’ll talk in there. Do you want tea, Sam?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t just stand there, Frankie. Have Max bring everything to the servant’s door. We’ll start the tea.”

“What did he do with the wiener van, Sam?” Frank asks.

“Took it to the wreckers finally.”

“Good riddance.” Iris and Ruby go to the atrium. “Sam,” Frank says. “A word.” He pulls me over next to his den. “Look,” he says and pauses, “Iris isn’t doing so well. She’s going in for more treatments. We thought we had it nipped in the bud.”

“She looked great up north.”

“I thought so, too. Why’s she getting stuff painted, anyway? The place looks fine.”

“I don’t know. I just found out about it.”

“She can’t have paint fumes, Sam. Or the noise.” Max bumps against something out front. “Jesus wept,” Frank says. “Now I’ve got him around.” He opens the front door. There’s Max with a ladder. Frank’s cell phone rings. “I have to take this, Sam,” he says. “Probably New York.” He goes down the hall.

“Where do I put this stuff, Sam?” Max says.

“Take it around the back. I’ll find out where Iris wants us to start.” Max backs down the steps with the ladder. I go out to the atrium. Ruby’s taking notes. “Have some tea. Sam,” Iris says. “Where’s Frankie?”

“He’s taking a call.”

“All upset, is he?”

“He’s worried about the fumes and the noise.”

“We’ll be at the other end of the house, Sam,” Ruby says.

“What did Frankie think I was doing?” Iris says. Her face is so drawn.

“Anything else?” Ruby says to Iris.

“Frank’s den could use some freshening.”

“My den needs what?” Frank appears.

“It needs painting, Frankie.”

“Like hell it does. I don’t want that little bastard in there.” Max passes by the atrium windows, stumbling over his bootlaces.

“They’re here now, Frankie. We might as well get it done.”

“Iris, you’re in no condition—”

“No condition for what?”

“Just—” he says, rubbing his chin and sitting down. “Never mind. You know what I was about to say.”

“Frankie thinks I’m going to drop dead.”

“That’s not what I meant at all.”

Ruby looks at me. “I’ve got lymphoma, Ruby,” Iris says, pouring more tea. “I need treatments. That’s what the specialists say, anyway.”

“Crackpots,” Frank says.

“You poor thing,” Ruby says. “I was diagnosed with lupus three years ago. Turned out to be nothing. Didn’t let me know for two weeks. Otis cried every day.”

“Otis is Ruby’s husband,” I say.

“Otis Cries for You?” Iris says. “He’s funny as hell.”

“That’s my Otis,” Ruby says.

Iris coughs. “We spend all this money on specialists,” Frank says, “and they can’t tell us anything, for chrissake.” He takes Iris’s hand.

“Why don’t you see Dr. Krupsky?” Ruby says. “He’s wonderful. He told me I’m the brightest star in the galaxy.”

“Krupsky’s my GP,” I say.

“He any good?” Frank says.

“He’s not a specialist, Frank.”

“I don’t care what he is. I asked if he’s any good. I want answers, not somebody picking their arse for a thousand an hour. What’s that little bastard doing out there?” Max is trying to get all the drop cloths untied.

“I’d better go out and help,” Ruby says.

“Sam,” Frank says. “See me in my den before you get started. I have to make one call. Finish your tea.”

Iris sits with her hands between her knees. “Frankie doesn’t handle these things very well,” she says.

“He’s scared.”

“You know what they say in Belfast? Anything can be solved by raising your voice.”

“When will you start treatments again?”

“Soon. I swore I’d never own a wig,” she laughs. “I’d rather wear a big fur hat.”

“Frank will buy you a whole mink farm.”

“No doubt he would.”

“Listen, Iris. What Ruby said about Krupsky. He’s a nice guy and everything. I don’t know what he can tell you. He’s not an oncologist. He probably knows more about tango.”

“He tangos?”

“Like a born Argentine.”

“He sounds like quite the person.”

“I’d better go talk to Frank and then get to work.”

“Thanks, Sam.” She stares out at Max cutting cords with a penknife.

Frank is sitting in the den with his arms behind his head. “What’s up?” I say.

“New York,” he says. “Everything’s gone through. I’m fucking rich. Even Margot’s book is doing great. Yours? Not so much. The Japanese market isn’t doing as well as I expected. Now, Sam, this doctor Ruby was talking about?”

“Krupsky,” I say. “I just talked to Iris. He’s not an oncologist, Frank. I don’t know what he can do for her.”

“He’s got to do something, Sam,” Frank says.

“Like what?”

“Something, for God’s sake. I’ll get fucking voodoo doctors if that’s what it takes. You got Krupsky’s number?”

“I’ll call him.”

“Do it now.”

“He’s probably with a patient.”

“Leave a message. Get him to call back.”

I phone and Krupsky answers. “Hello, Sam,” he says. “Saw your name on the call display. My secretary’s off today. You need medication?”

“I’m calling about someone else. A friend of mine. She’s got lymphoma.”

“Nasty stuff. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. Her husband doesn’t think he’s getting enough answers from the specialists. We’re here painting now. Could you possibly come over after work?”

“I was going to drop in on Judy anyway.”

“Maybe before that?”

“I’ll come by around four o’clock. What’s the address?” I give it to him while Frank eyes a cigar. I hang up. “He’ll be here around four,” I say to Frank.

“Thanks, Sam,” he says.

“Listen, Frank, this probably isn’t the time. I made a decision the other night.”

“About what?”

“No more grammar books. I’m done.”

“Not surprised. It’s all a load of rubbish, anyway. Not you, just the business itself. I did you a favor selling out, you know. Gave you your fucking life back. I didn’t think you’d pick up a paintbrush, but to each his own. Go on, you wanker. Go paint.”

Ruby takes us to the old servant’s entrance. It leads up to a large open studio above the garage. We bump up the stairs with the ladders, drop cloths and paint cans. The room has a cathedral ceiling and four dormers. Ruby mixes paint while Max and I lay down the drop cloths. “Start around the windows, Sam,” Ruby says. “Max and I will do the ceiling. I have to go get another paint color Iris wants. Maybe I’ll do that now. You guys get hustling. I’ll be right back.”

We paint through the morning. Ruby returns around noon. “They didn’t have this color anywhere,” she said. “I had to get it made up in the end.” It’s a shade of violet I’ve never seen before. “Nice,” Max says. Iris’s housekeeper comes upstairs with sandwiches. They’re all cut like the ones served at cocktail parties.

Just after four o’clock, Krupsky shows up. I find him sitting with Iris in the atrium. He’s holding her hand. “I’ll see what I can do,” Krupsky’s saying. “I have a friend at the General. One of the best. He’ll look at your charts.” Krupsky sees me standing there. “Hello, Sam,” he says. “How’s your painting going?”

“We’ve made a good start,” I say. “How’s everything here?”

“Absolutely marvelous,” he says. “Iris and I are having a nice chat. She’s a tango dancer. Imagine that. We’re going to dance once she gets through her therapy. Are you off now?”

“Just cleaning up. You coming back to see Judy?”

“I’ll be along in a bit.”

Frank comes in the atrium. “Everything sorted?” he says.

“We’re fine, Frankie,” Iris says. “Go do your work.”

On the way home, I light a cigarette. “Give me a puff, Sam,” she says.

“Ruby,” Max scolds.

“This is it,” I say. “I’m stopping.” We pass the cigarette back and forth. Max opens his window. He says the smoke puts him the mood for something charbroiled.