The weeks passed with no word, not from Luciano, not from Sara. With the passing of Labor Day, the weather in New York had changed, as it always does, but the leaves were still a deep green. Fall was in the air, however, as the stale smell of the sweltering city gave way to the sweetness of autumn. Mac put his mind into his work, with an occasional walk through Central Park with Hallie and Milo. The park was now alive in a new way, with the children back to school, the dog walkers lingering a little longer, and the older New Yorkers had now returned in force, hoping to get in some fresh air before the temperatures would soon plummet.
True to his word, Mac did return to share that second bottle with Hallie, and he also joined her for coffee and bagels on Sunday mornings, supplying the New York Times that they would share together. He even offered to walk Milo here and there, just wanting an excuse to take a stroll in the park.
Hallie Fitzgerald, Mac found, was the Director of the Federal Theatre Project, appointed by President Roosevelt himself. She had been a classmate of Harry Hopkins at Grinnell College in Iowa, and she had taught theatre at Vassar, being a colleague of Mac's parents, although neither Hallie, nor his parents, could remember each other.
Although just friends, they were becoming very close. Mac asked Hallie out to dinner at the 21 Club on Fifty-Second Street, when he found out that she loved the thirty-three jockey statues in front of the building. She told Mac that affluent customers presented the statues to the owners, each representing the colors of the customer's racing stable. Mac was more interested in the antique toys hanging from the ceiling in the Bar Room, and with the exquisite crab cakes.
“Hallie Fitzgerald,” yelled a patron over the din in the restaurant, as they were being shown to their table. “How the hell are you?”
“Walter, what are you doing here? Been a while.”
“Who's your friend?”
“Oh, this is Mac. He is my attorney. His parents were colleagues of mine at Vassar, darling. What, are you going to put me in your column now?”
“Do you want me to, Hallie?” the man asked with a laugh. “Doesn’t seem too exciting to me,” he continued with a smirk.
“Goodbye, Walter,” said Hallie. “Enjoy!”
The man waved to Hallie, as she and Mac proceeded to their table. Mac held out her chair for her before he seated himself.
“Who was that?” asked Mac.
“That was Walter Winchell, darling,” Hallie said with an affected voice, as she drew out the darling.
“The gossip columnist?”
“Yes, I know him from my days with Sinclair.”
“Sinclair? Sinclair Lewis?” asked Mac. “You’re kidding me? You were with Sinclair Lewis?”
“Not in the way you are intimating, dear boy. I had produced a play of one of his books. Getting the artists back to work, you know. Part of the Federal Theatre Project. That's how I know Walter. And Sinclair.”
The waiter took their drink order, Hallie, a glass of Pinot, Mac, a single malt, neat. They shared a Caesar Salad, and they each ordered their own crab cakes. Charlie, the owner, came over to the table to see how they were doing. He kissed Hallie's hand and welcomed her back.
“This is Mac, Charlie, my lawyer,” said Hallie, a little too self-consciously. “He is helping me with the Federal Theatre Project funding proposals,” she continued, trying to make it sound more innocent than it was.
“Sure, he is,” chuckled Charlie, with a wink at Mac. “It's nice to meet you young man. Can I interest you both in a bit of Courvoisier as an after-dinner drink, on me, of course? We probably will not be able to get this stuff much longer, I’m afraid.”
“That is very nice of you, Charlie,” said Hallie. We will only drink on you if you join us.”
The restaurateur joined Mac and Hallie, of course paying more attention to Hallie than to Mac. He was polite, however. He told Mac about the history of his restaurant, and about the growing problems he was having in obtaining suitable food to prepare for his customers. The war in Europe was beginning to tighten up food supplies all over the city, particularly with imported goods such as wine, cheese, and foie gras. Nevertheless, the restaurateur told them that he just had to be a bit more creative, but that all would be fine.
After dinner, they took a cab back to Eighty-Sixth Street, where they walked hand in hand, taking Milo for his constitution. They greeted Jack, Mac's old friend, on his park bench, inside the gate. They had no choice but to allow Milo to relieve himself nearby, as Hallie chuckled.
They continued to walk on, waving, leaving the old man to his impending slumber.
“Only you, Mac,” whispered Hallie, after they were far enough away so the man would not hear. “Only you would talk to that old man. I see him every day, walking Milo, but I have never even said hello to him. He seems nice, though. I feel a little bad now.”
“He is not a bad guy. Tough life. I would not be going for any golf lessons if I were you. I was afraid he was going to pull out the seven iron he keeps behind the tree and give you a quick lesson.”
Hallie laughed, as they continued to walk back to the Park Cameron, hand in hand. They went into the elevator together, Whitey wishing them a good evening. Mac kissed Hallie at her door, maybe a little more than friendly, but he told her he could not trust himself to come inside. She was once again visibly disappointed, but she gave him a kiss to remember before closing the door behind her. They both knew, despite their difference in age, that this was getting very close to crossing the line. Mac, with no word from Sara for weeks now, was losing his reticence.
Mac retired to his own apartment, made himself a stiff drink, while becoming inebriated by the scent of Hallie still lingering on his clothing. His mind was drifting through a myriad of what ifs when the telephone rang on his end table. Mac looked at the phone for two rings before he removed the receiver from its cradle, not sure he really wanted to talk to whomever it was that was calling at that hour.
“Hello,” offered Mac, half concerned it might be Hallie asking him if he was sure he did not want to come up.
“Mac?”
“Sara! Sara, where are you?” Mac asked rather aggressively.
“I’m in D.C., Mac. I’m so sorry I could not speak to you before I left. My embassy rushed me out of town to Washington. If you are not too mad at me, I would like to see you. I will explain everything, but not on the phone.”
“In Washington?” asked Mac incredulously.
“No, darling. I am returning in the morning by train. Will you meet with me? It's Saturday.”
“Sure, sure, Sara,” said Mac, somewhat exasperated. “I wasn’t sure I would ever hear from you again.”
“Why don’t we meet by the little sailboats, you know, where we spent our last afternoon together?”
“I understand. Conservatory Water. What time?”
“Let's say two in the afternoon. That should give me enough time to get in, and to get there. I will have no luggage with me, so I can come right from the train.”
“I could meet you at Grand Central,” Mac offered.
“No, darling, I must come in quietly. I will explain when I see you. Two o’clock by the sailboats. Sit on the same bench, alright?”
“OK, I will be there.”
“I love you, Mac.”
“Do you? I love you,” said Mac, after a hesitation.
“Mac, I am sorry, so sorry. Please keep an open mind. I will explain everything when I see you.”
“I will see you tomorrow, Sara. We’ll talk.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. Tell me you still love me.”
“I will never stop loving you, Sara. I will see you at our place.”
“OK, baby; have a good night.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Just as Mac hung up the telephone, it rang again. Mac picked up the receiver thinking it was Sara calling back.
“Hello,” said the man, in a gruff guttural voice. “Is this Tommaso Martini?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“This is Joey Messina. Our mutual friend asked that we reach out to you about a sit down. Meet us at Teresa's, on Mulberry Street, at seven o’clock, tomorrow night. Come alone. You will be safe. Ask for Mr. Costello's table. We will be in the private room in the back of the restaurant. Be careful you are not followed, and do not be late. Capisce?”
“Yes, sir, I will be there. And thank you for the meeting.”
“Our friend said you should be trusted and treated with respect. You will eat with us, right?”
“Of course; it will be my pleasure.”
“Tomorrow, seven o’clock, Teresa's.”
“I’ll be there.”
As the phone clicked, Mac remembered he was meeting Sara tomorrow. He would see her first, and then go to the meeting with “the boys,” he figured. He fixed himself another drink, knowing full well he would not be sleeping any time soon. Just then, the telephone rang yet again. Mac sat in his overstuffed chair, as he picked it up.
“Mac? I can’t sleep. Let me come down and have a drink with you? You can throw me out whenever you want.”
“Sure, Hallie, come down. Truthfully, I will not be sleeping so soon anyway. Sara called. She is coming in tomorrow. I’m going to see her.”
“Can I come down?” asked Hallie, as if she did not hear what Mac had said about Sara coming to town.
“Yeah, the door is unlocked. Just come in.”
Within minutes, the front door opened without a knock, and in sauntered Hallie in a long silk embroidered bathrobe and fluffy pink slippers.
“Am I a bit underdressed?” asked Hallie, as she opened her robe, revealing a sheer matching white silk nightgown.
“No, you are fine,” said Mac, laughing. “In fact, you are too fine, my dear. Oh, my goodness.”
“I just want a drink, Mac. Do with me what you will, but a drink will do.”
Mac poured Hallie a single malt in a clean glass, adding a few ice cubes to lighten it up a bit. It was obvious that Hallie had a head start on him with the nightcaps. He led her to the couch, gave her the drink, and sat down beside her. He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. She started to cry.
“What's the matter?
“I’m just so pathetic, throwing myself at a boy half my age. What has come over me? I just can’t help it.”
“It's fine. Trust me, it is taking every bit of my willpower not to touch you. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Who says? I so want you to touch me,” Hallie slurred.
“I adore you, Hallie, but I’m in love with someone else. She’ll be here tomorrow. I don’t want to hurt you or take advantage of you. God knows I am burning up inside for you.”
“Mac, you are so sweet. I understand you being true. It's part of what I love about you. But I’m so lonely, and I have such feelings for you. No one will ever know, I promise.”
Hallie put down her drink and ran her nails down his inner thigh, causing Mac to show goose flesh.
“Hallie, you are making this very difficult for me.”
“Mac, she didn’t even call you for weeks. I am here, now.”
Hallie pouted, and she squeezed Mac one more time through his trousers, before going back to her drink. Mac felt bad, but he felt he had to see what would happen tomorrow. Holly finished her drink, and Mac walked her to the elevator, not trusting himself to return her to her apartment. He gave her a kiss on the cheek as the elevator door opened, and she squeezed his hand as she went in, a pout still on her lovely face.