Ira Levin by Son Of Rosemary (v0.9) (htm) Read Free Book Online

financial director wants to meet you."
        "Such an honor, Rosemary!" Jay said. "Such a blessing! And that ride! Diane, you're a genius!" He looked like a jay-small, beaky, bright-eyed behind glasses, with hair from the raven side of the family. "Over an hour's exposure, global exposure!" he crowed. "At a total cost of five hundred dollars! That's if the stable bills us, and chances are they won't!"
        She excused herself and went to the bar for a refill.
        "We don't get many calls for Gibsons nowadays," the bartender said, stirring.
        "Andy's Mom?"
        She turned. "Crab cakes," Joe said, holding out a pair of wood picks.
        "Oh, thanks, Joe," she said, taking one.
        He asked the bartender for a scotch, and they ate the hot round crab cakes, eye-smiling at each other. His eyes were dark brown,- his nose looked as if it had survived a break or two.
        "Good," she said.
        "Mmm," he said, wiping his lips with a napkin, finishing chewing. "I can't tell you, Rosemary," he said,
        "how proud I am to know your son up close and to be able to help him. I thought my best years were behind me-I was a cop here in the city, gold badge-but was I ever wrong. And now that you're part of the picture too-well, I don't know what to say."
        "How about cheers," she said, smiling.
        "Good idea," he said.
        "Cheers," they said, and clinked glasses and sipped.
        No ring on his finger. Did that still mean anything? She rested her left hand on the bar.
        "Anybody gives you any trouble," he said to her, "I'm the guy you want to speak to. Nuts or pests-and rest assured you'll be getting them-any problems of any kind whatsoever, just let me know."
        "Will do," she said.
        "When Andy's at the retreat," he said, "or just busy somewhere and doesn't need me, I usually hang out up in the spa on the fortieth floor. And I live right over on Ninth Avenue. So don't hesitate."
        "I won't," she said. "What's your last name, Joe?"
        He sighed. "Maffia," he said. Raised two fingers. "Two F's, and no, I don't belong, and yes, I get a lot of respect."
        She smiled at him. "I'm sure you would if you were Joe Smith," she said.
        "Rosemary," Diane said, clamping her shoulder, turning her around, "Craig is especially anxious to meet you. He's our director of TV production."
        While she was talking with Craig, Joe touched a fingertip to her shoulder. "Take care," he said. "Andy said twelve noon." caret szandrfSandtandAf
        She didn't want to offend Joe Maffia-because she liked him, not for what she imagined were the more common reasons-so for the first fifteen minutes or so it was a three-way conversation. He explained over his shoulder why the Vikings had a good chance of upsetting the Cowboys, and she told him and Andy about the temptation to drop sharp objects when viewing the Macy's balloons from a floor above, and about being screamed and waved at and having to do the whole Princess-Grace-on-the-balcony bit from the bedroom window.
        When they got out of the Lincoln Tunnel, though, she signed to Andy, and in the next space of silence he put a finger into the armrest at his right. A wide black shield slid up from the back of the front seat, blocking out the balding back of Joe's head and half the daylight too, closing them in a humming black-leather roomette lit bluely through tinted glass. "Andy," she whispered, "I'm so uncomfortable having to watch what I say about Guy, and the divorce, and-was "You handled it beautifully," he said. "It was just that one question." "And the ones about Minnie and Roman right-brace was He shrugged. "Don't do any more interviews. If you don't enjoy them, there's no reason to. But really, you were fine. Here, look again. Read." He had the papers there. The front pages of both tabloids were the same full-page photo of him kissing her cheek at the press conference, one overlaid with a