Coq au Vin Read Free Page A

Wait here a minute.”
    Mom vanished into the dining room.
    I sat looking around the kitchen in puzzlement, at last fixing on the covered Styrofoam plates that held our dinner, waiting to be popped into the microwave. And I thought the day had been long and weird before I crossed the bridge into Queens. What the hell was going on here? Well, at least my mother hadn’t tried to reach me at NYU. That sure would have resulted in an interesting phone message. But I had always discouraged her from calling me at work, telling her that as a part-timer I didn’t really have an office of my own.
    â€œLook at these.”
    She handed me two pieces, one a standard tourist postcard with a corny photo of the Eiffel Tower, the other a telegram.
    I turned the postcard over and read:
    â€œLong time No see. Hate to ask you but I’m strapped. Can you spare anything? Just send what you can—if you can. Love, Viv.”
    The postmark on the card was about three weeks old.
    There was an address beneath her signature. A place on the rue du Cardinal Lemoine—my Lord, Viv was in Paris.
    I looked up at Mom and began to ask a question, but she ordered me to read the telegram first, which was dated a week or so after the postcard.
    JEAN
    DID YOU GET MY CARD?
    WORSE. I CAN’T GET OUT.
    VIV.
    â€œWhat’s this about?” I asked, the fear rising in my voice.
    â€œI don’t know, honey. I don’t know.” Her spine stiffened then and her eyes took on a glassy look. “I finally called… him . I mean, he is her brother.”
    â€œYou’re kidding! You called Daddy?”
    She nodded.
    I tried to imagine White Mrs. Daddy picking up the phone in their apartment near Lincoln Center. Handing the receiver over. Jesus, the look on his face when she told him who it was.
    â€œWhat did he say?” I asked. “Did Viv write to him too?”
    â€œYes. But he doesn’t want to know anything about Vivian. Says he tore the card up without reading it. It’s a sin. I told him I hoped one day he would be hurting in the same way and when he reached out for help—well, never mind. I told him I think it’s a sin, that’s all.”
    I shook my head. “Wow. This is so weird. What are you going to do? You don’t have any money to send her, and if Pop won’t do it—”
    â€œHe wouldn’t give it to her, but I managed to shame him into giving me something for you.”
    â€œ Me? What do you mean?”
    She pulled out a chair for herself then and sat down in it before answering. “Listen, Nan.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI don’t have any money to spare. But—well, I do have it, but it’s not mine. As a matter of fact it’s Vivian’s money.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about, Mother?”
    â€œI mean I actually do have some money for Vivian—especially for her. When your grandfather died he left most of what he had to your daddy, naturally. And you got enough to take that beautiful trip. But you know how he was. He feuded with Viv just like your father did, but at the end he wanted to come to some kind of peace with her. Nobody even knew where Vivian was at the time. So he left her some money, and gave it to me to keep for her. It’s in a special account. Waiting. There must be close to ten thousand in it by now.”
    â€œTen thousand dollars! That sure sounds like enough to bail her out of trouble. And you mean you’ve had this money all along?”
    â€œYes. I knew sooner or later we’d hear from her again.”
    â€œBut not like this,” I said.
    â€œNo. Not like this. And so…” She glanced away from me then.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œI know it’s a lot to ask, Nan. You haven’t seen Viv since you were a kid. I just know she’s over there drinking, broke, stranded somewhere. Maybe even sick. I wouldn’t know where to begin to help her. I don’t know how I’d