The prodigal spy

Larry wasn’t really his uncle. His father had met him in college — over the serving line in the dining hall, according to the family story, when Nick’s father was dishing out food to work his way through Penn and Larry, nursing a hangover, tipped a tray onto his father’s white jacket without knowing it. His father used to joke that they never changed-he kept working behind the line and Larry kept getting things handed to him on a platter, indifferent to spills. In Washington it had been the dining hall all over again. His father worked long hours in the agencies; Larry moved his tray all the way to the White House, where, his father said, he was one of the fair-haired policy boys. His hair in fact was fair, a bright ginger that reminded Nick of Van Johnson, and he had the same open face and easy smile. When he took Nick and his mother to see the White House one day-even upstairs, since the President was away-he moved through the rooms as if they were his, kidding with the secretaries, who waited for his grin, an effortless seduction. It’s easy to be charming, his father said, when your family owns half of Philadelphia, but in fact he couldn’t resist it either. He was different with Larry-easy and comfortable, the way people were when their jokes are too old for anyone else to remember. But Larry hadn’t been to the house for weeks, and it was late to call. Nick wondered what was wrong.

“He’s in the study,” his mother said. “Go ahead. I’ll take care of the others. The Kittredges look as if they’re settling in for the night.” Nick heard the laugh in her voice, the way she used to be at parties. So maybe it was all right. “Night, Nick,” she said, blowing him a kiss. She pulled the door behind her but left it half open, so that Nick could see them starting down the stairs, their heads together.

He didn’t wait. When he heard the click of her heels on the landing, he slid out of bed and darted into the hall. He peered over the banister, watching his mother’s skirt swish down the next flight of stairs, then tiptoed down to the second floor. He waited until his father’s back disappeared into the study before he crept along the wall, angling himself at the open door to see through the crack. Uncle Larry was still wearing his topcoat, as if he didn’t mean to stay.

“Long time no see, Larry.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t get away,” Larry said quickly. “We’re redoing the speech.”

“I didn’t mean the dinner. It’s been a while,” his father said, moving out of Nick’s line of vision. “Want a drink?”

“No. I can’t stay.”

“Don’t worry. Nobody saw you. The reporters don’t show up until morning.”

“For Christ’s sake, Walter.” Larry looked over toward his father, then dropped his hat on the leather couch. “All right. Maybe a short one,” he said, taking off his coat.

Nick heard his father pour the drink at the sideboard. “Good. I thought maybe I’d reached the leper stage. Have I?”

Larry glanced up sharply. “No. But you’re not making any friends in there either, Walter. You’ve got to stop fighting with him.”

“I can’t help it,” his father said, coming back into view and handing Larry a glass. “He’s a moron.”

“He’s a moron who’s getting headlines. He’s got nothing going for him but a district full of dust farms and a bunch of Indians who don’t vote, and you’re making him a national figure. How smart is that? Come on, Walter, you know how it works. You’re not exactly new in town.”

“The town’s changed.”

“The town never changes,” Larry said evenly. “Never. You just got on the wrong side of it.”

“That the view from the East Lawn these days?” his father said. “Okay. Withdrawn. Cheers.” He took a sip of his drink, then paused. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry I missed the party,” Larry said. “How’s Livia?”

“I need your help, Larry,” his father said, ignoring the question.

For a minute neither of them said anything.

“I can’t get involved with the case, Walter. You know that. We don’t go near the Hill these days. Christ, we don’t even cross the street. Everybody’s too busy ducking under the table.”

His father nodded with a small smile. “So I heard. They’re starting to get lonely over at State.”

“State’s like sick bay-everybody’s afraid they’ll catch something. Anyway, you’ve already got Benjamin. He’s the best lawyer in town for this.”

“Devoted as he is to lost causes,” his father said, taking a drink.

“You’re not going to lose. Just stop fighting with Welles. He’s on a fishing expedition and you keep biting. He hasn’t got anything, so he’s trying to nail you for contempt.”

“How do you know he hasn’t got anything?”