Crime of Privilege: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

the last four words she said to me; and she told Mr. Andrews how nice I had been
     to her?
    The Alfa arrived. Its engine throbbed and what might have sounded like music somewhere
     else was almost unseemly in front of the Gregorys’ front door. The young man leaped
     out, held the door, and Kendrick, placing her right hand on the trunk for support,
     hobbled around the back of the car and got in the driver’s seat without so much as
     looking at him. The valet shut the door gently but firmly; Kendrick put the car in
     gear and was off, the pebbles in the driveway spattering in every direction.
    She drove away and I stood there.
    “Can I get you a car, sir?” the smiling man asked. Not “your” car, but “a” car. He
     seemed astute enough to know I didn’t have one of my own.
    I gave him the five bucks that was loose in my pocket and went back inside, where
     a crowd was gathered around the grand piano. One of the Senator’s buddies, a radio
     talk-show host up on Cape Cod, was playing and singing “Goodnight, Irene.” But he
     changed the lyrics, spiced them up, directed them to one of the older ladies, who
     started to dance, to move her hips, until she realized how risque his version was,
     and then she called out, “Ohhhh,” in a throaty voice that made everybody laugh as
     she raised her hand to her face in feigned embarrassment.
    Then the Senator himself began to sing, “We were sailing along …” The pianist found
     the right notes on the keyboard, took up the accompaniment. “… on Moonlight Bay. We
     could hear the voices ringing, They seem to say, ‘You have stolen her heart, Now don’t
     go ’way!’ ” The Senator reached out to grab the hand of his sister, the one who was
     married to the movie actor, and twirled her toward him. The crowd shook their highball
     glasses appreciatively as she spun in close and twirled back away again, her dress
     blowing outward, showing off a pair of legs that were quite commendable for a woman
     her age.
    The verse was finished, repeated, and everyone around the piano joined in. A few brown-spotted
     hands were clapping and bracelets were jingling as the voices sang, “You have stolen
     her heart …,” andthis time when the Senator’s sister spun back to him, it was he who changed the lyrics,
     his voice booming out in a passable baritone that made all the others drift off, “We
     were strolling along.…” His right arm slipped around her waist and his left hand took
     hers and held it chest high as he sang, “On Moonlight Bay.” He looked over his shoulder,
     grinning at us, grinning wholeheartedly, a grin that said, Look! Look what I can do!
     Can you believe it? And then he adjusted his position, moved in slightly behind and
     to the side of her, and the two of them began gently waltzing away from the piano,
     “We can hear the voices singing, ‘You have broken my heart, please go a-way!’ ”
    The guests roared. Fingers tapped on the heels of palms as the brother-and-sister
     dance team continued across the floor. It was all great fun, so much so that I almost
     would have forgotten the incident in the library if it were not for the small ball
     of cloth in my pocket.

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    CAPE COD, March 2008
    I
WENT INTO FOGO ’ S FOR DINNER. BAD NAME. I ’ M NOT EVEN SURE how good the food is, but for years I went there three or four times a week. I could
     eat at the bar, a lovely slice of veneered log in which the natural contours provided
     cutouts that allowed a man to sit comfortably in whichever of the twelve long-legged,
     spindle-back chairs happened to be available. I liked that veneered log. I liked the
     television behind the bar. I liked the post-middle-aged people who worked there and
     knew just enough about me to ask how things were going without inquiring too deeply.
    I suppose certain aspects of my life were obvious. I wasn’t married and I didn’t live
     with anyone, or I wouldn’t have been in there eating dinner as often as I