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“Right. They could use me out there. Doug—” She looked in his eyes. “Did we mess up in some terrible way? Would it have been different if we were lovers?”

“We ran through a lot of lovers, but not so many pals.”

Tom Daley’s office was located in a building overlooking New York Harbor, the walls decorated with vintage maps and prints of New York City. A portly man in his 50s, he seemed informal and unconcerned with appearances. Rather than a business suit, he wore a tweed sports jacket and slacks, a striped shirt, and a knit tie. But when he came from behind his desk to shake hands with Doug, the little luxuries revealed themselves as if there was no way for the man to contain his affluence—the Rolex watch, the gold stickpin, the alligator loafers. The company of which he was chairman, Waldron Electronics, was a newly developed entity Daley had assembled from several electronics firms, the company manufacturing home-electronics products. Doug brought along a presentation book he was now able to offer prospective clients showing other tie-ins that were in progress.

“You’re a friend of Ann Townsend’s?”

“Yes.”

“My wife and Ann were college roommates. We used to go out on dates together. It seems like a lifetime and a half ago.”

“I know the feeling.”

On Daley’s desk was an array of family photographs with an attractive auburn-haired woman in her 40s and three young people in their 20s.

“Your wife and kids?”

“Kids grow up,” he said wistfully.

“So I’m learning. I have a boy, a freshman in college, and a girl in high school.”

“You’re lucky they’re still fairly young.”

“I met John Gannon the other night. I can’t imagine having this exchange with him. Do you know him?”

“We’ve been at some functions together. A blowhard. So—Ann said I should see you.”

He opened a folder on his desk which had been prepared for him, a report on Doug’s activities. “You apparently have a good thing going.”

“This tells how we work—” and Doug began to offer the sales presentation.

“We can skip that. Do you have some ideas?”

“Oh, ideas. We’ve got good ideas, not-as-good ideas, good ideas that are expensive but worthwhile to do, ideas that aren’t as expensive, but aren’t as worthwhile.”

“Everything’s not equally fantastic?”

“No.”

“I appreciate the honesty. Now when you say worthwhile, do you mean for my company or for the public good?”

“Worthwhile both ways.”

“Well, we have a new ad campaign. It talks about American-made products, with everyday people using our products. So if I did anything with you, I wouldn’t want polo or golf, not any country-club stuff. I
would
be interested in a promotion that increased our visibility and, as you put it, could be worthwhile both ways.”

Doug appraised him, a man who was not John Gannon and who bothered even to think about the public good. He decided to tell him about the Street Olympics, which was foundering, he had learned in a recent conversation with Rosselli. It needed something like corporate sponsorship. Doug presented the idea, explaining how this could be of service in helping young people and would also give good exposure to the sponsor. He added that the creator of the event was an individual promoter and would have to be included in the project as a consultant. As Doug suspected he might, Daley liked the suggestion, and they arranged for another meeting. Doug would bring Rosselli and Daley would have his advertising and promotion managers present.

Doug called Rosselli, who was eager for sponsorship by a corporation, having realized he couldn’t handle this on his own.

“There
is
a problem,” Doug said. “You’re going to be meeting with high-level executives. I know you can sell them with enthusiasm. Unfortunately, appearances count.”

“I’ll get a shave and a haircut.”

“You’ll get more than that.”

He told Rosselli to meet him at Brooks Brothers on Madison Avenue. Rosselli arrived wearing a shiny beige sharkskin suit and a black silk shirt. “I never was in here,” he said to Doug. “This is not my kind of store.”

“There are certain uniforms, and you, Tony, are out of uniform.”

They entered Brooks Brothers and Rosselli was immediately ill at ease.

“I don’t like it here, Doug, I want to go.”

“It’s for the good of the project.”

Rosselli tried on jackets. The boxy Brooks Brothers cut was ill-matched to his wiry frame, and they went from the traditional men’s department to the younger men’s department, and still Rosselli looked like he was a boy wearing a grownup’s clothing.

“We’ll go to the boys’ department. They probably have a thirty-six or thirty-seven for you, which you need.”

“Not the boys’ department,” he moaned.

Standing rigidly in the boys’ department, Rosselli tried on a double-breasted charcoal-gray suit, and it fit better than anything in the store. The pants were still slightly baggy, and the salesman suggested the tailor might take some material from the inseam.

“Doug!” Rosselli whispered desperately. “I’m not letting any fancy-store tailor touch my crotch!”

He took the suit, unaltered—he was going to bring it to his own tailor. Then Doug helped him with the purchase of conservative black shoes and a shirt and tie.

They met at Daley’s office for the meeting. Daley’s assistants were two men in their 40s, both also wearing Brooks Brothers suits. Doug was amused by his prescience. Rosselli looked like an executive. Rosselli talked with his passion for the project, and despite the rough edges in his speech, his sincerity was irresistible. Doug interjected information on how the project would be organized, Daley gave his approval to the tie-in, the assistants supported the decision, and they had an agreement. During the handshakes that concluded the meeting, Doug looked down, noticing a detail he had neglected in dressing Rosselli. Socks. Rosselli had worn his regular socks to the meeting and they were shiny electric blue.

On a Sunday Doug rented a car and drove to Wesleyan to have lunch with Andy. He told him about the Street Olympics and Rosselli and the socks.

“He’s the one who had the wolf girl?”

“That’s him. He’s big time now. He’s going to get prestige and a twenty-five-thousand-dollar consulting fee.”

“So you like this new job?”

“That was a good thing to be able to do.”

“And you’re going out with somebody new, I hear.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you ever see Nancy?”

“It just couldn’t work out with her,” he said, feeling a rush of melancholy.

They strolled the grounds of the campus and Doug noticed even some of the faculty looked like kids. By the standard of his being nearly 50, they were kids. If you want to feel as old as Boris Karloff in
The Mummy,
walk around a college campus.

“We’re introducing a new line of TVs next week,” Daley said to Doug on the phone. “Ice-cream colors. My PR people came up with the usual product publicity. But you have good ideas and I thought I’d ask you. I want to buy a good deed that will also sell the line.”

“You want to buy a good deed?”

“That’s what it amounts to. Not necessarily with sports. Something that can be in the media fast.”

Doug had been pitched stories by so many publicists and Rossellis, he knew the elements required to get a story covered.

“If I were looking to ‘buy a good deed’ that also gets my company publicity, I’d do something for the homeless. I’d take a few thousand of your new television sets and donate them to every shelter for the homeless I could find. You’d be doing good and you might even get a press conference out of it.”

“I like your thinking. I’m going to set it up. What can we send you in thanks? A CD player, a television set, a home computer?”

“That’s all right. And I used to work in a field where buying a guy a beer was a big deal.”

Karen came to Doug’s apartment on a Sunday night with Harry. She was looking very somber. “Can I talk to you about something?” she said, and they sat in the living room.

“I’ve been thinking about what to do about the gymnastics. Do I want to go for it? Go for the gold, Jerry says. Do I want to keep up with my painting?”

“Big decisions.”

“It’s been hard. But you see, I have this father—” Suddenly, she started to cry, sobbing as he hadn’t seen her do since she was little. He held her, she tried to speak, and she was sobbing between her words. “You gave me a file … to help me … a whole file … and everything I needed to make up my mind … was in it.”

“All right, darling, easy now.”

She began to steady herself.

“You just handed it to me. Here’s what you need to know. And you said, if you choose this, then that might happen. If you choose the other—Dad, I’m not going to try for gymnastics. I’m going to finish high school here. And then I’d like to get into a college with a good art program. And I’d like to be a good artist, I mean, as good as I have the talent to be.”

“That sounds great.”

“Before I decided, I talked with Jerry and Mom. Mom said I have to try to listen to my heart. Jerry—he kept talking about Mary Lou Retton. How if I went for it maybe I could be on a cereal box one day and make a fortune in commercials. Go for the gold. Be Mary Lou Retton. He was so glitzy. And he never got into what you give up. What are the plusses and the minuses? But you gave me what I needed to help me decide …” She was on the verge of crying again. “So I’m trying to listen to my heart and my heart tells me … I’ve been very mean.” She was sobbing again. “I have this wonderful father who loves me and I love him … and he bought me my first paints. Do you remember? Mom was out of town and we spent a whole Saturday going from store to store. And—” She couldn’t speak. She was crying too hard.

“Easy, angel.”

“And I don’t even paint in your apartment anymore!”

She was trembling, and he held her.

“Remember we used to watch
Sesame Street
and Kermit the Frog used to sing ‘It’s Not Easy Being Green’? Well, it’s not easy being so talented. And it’s not easy living in two homes. And it’s not easy being you. But you must be doing all right. Why else do I love you so much?”

“I’m so sorry. Please say you forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. But personally I think you made the right decision,” he said, getting her to smile.

“Come. Let’s take Harry out to sneak pizza crusts from us on the street. And then I think we need some Serious Chinese.”

CBS Sports made a commitment to televise three preliminary trial events and the final championships of the Street Olympics. A television production company Macklin owned would produce the shows. Macklin suggested Doug reward himself and take a few days off, and Doug arranged to visit his parents and see their new place in Florida. Then he was going to link up with Ann, who was spending a long weekend at her house in St. Thomas.

Doug’s parents met him at the Fort Lauderdale airport, their faces dark and leathery from the sun, Norma wearing an inexpensive print dress and plastic clogs, Frank in a cabana outfit with short pants that Doug thought went out with “The Miami Beach Rhumba.”

Palm Vista was a development of stucco garden apartments with a screened porch for each residence. The streets carried the names of gems—Frank and Norma lived on Opal. The lake their apartment faced was a man-made body of water surrounded on all sides by other apartments. The lakefront section had the bonus of a small patio sitting area in front of each screened porch, and pleased with this luxury, Frank and Norma pointed out the feature and led Doug into the apartment from the patio side. The apartment contained a living room-dining room combination, a kitchen off the dining room, a master bedroom and a guest room. All the rooms were furnished with rattan, as if Frank and Norma had gone to a warehouse and in five minutes bought “a houseful of furniture, $399.” He was in his parents’ home, and it had no history.

“Very handsome,” he said.

“We got a good deal on everything,” Frank explained.

They were eager to show him the facilities and drove him past the outdoor swimming pool, the shuffleboard courts, and stopped at the main house, a large white-brick two-story building containing the indoor pool, hobby rooms, a theater. Air-conditioned, clean, and well maintained, this was an important feature of Palm Vista, and Frank and Norma were proud of the building.

Doug wanted to take them to dinner. They insisted on saving money for him with an early-bird special at a restaurant, and at 5:30
P.M.,
picking at a salad, he watched as they enthusiastically ate their beef goulash and noodle pudding.

After dinner he walked with his parents along a brick path that encircled the lake.

“How is the job?” Frank asked.

“Better than I would have thought.”

“And your social life?” Norma said.

“I’m seeing someone. She works as a fund-raiser. When I leave here I’m going to spend time in her house on Saint Thomas.”

“Saint Thomas?” Norma said. “This is not a person on food stamps.”

Later, as he lay in the guest room, he heard Frank and Norma talking softly in the kitchen, laughing together, a sound he did not associate with his parents.

He tried to spend time with them separately the next day, taking turns walking the grounds with each.

“The facilities here are first-rate,” Doug said to his father.

“Also the medical assistance. You see more ambulances than taxicabs.”

“Fishing much?”

“I fish. I found some fishing buddies. I’ve got enough fish in the freezer to open a fish store.”

“But you’re keeping busy.”

“Busy here is not New York-busy. It’s Florida-busy. I’ll get adjusted. They have a workshop on getting adjusted. They have workshops on everything. Bend down to tie your shoelace around here, they have a workshop on tying your shoelace.”

“Is there anything you’d like, a VCR?”

“Your life doesn’t change with a VCR. If I could be working, I’d be working. If I could be making big dollars, I’d be making big dollars. But I can’t complain. It’s a beautiful place. It’s retirement.”

A lady in her 60s with sagging breasts nearly falling out of her blouse passed by and nodded at Frank.