The two men took their positions and Tom fired a blistering smash. The ball raced up Eds body off the bounce, as if it was trying to hit him more than once. The second serve came in on Eds hands. He flicked his wrist at the last second and deposited the ball just over the net. Tom hustled but the ball died, bouncing again before he got to it. They traded points and games. Eds serve was careful and reliable, his returns determined and vigorous. She liked the way he whipped his racket across his chest, dismissing offerings with sudden ferocity. He tucked the ball into corners and moved it around the court. Tom won the set, but Ed made the contest closer than anyone in their circle had.
They walked back to the Cudahys to shower and change. She had one hand in Eds, while the other held down the hem of Maries mod minidress. On the court shed felt protected by all the activity, but off the court she felt almost naked in it. Ed looked terrific in Toms spare whites, as if he was born to wear them.
When did you get so good at tennis?
Im not that good.
You looked pretty good to me.
He bounced a ball as he walked. I cleaned up trash one summer in Prospect Park. I stuck around after work a few times and played at the Tennis House. I was always running after shots, trying to catch up to them. There was a pro who gave me some free advice. Go where you think the balls going, he said. Beat it there.
I have a good strategy too, she said. I dont move at all. I let it go past me to you.
He laughed. I noticed.
Im flat-footed.
The smell of honeysuckle wafted up at them from a garden. Ed put the ball in his pocket. Well, we cant exactly have you sweating through this white dress. He pulled her to him and gave her hip a squeeze. This little white dress. They took a few stumbling steps together. It just wouldnt be decent.
The term is tennis whites, Tarzan, she said, shoving him playfully. And theyre very proper. So behave yourself.
Tom was walking ahead with Marie, his racket slung at his shoulder like a foxhunters spent rifle. His clothes were casually disheveled, his shirttail hanging out in a way that suggested hed never had to worry about money, but Eileen knew he was wearing a costume, trying to blend in. He worked for J. P. Morgan, but he was from Sunnyside, his father was a laborer like hers, and Fordham was Fordham, but it wasnt Harvard, Princeton, or Yale.
When the waiter came over, Tom wrinkled his nose up and pointed at something on the wine list, and she knew it was because he didnt want to mispronounce the name. He ordered for the table without asking what anyone wanted to eat. Ed gave her hand a little squeeze, and it felt like a pulse passed between them. For a moment she knew exactly what he was thinking, not just about Tom, but about her, and himself, and all of life, and she liked the way he saw things. She could spend her life tuning into the calming frequency of his thoughts.
He wasnt a stiff, and he wasnt a weakling either. What was the word for it? Sensitive was the only one that came to mind, amazing as that was to consider; he was a sensitive man. He soaked up whatever you gave him.
His name was Leary, as Irish as anything, but she decided she could marry him anyway.
8
Eds family had been in New York since just before the Civil War, but their sole claim to distinction was that his great-great-grandfather had had a hand in building the USS Monitor. Ed said his father liked to suggest by a looseness in his wording that his ancestor had been some sort of naval architect, but the truth was hed punched the clock with the grunts at the Continental Iron Works in Greenpoint, where they fashioned the hull.
Eds mother, Cora, had a soothing voice and a velvety laugh. Friday nights, Eileen sat with her and Ed, drinking tea and eating oatmeal cookies in the kitchen Ed grew up in, in a railroad flat on Luquer Street in Carroll Gardens, near the elevated F tracks. Cora kept the window open on even the coldest days, to drive off the steam heat. Eileen liked to watch the lacy curtains kick up in the breeze. Cats stalked the adjacent lot, curling into old tires. When they hopped onto the windowsill, Cora swished them away with a dish towel. Trains rumbled by at intervals, marking the passage of time. Whenever she rose to leave, Eileen found herself pulled into Coras bosom for a hug. She never got over her surprise at receiving maternal affection, and she returned the hugs awkwardly, with an abstracted curiosity, though she welcomed them all the same.
Eds father, Hugh, had been dead for a few years. Eileen knew little about him; Ed released that information in a trickle, and Cora never brought him up. The only evidence of him in the apartment was a framed picture, on one of the end tables, of him wearing a hat, an overcoat, and a slightly furtive half smile. Eileen knew hed played the piano to accompany silent movies; that hed sealed up paint cans in the Sapolin factory, once earning a small bonus when he suggested they paint a giant can on the water tank on the roof; that hed worked as a liability evaluator at Chubb; and that World War II had given him his only real feeling of purpose.
Ed seemed to feel safest talking about his fathers experience during the war years, though he had no memory of that time. It was all just stories hed heard.
You could get him going for hours if you asked about the war, Ed said.
The government had urged civilians to pursue activities essential to the war effort, and Hugh landed on the docks, in Todd Shipyard, sticking bolts in steel plates in the bulkheads and hulls of damaged ships. The work itself wasnt stimulating, save for the mild danger of hanging out over the water, but he liked toiling under the sun alongside other men, breathing in the salt air and thinking of what his labor led to never mind the irony that after three generations in America, the Leary line was still working on ships.
Ed said his father and the other men modified ships from regular freighters into tankers, adding a second layer to the hull. They converted luxury liners to barracks for troop transport. The peak of their activity, in terms of both industry and importance, was working on the Queen Mary. They stripped her of her furniture and wood paneling, replaced her bars and restaurants with hospitals, painted her a dull gray to confuse rising submarines, and gave her smoke suppression. She could go as fast as a destroyer, reaching speeds of thirty knots where an average submarine could only go ten. At the height of the conflict, in 1943, she carried sixteen thousand men from London to Sydney without a gunboat escort.
One night, Eileen stayed late at Eds house. Cora had gone to sleep. They were sitting on the couch, which was worn along the seam by its skirt, some of the filling rupturing through. Eileen picked the picture of Hugh up off the end table.
What was he like?
I suppose he was like a lot of fathers, Ed said. He went to work and stayed out late. He wasnt around a lot.
What about as a man? All I see when I try to picture him is this coat and hat.
A pair of end table lamps provided the only illumination in the room, which was like a parlor in a shabby club. Cora had installed cute statuettes in every corner, but personality only went so far in making an apartment feel like a home. Eileen had a new appreciation for how her mother had kept things neat and in working order, how her father had paid to replace the furniture whenever it got run down. Ed had grown up with less.
He liked to laugh, Ed said. He told raunchy jokes. He always had a cigar dangling from his mouth. It made him look like a dog hanging its tongue out on a hot day. He was always hustling, working angles.
What else? she asked, putting the photo down. She sensed he was on the verge of candor. Tell me more.
He liked to drink, Ed said. It wasnt pretty when he did.
I know a little about that, she said, and they shared a moment of quiet understanding.
Im sorry, he said. You deserved better.
She felt her emotions catching in her throat. You can tell me anything, you know.
I wouldnt know how to say it if there were anything to say.
Just say what comes to mind.
He was silent, and she worried shed pushed him too hard. In her nervous state she had picked off the material that covered the sofas arm, and now she tried to fit it back into place with one hand while keeping her eyes on Ed. She should have left him alone, rather than risk angering him and making him shut down, but she didnt want to revert to the surface-level interactions shed had with other men. She had never wanted to talk to anyone more than she wanted to talk to Ed. She wanted to tell him things shed never told anyone, and to learn more about him than shed learned about anyone else. She used to think a bit of mystery was a prerequisite to her feeling attracted to a man. For the first time, her attraction didnt diminish the more she knew, but actually grew.
You remember Charlie McCarthy? Ed said after a while. Edgar Bergens dummy? My father used to say I looked like him.
Eileen folded her hands in her lap and held her breath, trying not to look too eager to hear what he had to say.
I figured out early on I could make him laugh if I did a Charlie McCarthy impression. So I practiced. I got to the point where I could do the voice pretty well. When my father got in from the bar, Id hop up on the couch and twist up my mug for him. Ed showed her, forming a rictus and opening his eyes wide, looking from side to side with an eerie, doll-like blankness. Sometimes he laughed. Sometimes he told me to cut it out and said I looked nothing like that doll. I never knew which it was going to be. I remember the last time I did it. He laughed and laughed. Then he smacked me in the mouth, whack!Ed brought his hand down on the coffee tableand told me to stop embarrassing myself.
Their hands migrated toward each other on the couch. After their fingers sat intertwined for a bit, she clasped his hand in both of hers, pulled it to her, and gave it a little kiss, then shifted closer to him.
Ed said he and his mother had never discussed his fathers drinking, but it was his understanding that his father hadnt been a drinker before the war. If the war had gone on forever, or if hed been a park ranger or done something outdoors, maybe things would have been different.