“So how are things, Nick?” Larry said, putting a hand on his shoulder as they walked. “Do you like it here?”
“It beats law school.”
Larry stopped. “You can always go back and finish, you know,” he said seriously.
“Larry-”
Larry held up his hand. “Withdrawn,” he said, smiling, and started down the hall again. “But what are you actually doing? Except having a good time. You are, I hope. When I was your age- You seeing anybody?”
Nick shook his head. “You know, a girl tried to pick me up this morning. At least I think she did.”
Larry grinned. “If you don’t know, then it’s time to get out of the library.”
“I guess,” Nick said, returning the grin. “It suits me, though. For now,” he added, wondering if it did, if the long afternoons in the stacks were anything more than an academic time-out.
“Well, it’s your life. Sounds a little quiet to me. What do you do all day?” Larry said, his voice filled with telephones and secretaries and agendas.
Nick smiled to himself. “At the moment I’m doing some research for Aaron Wiseman.”
“So he said.” Then, catching Nick’s look, he smiled. “I ran into him when he was in the States last month.”
“Checking up?”
“Just a little. Old habits.” He brushed it aside. “What exactly are you writing?”
“He’s writing. I look things up. He says history’s like a criminal investigation. The documents are the clues.”
“And you’re the detective?”
Nick heard it, the tiny edge under the geniality. Instinctively he glanced over, but Larry was nodding to the bellman at the bottom of the stairs, ignoring him.
“So the students do the spade work,” Larry said easily. “The old fox. No wonder he keeps churning them out.” They turned into the long corridor of the lobby. “What’s this one? Something about HUAC, I gather.”
“He didn’t tell you more?” Nick said, amused at Larry’s cat-and-mouse. “One old fox to another?”
“You tell me.”
“Jacobinism,” Nick said flatly. “How the patterns never change. HUAC, the other committees. He’s got me on SISS, the Senate committee.”
“Mr McCarthy,” Larry said after a pause, as if he’d been trying to place the reference. “You know, he never really cared one way or the other,” he said, his voice oddly reminiscent.
“He did a lot of damage for not caring.”
“He didn’t, though. I think he was surprised anybody took it seriously.” They had passed the Palm Court, with its swirl of angels and gilded moldings, when Larry stopped and turned to him. “Do you think this is a good idea, Nick?” he said, still trying to be casual, but Nick was alert now.
“You don’t.”
“I’m not sure what it means to you, that’s all,” Larry said softly. In his voice Nick heard the old protection, transferring him back from the field again.
“It’s a research assignment, Larry, that’s all. There are four of us. Nothing personal,” he said. He smiled at Larry. “It’s okay.”
Larry looked at him, but apparently decided not to press the point. “Well, you know your own mind. I just don’t want you picking at scabs.” He hesitated. “Don’t mention this to your mother.” Nick nodded, wondering for a second if that had been his real point all along.
“You know, when you live through it-” Larry said suddenly, talking to himself. “Wiseman never knew them. Drunks. Opportunists. Little men who wanted to be somebody — that’s all it ever was.” He paused. “They’re not worth your time, Nick. Anyway, they’re gone.”
“Not all of them,” Nick said, looking straight at him. “Your new boss is still there.”
Larry held his eyes for a minute, then turned toward the dining room. “Let’s go in.”
The maitre d‘ recognized Larry and took them across the pink room to a table near the tall windows facing Green Park. The day was still gray and dreary, but overhead, clouds floated across the painted ceiling sky. Gold ran along the walls and hung in long swags between the bright chandeliers, giving the room the summer luster of a giant jewel box. As they opened their napkins, waiters swarmed around them, removing cover plates, dishing out butter, taking drink orders, so that finally, when they were gone, Nick smiled at the sudden peace.
“Imagine what it’s like at dinner,” he said, apologizing by moving on.
But Larry refused to be distracted. “I didn’t elect him.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Yes, it is. I don’t want you protesting me too. You think-well, what do you think?”
“I don’t see how you can do it,” Nick said simply. “Nixon. Of all people.”
“Yes. Of all people,” Larry said slowly, looking down at the table. “Leader of the Free World. One of history’s little jokes.” He paused as the waiter filled their wineglasses, then looked up at Nick and said quietly, “He isn’t Welles, you know.”
“Was he any better?”
“Times change, Nick,” he said gently.
“You think he’s changed?”
“Dick? No. He doesn’t have an idea in his head. Never did.” He took a sip of wine. “He had instincts, though. I guess that was all he needed.”
“And now his instincts are telling him to end the war.”
“No, the polls tell him that. He just doesn’t know how.”
“So you’re going to help him.”
