went to a show off-Broadway, The Fantastics. It was
a very excitingday.
"I thought Daddy had a mad, crazy job. All that
shouting and excitement. I couldn't understand how
anyone kept track of anything or knew what he or she
was doing. Daddy looked like the calmest person
there."
Clarence listened, intrigued. He wasn't in the
city that often, so his eyes were wandering
everywhere, drinking in the activity, the endless flow of people, cars, the billboards and the variety of stores and restaurants. I wondered if your brain could shut down like some overloaded computer, all these sights
and sounds coming at you at once.
"Now what?" he asked.
"There's a coffee shop in his building, in the
lobby. Let's go there."
We went in and were able to get a table close to
the window that looked out at the lobby. Having had
nothing for breakfast. I was hungry and ordered
scrambled eggs and a bagel. Clarence just had some
coffee and watched me eat. I watched the elevators.
There were four, with a constant stream of traffi
c, but
soon it started to taper off. Most people had already
arrived for work.
"What exactly do you think your father's
doing?" Clarence asked as I ate.
"I think he's looking for a new job. That's why
he doesn't tell his secretary exactly where he's going
or where he can be reached or why he didn't answer a
page the other day," Clarence nodded.
"Yeah, that makes sense," he said. "He's