A Will and a Way

remembered there was a lily pond in the back with goldfish the size of groupers. His mother refused to call them carp.
    “Wait,” he told the driver, then dashed up two levels of stairs to the door. The butler who answered was new. It was his mother’s habit to change the staff regularly, before, as she put it, they got too familiar. “I’m Michael Donahue, Mrs. Keyser’s son.”
    The butler glanced over his shoulder at the waiting cab, then back at Michael’s disheveled sweater and unshaven face. “Good evening, sir. Are you expected?”
    “Where’s my mother? I want to go to the hospital directly.”
    “Your mother isn’t in this evening, Mr. Donahue. If you’ll wait, I’ll see if Mr. Keyser’s available.”
    Intolerant, as always, of cardboard manners, he stepped inside. “I know she’s not in. I want to go see her tonight. What’s the name of the hospital?”
    The butler gave a polite nod. “What hospital, Mr. Donahue?”
    “Jackson, where did that cab come from?” Wrapped in a deep-rose smoking jacket, Lawrence Keyser strolled downstairs. He had a thick cigar between the fingers of one hand and a snifter of brandy in the other.
    “Well, Lawrence,” Michael began over a wave of fury. “You look comfortable. Where’s my mother?”
    “Well, well, it’s—ah, it’s Matthew.”
    “It’s Michael.”
    “Michael, of course. Jackson, pay off Mr. ah, Mr. Donavan’s cab.”
    “No, thanks, Jackson.” Michael held up a hand. Another time, he’d have been amused at his stepfather’s groping for his name. “I’ll use it to get to the hospital. Wouldn’t want to put you out.”
    “No trouble at all, not at all.” Big, round and only partially balding, Keyser gave Michael a friendly grin. “Veronica will be pleased to see you, though we didn’t know you were coming. How long are you in town?”
    “As long as I’m needed. I left the minute I got the telegram. You didn’t mention the name of the hospital. Since you’re home and relaxing,” he said with only the slightest trace of venom, “should I assume that my mother’s condition’s improved?”
    “Condition?” Keyser gave a jovial laugh. “Well now, I don’t know how she’d take to that term, but you can ask her yourself.”
    “I intend to. Where is she?”
    “Playing bridge at the Bradleys’. She’ll be coming along in about an hour. How about a brandy?”
    “Playing bridge!” Michael stepped forward and grabbed his surprised stepfather by the lapels. “What the hell do you mean she’s playing bridge?”
    “Can’t stomach the game myself,” Keyser began warily. “But Veronica’s fond of it.”
    It came to Michael, clear as a bell. “You didn’t send me a telegram about Mother?”
    “A telegram?” Keyser patted Michael’s arm, and hoped Jackson stayed close. “No need to send you a telegram about a bridge game, boy.”
    “Mother’s not ill?”
    “Strong as a horse, though I wouldn’t let her hear me say so just that way.”
    Michael swore and whirled around. “Someone’s going to pay,” he muttered.
    “Where are you going?”
    “Back to New York,” Michael tossed over his shoulder as he ran down the steps.
    Relieved, Keyser opted against the usual protests about his departure. “Is there a message for your mother?”
    “Yeah.” Michael stopped with a hand on the door of the cab. “Yeah, tell her I’m glad she’s well. And I hope she wins—in spades.” Michael slammed the door shut behind him.
    Keyser waited until the cab shot out of sight. “Odd boy,” Keyser grumbled to his butler. “Writes for television.”

Chapter Six
    P andora, sleeping soundly, was awakened at seven in the morning when Michael dropped on her bed. The mattress bounced. He snuggled his head into the pillow beside her and shut his eyes.
    “Sonofabitch,” he grumbled.
    Pandora sat up, remembered she was naked and grabbed for the sheets. “Michael! You’re supposed to be in California. What are you doing in my bed?”
    “Getting horizontal for the first time in twenty-four hours.”
    “Well, do that in your own bed,” she ordered, then saw the lines of strain and fatigue. “Your mother.” Pandora grabbed for his hand. “Oh, Michael, is your mother—”
    “Playing bridge.” He rubbed his free hand over his face. Even to him it felt rough and seedy. “I bounced across country, once in a tuna can with propellers, to find out she was sipping sherry and trumping her partner’s ace.”
    “She’s better