Manhattan Is My Beat

dog get to?”
    Rune started to look around but the nurse shook her head and Rune understood that Bips had been in puppy heaven for years.
    “He’s just playing, Mr. Elliott,” the nurse said. “He’ll be back soon. He’s safe, don’t you worry.” They were on a small rise of grass underneath a huge oak tree. The nurse set the brakes on his wheelchair and walked away, saying, “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
    Rune nodded.
    Raoul Elliott reached up and took her hand. His was soft and very dry. He squeezed it once, then again. Then released it like a boy testing the waters with a girl at a dance. He said, “Bips. You couldn’t believe what they do to him, these boys and girls. They poke at him with sticks if he gets too close to the fence. You’d think they’d be brought up better than that. What day is it?”
    “Sunday,” Rune answered.
    “I know that. I mean the date.”
    “June fifteenth.”
    “I know that.” Elliott nodded. He fixed a gaze on an elderly couple strolling down the path.
    The grounds were trimmed and clean. Couples, elderly and mostly of the same sex, walked slowly up the paved paths. There were no stairs, curbs, steps, low plants; nothing to trip up old feet.
    “I saw one of your movies, Mr. Elliott.”
    Flies buzzed in, then shot away on the warm breeze. Big thick white clouds sent their sharp-edged shadows across the grass. Elliott said, “My movies.”
    “I thought it was wonderful.
Manhattan Is My Beat
.”
    His eyes crinkled with recognition. “I worked on that with … Ah, this memory of mine. Sometimes I think I’m going loony. There were a couple of the boys…. Who were they? We’d have a ball. I ever tell you about Randy? No? Well, Randy was my age. A year or two older maybe. We were all from New York. Some’d been newspapermen, some were writing for the
Atlantic
or editing for Scribner’s or Condé Nast. But we were all from New York. Oh, it was a different town in those days, a very different town. The studio liked that, they liked men from New York. Like Frank O’Hara. We were friends, Frank and I. We used to go to this bar near Rockefeller Center. It was called … Well, there were a lot we went to. In Hollywood too. We’d hang out in Hollywood.”
    “You worked on a newspaper?”
    “Sure I did.”
    “Which one?”
    There was a pause and his eyes darted. “Well, there were the usual ones, you know. It’s all changed.”
    “Mr. Elliott, do you remember writing
Manhattan Is My Beat
?”
    “Sure I do. That was a few years ago. Charlie gave it a good review. Frank said he liked it. He was a good boy. Henry too. They were all good boys. We said we didn’t like reviews. We said, what we said was reviewers were so low, you shouldn’t even ignore them.” He laughed at that. Then his face grew somber. “But we did care, oh, yes, ma’am. But your father can tell you that. Where is he, is he around here?” The old head with its wave of dry hair swiveled.
    “My father?”
    “Isn’t Bobby Kelly your father?”
    Rune saw no point in breaking the news about Mr. Kelly’s death to the old man. She said, “No. He’s a friend.”
    “Well, where is he? He was just here.”
    “He stepped away for a few minutes.”
    “Where’s Bips?”
    “He’s off playing.”
    “I worry about the traffic with him. He gets too excited when there’s cars about. And these boys. They poke sticks at him. Girls too.” He was aware of the flower again and touched it. “Did I thank you for this?”
    She said, “You bet you did.” Rune sat down on the grass beside the wheelchair, cross-legged. “Mr. Elliott, did you do your own research for the movie? For
Manhattan Is My Beat?
“
    “Research? We had people do our research. The studio paid for it. Pretty girls. Pretty like you.”
    “And they researched the story that the movie was based on? The cop who stole the money from Union Bank?”
    “They aren’t there anymore, I’ll bet you. They went on to Time-Life a lot of them. Or
Newsweek
. The studio paid better but it was a wild sort of life some of them didn’t want. Is Hal doing okay now? And how’s Dana? Handsome man he was.”
    “Fine, they’re both fine. Did you find out anything about the cop who stole the money? The cop in real life, I mean?”
    “Sure I did.”
    “What?”
    Elliott was looking at his wrist, where his watch probably should have been. “I’ve lost it again. Do you know when we’ll be leaving? It’ll be good to get home again. Between