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have friends,” Larry said quietly.
    Nick’s father nodded. “Thanks for explaining everything so clearly.”
    “Don’t, Walter. I’m not the bad guy. I’m trying to help. It’s a lousy time.”
    “I know,” his father said, his voice suddenly deflated. “I know.” He stood for a minute lost in thought. “Maybe there aren’t any bad guys anymore.”
    “Yes, there are. They’re in that committee room.” He walked over to the couch and picked up his coat. “Look, I’ve got to go. You all right?” Nick’s father nodded. “Play it smart, Walter, okay?”
    His father looked at him, then broke the stare and went over and put a hand on Larry’s shoulder. “Come say hello to Livia.”
    “I can’t. I’m late. Give her my love, will you?”
    “Late for what?” his father said lightly. “You seeing somebody these days?”
    “I’m seeing everybody.”
    “Nothing changes, does it?”
    Larry shrugged. “It doesn’t mean anything. You got the only one worth having.”
    His father dropped his hand. “Luck.”
    “You’re still lucky,” Larry said, putting on his coat. He stopped and looked at him. “Just play it smart.”
    Larry turned toward the door and Nick took a step down the hall, out of sight.
    “I’ll see myself out,” Larry said. “You’d better go break up the party before the neighbors start complaining.”
    “Don’t be a stranger,” Nick heard his father say.
    Larry’s voice was cheerful again, Van Johnson. “Not me,” he said.
    He opened the door suddenly, before Nick could race up the stairs, and stood for a second with his hand on the knob, looking at Nick with surprise. Then he winked and pulled the door shut behind him. He put a finger to his lips and motioned with his head for Nick to follow him to the stairs, as if they were hiding together. At the landing he knelt down.
    “Hi, sport,” he whispered. “You okay?”
    Nick nodded.
    “You know what happens to guys who listen at keyholes, don’t you?” he said, smiling.
    “What?” Nick whispered back, playing along.
    “You’ll end up working for Drew Pearson, that’s what.”
    “A legman,” Nick said, his father’s expression.
    Larry looked surprised again, then grinned. “Yeah, a legman. Hear anything worth hearing?”
    Nick shook his head.
    “Well, neither do they, mostly,” he said, still whispering. “Come on, up you go before they catch us both.”
    Nick turned to go, then looked back at Larry. “Dad asked you to help him,” he said, a question.
    Larry stood up. “I can’t, Nick. Not the way he wants.” Then he smiled and ruffled Nick’s hair. “He’ll be all right. Don’t worry. We’ll all help him.”
    They heard the sound of the door opening and Larry made a face of mock alarm, shooing Nick with his hand up the stairs and turning away to start down the other flight. Nick darted up, out of his father’s line of sight, and watched Larry’s red hair bob down the stairs. In a minute his father followed. Over the banister Nick could see him stop at the foot of the stairs, waiting until he heard the front door click shut. Then he turned, straightened his shoulders, and went in to join the party.
    No one was going to help. All the rest of it, the confusing jumble of elections and deals and witnesses, still came down to that. No one. Not even Uncle Larry, who had just been trying to make him feel better on the stairs. He’d heard them. His father felt like he was drowning. Nick wondered what that was really like, everything closing around you, choking for air, reaching up for any hand at all. No one. It wasn’t smart anymore. Not even for his father to help himself.
    The draft in the hall seeped through his thin pajamas, making him shiver. He felt like leaping into bed, pulling the covers over his head, and curling his body into a ball, as warm as the cabin fire. Instead he went down the hall to his parents’ room. The bedside lamps were on, surrounded by piles of books and Kleenex and alarm