“Not right now, but I could be eligible when I graduate. Maybe I’ll go to divinity school or something. That’s what some people are doing to get out of it.”

“Martin Luther King is saying that the war is immoral. But I guess you don’t want to protest about it.”

“I’ll keep a low profile.”

“You should go to business school later. Get an MBA.”

“My plan is to work for a few years, and then go to Columbia.”

“Then you’ll marry, after the MBA?”

“When I make vice president. Maybe assistant vice president. AVP would do, if I find the right person.”

“A good corporate spouse?”

“I think so.”

Charlie nodded. “Your mother would have been a good corporate spouse. An excellent one.” He paused. “Things don’t always work out quite the way we plan, Gorham.”

“I know.”

“I should keep this place, if I were you. The monthly maintenance isn’t too bad—I’ll leave enough to cover that. And being in a good building will save you a lot of trouble.”

“I don’t want to think about that, Dad.”

“You don’t have to think about it. That’s just the way it’ll be. This place will suit you much better than me. I should have moved down to Soho.” He sighed. “My mistake.”

Soho: South of Houston Street. It was a quiet, bare area of former warehouses and cobbled streets, where artists could get a studio or a loft for very little money. A short walk northward and one was in Greenwich Village. Gorham could see that his father would have been happy there. And he was just wondering how to respond when Charlie suddenly said: “You know what I want? I want to see the Guggenheim. Will you take me there?”

They took a taxi. Charlie looked a little frail, but by the time they got out on the corner of Fifth and Eighty-ninth, he seemed to have gained energy.