My Old Man

by Amy Sohn

  Her cheeks were bright red and a few times when he’d touched her arm emphatically she hadn’t done anything to stop him. As she finished explaining why the first season of Survivor was better than all the rest, he leaned in for a kiss. She didn’t resist and he went at it recklessly, pawing at her hair. They sucked face for about ten more minutes as I cleared a few drinks and brought a Harp to Jasper, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet. I heard Randy murmur, “I’ll be right back, OK? And then we’ll go,” before standing up and heading unsteadily for the john.

  The girl was smiling but there was a sadness behind it as though there was a darker reason someone this attractive was about to go home with such a letch. I had spent two months trying to stay out of my customers’ business but something about the doubt in her eyes made me really feel some responsibility. I scooted over to her, leaned in close, and said, “He’s married, you know.”

  “What?” she asked absently, like she’d misheard.

  “He’s got a wife, and an eight-year-old son, and she’s expecting the second.” She squinted and peered down into her empty shot glass. “Look,” I said quickly, knowing he was going to come out soon, “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I just thought you should know.”

  She nodded and was quiet for a second and then she stood up and yelled, “What the fuck do I care if he’s married? Maybe I’m married too!” People spun around to look. I wished I could disappear; now no one would want to tell me their secrets.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just thought—”

  “Maybe my boyfriend’s been cheating on me with my upstairs neighbor for the past year and doesn’t think I know! What about that? How about that?” I had made the biggest mistake a bartender could: assumed a customer’s innocence.

  Randy came out of the bathroom and strode up to her. “You ready to go?”

  “The bartender says you’re married and that your wife is pregnant,” she said. “Is that true?”

  “Now where’d she get an idea like that?” he said smoothly, flashing me a dirty look.

  “So I told her I don’t give a fuck if you’re married. I told her I got a boyfriend anyway.”

  “Do you live with him?” Randy said, cutting right to the chase.

  “No!”

  She stood up, having trouble on her feet, and pointed her finger at me. “This girl should mind her own goddamn business,” she said. “I don’t like busybodies!”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Randy said.

  I knew I’d done the right thing but I didn’t know why it felt so awful. I wanted to tell them about Hillel’s philosophy, “If not me, who?” but it would have sounded hollow and ridiculous. In school we’d learned that the Jews had a moral obligation to stand up against injustice but at a bar if you did that you’d just lose tips.

  “Let’s get outta here,” the girl said, as Randy whipped his jacket on and grabbed her arm. At the door she threw her head over her shoulder and said, “You know what? From now on I’m going to Boat.” Boat was on Smith and Wyckoff, a few blocks down, and they had hipper clients, pinball, and pulled in twice the receipts that we did.

  “Please don’t do that,” I said.

  They headed out into the night, arm in arm. The only sound in the bar was some really dumb Oasis song on the jukebox. The customers who’d overheard everything were giving me the evil eye. I grabbed a rag and wiped down the bar. I had thought my father’s infidelity might make me a better bartender, not a worse one, but instead I was driving out my customers.

  Jasper was gaping at me, aghast. “Cockblocker,” he said.

  “That’s it,” I said. “I’m cutting you off.”

  “Exactly,” he said, nodding smugly.

  THE next day after breakfast I found myself getting antsy. It had been three days since I’d seen Powell and I missed him. Despite everything he had told me, I decided it was OK for me to make a move. He liked the truth. He’d said he didn’t believe in the Rules. We had the kind of relationship where I could go over unexpected.

  I opened up the closet and pulled out a magenta scoopneck racerback slinky dress so low cut that if I leaned over my boobs popped out. To go with it I picked a pair of knee-high suede black boots that looked like instruments of torture, since I knew he’d appreciate them.

  When I got to Powell’s I pushed open the front door and went upstairs. I took out a mirror from my bag and looked at my teeth to make sure there was nothing there and then I looked down at my boobs. The top of one nipple was peeking out of the dress so I lowered it. I fluffed my hair out like a diva and sniffed my pits. My left was kind of rank so I wiped it with the back of my hand. But I didn’t know where to wipe my hand. It was the dance of infinite sweat transference. I opted for the wall, then jutted my hip out and knocked.

  As the door opened I put on a Jessica Rabbit voice and said, “Take me now, you evil man!”

  A little girl with blond bangs was staring up at me, deadpan. She had pale blue eyes like his with circles under them, and sallow pink skin, and she was holding a very slutty-looking doll in her hand.

  “I’m not evil,” she said.

  “You must be Nora,” I said, lowering my hand from the jamb.

  She nodded and squinted at me suspiciously. “Are you Jennifer?” she said.

  The plot thickened. “I’m not Jennifer,” I said. “Who’s Jennifer?”

  “Daddy’s friend.” He was seeing someone else. I knew it.

  “My name’s Rachel,” I said, bending down to shake her hand. As I did it my right boob popped out of the dress. Though I managed to shove it back in it was too late. She spun on her heel and ran away as fast as she could, screaming, “Daddy! I saw Rachel’s boobie!” It wasn’t the best introduction.

  I heard the toilet flush and then Powell emerged, Nora clinging to his leg so he walked like a gimp. “What are you doing here?” he said. His voice was cold and devoid of anything resembling affection.

  “I—I thought I’d stop by,” I said, eyeing Nora, unsure just how perceptive she was. He kissed me on the cheek coldly and eyed my outfit, which suddenly felt obscene in front of the kid.

  “I was going to call you,” he said. “I’ve had Nora the last two nights because my ex-wife got food poisoning. How are you doing?”

  “I’m losing my head. My mom doesn’t seem to know. I knocked on Liz’s door but she wasn’t home. I think she’s avoiding me.”

  “You got to stay out of it,” he said.

  “Can Rachel have dinner with us?” Nora asked.

  “Sure she can,” he said grumpily, like he wished she hadn’t asked.

  “Could I put on my dress, Daddy?” said Nora.

  “Which one?” he said. She pulled on his hand and he bent down, his ear near her mouth. “Oh,” he said. “That’s a good idea. You want Rachel to help you?”

  “No.” She turned and headed off to her room.

  “She’ll warm up eventually,” he said. “She’s like me with new people. Very feline. She needs to know you before she opts to like you.”

  I planted my hands on his shoulders like at a prom. “I’m sorry I dropped in like this. I just wanted to see you so badly,” I whispered in his ear, nuzzling his mouth with my own.

  “She could walk in any second,” he said, recoiling.

  “So?”

  “So I don’t know what kind of household you grew up in but I don’t want her to be in psychotherapy the rest of her life. I got enough money trouble.”

  “Why are you in such a crappy mood?” I said.

  “You want to know why? I think my ex-wife faked this food poisoning thing because she wasn’t in the mood to take Nora. It infuriates me but there’s nothing I can do. I got outta the marriage partly because I couldn’t hack the lifestyle a being a full-time father, so I feel very put upon when I have to take her at the last minute.”

  Nora emerged from the back in a blue-and-white striped dress with a boatneck collar. She looked shy and thrilled, like she wanted attention
and didn’t at the very same time.

  “You look incredible,” I said. “What a beautiful sailor girl.”

  “I’m not a sailor,” she said with hostility. “I’m a flapper.” She was definitely Powell’s child.

  She was still holding her doll in her hand. “What’s your doll’s name?” I said.

  “Jade. She’s a Bratz doll,” she said.

  “You don’t know about this?” Powell said. “They got a whole line a them and each one’s more of a hoo-ah than the rest.”

  “Do you think we should put Jade in a dress too,” I said, “so we can all look fancy for dinner?” She nodded, took my hand, and led me through Powell’s bedroom to hers. As we went through I checked the bed for signs of another woman but it was clean and pristine.

  Nora’s room was like a war zone. There were dolls, pink cars, and clothes strewn on the bed and carpet, and picture books littering every corner. I sat down next to her and splayed my legs out in front of me since I couldn’t exactly go Indian-style given my attire. She took out a big plastic bin. Inside were dozens of Barbies, Kens, and doll clothes, everything from sparkly halter tops to jeans to hot pink undies. She handed me a doll that looked like the first cousin of the one in her hand. “That’s Diana,” she said.

  She pulled out a 1970s halter dress, all glittery, and put Jade in it. She had a little trouble with the Velcro at the halter so I held the hair up while she did it. When the doll was dressed Nora posed her on her knee, one leg crossed over the other. How did she know about leg crossing?

  “What do you think?” she said.

  “She’s a real disco lady.”

  “What’s disco?” said Nora.

  “It’s like Britney Spears,” I said.

  She rummaged around in her doll box and pulled out a miniature barbeque and two chairs. She set her doll, Jade, in one chair, and Diana in the other.

  “Hey, Jade,” I said, bouncing Diana up and down. “Do you want another hot dog?”

  “Definitely,” said Jade. “I love hot dogs!”

  We mimed eating and then I got an idea. “Jade,” Diana said. “You’re so lucky. You have two houses and I only have one.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Daddy’s and Mommy’s.”

  “Where does your Mommy live?”

  “The Upper East Side.” Of course. Home of rich divorcées. I imagined her as leggy and modelesque, a Madison Avenue hottie, with an immaculate wardrobe, Botoxed face, and shining white teeth.

  “Does Mommy have a boyfriend?”

  She nodded. “Robert. Robert’s her boyfriend. We stay at Robert’s in East Hampton.”

  “Does Daddy have a girlfriend?” She cocked her head and frowned at me like the first question was simple, the second wasn’t. “Who’s Jennifer?”

  “I told you,” she said, throwing down the doll. “Daddy’s friend.”

  “How long has Daddy known her?”

  “Seven years.” The problem with kids was they had no sense of time. She could be parroting something she’d heard or just making it up.

  “Is Jennifer Daddy’s girlfriend?”

  She shrugged. “Does Daddy play with Bratz dolls a lot?” I asked.

  She frowned. “Daddy’s a boy! He doesn’t have dolls.”

  “But does Daddy have girls that look like Bratz girls come over a lot?”

  “Who are you, Nancy Drew?” said Powell from the doorway. I felt my face go pinker than my polish.

  “Who’s Nancy Drew?” said Nora.

  “She’s the nosiest girl in the world,” he said, pursing his lips.

  I stood up, holding my chest to avoid another accidental free boob. “Are you seeing someone else?” I said quietly.

  “I don’t think this is the time to discuss it,” he said, eyeing Nora, who had begun tearing off Jade’s clothes.

  “Why don’t I set the table?” I said, and rushed out of the room, shoving the doll in Powell’s hand.

  DINNER was better than I might have anticipated. Powell made penne rigate, and we drank from goblets of Chilean Merlot while Nora had a juice box. He sat at the head and Nora and I faced each other. As for the conversation, I was a little nervous about what common ground the three of us could possibly have but we did all right. The two of them discussed the declining quality of Rugrats, the different attributes of the Powerpuff Girls, and the latest Mary-Kate and Ashley movie and how gross it was when Mary-Kate kissed the guy. This led to a discussion of the disgusting nature of kissing in general, followed by my own underappreciated offering that Mary-Kate and Ashley got their start as infants on a television show that neither Nora nor her father had ever watched, followed by a group discussion as to whether Nora wanted to be an actress when she grew up (yes) despite the fact that her father thought it was a bad idea.

  After dinner Powell pushed out his chair, wiped his mouth with the corner of his cloth beige napkin, and told Nora she needed to take a bath. I sat on the couch as they went in. I heard the slapping noises of water and their voices in low muted tones. I felt jealous of their quiet intimacy. There was something about that small echo, the way you could only make out vowels, and not actual words, that made bath-giving exclusionary, a private duo act not to be trespassed on by a third.

  The water gurgled down the drain and a couple minutes later I heard little feet pattering in. She came right up to me in a white robe with a hood on her head.

  “Good night, Rachel,” she said softly.

  “Good night,” I said. She hesitated a second and then climbed up onto the couch, kissed my cheek fast, and scampered away. I could see right then how a kid could break your heart.

  She raced into her room. There was some shuffling around and talk about pajamas and then through the bedroom I heard Powell begin reading in a singsongy melodic voice.

  “Interior,” I heard him say. “Dive bar by the overpass. Lenny and Artie are drinking Scotch at a table with a red-and-white tablecloth. ‘Lenny: Just because you hate your wife don’t mean you should kill her.’ ‘Artie: She’s eating my soul. When I married her I was six two. I swear to God, Lenny, I’m five eleven now.’ ”

  Nora giggled. Powell went on, in an almost expressionless monotone. “ ‘Lenny: The problem isn’t her. It’s you.’ ‘Artie: I know but how’s that supposed to help? I’m between a rock and the hard face of my miserable wife.’ ‘Lenny: There are other options besides murder.’ ‘Artie: Like?’ ‘Lenny: I’m just saying, there’s options.’ Right at that moment a beautiful woman with legs like crème caramel meanders into the bar.”

  “Daddy?” Nora asked. “What’s crème caramel?”

  “You’ll find out when you’re older.”

  “She sits on a stool, looks at Artie and Lenny. ‘Beautiful Woman: Gimme a shotta ya strongest bourbon, barkeep.’ ‘Lenny (smacking his lips): The Lord works in mysterious ways.’ ”

  There was a pause and then Powell said, “You think that last line works? It’s not too flat?”

  “It wasn’t flat.”

  “Is your Daddy a genius? Is your Daddy the smartest man alive? Who’s the smartest mick this side a the Gowanus? I am! Who gives you your silly juices? Huh? Huh?”

  She squealed, “Stop it stop it stop it!” and giggled insanely.

  “What’s the magic word?”

  “Heel! Heel, Daddy, heel!”

  I lay back on the couch and buried my head in a pillow. What did he need me for? She was a decent critic and there weren’t any strings. I knew it was wrong to envy someone who had only recently learned to tie her own shoes but I couldn’t help it. She had him all the way and I only had him half.

  A little while later Powell padded in. He sat next to me and put my legs on his lap. “Does she ever give you good feedback?”

  “All the time! Once she told me I needed to put in a ghost, another time she said a female character should be male. I made both changes. You shouldn’t a grilled her about my love life.”

  “Well, can I ask you, then? Are we monogamous?”

 
; “That’s none a ya business,” he said, like it was the most outrageous question he’d ever heard.

  “I think it is,” I said. “Especially since you don’t like condoms.”

  “Fine! We’ll use a rubber the next time!”

  Talking to Powell was like approaching an oracle; it was impossible to get a useful answer out of him. “I just want to know where I stand with you. Remember that scene in Queensboro Blues where Yvette and Henry are standing on the bridge in the middle of the night and she tells him she’s got choices she’s got to make?”

  His eyes bugged out. “Please do not tell me you’re knocked up.”

  “No! I just mean—I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know what you do when you don’t see me or if you think about me when I’m not there.”

  “How can I put this any more clearly?” he said, like he was talking to a child. “I am not in any state to be shackling myself to a woman right now.”

  “If you use the word ‘shackle’ I guess you must be right.” I lifted my legs off of him and lowered them onto the floor. “Fuck the whole neighborhood for all I care. Fuck Liz.”

  “I think she’s already got her hands full.”

  “That was uncalled for,” I said. I looked down at my feet. I was wearing suede high-heeled boots, he was a shoe guy and he wasn’t taking any interest. “Do you think I could suck you a little?”

  He put his hands up in the air like Tevye talking to God. “Am I mistaken or were we just in the middle of a conversation?”

  “We were, but can I suck you?”

  “I got a child in the next room!”

  “She’s asleep.”

  “She might not be. What if she saw something? She’d be scarred for life.” A loud snore sailed out.

  “OK?” I said, gesturing in her direction. “Is that enough for you? That’s the Lord working in mysterious ways.”

  “Don’t appropriate my lines,” he said, and put a finger up.