“Sorry.” He turned back to the sink, craning his neck to talk to me. “I think it would be great if we went back to your home. You could see it again and…well, I really think it would be good if we can try to make contact with this Vladimir guy.”
I was shocked. “He’s in Dubrovnik?” I asked.
Tom stopped washing, picked up a towel to dry his hands, and rested his back against the sink.
“Yeah, Rusty tracked him down,” Tom said, grinning. “Rusty can find anyone.”
“How did he do it?” I asked, incredulous.
“He called Larry Weinstein’s office. He told Larry he was a federal investigator looking for information on Vladimir.”
“Wasn’t Larry suspicious?”
“He didn’t seem to be. Rusty can sound very official. When Larry asked what it was about, Rusty said, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but due to the serious and delicate nature of this investigation, I’m not allowed to give out that information.’”
“So where is he?”
“Larry said that Vladimir returned to Croatia right after he tried to see you a couple of years ago. He said he got one more letter from Vladimir, but he didn’t keep it. All he could remember was that it was written on some hotel’s stationery.”
“Maybe he works at a hotel,” I said.
“Or maybe he didn’t have a home to go to when he went back to Dubrovnik,” Jessica suggested.
“Or maybe he was really poor and couldn’t afford to get his own apartment. I’ve heard of really poor people living in motels,” I said.
“Or maybe he’s really rich and can afford to live in a hotel,” Tom said.
Somehow I doubted the man who’d crashed my eleventh birthday party looking like he’d bought all his clothes at a Salvation Army thrift store could be rich. “At any rate,” Tom said, “Rusty bought a copy of a recent Dubrovnik telephone directory over the Internet. He found dozens of Vladimir Petrovics. I guess it’s sort of like being named Bill Thomas here. We can try to find him when we go there. And more importantly, we can try to find out what happened to your father. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and you need to know, simple as that.”
Jessica stopped what she was doing, a concerned look on her face as she spoke to Tom. “Do you think this is a good idea?” She then looked at me. “I know it’s none of my business, Joe, but shouldn’t you tell Robert and Greta that you know about your father? Tom told me. I hope that’s all right.”
“It’s all right. I don’t mind,” I said. “But I can’t tell them. I just can’t. It would become all about them. And…”
“What?” Tom asked.
“I want to keep this for myself.”
“I understand,” Tom said. “Let’s see if we can keep it quiet. I think they’ll get behind the idea of you going back home. We can tell Robert it’s all part of ‘the journey’ you’re on,” Tom said dramatically.
Jessica still looked wary. “I don’t know, Tom. You’re liable to make a whole lot of trouble for Joe and for yourself,” she said.
“Yeah, maybe,” Tom said. “What do you think, Joe?”
Tom and Jessica stared at me.
“When do we go?” I said, grinning.
twelve
“It’s such a beautiful day, I thought we should have breakfast outside,” Greta said as Tom and I stepped into the gazebo Monday morning.
Guava had already gone to the studio; her final episode of Flavors would be taping that night.
“It is,” Tom said. “Thanks for meeting with me so early.”
A couple of hummingbirds flew in and stuck their long beaks into a nearby feeder.
“I feed them a cup of water and one-quarter cup of sugar. That’s the magic formula,” Greta said proudly.
“Sugar, who knew?” Tom said.
Robert put down his newspaper. “I may need you for doubles again this week,” Robert said. “Mickey’s in Hawaii on his honeymoon.”
“See, Tom, getting married is easy. If Mickey Carlson can do it, so can you,” Greta teased.
I groaned in unison with Robert.
“So, what did you want to talk to us about?” Robert said, getting down to business.
“Joe and I think it would be a good idea for him to go back to Dubrovnik.”
“Good for the book?”
“Yes, and good for him personally.”
Two more hummingbirds closed in on the feeder, joining their pals.
“That is really annoying,” Robert said, referring to the birds hovering nearby.
“No, it isn’t,” said Greta. “It’s pleasant having them around.”
“One of these days I’m going to have Rulia move that thing.”
Greta looked at Tom. “The only person on the planet who doesn’t like hummingbirds.”
A squirrel ran into the gazebo and grabbed a tiny piece of whole-wheat toast that was on the ground near Robert’s chair.
“This is why I never want to have breakfast out here,” Robert said to Greta, shooing the squirrel away with his foot.
“Don’t kick the squirrel,” Greta chastised him.
“I didn’t kick him. I just moved him away. If you didn’t feed them all the time, they wouldn’t be so bold.”
“You just hate nature,” Greta said, knowing that she had gotten Robert’s goat.
“I do not hate nature,” Robert retorted defensively. “I just hate aggressive squirrels. Now, where were we?”
“Dubrovnik,” Tom said.
“Right. Interesting. Just the two of you?”
“And Jessica,” Tom said. “She thought she might do an article about the city now that it’s become a tourist destination again.”
“I see,” Robert said, bouncing the idea around in his brain.
“What do you think, Joe?” Greta asked.
“I want to go,” I said enthusiastically. “I really do.”
Robert looked at his watch. “Let me think about this and talk it over with Larry.”
Greta gave him a look as he rose to his feet.
“And of course with you, too, honey.”
“Thank you very much,” Greta said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s nice to be included in these decisions that affect our family.”
“Tom, help me out here,” Robert pleaded.
“I really think Joe would get a lot out of this trip,” Tom said, avoiding taking sides.
“Very diplomatic,” Greta said. “Maybe you should be the one thinking about running for Senate.” The edge in her voice revealed some bitterness.
“We’ll all talk later,” Robert told Greta pointedly before leaving the gazebo.
“Well, I don’t know what we need to discuss,” Greta said to us. “I think it’s a great idea.”
I wasn’t sure if she really thought it was a great idea or just wanted to show Robert up. Either way, it was good to have her on my side.
Then, in typical Greta fashion, she switched topics. “You and Jessica should come to the taping tonight,” she said brightly to Tom. “It’s Guava’s last show, and I know she’d love it if you were there.”
I was pretty sure that Guava didn’t care if Tom and Jessica were at the taping or not, but I kept my mouth shut.
“I’ll make sure Megan calls the studio and puts you two on the guest list.”
There was no further discussion: Tom and Jessica were coming to the taping of Guava’s TV show. I was happy they’d be there. And would be even happier if they could bring Martie.
“Well, we should get going, right, Joe?” Tom said.
“Not so fast. You still owe us some chapters, Tom,” Greta said.
“I know. I’m still putting them together. You should have them—”
“This week, Tom,” Greta said firmly.
“This week, that’s exactly what I was going to say,” Tom said with a smile.
The wrap party for Flavors was held at an Asian restaurant on Ventura Boulevard that had been rented out for the night. A long buffet table had been set up on
one side of the room, and on the opposite side there was an ice cream bar with dozens of flavors. There weren’t enough tables—there must have been about a hundred people—so mostly everyone stood around talking, holding paper plates filled with Chinese chicken salads and pork dumplings or bowls of their favorite ice cream.
Although Guava was just one of the ensemble cast, she seemed to be getting the most attention. Greta stayed by her side while cast, crew, agents, managers, and friends all came by to tell Guava how great she was.
I was standing with Tom and Jessica and, happily, Martie. Her mom had a date that night, and had been grateful when Tom had made arrangements for Martie to come with us. Jessica, after having worked all day and sitting through a four-hour taping, was begging Tom to take her home. Tom wanted to wait “just a little longer,” perhaps to follow up with Robert about our proposal to go to Dubrovnik.
Sometimes people would come up to me and ask me what I thought of Guava’s performance.
“I’m proud of her,” I said, with trophy-kid sincerity. “She’s worked really hard for this.”
Tom, overhearing me once asked, “Did you mean that, or was it just for appearances?”
I had to think about it; the words had come out automatically. But truth be told, despite how obnoxious Guava could be, and despite the likelihood of her becoming even more difficult once she had a successful TV show, I was proud of her.
“I really am proud of her,” I said.
“Did you tell her that?” Martie asked.
“Well, no, not yet.”
“Come on,” Martie said, leading me across the room.
We waited for some people to clear away. “Hey, Guava,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward around my own sister. “You were great.”
“Thank you,” Guava said politely, as she had said to all the well-wishers who had come before me. Greta was standing next to her, talking to Guava’s music manager, and Guava began tugging on her arm. “Mommy, can I have some more ice cream?”
“In a second, sweetie,” Greta said without looking at her.
“Go on,” Martie said to me.
“And I’m proud of you,” I said to Guava.
Guava shifted her gaze from Greta, got out of her chair, and hugged me.
“Thanks, Joe,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
I looked up. Greta was staring at me. “Wow,” she said. “That was so sweet. You are growing up.”
My face got warm with embarrassment. Why had she said that in front of Martie?
“Were you in the show, too?” Greta asked Martie.
“No,” said Martie. “I’m Tom’s…I mean, I’m…”
Now it was Martie’s turn to be tongue-tied. Sometimes I forgot that Greta was one of the biggest movie stars in the world and could send people into fits of blathering.
“This is Martie,” I said, coming to her aid. “She’s Jessica’s niece.”
“Of course,” Greta said. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, and thank you very much for coming tonight.”
“Sure. It was fun, and Guava, you were really, really great.”
“Thanks,” Guava said, sticking her chin in the air like Shirley Temple.
When we rejoined Jessica and Tom, Jessica was once again asking Tom if they could go home.
“Soon,” Tom said. “Look, here comes Robert now.”
“Hey, Tom, thanks for coming,” Robert said jovially.
“Robert, this is Jessica’s niece, Martie,” Tom said.
“Nice to meet you,” Robert said.
Martie got all jelly-legged. “I really liked you in The Disappearance of Harold P. Stottlemeyer,” she said, fawning.
“Thank you,” Robert said. “You know, that’s one of my favorite films, too.” He then gazed across the room. “She’s something else, that kid,” he said warmly. “Look at her working the crowd.” I turned to see Guava doing a dance on one of the tables while one of Robert’s security men spotted her in case she fell off.
I started to feel a little jealous of Guava for all the attention she was getting from Robert, but then reminded myself that he had kept information about my real father hidden from me. He’d gone through my mail and had Vladimir Petrovic, the only person I’d ever met who had a connection to my family, from seeing me.
“So, Tom, how do you think the book’s going?” Robert asked. “Greta says you’ll have something for us to look at in a few days.”
“That’s right,” Tom said. “I just want to clean up the first few chapters and then I’ll show you what we’ve got.” I knew that by “clean up,” Tom meant he’d be taking out anything Robert or Greta might find unflattering—hopefully there would be something left for them to read when he was through.
“I’ve been considering our conversation this morning, and I think it would be terrific if you went to Dubrovnik,” Robert said, his eyes shifting from Tom to me and back. “It really makes sense for the book,” he said to Tom.
What about for my life? I thought.
“When I told Larry, he had some good ideas,” Robert continued. “I don’t want to get into them here, but I think you’re going to love what we’ve come up with. We’ll set up a strategy meeting and go through all the details. This is going to be a great trip for all of us.”
Across the room Guava was calling, “Daddy!”
“The daughter calls,” Robert said. “Joe, come join us when you’re ready.”
As Robert walked away, Tom said, “Did he just say he’s coming to Croatia with us?”
“I knew he’d find a way to ruin it,” I said.
“What do you mean?” Martie asked. “He seems nice.”
“What do you think, Jess?” Tom said.
Jessica fixed her tired eyes on Tom. “I think it’s time to go home.”
The Dubrovnik strategy meeting was held in the sunken living room of our house exactly a week later.
On Friday Tom had given Greta and Robert the promised first few chapters of the book; they were extremely impressed.
Tom and I had gotten a little more information out of Robert and Greta beforehand.
They had decided—probably with Larry Weinstein’s help—that going to Croatia should be a family trip. I was disappointed but not surprised; everything with Robert and Greta was a production, and my returning to Dubrovnik was a major production waiting to happen.
Larry Weinstein and Megan were also at the meeting, along with a man Robert introduced as Cal Noonan. Megan was there to take notes, and Larry to consider any legal ramifications, as well as bureaucratic obstacles we might encounter with the Croatian government; I had no idea why Cal was there.
No meeting that Greta held would have been complete without tea and some sort of treat. For this occasion Octavia made a lemon cake. My favorite.
Once everyone had their tea and had gotten at least a few nibbles of cake, Robert said, “Before we get started, I have an announcement to make. I’ve decided to run for Senate in next year’s election.”
“Bravo,” Larry said, though I was sure he already knew of Robert’s decision. In fact, Robert proved it with his next statement: “Larry has agreed to run my campaign.”
I looked over at Greta. She wasn’t looking at Robert or Larry; she focused instead on her piece of lemon cake, slowly cutting off a piece with her fork as if she were performing open-heart surgery (which she had once done when playing a doctor in the medical thriller STAT).
“Larry,” Robert continued, “why don’t you tell them how this all fits together with our trip to Dubrovnik?”
This was worse than I’d thought. Robert was using my trip to Croatia to launch his political campaign. I hated him more than ever.
“All righty,” Larry began, looking at his yellow legal pad. “On August sixteenth, we leave for Dubrovnik, for Joe’s visit to honor the events that led to his adoption by Bob and Greta.”
The events? How about that my family was killed in a horrible, stupid war?
Greta c
ontinued to operate on her lemon cake, but Tom gave me the slightest of nods, which I interpreted to mean Hang on, everything’s going to be fine.
“On the day we leave for Dubrovnik, Robert will hold a press conference announcing his intent to run for Senate. We’ll be taking a private plane, and Cal and his crew will be along to document everything we do. Cal is a fantastic documentary filmmaker, and we’re lucky to have him with us.”
Lucky in this case meaning We’re paying him lots of money.
I was fuming. Even before Larry Weinstein went further into the trip itinerary, I knew every moment would be planned out to maximize media exposure and promote Robert’s image as a good-deed-doer in the eyes of millions of California voters.
For the next forty-five minutes Larry went through every detail of the trip. All I wanted was to be alone with Tom to figure out how we were going to deal with all this.
When Larry had finished, Robert said, “We shouldn’t forget that this is an important trip for Joe, and we want to be sensitive to his needs. Some of this might be very emotional for him.” Robert looked at me protectively and then turned to Cal. “So the camera crew needs to stay a respectful distance from him at all times.”
“You got it,” Cal affirmed to Robert, and then said to me, “We’ll use long-range lenses to capture the moments without being intrusive. You won’t even know we’re there, Joe.”
Yeah, right.
Robert concluded the meeting by thanking Tom for the “inspirational idea of having Joe return to his place of birth.”
Place of birth? Obviously Robert didn’t want to say my “home” because he wanted people to think that this mansion in Bel-Air with its sunken living room, pool and tennis court, and all the bedrooms, bathrooms, and closets was my real home.
“This is going to be a wonderful experience for Joe, and hopefully an enlightening one for all of us,” Robert finished.
Greta got up, having uttered not a single word, and left the room, followed by Megan.
Robert hardly even acknowledged me at the end of the meeting, choosing instead to “talk about the next step” with Cal.
Tom and I went outside and sat in the gazebo.
Trophy Kid Page 8
