“That’s a very intelligent answer,” Greta said, as if I had just totally agreed with her.
“Very much so,” Robert said, implying that, in fact, I was agreeing with him.
“I just want to go to Dubrovnik,” I said honestly.
Two weeks later and we were really going. The early-August heat was intense, so it felt good to be in the air-conditioned grand ballroom of the Hyatt near the L.A. airport.
Seeing Hana again was awkward at first. She was waiting near the front of the room when our entourage came in. She looked younger than I remembered. She was a large woman with wavy brown hair that went just past her shoulders. Her nose was long and pointed and her eyes were hazel. Upon seeing me, she rushed over and hugged me.
“Josef, look at you. You are so big!”
“Thanks, Hana,” I said, a little embarrassed to be fawned on in front of Tom, Jessica, and especially Martie, who was ecstatic to be going with us.
“Joe, we need you,” Megan called out from the platform that had been set up at the front of the room.
A short while later Robert was saying, “It is with the support of my family and those citizens who believe in making the American government accountable to the American people that I am announcing today my intention to become the next senator from the state of California.”
It would be nice if he were as accountable to me as he promises to be to the American people, I thought, standing with Greta and Guava at Robert’s side.
A large ensemble of supporters, reporters, and cameramen were present to witness Robert’s announcement and take photos of him with his America’s Sweetheart wife, his America’s Newest Little Darling daughter, and his America’s Favorite Trophy Kid adopted son.
Tom, Jessica, Hana, and Martie were huddled together off to the side of platform, next to Larry Weinstein, who, like a ventriloquist, mouthed the words as Robert spoke them.
Robert effortlessly segued from his political campaign to our trip to Dubrovnik. When he said, “In returning to Joe’s birthplace, the site of so much tragedy, we seek to find reconciliation and newfound hope,” Larry actually pumped his fist and said “Yes!” like we’d won a sporting event.
Robert concluded by saying, “Thank you very much, and God bless all of America.”
I had to admit Robert was totally charming and looked the part of the crusading public servant; if I’d been old enough, I might have even voted for him.
When reporters asked me what I thought about Robert’s running for Senate, the words Larry had coached me on came effortlessly: “He made my life better, and I’m sure he’ll do the same for everyone else in California.”
But when asked what I was hoping to find when I returned home, I said, “The truth.” This was definitely not the answer Robert or Larry wanted me to give. I wasn’t sure why it popped out; I was supposed to have said, “Peace.” Larry said this would have the double meaning of finding Croatia at peace and finding the peace of closure from my own past horrors.
Once “the truth” had popped out of my mouth, I felt laser-beam glares from Robert and Larry, and was peppered with follow-up questions from reporters.
“What do you mean, ‘the truth’?” one reporter asked.
“Has the Croatian government been hiding something from you, Joe?” asked another.
“Who’s the lady? Does she have something do with this?” a third reporter asked, pointing to Hana.
My old trophy-kid instinct kicked in. “I want to make peace with the past is all I mean. Isn’t peace what we all want?”
Robert looked relieved; Larry, impressed.
“And the woman you were pointing to,” I went on, “is my former nanny and my translator for the trip.” Hana looked uncomfortable with the attention she was getting, and Larry looked equally ill at ease with the focus on her. He quickly announced to the reporters that we needed to get to the airport, adding, “Thank you all very much for joining us on this historic day.”
Our “Dubrovnik party,” as we were later described on one newscast, made our way out of the hotel and into a pair of waiting limos. It was a short distance to the airport, where we were driven onto the tarmac. Our plane, a chartered Gulfstream V, was waiting for us, along with a throng of reporters and photographers. Security abounded; I guess Robert’s simple announcement that he was running for Senate warranted all the extra men and women dressed in darks suits, wearing tiny walkie-talkie receivers in their ears and serious crowd-scanning looks on their faces.
After passing through the gauntlet of cameramen on the ground, we climbed the moveable stairway and boarded the plane.
The plane seated fifteen, which was exactly the number of people in the Dubrovnik party. It looked more like someone’s living room than the cabin of an airplane, with a sofa, tables, and leather chairs.
Our security team—Rodney and Butch (neither of whom had worked for Robert when Vladimir crashed my eleventh birthday party)—was seated closest to the pilot’s cabin. Next came Greta, Guava, and Megan. In the middle sat Robert, Larry, and Cal with his cameraman and sound person. I was seated in the back of the plane with Tom, Jessica, Hana, and Martie.
Tom draped the green corduroy jacket he had brought over the back of his seat. In his blue jeans and plaid shirt, he looked like he might be going out to see a movie or to the Hollywood Bowl on a summer evening and not traveling over seven thousand miles to a small city on the coast of the Adriatic Sea.
Jessica was helping Hana, who seemed a little overwhelmed by everything, to get comfortable.
I was still wearing the dress shirt and slacks I’d worn to the press conference. Martie, in a pink T-shirt and jeans, was across from me. “The flight attendant told me they have all sorts of games,” she said. “We could play Scrabble or Monopoly or…” The list went on, but I was too busy thinking She’s so pretty, don’t look at her, she’s so pretty, don’t look at her to listen.
When the engines started up, I became incredibly nervous. Not because I thought we might crash or something, but because of what I might find—or not find—once we landed in Dubrovnik. It was a fourteen-hour flight, including fuel stops, so I had plenty of time to anticipate and speculate on what might lie ahead. I’d already waited two years since Vladimir Petrovic had appeared by our baby grand piano, so what was another fourteen hours?
Still, my mind raced with what-ifs: What if my real dad was alive? What if we found him lying in some hospital bed in a coma? Or what if I found out that he was healthy, except for the minor detail that he had no memory of his life before a bomb exploded on the bridge he was rebuilding? Or worse yet, what if he remembered everything but had chosen not to find me? What if seeing me only reminded him that he’d lost his wife and daughter, and he felt it would be best for both of us not to see each other? These thoughts were so intense that I didn’t even realize the plane had taken off.
I looked at Robert sitting next to Larry and across from Cal, and my blood began to boil. If Robert had done anything to keep me from my real family, I would never forgive him.
As soon as our flight attendant announced we could “move about the cabin,” I grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt out of my travel bag and went to the bathroom to change.
When I returned to my seat, Cal was waiting for me.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he said.
“Fine,” I said cautiously.
“Great. Great,” Cal said to all of us, running his bony fingers through his wavy black hair.
“Later on, we’re going to get some footage of you talking about your expectations for the trip, your last memories, that sort of thing, you know, you know?” The double “you know” seemed to indicate that Cal was either naturally hyper or had drunk one too many espressos.
“His last memories are of his mother and sister being killed,” Hana said disapprovingly, obviously having taken a disliking to Cal.
“Well, sure, sure,” Cal responded, surprised to have been challenged. “I mean, that was just a figure of speech.�
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“His mother and sister being killed was a figure of speech?” Hana responded.
Cal looked at Tom and Jessica for help, but they just stared back at him blankly, letting him fry himself.
“No, no! What I meant…What I meant was…I’ll be back later with my camera and my sound guy and we can do a little interview, that’s all. Okay, great, great.” And with that Cal made his way back up to where Robert, Larry, and the mini film crew were sitting.
“That was awesome,” Martie said to Hana after Cal had left us.
“Where I come from, we say our opinions,” Hana said.
“He was being a total idiot,” Jessica said sharply.
“So, Joe, before the press conference Hana was telling us stories from when you were little,” Tom said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And you made her out to be ancient. I was expecting an old lady using a walker to get around.”
“Josef, I am only fifty-six,” Hana said.
“Really?” I asked, making everyone laugh. In my memory, Hana had seemed so old, but I could see now I was wrong.
“Yes, really,” Hana said, making me feel a little embarrassed.
“What did you tell them about me?” I asked, instantly regretting it.
“That you were always a wise guy, and stubborn, never taking a bath when I ask you to, and when I finally get you in the bath, I cannot get you out of the bath.”
Greta appeared next to me. “You all seem to be enjoying yourselves,” she said. “What are you talking about?”
“Josef not wanting to take a bath,” Hana said.
“Oh, I love baths,” Greta responded, instantly bringing the conversation to herself. “I can spend hours in the tub. When I get a new script, I make a big bubble bath, pour a glass of chardonnay, and start reading. Of course, I end up getting water and suds all over the script and it smears and I can’t read half of it.” Greta laughed; everyone else smiled politely. She cleared her throat. “Well, I think I’ll go see when dinner is being served. I’m starving.”
It was hard to think of America’s favorite actress as an outsider, but that was what she’d just been. I sort of felt sorry for Greta, unable to fit in with our small group.
“This really was a great idea, Tom,” she said, placing a hand on Tom’s shoulder, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Jessica. “I know this means a lot to Joe. I’m glad you’re all with us,” Greta said sincerely before walking toward the front of the plane.
“She’s an odd one,” Jessica said.
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“I mean, she can be so self-involved one moment and so sweet the next,” Jessica answered.
“I wouldn’t exactly say the next,” I said. “More like a bunch of moments of being self-involved, then one of being sweet, then a bunch more of being into herself.”
“You see?” Hana said. “A wise guy.”
“And she’s got a thing for you, Tom, I swear it,” Jessica said.
“You’re crazy,” Tom said.
“I don’t know,” Jessica replied.
I was thinking that Jessica would be surprised to learn how hard Greta had been pushing Tom to propose to her.
We were scheduled to make two refueling stops along the way: one in New Jersey and the other in Paris. The leg of the flight that took us to New Jersey seemed to go quickly. After we’d been served dinner, I played Scrabble with Jessica and Martie. Tom was working on the book on his laptop, and Hana was sleeping.
“We should ask your sister and Greta if they want to play with us, too, don’t you think?” Martie asked.
“I don’t think they’d want to,” I said.
“Greta looked like she wanted to be with us. I bet this happens all the time. People think she doesn’t want to do normal things just because she’s a movie star. I think it’s kind of a reverse snobbery. We assume she thinks she’s better than us, but maybe it’s the other way around. I’m going to ask them if they want to play,” Martie said decisively, rising from her seat and walking up the aisle.
A few moments later, Martie returned with Greta and Guava.
“Told you,” she whispered to me as Greta and Guava got their Scrabble tiles.
I smiled. She was right—again.
fifteen
We had just gotten back to our cruising altitude and speed after the refueling in New Jersey when Cal Noonan asked everyone to be quiet. He wanted to get some tape of Robert talking about the trip; my turn would come on the leg from Paris to Dubrovnik. Cal wanted us to be as close as possible to our destination before interviewing me.
I moved up the aisle, close enough to hear Robert speak.
Robert’s appearance seemed to have changed simply because he’d announced he was running for public office. It was as if he’d put on a politician’s mask, one whose strict lines of professional sincerity and righteousness had replaced the malleable lines of an actor.
“This is not my trip, this is Joe’s trip,” Robert said to Cal. It was about the fifteenth time he’d made this statement since Tom suggested we go to Dubrovnik. “Joe is but one of the thousands of boys and girls who were made orphans by war in the Balkans. There are also over ten thousand children orphaned by wars in southern Africa, not to mention the children’s lives that have been lost due to famine in Liberia and Sierra Leone. Only when we make children our number-one priority will we be—”
“Hold on,” Larry said, stopping the interview.
“What?” said Robert.
“The orphans are in Liberia and Sierra Leone and the famine is in southern Africa,” Larry said.
“Are you sure?” asked Robert.
I rolled my eyes and looked at Tom.
While Robert scanned his notes, I heard Larry say to Cal, “I smell an Oscar nomination.” I nudged Tom, but he just shrugged in that what can you do? manner I’d come to know very well in the two months we’d been working on the book.
“Hana, tell us a little about where we’re going,” Tom asked.
“Did you know that Dubrovnik is called the pearl of the Adriatic?” Hana said to our little group.
Everyone said, “Yes.”
“How did you know?” Hana asked.
“Google” was the chorused reply.
Even I’d learned more online about my home than I remembered from living there.
Everyone seemed to know that Dubrovnik was a beautiful seaport city on the southern tip of what was called the Dalmatian Coast of the Adriatic Sea, north of the Mediterranean Sea and east of Italy.
“What they did to that beautiful city was inhuman and for no reason,” Hana said.
“I read that there was no military presence there when they started bombing in 1992,” Tom said.
“True,” Hana said.
“Why did they bomb you, then?” Martie asked.
“I don’t know. Everything was changing so fast. We wanted our independence. Why not? This was just before you were born, Josef. There was no water or electricity. There was an old Franciscan monastery with a well. In the morning we would go with our pails to fill them with water. I am sure your mother did this, too. There were no telephones, so we could not talk to our relatives to tell them we were all right. Can you imagine?”
“That must have been horrible,” Jessica said.
“To take a bath we had to go into the ocean. It was December and the water was freezing, but it was the only way to get clean.
“There was one day,” Hana went on, “when the bombing started in the early morning and did not end until late at night. It was December sixth. I never will forget that day.
“You know Dubrovnik is a very old city. It has been through many hardships but has always been beautiful. Many churches. Maybe they did not like our churches,” Hana said, bittersweet.
“Another thing I read,” said Tom, “was that the city used to be covered with red-tile roofs, but most of those were destroyed or damaged.”
“I read they’ve fixed them,” Martie said.
&nbs
p; “Hana, how did you come to be Joe’s nanny?” Jessica asked.
“My older brother was an army officer. He wanted me to be safe. My English was very good, and when Josef came to be taken by Mr. and Mrs. Francis, I was hired to come with them to America.”
“Have you been back often?” Martie asked.
“Two times. The last time was two years ago. It is a very special place,” Hana said with pride. “People from other parts of the country say that those of us from Dubrovnik think we are better than everyone else. It is not true. We are no better or worse. We are just from a better place.” She winked at me.
Cal Noonan’s interview with me began shortly after we’d taken off from Paris.
Before the filming started, Larry Weinstein prepped me.
“Just be yourself,” he said. “Don’t forget to say how grateful you are to your mom and dad for coming to your rescue. I like that, ‘coming to your rescue.’ Be sure to use that phrase.”
“Got it,” I said, fighting back the impulse to tell him to leave me alone.
“When Cal asks you what you’re most looking forward to, say, ‘Meeting the soldier who rescued me from that street.’”
“Do you want me to use rescue twice?” I asked with faked sincerity. Hana was right; I was a wise guy.
“Good point,” said Larry. “Okay, well, you should use rescue for your mom and dad. How about saved? Yeah, that’s good. The soldier who saved you during that battle or whatever was going on. If you say that Robert saved you, people might think you mean in a religious way. We don’t want them to get that message. Not that your dad isn’t supportive of people of faith.”
Martie had come up behind Larry and was doing imitations of him as he gave me my instructions. When I started to laugh, Larry’s antenna-like eyebrows picked up that something was going on behind him. But by the time he’d swung his neck around, all he found was Martie smiling innocently.
“And you need to change,” Larry said, after turning back to face me.
Trophy Kid Page 10
