“I’m in the middle of closing a pretty big deal.”
“How exciting.”
“Boys,” Ana said.
“This isn’t a fight,” Josef said.
“We’re not fighting,” Armie said.
“You’re fighting,” Charlie said.
“How is this kid still asleep?” Josef asked, lifting his glass toward Abbott.
“Is he okay like that?” Ana asked.
“He’s fine!” Charlie said. “Please stop asking if he’s okay.”
“We should take him up to bed, sweetie,” Ana said.
“If I wake him now he won’t go back down.”
“Those are the ashes?” Josef asked.
The old brass knocker on the front door sounded, loud and echoing.
“Who could that be?” Ana said.
They all looked at the grandfather clock. It was 10:15.
“I’m not expecting anyone,” Armie said.
“Well, I’m certainly not!” Ana said.
“I’ll get it,” Josef said. He poured himself a third round and went to answer the door. A short blonde in the largest sunglasses he’d ever seen stood, with gigantic Louis Vuitton suitcases on either side of her. A little kid was at her knee. She was beautiful, even behind the sunglasses. Ineffable. It was just there in the way she stood, in the slope of her neck, in the suggestion of her breasts beneath the black top, in her strange black endlessly high boots.
“Wow,” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m Josef. Who are you?”
“Fuck off, creep,” she said. “Where’s Charlie?”
* * *
In Charlie’s former room, now the library, Melody Montrose hung her blond wig from the mirror, undid her real hair, and combed it out. She turned her phone off once she realized Patrick was not going to stop texting. His threats to involve the police if she continued to refuse to divulge her whereabouts were not without ominous merit, and while she felt entirely justified in taking Dustin with her, she most certainly preferred to avoid any legal entanglements.
She might have been holding Dustin a little too hard under the covers of the pullout couch because he started crying in the dark and complaining that he couldn’t breathe.
- FRIDAY -
He rose at the first scratch of sun and tried to remember his dreams but could not remember his dreams. He watched light gather in oblongs on the floor and move across the faded rugs that kept his feet warm against the basement’s cold concrete. Some of the walls he’d covered in tapestries and mirrors and kitschy paintings salvaged from stock deemed unworthy for the shop. Up in the kitchen he heard the noise of pretty much everyone in the house, topped by Abbott and the movie star’s son shrieking and laughing.
He dressed and went up. Shadow had managed to get out of his bed. Armie knelt and let the dog lick his hand.
He decided to drink his coffee on the front porch. Shadow followed him out and they stood side by side. Armie sipped his coffee and watched the sun over Warren Street. Shadow slobbered and surveyed for squirrels, although Armie doubted the dog had the strength to give proper chase. Josef was already out on the porch in a parka, in the one chair his parents kept out there, with a laptop across his knees and his phone at his ear.
“I never said anyone was taking an entire week off . . . I said I was taking a few days . . . I’ll be back Monday . . . Yes, you should be there as well. Yes . . . yes . . . yes!”
A jogger passed. It was Audrey. She waved and smiled at Armie and called his name and it just about made him die. He’d failed in most aspects of adult life, had he not? This was his self-evaluation—a burden he placed on his own shoulders—but surely it was hard to view his current situation in any other way. Three decades–plus into things and he’d procured no title, or spouse, or nest egg of any kind. In fact, he’d lost more $$$ than he ever hoped to have gained in his lifetime. Poof. All gone. He tried so hard to blame Josef, but was it truly Josef’s fault in the end? Because no one had “put a gun to his head” (Josef’s words) and forced him to go work for PG-Micnic. He could have stayed working for Andopolis and been perfectly happy. Or would that have made him happy? Josef still maintained that all he’d done was get Armie the job and in no way could he be held responsible for what the company did later on. And when Armie was honest with himself, he knew this was true. But he had to be mad at someone. You lived and died by the cycles of almighty God Capitalism, according to Jo-Jo Himself, and you had to take risks to make almighty God $$$s. But somehow the risks Josef took always panned out. The $$$ for him always flowed in. Armie recalled the pitted-out feeling he experienced when he read in The New York Times (five minutes before his phone erupted with about a hundred calls) of the first of several falsified reports that came back from the African wilds where initial PG findings had boasted vast untold quantities of gold deposits. All made up. All lies. The stock soared, then imploded. Everyone at Plaxo-Mineral Consortium Inc. had been indicted. The company went belly-up almost overnight. Through legal loopholes and trickery or whatever, PG-Micnic and its board evaded prosecution and publicly denounced the behaviors of certain high-level employees who had, according to the statements, acted of their own immoral accord. All ties had been severed, scapegoats scapegoated, and PG-Micnic kept on ticking. The New York office for Plaxo-Mineral closed overnight. Meanwhile, Armie lost everything. The job. His dignity. FBI agents had taken him away in a car, right in full view of whoever was on Warren Street at the time to bear witness.
He thought of this as Audrey ran by, waving. He waved back, lamely, and then she was gone down the hill and he looked the other way, toward town, and the sun in his eyes made him squint and Josef pulled his phone away from his mouth and covered it with a hand and leaned in conspiratorially and said, “Didn’t you fuck that girl in high school?”
* * *
“Ponies so pretty?”
“What’s that?” Josef said.
“He wants you to look at his backpack.”
“Nhhhnnnhhh!”
“I didn’t say he wanted you to touch it.”
“He was gonna bite me!”
“Just tell him the ponies are pretty.”
“Okay, um, why yes, very lovely ponies you’ve got there.”
“Mm-hmh!”
Abbott put the backpack on and circled the couch. Dustin knelt at the coffee table, zooming a plastic fire engine around the box of ashes. Charlie had just gone for a run and swapped her sweaty running apparel for clean, nonsweaty running apparel. She lay on the couch with an ice pack on her forehead. Melody sat slumped in a wing chair, the wig askew on her head. She’d turned her phone back on and was reading aloud text messages from Patrick.
“Un-fucking-real, can you believe this guy?”
“Language,” Charlie said.
“He has no idea where I am. He’s going nuts.”
“You won’t be so giddy if he calls the cops,” Josef said.
“He doesn’t have the balls.”
“Well, I can tell you one thing,” Charlie said. “Leilani called twice this morning, and if she calls again I have to answer, and I can’t lie to her when she asks me if I know where you are.”
“I thought you quit!”
“So?”
“You can’t tell her I’m here!”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Tell her you don’t know where I am. You haven’t heard from me.”
“You want me to lie?”
“It’s like a white lie,” Melody said. “Right, Jo-Jo?”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“And you can’t keep charging all your expenses to the production company!”
“It’s part of my contract.”
“You’re in breach of your contract!”
“F. My. Contract.”
“Yeah!” Dustin zoomed his truck. “F!”
Armie came in with Shadow trotting at his side.
“Welcome, young Armand!” Josef said. “Where have you been?”
; “F you.”
“Whoa! Why so defensive? A secret meeting with your Asian lover?”
“Ha! Good one. I was in the basement working.”
“On what?” Josef asked.
“No one’s working today,” Melody said. “It’s stormcation.”
“Ugh”—Josef shuddered—“don’t say that word.”
“Aw, Jo-Jo, lighten up!”
Armie sat in the other wing chair. The grandfather clock chimed noon.
“What are you doing down there in your secret lab?” Josef said.
“No fighting.” Charlie held up the ice pack. “I have a headache.”
“We’re not fighting,” Armie said.
“Perhaps an Enabletal?” Josef said.
“I don’t take those anymore,” Charlie said.
“I bet you don’t.”
“Where’s Mom?” Armie asked.
“Upstairs,” Josef said.
“Still? Has anyone been up to check on her?”
“She’s fine,” Charlie said. “She’s been calling everyone she knows and inviting them for tomorrow.”
Josef stood up. “It’s fine anyway,” he said to Armie. “You have a job to do.”
“Yeah. I need to finish this table.”
“Noooo. A different job. You have to drive me to Albany.”
“Albany? I’m not driving you to Albany.”
“Yes, you are. Come on. We can take the little guys. Give Charlie some time to organize. What do you say, Abbott, want to come on a fun trip with your uncles?”
“Ponies?” Abbott said.
“I want to go!” Dustin said, launching the truck into the air.
“No, Dusty,” Melody said. “You have to stay with Mommy.”
“Fine,” Josef said, “just Abbott.”
“You don’t have to take him,” Charlie said.
“I’m not going to Albany,” Armie said. “Why would we go to Albany? A lot of people are coming here tomorrow.”
“This is for Dad! This is for the party!” Josef said.
“It’s not a party,” Armie said.
“Come on, don’t be a d-i-c-k,” Charlie said to Josef.
“What’s with all the spelling?” Melody said.
“Trust me,” Josef said. “You’re gonna l-o-v-e this.”
“I hate it when you smirk like that.”
“Please don’t do anything stupid,” Charlie said. “I can’t take it. I’m right on the edge.”
“When have you known me to do anything stupid?” Josef said.
“Let’s go ponies!” Abbott screamed. He jumped up and down.
“Seriously,” Charlie said. “You don’t have to take him. It’s fine.”
“No. We want to. We love spending time with our nephew.”
“And Ernest!” Abbott said.
“The more the merrier!” Josef said.
“There’s no way I’m going to Albany!”
* * *
It took them an hour. Josef piloted the Forester up I-90, sweeping past a long line of tractor-trailers in the middle lane.
“You’re driving too fast,” Armie said.
Josef looked at his hand. He peeled off one Band-Aid after the next with his teeth, his free hand on the wheel. Then he balled up the Band-Aids and rolled down the window and tossed them out. Armie watched as they fluttered away behind the car.
“That will never biodegrade.”
“They were cloth!”
“How’d you do that, anyway?”
“Chasing a woman.”
“Ha! Really?”
“Not literally. It’s embarrassing. I fell trying to cross the Williamsburg Bridge.”
“How badly did you need to get laid?”
“I think I might have a problem.”
“I’m a little envious.”
“It’s not a good thing,” Josef said.
“Yeah, well, I haven’t had”—Armie lowered his voice—“s-e-x . . . in over a year.”
“Holy smokes! A year?”
“What did you say!” Abbott yelled.
They turned to look at him. Josef overtook a slow-moving SUV.
“Drive a little slower, maybe?” Armie said.
“Can I ask you something?” Josef said. “Do you remember launching model rockets with Dad?”
“Not really.”
“When we were kids?”
“Yeah, obviously when we were kids.”
“You went crazy for it.”
“What was I, four?”
“We used to have fun together, you and I.”
“We never had fun together. It was always you and Dad. I was just . . . there.”
“Your memory is warped,” Josef said.
“My memory is perfect,” Armie said.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. It is. What do you want me to say? Of course I remember the rockets. I remember going to the field with you and Dad very clearly. I loved to push the button . . . the igniter or whatever . . . that sent them off. I wanted to do everything you did.”
Josef looked in the rearview to check on Abbott, but Abbott was humming and smiling and appeared to be just fine. “I’m not as bad as you make me out to be.”
“Maybe,” Armie said.
“Don’t be mad.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Don’t say about the job. The FBI or whatever.”
“It’s not just about how humiliating and scary that was. I don’t know. It’s like you’re never around when anyone needs you.”
“I’m changing all that. I promise. Trust me. Look, we’re spending time together now! And I’m getting back together with Natalie! Did I tell you?”
“You are? That’s great news! Right?”
“Well, she doesn’t know we are yet. But I think there’s a good chance.”
“Oh.”
The GPS took them downtown, where Josef parked in front of a store. The street was quiet and debris-strewn and dark, and the buildings too were quiet and dark. They heard the highway. Josef wore black pants and a puffy-collared sweater. The store’s logo featured a painting of a steam engine puffing along.
“A hobby shop?” Armie said.
“Trains!” Abbott screamed. “Traaaaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaiiiiiiins!”
“Yeah, buddy!” Josef said. “Wanna see the trains?”
“This store is closed.”
“Do you ever have any fun?” Josef asked.
“I know how to have fun,” Armie said. “All right, fine. Let’s do it.”
“That’s the spirit.” Josef got out and unstrapped Abbott from the car seat. Abbott bolted to the door and put his face right against the window, waving Ernest in the air, barking. “The puppet’s weird, right?” Josef said.
“Leave the kid alone,” Armie said. “Let’s go back. We need to help with the memorial.”
“That’s such a dumb word. Memorial. What are we going to do, put a picture of him on a table with flowers around it and have everyone worship? Trust me. This is a great idea I have here.”
“This store is closed.”
Abbott’s hands were on the window now. Ernest the Donkey Puppet smashed against the glass. “Red train. Green train. Blue train.”
“Lots of trains, right?” Josef said.
Abbott turned. “Zoom!”
“Definitely zoom,” Josef said. “Let’s go around back.”
“Why would we go around back?” Armie said. He zipped his parka up to his chin and thrust his hands into his pockets.
“Keep your voice down,” Josef said.
Abbott was off, racing down the narrow gap between the buildings, splashing through puddles that dotted the pocked concrete.
Behind the store was a Dumpster, some scattered loading pallets, two empty parking spots, and a brick wall. Josef tried the back door.
“You don’t have the balls to break in,” Armie said.
“Is that so?”
“Balls!” Abbott said.
Josef squatted and p
ushed at the doggy door. He tried to get his shoulders through the opening, but he was too broad. With his head inside he surveyed the dark rows of shelves, the counter, the register. At the center of the store was an elaborate train panorama with hills and a tunnel through a craggy mountain range. He saw the Estes rocket display and the Loadstar II. He pulled his head out. “You’re gonna love this, Abbott. So many trains.”
Abbott nodded gravely.
“You’re too fat to fit,” Armie said.
Josef rolled into a sitting position. “I am not fat. Take it back.”
“Keep your voice down,” Armie said, repeating what his brother had just said.
Abbott nodded conspiratorially. “Shhhh.”
“Abbott, come here.” Josef put his hand on Abbott’s shoulder and Abbott pulled back. “Think you can crawl through this hole?”
Abbott stepped forward with Ernest, sniffing about. “A tunnel?”
“Hold on a sec,” Armie said, as if struck with a brilliant idea. He leaned over the wooden railing.
“Yeah,” Josef said, “like they’d just leave the window unlocked like that.”
Armie yanked and the window opened. He looked at Josef.
“Whatever.” Josef turned to Abbott. “Okay, buddy. Time for an adventure. For Grandpa, okay?”
“Who Grandpa?”
“He was my dad and he was your grandpa and he’s not with us anymore and we’re gonna get him a present. You know what we’re going to get him?”
“Horse?” Abbott asked, scratching at something in his nose.
“Better than a horse.”
“Train?”
“Rocket!”
“Rocket!” Abbott brought Ernest forth on the end of his hand and barked.
“That’s right! We’re going to get Grandpa a rocket!”
“Yay!”
“Here’s the deal. I’ll lift you into the window and you’re going to go grab the red-and-blue rocket. Okay? The red-and-blue one with the stripes. Like my sweater, okay? With stripes. Do you know red and blue?” He turned to Armie. “Does this kid know his colors?”
“I have no idea.”
“Scary,” Abbott said.
“I know it is, but I’m going to be right here. And your aunt Armand’s going to be right here, too. You can do this. You and—what’s the horse’s name?”
“Ernest!”
The Antiques Page 16
