stranger in dadland
Other Novels by Amy Goldman Koss
The Girls
The Ashwater Experiment
How I Saved Hanukkah
The Trouble With Zinny Weston
stranger in dadland
Amy
Goldman
Koss
Dial Books
New York
Published by Dial Books
A division of Penguin Putnam Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2001 by Amy Goldman Koss
All rights reserved
Designed by Lily Malcom
Text set in Slimbach
Printed in the U.S.A. on acid-free paper
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Koss, Amy Goldman, date.
Stranger in Dadland / Amy Goldman Koss.
p. cm.
Summary: Twelve-year-old John develops a new understanding
of his divorced father during an eventful summer visit to California.
ISBN: 978-1-101-65294-7
[1. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 2. Divorce—Fiction. 3. Interpersonal
relations—Fiction. 4. California—Fiction.]
I. Title: Stranger in Dad Land. II. Title
PZ7.K8527 St 2001
[Fic]—dc21 99–462100
Special thanks to Max Goldman,
Barry Goldman, and Peter Williamson.
This book is for you, Benny.
Table of Contents
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter one
The flight attendant knelt in the aisle next to me. “Anything you need, honey, just push this,” she said, tapping the button clearly marked for calling the flight attendant. “The boys’ room is down there,” she added, loud enough for-everyone to hear.
I wanted to snap, “I’m twelve, not three!” But instead, I grabbed a magazine out of the seat pocket and flipped it open to a picture of golf clubs. It’s hard to appear suddenly fascinated by golf clubs.
Finally, we backed away from the gate, started moving faster, and lifted off. All of Kansas shrank to dots and dashes before being swallowed by clouds.
I knew my mom had waited to watch me take off. In case—what? Hostile Martians tried to hijack the plane and only Mom could reason with them? Now my sister, Liz, was probably dragging her to the parking lot, which would remind my mom that it was even more dangerous on the freeway than in the air, so she’d switch worries. Mom was a champion worrier. That was one of the reasons I was glad to be leaving: Worrying is contagious, and I didn’t want to catch any more than I had already.
The man next to me opened his laptop and began typing. His fatness spilled over the armrest between us as if he were inflating. At least he was a man, so we didn’t have to talk. If he’d been a woman, he probably would’ve asked me a million questions, would have been too friendly, babying me like the flight attendant had. Speak of the devil, she was back again, asking if I was okay.
“I fly to California for a week every summer,” I muttered. “My dad lives there.”
“Oh. You’re an old pro,” she said, smiling.
I nodded and looked back down at my magazine, still opened to the golf clubs. She’d think I was either a slow reader or a serious golf fanatic.
What I didn’t tell her was that although I made this trip-every summer, I’d never actually gone without my older sister. But that was none of her business. Let her think I flew alone all the time, between golf games.
“Your daddy must be so excited,” the flight attendant said.
As if I still called him Daddy! Give me a break! But I wondered if he was excited. He wouldn’t jump around hooting like a kid, of course, so it would be hard to tell.
When we hit turbulence, my gut lurched to my throat and I clutched the armrests. I heard one lady gasp and a girl squeak. The man beside me calmly typed along with no expression on his face. I guess he didn’t think we were going to plummet to the ground and shatter in flaming bits on impact.
Had he noticed me grab the armrests? I hoped I hadn’t squeaked like that girl. I relaxed my hands, emptied my face of expression, and made sure my eyes didn’t bug out at the next roll of the plane.
The flight was l-o-n-g. I couldn’t see the movie over the seat in front of me—but it was a stupid movie I’d already seen twice anyway. And the meal was gluey clumps of yuck. It was a relief to look out the window and finally see the gray expanse of Dadland (as Liz and I called it).
They must be having another drought, I thought, because there was nothing green below the layer of smog—just an endless spread of buildings, roads, and freeways.
I reminded myself not to panic if Dad wasn’t there, but the thought made my heart pound anyway. He’d been late the year before last and it had worked out okay. But my sister, Liz, had been with me. She was fourteen then.
Well, if Dad’s not there, I told myself, I’ll just go down to baggage claim, get my suitcase, and wait for him outside. I tried to imagine doing all that without freaking out. I-wouldn’t know what kind of car to watch for, because Dad changed cars all the time, so I’d just have to stand on the curb near the shuttle buses until he honked or waved or something.
I wondered if Dad would be alone. Last year his girlfriend Bobbie was with him when he came to get us. Boy, Liz was ticked about that. She’d hated Bobbie’s guts, instantly and completely.
I triple-checked to make sure I had my baggage claim ticket as we pulled up to gate C-3. The same flight attendant offered to check my overhead compartment. She must’ve thought I was too short to reach it. I knew I could ask her to help me find baggage claim and all that. But on second thought, I’d rather get lost.
I filed down the tube into the waiting area. It was huge and crowded and hard to focus on. Then I spotted Dad. Phew! He was shoving toward me. I suddenly wondered what to do. Shake hands? I’d hated having to hug my crying mom in front of all those strangers at the gate back home.
Dad thumped me on the back, hard. “Hey, Big Guy!” he said. Then he mussed up my hair.
I was definitely not a “Big Guy,” but Dad had been calling me that forever.
“Hey, Dad,” I said back.
Then we were sucked into the herd, mooing away from the gate. I felt good. I hadn’t had to hug, I wouldn’t have to handle the whole suitcase business myself, and I was alone with Dad.
It stank of exhaust outside the airport, and I patted my pocket, making sure my inhaler was there in case my asthma kicked up. We crossed to parking lot E. Dad was telling me that he was taking me somewhere special for lunch and that he hoped I was hungry. I was.
This year his car was a Porsche Boxster—a bright yellow two-seater with space in the back for a dog or tennis rackets. If both Liz and I had come, I guess that would’ve been my seat.
Then we were off, moving past bleached-out buildings and billboards. At a red light, Dad said, “Watch this.” He pushed a button and the car shuddered as the top went down and folded itself away.
“A convertible! Cool!” I said, blinking in the sudden glare, wishing I had sunglasses. Dad smiled past me. I looked over and saw a guy at a bus stop give us a thumbs-up. I bet he thought I was just some son out for a ride with his father—and he was right! For once it wasn’t like when
I’m with friends’ dads and sort of hope people think they’re mine.
“How’s Liz?” Dad asked.
“She’s good.” I thought about saying more—maybe tell him about Liz’s boyfriend, Jet, or something—but the traffic and wind were loud. Anyway, he didn’t ask for details.
I wondered for the hundredth time what I’d say if Dad asked me why Liz hadn’t come. I hoped I could get away with a shrug and an “I don’t know.”
When Liz had first told me she wasn’t coming to California, I’d thought she just couldn’t tear herself away from her boyfriend. But she’d said, “No, it has nothing to do with Jet. There’s just no room for me in Dadland.”
So then I’d thought she meant because Dad always had two-bedroom apartments and Liz felt way too old to share a room with me. But she’d shaken her head and said, “Every year I hope it’ll be different. Like Dad will make time for us. And every year I’m disappointed. Who needs it?”
“But maybe this year will be different!” I’d argued.
“I hope so, John,” Liz had said. “I hope you have a great time.”
When Liz had called Dad, I’d secretly picked up the phone in Mom’s room and listened in. Liz had come right out with it: “Dad, I won’t be able to visit this summer.”
Dad hadn’t asked why. He’d just said, “Gee, that’s too bad, Princess.”
“John’s still coming, though,” she’d said. “Aren’t you, John?”
Caught! How’d she know I was on the line? I’d been silent as death! “Uh—yeah,” I’d stammered. “Sure I’m coming.” Then I’d added a “Can’t wait!”
And here I was. I looked over at my dad and he asked, “And your mother? How’s she?”
“She’s good too,” I said over the roar.
He nodded, satisfied, I guess. If it had been Liz driving alone with him, I suppose he would have been satisfied by a “He’s good” about me.
Dad gave the valet his car keys and led me into a restaurant. A woman with blonde hair was waiting at a table. When she saw us, she started to get up, but then sat back down.
As Dad steered me toward that woman’s table, my gut sank. “Sorry we’re late,” he said, kissing her on the lips. “Cora, this is the Big Guy.”
“Hi, John,” Cora said. “It’s great to finally meet you. I’ve heard soooo much about you.”
I tried to smile, wondering if I was supposed to lie and say I’d heard about her too.
I looked at the menu. Wednesday’s special was a cheeseburger. When I commented that it cost a gazillion times more than at McDonald’s, Cora said that it would taste “at least a gazillion times better.” She said gazillion like she thought it was the most hilarious word she’d ever heard.
We ordered, then waited forever for the food to come. Cora asked me some questions, like how my flight was, and whether I was enjoying summer vacation, but mostly she and Dad talked while I looked around. The restaurant was trying to seem old and shabby, but in a bright new way. The waiters wore neckties with pink flowers on them. Very L.A.
Dad looked the same as always—tan, tall, happy. I glanced at Cora and realized that her eyebrows weren’t made of hair. They were drawn on. I wondered if she’d shaved off her real eyebrows or if she’d been born without them.
When the food came, Cora took a wad of gum out of her mouth, wrapped it in a tissue, and stuck it in her purse. How many gobs of gum did she have in there? I pictured her pulling her hand out and having gum glommed onto each fingertip, stretching like pizza cheese. Maybe her eyebrows had gotten caught in her gum!
“Oh!” Cora said, seeing me smile. “Wanna hear a cute joke, John?”
The word cute made me suspicious.
Cora cleared her throat, sat up straighter, and said, “Why don’t cannibals eat clowns?”
“Why?” Dad asked.
“Because they taste funny!” Cora said, cracking up.
I wanted to groan, but Dad was smiling, so I smiled too. I wondered if I would’ve liked the joke more if someone else had told it.
The meal dragged on long after Dad and I had finished our burgers. Cora just kept pushing her food around, taking microscopic mouse nibbles now and then.
I was eager to see Dad’s new apartment. He called it his “pool pad.” A swim sounded great, and I was ready to go.
I looked at Dad and he winked at me. I hoped that meant he knew I was dying to leave, but when the waiter asked if he wanted more coffee, Dad said, “Sure.”
“How was your burger?” Cora asked me.
I shrugged. “It was okay.”
Finally, Dad pushed his chair back, fanned a bunch of twenty-dollar bills out on the table, and got up to leave. I jumped to my feet.
“Whoa there, Big Guy!” Dad said. “I’ve got to get to a meeting. Cora has graciously taken the afternoon off—just to help us out.” He and Cora exchanged smiles. Then Dad said, “She’ll run you back to the apartment for me and I’ll meet you there later. Fair enough?”
I sat back down, smiled as if it were no big deal, and said, “Fair enough.” I should’ve gotten an Oscar for that performance!
Cora finished her coffee. “Your father’s quite a guy,” she gushed. “You’re a lucky boy.”
I cranked out another smile.
She stuck a fresh stick of gum in her mouth and offered me one—which I declined.
“He was so excited about your visit,” she said. “That’s all he could talk about.”
I tried to believe her.
“It was so cute how worried he was about what you’d want to do while you were here. He was scared you’d be bored and all that. It was sweet.”
That’s when I knew she was totally full of it. No way would Dad worry about stuff like that.
Cora said she didn’t have any small bills to tip the valet, so I had to lend her two dollars to get her car back. Then she turned on the car radio and out came Muzak. She didn’t gag or retch or even change the station! She hummed along, cracking her gum. Sheesh.
chapter two
We parked underground, and Cora led me up a flight of stairs. When we got to the top, she punched a number code to unlock the door. She knew it by heart. The door opened on a U-shaped courtyard surrounding a swimming pool.
We walked along a balcony corridor. There was only one person out. He was leaning over the railing, right in our way. When he saw us, he grinned and said, “Hey, John. How ya doing?” I was confused. How’d this kid know my name?
“John, this is Beau Lubeck,” Cora said, as if that explained everything.
“What took you so long?” Beau asked with a goofy smile. “I thought your plane came in at noon!”
Cora answered for me. “We stopped for lunch at the Ivy!” The way she said it, I could tell it was supposed to be a hot spot.
“Cool,” Beau said, nodding. He and Cora obviously knew each other, and Beau clearly knew way more about me than I knew about him—which was easy, of course, since I knew zip about him.
I watched the numbers on the doors we passed. I knew Dad’s apartment was 216 because I’d sent him a Father’s Day card. Sure enough, that’s where Cora stopped. She took out a key and opened the door. I wondered whether it was her own key or Dad had lent it to her for today.
Beau loped inside right along with us. He was taller than me—no surprise there—but he looked about my age. He showed me the guest room, where I was going to sleep.
Then the kitchen. He opened the fridge and said, “There’s never anything in here.” From there he went back to the living room, clicked on the TV, and started listing off the cable channels we could get. He said we as if he lived here. Did he? Did Cora? Was Beau Cora’s son? They didn’t look alike. Beau was long and bony. Cora was sort of round and springy-looking. If they both fell off the balcony, I thought, Beau would shatter and Cora would bounce.
Beau was still telling me about the apartment. Something about the elevator not working. Cora took off her shoes and picked up a magazine. She chewed her gum with her m
outh open. I hate that.
“Wanna go swimming?” Beau asked me.
That’s when I realized my suitcase was still in Dad’s car.
“No sweat,” Beau said. “I can lend you a suit.”
I didn’t want to borrow this kid’s trunks; I was sure I’d look dorky in them. But it was hot and I really wanted to swim. I also wanted to see where Beau kept his clothes. At least I’d find out if he lived here. I couldn’t ask, because then he’d know I didn’t know squat about who Dad lives or-doesn’t live with. So I said okay.
Beau bolted out the door.
Cora looked up from her magazine and said, “Beau lives a few doors down. It’ll just take him a second.” One mystery solved.
“Can I use the phone?” I asked, remembering that I’d promised to call when I got in.
Cora giggled at me. “Of course you can! It’s your phone!”
My phone? Yeah, I guessed since this was my dad’s apartment, it was kinda mine too. “Where is it?”
Cora pointed to the coffee table right under her nose, but I didn’t want to use that phone. I hesitated, then asked, “Is there another one?”
“It’s a cordless,” Cora said, cracking her gum. “You can take it in another room if you need privacy.”
My sister, Liz, answered. “How’s the Phantom?” she asked.
“He’s at a meeting,” I mumbled.
“Surprise, surprise,” Liz said sympathetically. “Bobbie still around?”
“She has morphed into Cora,” I whispered. “She’s here now.”
Liz groaned. “Well, be brave,” she said. “Here’s Mom.”
“Be brave about what?” Mom asked, instantly alarmed.
“Nothing.”
“I was expecting your call hours ago! Is everything okay?”
I rolled my eyes. Mom—always ready to worry.
* * *
After I’d reassured Mom that all was well, and promised to call her the next day, I changed into Beau’s trunks. They were too big on me, of course, and I looked stupid. I was afraid I’d swim right out of them, but somehow they hung on, and the water felt great. I may not be so hot at stuff like basketball and soccer, but I can sure swim. Beau could go farther than me without taking a breath, but when we raced using no arms, then using no legs, I beat him both times.
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