Stranger in Dadland

by Amy Goldman Koss

“I dunno,” Beau said. “When your number’s up, your number’s up. Right?”

  I shrugged on the outside, but on the inside I screamed, “No!” Ditz was still a puppy; she hadn’t even picked a number yet.

  chapter six

  “Are you hungry?” Beau asked, changing the subject.

  “I’m always hungry,” I said.

  “Same here.”

  We went up to Beau’s apartment. Beau’s mom was on the couch right inside the door. She had lots of dark hair, curling all over the place. Beau said, “This is my mom.” Then he introduced me by saying, “Mom, this is John. His dog got killed today, back in Kansas.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, John,” Beau’s mom said.

  I nodded.

  Then Beau said, “And that’s baby Marcel.”

  It wasn’t until that moment that I realized Beau’s mom had a baby in her arms—and that the baby was nursing! Right in front of me! And I could even see some skin. Worse, I heard slurpy noises that must have been the baby drinking!

  I didn’t know what to say or where to look. I’d never been so embarrassed in my life, and I could barely hear what Beau’s mother was saying to me. Something about food, but yecch! My appetite was permanently ruined.

  I stumbled into the kitchen after Beau, and I just knew my eyeballs were hanging out on threads. But Beau didn’t seem to notice or even care that I had seen what I had just seen! If someone caught my mother doing something like that, I’d die for sure.

  Beau was pulling things out of cupboards and the fridge and piling the table with food. Gradually, I realized that maybe my appetite wasn’t gone forever after all.

  We sat down at the kitchen table to a feast of cold chicken, leftover spaghetti, olive bread that was bitter but okay with butter, and some yogurt-garlic-cucumber stuff that tasted way better than it sounds. Just as I was reaching for seconds, a completely naked kid came waddling into the kitchen. It was a boy; that was clear. And bigger than the baby in the living room. Their apartment was crammed with boys.

  The kid climbed right up on Beau’s lap. “This is Claude,” Beau said. “Claude, this is John.”

  “Low,” Claude said, which I guessed was baby talk for hello. Then Claude reached into Beau’s plate and helped himself to a fistful of spaghetti. That killed my appetite once and for all.

  “You got brothers and sisters?” Beau asked me, tipping his glass so Claude could drink, leaving a slimy spaghetti ring.

  “A sister,” I said. “Older.”

  Beau hit himself on the forehead. “Of course. Liz! Drama club, lead in the school play, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Yeah, your dad says she’s really talented.”

  “How would he know?” I mumbled. “He’s never seen her act.”

  “Yeah, well, my dad’s never heard me play tuba,” Beau said.

  “You play tuba?”

  “No,” Beau said, laughing. “Ha! Got you!”

  I shook my head, watching Claude smear spaghetti all over his naked belly.

  Beau’s mom came into the kitchen. Her shirt was in place, thank goodness. She said, “Shhhhh! I finally got Marcel down for his nap.” Then she asked me, in a whisper, what Dad and I had planned for my vacation.

  I know grown-ups ask things just to ask them—without expecting real answers. But this time I said, “If it’s like all my other trips, the plan is that my dad works all the time and stays busy. And I either tag along, bored to death, or sit and wait, bored to death.”

  Beau’s mom burst out laughing. Then Beau did, then I did too. But for a few seconds my laugh sort of took off without me and I was afraid it would turn lunatic. That happens to me sometimes with Liz. She calls it the screaming meemies. Mom calls it hysterics. In either case, I call it something not to do in a stranger’s kitchen.

  Then Eric came in and loomed over the table, surveying the remains of our lunch. He ripped off a hunk of bread and shoved it in his mouth without saying anything. He wasn’t ugly, I realized—at least not on the outside. Actually, he looked a lot like Beau.

  Eric grabbed a chicken leg and his mom said, “Sit down like a human being.” She got up and handed him a plate. Then she looked at Beau and said, “You’re on Claude duty.”

  Beau nodded. He carried Claude to the kitchen sink and wiped the spaghetti off him. Then I followed Beau and Claude outside. The kid still didn’t have a stitch of clothes on. Everything about this place was wacky.

  We leaned over the balcony railing and tried to toss gravel from the flowerpots into the pool. Beau missed as often as I did. Claude threw gravel too, and thought it was hilarious until some hit him on the head and he started to howl. Beau scooped him up and jiggled him until he started giggling again.

  Then harmonica music started wailing out of Beau’s apartment.

  “He’s going to wake the baby!” Beau spat, looking disgusted.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “His Ugliness.”

  “He’s pretty good,” I said.

  “Not as good as he thinks he is,” Beau said. “He thinks he’s the new Chet Carter.”

  I nearly choked. “The new who?”

  “Chet Carter, a blues harpist. That’s another word for a harmonica.” Beau put Claude down, bare butt on the cement. “You probably never heard of him.”

  “I know what a harp is,” I said. “And I know Chet Carter. I didn’t realize he was famous all the way out here! I thought he was sort of a Kansas thing.”

  Beau looked at me. “He’s Eric’s god.”

  “Well,” I said, starting to laugh, “he’s my friend Theo’s father!”

  “Get out!” Beau said.

  “For real! Whenever he’s not off recording or on tour, he takes me and Theo and this other friend of ours, Brad, bowling.”

  “You’re kidding,” Beau said. “Chet Carter bowls?”

  I nodded.

  “You’ve been bowling with Chet Carter? Eric will flip!”

  “Eric ip!” Claude chirruped.

  Then out of the apartment came a wail that was louder than the harp. “Waaaaaa!” Beau nodded an I-told-you-so nod, and Claude said, “Arcel!” which must’ve meant Marcel.

  “Watch Claude a second,” Beau said, and he ducked into the apartment. I looked down at Claude and my heart started to hammer. I’d never been alone with a little kid before. What if he suddenly took a flying leap down the stairs or over the railing? It would be my fault. I stuck my arms out to block him in case he was planning any quick moves. And I guess my eyes were bugging out, because Claude looked up and bugged his eyes back at me. Then he cracked up. It turns out it’s pretty humiliating to be laughed at by a naked squirt.

  Better laughing than crying, I told myself. Then, panicking, I wondered what I was supposed to do if he did start crying. No way was I going to pick him up and get peed on or worse. There was no telling if he was loaded. What was taking Beau so long, for Pete’s sake?

  Finally, Beau showed up and I was off duty. I practically danced with relief. Then Beau chased Claude around and wrestled him into shorts and shoes. It all seemed like way too much work, and I was grateful that my mom had quit having kids after me.

  “I gotta take Mr. Claude to the park,” Beau said. “Wanna come?”

  I shrugged.

  “Little kids are real chick magnets,” Beau said. “You’ll see.” Then he batted his eyelashes and raised his voice in imitation of a girl: “Oh, he’s soooo cute!”

  So I went with them. A few old men were there playing cards, but there were no girls—not one. Beau pushed Claude on the swing. I thought about Ditz. She loved parks.

  Whenever Beau stopped pushing the swing for half a second, Claude kicked his stubby legs and hollered. And if Beau dared to speak to me instead of paying total attention to him, Claude threw a fit. I wanted to clock him one. I didn’t know how Beau could stand it, and I said so.

  I’d heard that dads treat their kids the way their own dads treated them, so I asked Beau, “Is
your dad like you, real patient and stuff?” But Beau just laughed.

  Eventually, Claude became such a drag that even Beau admitted it was time to go home. Just as we got back, my dad appeared—with Cora. “Hi, guys,” Dad called. He was carrying two big bags.

  Beau and I said hello.

  “We brought Chinese, Big Guy,” Dad said, handing me a bag to hold while he got out his key.

  Then Cora put her hand on my shoulder and said, “I’m so sorry about your dog, John.” Dad had his back to me, unlocking the door. Beau shuffled his feet.

  So, I thought, Dad did know about Ditz. He’d just been too chicken to tell me himself. And now he was too chicken to face me alone. I shoved the bag into Cora’s hands and stooped for a fistful of gravel to hurl off the balcony. I threw it as hard as I could. Cora followed Dad inside.

  “So you gotta go now?” Beau asked.

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to go in there.

  “Guess me and Claude’ll go tell His Ugliness that you know Carter.” Beau snickered. “He’ll croak!”

  Claude giggled. “Uggiess oak!”

  It seemed the food had gotten cold on the way home, so Cora was in the kitchen heating it up. Dad had the TV on, of course. Over its babble, he said, “Sorry I lost my temper back there, Big Guy. It was a rough day.”

  His was a rough day?

  I went into the guest room and called home. Liz told me they had decided to have Ditz cremated and to spread her ashes around the backyard. “Do you want us to wait till you get home? Have a memorial service together?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “You want to think about it a while?”

  How would I think about that? “I never should’ve left her,” I said.

  “Left Ditz?” Liz asked.

  I grunted.

  “You blaming yourself?” she asked.

  I grunted again.

  “Well, don’t. You wanna blame someone, blame me. I was there.”

  She didn’t get it.

  “Listen,” Liz whispered, so I figured Mom had come into the room. “Forget guilt. Grief is bad enough.” Then in her regular voice she said, “Here’s Mom.”

  “I miss you,” was my mother’s hello. “Isn’t it time to come home yet?”

  “Almost,” I said.

  “Have you been okay?” That was her worried-about-my-asthma voice.

  I heard Liz in the background say, “Mom! Give the kid a break!” Then she grabbed the phone back and asked, “How’s the Phantom?”

  I laughed. “Same.”

  “Maybe he can’t help it,” Liz said. “I’ve been thinking about it. Maybe he wants to be a good father but he’s just entirely clueless. That’s what Jet thinks, anyway.”

  “Dad didn’t tell me about Ditz,” I whispered. “He knew but he didn’t say anything.”

  Liz sighed. “Maybe he couldn’t think what to say. I know that sounds totally lame—no one ever knows what to say, and they just go ahead and say something anyway. But still, maybe Dad’s just, I don’t know, scared of you. Of us. Of doing the wrong thing. Of being a crummy father.”

  “Huh?”

  Then Liz said, “Ooops! Jet’s here!” and I heard the clunk of the receiver being dropped on the kitchen counter. I pictured Jet. He was so tall, he practically had to bend his shaved head to walk through our door.

  “Johnny?” It was Mom again. “Sweetheart? Are you all right?” This was her worried-about-my-happiness voice. She had a range of worry tones.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I said, missing everything about home, but letting my voice sound more annoyed than I felt.

  We sat around the table and ate the Chinese food with the TV on. I was thinking about Liz, wondering if she felt bad for not coming to California. At least that would explain why she’d said all that junk about Dad wanting to be a good father but not knowing how, or whatever.

  Meanwhile Cora was going on and on about a cat she’d had that died. I didn’t listen too closely.

  Then Dad said a guy he’d seen that day believed that dogs are reincarnated into good solid trucks. Dad laughed, saying the guy was convinced that his Mitsubishi had the soul of his old boxer, Bub.

  So he’d talked about my dog to everyone but me. He knew Bub’s name, but I bet he didn’t know Ditz’s. Liz was way off base thinking Dad couldn’t help being a lousy father. In fact, he was a perfect lesson in exactly how not to be a father. Never mind father, how about just human being? Wouldn’t a normal person say something nice to a kid whose dog had just died? Not Dad—he laughs about dead dogs. Ha, ha, ha.

  And what would you be reincarnated as, I wanted to ask him. A puny, overpriced, yellow convertible?

  After dinner, Cora did the dishes while my father paced back and forth, talking on the phone. I grabbed a book off the bookshelf and took it back to the guest room. Day two.

  chapter seven

  In the morning, Dad banged on my door and yelled, “Hustle, Big Guy! We’ve got a meeting at nine.”

  “We?” I mumbled, stumbling out of bed.

  Dad must’ve already run and showered. He was fixing my eggs, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. His back was hairy. I wouldn’t mind some body hair—a huge mustache would be fine—but I could do without the hairy back. It probably won’t happen anyway. I take after my mom’s side. Straight brown hair, not curly black like Dad’s.

  He plunked my plate down in front of me and whistled off to his room to dress. The eggs looked gloppy, and the idea of slogging through a plate of them every morning made me wish Ditz were there. I’d just slip my plate under the table and the eggs would be gone in one slurp.

  Then I remembered about Ditz. My fork froze halfway to my mouth. It still wasn’t real. It was like a sad movie or book I had read long ago.

  I ate. Then I dressed.

  Dad came out and looked at me. Something flashed across his face—annoyance? Disappointment? Maybe I imagined it. But then he said, “Got anything a little nicer than that?” So I went back and changed from my T-shirt to a button-down. That was the best I could do.

  Beau was just coming out of his apartment as we passed it.

  “Where to?” he asked, falling in step with us. “The diner?”

  “Work,” Dad said. “I have a presentation to give.”

  “Harsh!” Beau said. “Work on such a beautiful morning!” And he waved as we ducked down the stairwell.

  Beautiful? The sky was yellowish and the sun was already going full blast, practically sucking the spit out of my mouth. I almost wished I were staying at the apartment to swim. But maybe going to work with Dad would be okay this time. After all, I’d come to California to see him.

  When we drove out of the parking structure, we zipped along in our little yellow convertible, then pulled into another underground parking garage. We had to wind deeper and deeper to find a spot to bury the car.

  “What happens to these things in earthquakes?” I asked, eyeing the massive concrete pillars and imagining us squashed like a yellow bug.

  “We don’t have time to find out,” Dad said with a laugh. “I’m already four minutes late. And Bill Frederick is not a man who appreciates lateness.”

  Dad hopped out of the car and rushed toward the exit sign. I hurried after him, up some stairs, more stairs, more, then through a door, and into a lobby—without ever having stepped outside.

  Dad pointed to a chair. “I’ll be down in about…” He looked at his watch. “I don’t know. As soon as I can.” Then he hurried to the elevator, and let it swallow him whole.

  I sat on the chair. Men and women tromped in wearing suits, carrying briefcases, not noticing me. I looked around, counted things: doors, squares of marble in the floor, plants. I didn’t even have a book or my watch or anything to do.

  I wondered if Beau’s brother was beating him up back at the apartment, which then reminded me of Alex. I hadn’t thought of Alex in ages. He was this fifth-grade jerk who bullied me on the bus all through third grade. I don’t know what hap
pened to him; he only went to my school that one horrible year, then disappeared—to destroy some other kid’s life in some other school, I guess.

  I remembered the stomachache I got every day at the bus stop. Those rides were misery. Alex grabbing my books and not giving them back, tearing them or dropping them in the mud. Snatching away my homework and reading it out loud to anyone who’d listen. Calling me “Worm.”

  My skin crept. All these years later, I still hated him. But maybe it’s different if your tormentor is your own brother. Maybe Eric was okay sometimes. Maybe he and Beau had some sort of pact.

  My friend Theo back home fought with his little brother, Jeremy. Theo called Jeremy names and chased him away when he hung around us too long. But Theo didn’t hate Jeremy. He didn’t hit him. Well, a shove once in a while, when Jeremy was out of control, but nothing terrible.

  Wait, it didn’t seem terrible to me, but maybe it did to Jeremy. I didn’t like thinking my buddy Theo was as big a jerk as Eric, though, so I shook all of them out of my head. I concentrated on closing one eye at a time to make the plant in the corner jump back and forth. I wished I’d brought a book or my Game Boy or Walkman or something.

  About nineteen hours later I went over to look at the building directory. There were DDS’s (that’s dentists), and some GP’s and an ob-gyn (all doctors). And two CPA’s (accountants), and lots of JD’s (lawyers). But there were a bunch of other names with initials after them that I didn’t know how to decode.

  I looked for Bill Frederick. The only Frederick was a Louis and Frederick Enterprises Inc., A.I.A. in suite 7392. What-could A.I.A. be, I wondered. American Igloo Advocates? American Independent Armies? How about Aggravating Industrial Ailments like Annoying Itchy Armpits?

  I went back to my chair. I tried holding my breath to the count of one hundred. I made faces at my reflection in the glass door. Then I had to pee. Then I really had to.

  I squirmed around in my chair for a while until it was unbearable. Then I went in search of the men’s room. A woman appeared but I couldn’t ask her. And anyway, she walked right past and didn’t even see me.

  Maybe I’d become invisible, in which case I could just pee right here in the lobby! There was no one around, but even if there were, all they’d see would be a yellow stream coming out of nowhere. Or maybe my pee was invisible too. I turned down a hall and there was the men’s room, but it was locked!