It was getting really serious now. I hurried to the elevator and pushed the button eighty times until the door opened.
Suite 7392 would be where? The seven thousandth floor? The seventy-third? I poked seven. The elevator dragged s-l-o-w-l-y upward; the doors s-l-o-w-l-y opened far enough for me to squeeze through. I bolted down the hall, looking for the Bill Frederick who did not appreciate lateness.
There! Big glass doors, gold letters. I shoved the door open onto the largest, fanciest office I’d ever seen outside of the movies. A receptionist behind a very shiny desk looked surprised to see me.
Somehow I got it across that my dad was in that office somewhere and that I needed the bathroom. By then I felt about one and a half seconds from taking a giant leak on the Oriental rug.
The receptionist obviously didn’t believe me. Probably boys who didn’t really have dads there rode the elevator up to try to con her all the time. Maybe guarding the executive washroom from intruders was a significant part of her job. Finally, she pushed a button and spoke carefully through her intercom. “Excuse me, sir. But there’s a little boy here who says his father is inside.”
She turned back to me. “What’s your name, honey?” she asked with what Liz calls “artificial sweetener.”
“John,” I barked, about to burst.
“He says his name is John and he’d like to use the bathroom.”
Did I hear a laugh come from that intercom? At least it was followed by a “Sure.”
So the receptionist got up s-l-o-w-l-y from her fat leather chair, walked s-l-o-w-l-y over to another huge door, and opened it onto a room that looked more like a living room than an office. Then she finally said, “Second door on the right.”
I ran.
It wasn’t until I was finished that it occurred to me to be embarrassed. Now I had to go back out there and thank the receptionist and have her know I had just peed.
That done, I slunk down to the lobby to count plants again. I had no idea if I’d been there four hours or four years.
When Dad finally stepped off the elevator, I practically lunged at him, like Ditz does when I come home. Like Ditz did, not does, I reminded myself. That slowed me down, and it’s a good thing, because Dad was with another man and it-would’ve looked very undignified if I’d hurled myself at them with my tongue hanging out all slobbery and my tail wagging.
The other guy said, “So this must be your son.” He was grinning broadly, probably thinking, The son who pees.
Dad introduced us. It wasn’t Frederick, it was some other mister. He and my dad stood around yakking for a while. I was afraid one of them was about to ask the other if he’d like to get some lunch, and the other would say, “Sure!”
I straggled after them, down through the parking pit. But eventually, they shook hands and Dad led me toward his Porsche. The other guy got in a huge black Benz.
I waited for Dad to say something about my coming up to Louis and Frederick Enterprises Inc. But he didn’t, so I didn’t either. Instead, I asked what A.I.A. stood for and he said it was an architectural firm.
Then he told me his presentation had gone longer than anticipated, so now he had to get to his next appointment and there wasn’t time for lunch. Grrrrrrr! went my stomach,
Same thing—underground parking garage, down, down. Then rush up another metal-and-concrete stairwell, and hurry into a lobby. I bet it was possible in Los Angeles to live in one place and work in another and not have any idea what either building looked like from the outside.
Dad wasn’t out of breath, but I was. I patted my pocket to make sure my inhaler was still there.
“Do you have to use the toilet?” Dad asked me. Sheesh. Was he gonna ask me that all the time now?
“No,” I said, and Dad sprinted through a door, calling, “Catch ya in a bit.”
“Define bit!” I wanted to shout out after him. But he was gone.
This lobby had a little shop in it, at least, so I went in and bought myself a Milky Way, wishing I had more money on me. I poked around and looked at magazines until I got tired of the way the guy behind the counter eyed me like I was going to steal something.
I went back out to the lobby and slumped in a chair, feeling sorry for myself. Very, very sorry for myself. Bored, lonely, mad. Why had I thought going to work with Dad meant he’d be with me? That he’d pay attention to me. I was so stupid!
If I had any idea where I was, maybe I’d have grabbed a bus and gone back to swim with Beau. Or what if I just walked out the door and disappeared for a while? I’d like to see my dad try to explain that to Mom! Ha!
Or why not just get myself to the airport and fly home? Not warn anyone. Just turn up.
I thought of my friends Theo and Brad. Wouldn’t they be surprised to see me back early? They said a week in California sounded so great. But they didn’t imagine me left to rot in the lobby of one stupid office building after another. Leaving me is what Dad does best, I thought. He’s been doing it one way or another my whole life.
chapter eight
There was a clock on the wall, so I knew it took forty-seven minutes for my dad to reappear. This time I didn’t want to run up to him; I wanted to kick him!
“Sorry, Big Guy,” he said, not sounding nearly sorry enough. “Hungry?”
Yes yes yes yes yes! I thought, but all I did was sorta shrug and kinda nod.
“We could pick up a bag of burgers and take it back to the pool,” Dad said.
I did another shrug and nod. “Whatever.”
He didn’t seem to notice the black clouds of fury billowing out of my ears. He just sang along with the oldies on the radio as he drove. Dinosaur rock wasn’t as bad as the garbage Cora listened to, but still. I looked over at him, singing, hair blowing. He’s a happy man, I thought. And that made me even sulkier.
* * *
I saw Beau before he saw us. He had his little brother Claude on his hip and was leaning over the railing, pointing things out to him. Claude had pants on this time. When he saw us, Beau galloped up, making Claude’s head bob like a balloon. I was glad to see them, and glad that they followed us home.
Beau and Claude eyed our food until Dad gave them some. Luckily, we’d bought tons. When we were finished, Dad suggested that Beau and I go for a swim. He said he had paperwork to do. Reports to write up. Obviously, I’d been dismissed.
I put on my trunks.
Beau leaped around in the water with Claude hanging on his neck like a baby chimp. Claude squealed and shrieked, not at all bothered by water in his nose, mouth, eyes. He was a brave and very noisy little guy, making it almost impossible to talk. But between Claude’s outbursts, Beau asked me if I’d had fun with my dad.
“No,” I said.
“None?”
“None. He left me sitting around having to pee all day.”
“Harsh,” Beau said, shaking his head sympathetically.
“Arsh!” Claude copied.
I asked Beau what his dad did.
“Paints,” Beau said.
“Houses?” I asked.
“Murals. For banks and stuff, sometimes on the walls of freeways. Ever see the one on the four-oh-five? Dancers?”
I didn’t know the 405 from the 134, but we had whisked by a huge mural of dancers with wild costumes. My mouth popped open. “Your dad painted that?” I asked. “For real?”
Beau nodded as if it were no big deal. Claude threw his head back, dipping into the water, and Beau spun him around.
“Your dad?” I asked again. “He painted that giant thing on the freeway?”
Beau nodded again and looked surprised that I was so impressed. “Yeah, that’s what he does.”
“Wow!” I said. “That’s amazing!” I tried to imagine having a dad like that instead of one who scurries underground between office buildings. “Wow!” I said again.
Beau smiled in a puzzled way, as if he didn’t get what I was so excited about. He and Claude kept playing.
“Mine sells computer support
systems, ya know,” I explained.
“And that’s bad?” Beau asked.
“Well, not bad,” I said. “Actually, who knows if it’s bad? I’m not even sure what the heck it means. But painting gigantic murals on freeways—now, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard of in my life!”
I added, “I’d like to meet your dad. I’ve never met a real artist.”
“Well, maybe you’ll meet him sometime,” Beau said. “But probably not. He’s not around all that much.” Then he let loose a brilliant belch—loud and long. I can almost never get one out like that.
My dad came out of his apartment and leaned over the balcony. “Hey, Big Guy,” he called down, “time to get dressed for dinner.”
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
“Cora’s picking us up in half an hour,” he answered.
I guess I made a face, because Beau said, “At least he takes you with him.”
“Yeah, terrific,” I scoffed.
Beau shrugged and bounced Claude, making huge waves.
I dragged myself slowly out of the pool, up the stairs, and into the apartment. Maybe my slowness or my silence tipped Dad off to my lack of enthusiasm, because he said, “Cora was trying to be nice last night, ya know—telling you about her cat.”
I didn’t answer.
“You could have been a little more receptive. Polite at least,” Dad said.
“I didn’t do anything rude,” I blurted. “It’s not like I told her to shut up.” I felt my voice raise to a yell. “I didn’t even tell her to mind her own business and leave me alone!”
Dad’s mouth opened and closed like a trout. Meanness surged through my body. I felt it in my arms and fingertips. It felt great, so I added, “I didn’t say a word about her weird eyebrows, or her stupid gum chewing, or the fact that she owes me two dollars, or even that she’s always here! In fact, I think I’ve shown incredible self-control!”
Dad didn’t move. I glared at him for a second, then darted into the guest room and slammed the door behind me. I’d never yelled at Dad before. Mom, sure, all the time, but Dad? Never.
My heart was pounding. I stood just inside the door, listening. No sound out there except the television. Maybe I’d shocked him into a heart attack and he’d keeled over dead. No, I would’ve heard him hit the floor.
After a bit, I realized I was shivering in my damp suit. I started dressing, still listening as hard as I could and hearing nothing.
What would he do? Scenes raced through my head. Dad, apologetic, saying, “Gee, I’m sorry, John. If I’d known you-didn’t like Cora, I never would’ve let her through the door!” Or him begging, “Let me make it up to you, son! Just name it.” Dad furious: “How dare you insult the woman I love? Get out of my house and never come back!”
Or would he give me the silent treatment? Maybe he’d keep me here the rest of the week but not say a word to me.
Minutes and minutes passed.
Then I heard one knock on my door. “I trust you’ll show more common courtesy tonight,” he said in no particular voice—not barking, not apologetic, obviously not ignoring me. A calm voice, as if I weren’t worth reacting to. As if nothing of importance had just happened.
“Don’t count on it,” I muttered. But I’m sure he didn’t hear me, because the buzzer sounded just then and I heard Cora’s voice.
He is Dr. Ray from Outer Space, I thought. He looks human but has no real feelings. No human reactions. A chill ran down my neck as I realized I’d always be a stranger in Dadland.
I took my time. When I came out, they were both all smiles. Dinner was still a go. Cora drove, Muzak playing. We went to a Korean restaurant. Cora acted like it was the biggest deal. As if there were no such thing as Korean food in Kansas. I told her we ate it all the time back home.
First the waiter brought little bowls of stuff for us to share. One looked exactly like slugs. Another was a gob of weeds like something Ditz would hork up after eating grass in the yard. I tasted the one that looked the least weird, and it was so spicy, I knew my mouth was ruined for life. After I had a wad of it burning in my mouth, Cora casually said, “That kimchi’s a little hot.”
I could imagine her taking me for a walk through a minefield and not mentioning the land mines till my leg was blown off. But I did not give her, or my father, the satisfaction of watching me spit it out. I swallowed, I lived. From then on, I stuck to the beef.
They talked. I aged. I could feel myself growing old, wrinkled, withered, bald, dried out, stooped over.
If I’d been sure it would hurt their feelings, and not just make them laugh, I would’ve clicked my heels together and said, “There’s no place like home! There’s no place like home!”
Then I realized that even home wasn’t going to be anyplace like home from now on, with no Ditz.
After the Korean restaurant we stopped for ice cream. I-could tell they thought it would be a huge treat for me, so I didn’t order any. I wasn’t rude, just said, “No, thank you. I detest ice cream.” Then I folded my arms and tried to ignore the sight of Cora and my father feeding each other tastes of their cones. It was all I could do to keep from puking.
When we all got back to the apartment, Cora said, “Somebody looks mighty sleepy”—meaning me. Sheesh! As if I needed a hint that I wasn’t wanted, that I was in the way. As if I’d been planning to curl up with them on the couch!
I slunk off to the guest room without a word.
chapter nine
When I woke up the next morning, I thought about Ditz. It was like pressing a bruise to see if it still hurt. I imagined her coming into my room at home to sniff me awake with her wet nose. But still my tears didn’t come, which made me feel proud but kind of broken too. Wasn’t there something wrong with a person who didn’t cry about things like this? Maybe it was macho, but it was also sort of…what? Disrespectful?
Cora was there, in the living room. I couldn’t tell—and-didn’t want to know—whether she spent the night or left and came back. Cora said my dad was out running. She also told me that they thought it might be fun to go to the beach. “Does that sound good to you, John?” she asked.
I mumbled, “I guess.”
“We’re going to pick up my niece Iris on the way. You met her.”
That meant the plan was already set, so it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d said, “I guess,” or, “I’d rather be eaten by warthogs.” But I did want to go to the beach. Plus, Iris was funny and now I’d get to see her in a bathing suit. I went back to my room—I mean the guest room—to get ready.
Iris was waiting in front of her house, wearing a huge hat. I mean huge! And a T-shirt that would have been big on a sumo wrestler. Didn’t she care what people at the beach would think?
As soon as she got in beside me, she said, “I heard about Toto. That’s so sad!”
How was I supposed to answer that? “Thank you”? Or “Oh, that’s okay”? Or what? I shrugged—which felt stupid too. But Iris didn’t seem to notice; she was still talking. “My mom says it probably won’t seem very real to you until you go home and he’s not there.”
“She, not he. Ditz is a girl…was a girl,” I said lamely. Then I looked out the window. I saw a man walking a dog that looked nothing like Ditz, but still.
Beau had been right: It was a long way to the beach.
Cora’s trunk was full of stuff that we had to haul across the hot sand: coolers, umbrellas, chairs, blankets, towels, bags. When Cora unpacked a camera, I hoped she’d take a picture of me with Iris and give me a copy that I could take home to show Brad and Theo.
It wasn’t that Iris was so incredibly beautiful or anything, but she was a girl and she didn’t go to our school, which counted for a lot. Plus, she was a California girl.
Cora pulled a radio out of her bag and I winced. I like music, all kinds of music—except the spit Cora listens to. Now everyone on the beach would hear her stupid Muzak and see me and think I liked it!
Click. Radio on. Glack! I wished I
had earplugs. I thought of grabbing the radio and hurling it into the water, or burying it ten feet in the sand. Better stomp on it first, though, I told myself.
I looked around. Luckily, the beach was pretty empty. A few old people were walking along the edge of the water. There was a family on a blanket, but they were too far away to hear Cora’s stupid music or notice Iris’s hat.
Iris took off her big T-shirt. Underneath she was wearing a baggy black one-piece suit—not the bikini I’d imagined.
No one was putting on sunblock, so I didn’t take mine out at first. I didn’t want to seem like a sissy. But then I remembered the blistering lobster burn I got last summer. I did not want to go through that again.
“Can I have some?” Iris asked. She carefully dabbed sunblock on her legs. “I’m gonna see if I tan with white polka dots,” she said. “An experiment!”
Then she and I left my dad and Cora, and went down to the water. “I think they make a cute couple, don’t you?” Iris asked me.
I wondered if I should tell her that my dad had a different girlfriend every summer. I just shrugged again instead.
We dove in and out of the waves. I’d forgotten how strong the ocean is. One wave knocked me over and tossed me around until I didn’t know which way was up. I was just starting to panic when I was suddenly s-c-r-a-p-e-d along the sand and thrown up on the shore. My eyes, nose, ears, and mouth were packed with sand. I spit out a mouthful—yecch!
There was Iris, just as ground-up and gritty as me, but she was laughing. She started digging near the water’s edge, and I went over to help. We worked together for a while and built what I thought was a pretty great sand castle. Iris said it looked like Oz, but it didn’t.
When we were finished, I jumped on it. Iris screamed, “What are you doing?”
I stopped jumping and said, “Huh?” I had no idea what she was mad about.
Stranger in Dadland Page 5
