“It is a little funny, Liz,” I said.
Dad winked at me. He was smiling. Liz must’ve told him about it too.
“It is not a bit funny, John! How can you even say that?”
“Liz,” I tried, “that’s why you liked Jet! Because you said he doesn’t think like everyone else. Shaved head, striped car, all that. He isn’t predictable and boring! Remember?”
Liz’s voice went cold. “I thought you, of all people, would understand, John.”
“Jet liked Ditz,” I told Liz. “I’m sure he didn’t say that to be mean. He was just being…Jet!”
“Yeah, well, if that’s who he was being, I hate him.”
I sighed.
When I got off the phone, Dad laughed out loud. “That’s rich!” he said. “Stuff the family pet!”
I was just about to smile—my face was halfway there—when suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. The family pet, as Dad had called her, was Ditz.
Jet knew Ditz. He’d taken us to the vet last month when Ditz had hurt her paw and Mom wasn’t home. Jet had let her bleed all over the backseat of his striped car. He’d been the one to carry Ditz into the office. Dad hadn’t been there. He never even met Ditz.
“Who’s this Jet fellow?” Dad asked. “And what’s with the name?”
I got control of myself. “He’s Liz’s boyfriend,” I said. “At least, he was.”
“Did I hear you say he shaves his head? Our Liz is a classy gal,” Dad said. “She can do better than a guy like that!”
I was glad Dad thought Liz was classy; I’d have to tell her that. But he didn’t know Jet. “He’s a nice guy,” I said. “I like him. We all do.”
Did I see Dad wince when I said all? Because the all-didn’t include him?
No, I must’ve imagined it.
Dad clapped his hands. End of Liz-Jet discussion. “So,” he said, “do you just want to stay here today? Swim with Beau?”
I shrugged. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. It’s Sunday.”
“You mean you don’t have to work?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Not at all?”
Dad shook his head. “No.”
“No barbecues? Beach plans?”
Dad squinted at me. “Are you trying to tell me something here, Big Guy?”
I shook my head. “It’s just…you usually have a lot of stuff planned,” I stammered.
“Well, we were going to go sailing with Cora and some of her friends today,” Dad said. “But plans have changed.”
That made more sense. Of course Dad hadn’t deliberately left a day open for me—but still. “You mean we could do something, just us?” I asked.
“Sure,” Dad said, looking surprised. “Is there something special you wanted to do? You want to go for a drive? Or, I don’t know, horseback riding? Or there’s a batting cage up on Lexington.”
My dad was actually asking me what I wanted to do with him today. Him and me. I’m allergic to horses and I’m not much of a batter. But I didn’t want to wreck this. I tried to think fast—what do guys do with their dads? I mean normal guys. Go fishing? Hunting?
“You don’t play golf, do you?” Dad asked.
Ack! This was it—the moment when we’d get to know each other, father to son. Man to man. But I couldn’t think of a thing to tell him about me! What did I like to do? My mind was blank. “I’m not too athletic,” I confessed, “except for swimming—and Jet taught me to Rollerblade.”
Dad lit up. “Rollerblade? No kidding. You any good at it?”
“Not bad,” I admitted.
“Think you could teach your old man? There’s a place that rents skates down on the pier.”
“Sure!” I said. “You bet!”
“Terrific! I’ve always wanted to try that,” Dad said. “I’ll just go for my run, take a quick shower, and we’ll be off.”
“Cool!” I grinned. Then I tried to grin a little less. I didn’t want to look like Ditz, wiggling with joy at the mention of a walk. I calmly sipped my horrendous, and now cold, coffee, as if going Rollerblading with my dad was no big thing.
Not two seconds after Dad jogged out the door, Beau showed up. I wanted to shoo him away, afraid Dad would invite him along if he caught sight of him. But I also wanted to brag a bit.
Beau loped in and collapsed in a chair. “Wanna go to the corner, get something to eat?” he asked.
Actually, I was starving, but I wasn’t sure how long Dad ran, and if I was late, the whole plan might get screwed up.
“When my dad gets back, we’re going Rollerblading,” I said. Then I added, “Just him and me.”
“Well, that gives us forty-eight minutes,” Beau said, not taking offense.
Beau and his bottomless knowledge of my dad!
“So, whatcha think?” he asked.
“Well, let’s hurry, then!” I said, and I wrote Dad a quick note. I put it on the phone because for sure he’d notice it there. But then I froze, wondering if I should leave the door open for him or lock it.
“He’s got his key,” Beau said.
That was the last straw. “Why do you know so much about my father?” I asked, practically stamping my foot. “You’ve got your own father.”
Beau backed away, putting his hands up as if to fend off my punches. “Harsh!” he said. “Harsh words before breakfast!”
I felt like a jerk but I didn’t back down. “I mean it. I want to know.”
Beau scooted past me out the door and said, “Come on, let’s eat.” Then he pointed to the door next to my dad’s apartment. “Two fourteen, Beverly and Lou. Lou has prostate cancer and has to pee into a bag he wears. Beverly works at a spa. She pours hot wax on ladies’ legs and armpits, and when it cools, she rips it off, yanking their hair out while they scream.”
“You’re kidding!” I said.
“For real,” Beau insisted. “Ever see signs that say waxing? That’s what it means!”
“Sheesh! Do you think that’s how Cora got rid of her eyebrows?”
Beau shrugged, then nodded toward his apartment. “Two twelve, my gene pool.”
At the next door he said, “Two ten. Martin Baxter. You seen him?”
I shook my head.
“Nervous guy. He sneaks in and out of his apartment. Acts like he’s being followed all the time. He’s got three locks on his door. I’ve been in there to feed his fish, and I’ve never seen anything worth locking up.”
“If he’s so nervous, how come he gave you a key?” I asked.
“Not a key, three keys,” Beau said, laughing. “Actually, I have the keys to six apartments here, not counting my own. Including two oh eight. Miss Candy Corn. She used to be a Vegas dancer and has sexy pictures of herself from the old days all over her walls. But that was eons ago. Now she’s a skinny old lady, but she still tans her hide at the pool every day from eleven till noon. It’s her yippy dog you hear sometimes. When she’s too tired to walk him, I do it.”
We got to the stairwell, and Beau said, “More?”
I wanted him to tell me about the rest, but I also got his point. “Can you do every apartment in the building?” I asked.
“Except the newlyweds in one oh three. They haven’t been here long and they keep to themselves.”
“I don’t know anything about my neighbors back home,” I told Beau, “except which ones have dogs or kids.”
“None of these have kids,” Beau said. “Me and my brothers, that’s it. In fact, this whole area is pretty much an old-fart zone.”
“Bummer,” I said, and Beau nodded. Then I remembered what we’d been talking about and I asked him how he’d describe the guy in 216.
Beau punched my arm, a little too hard. “Two sixteen? Nice guy. Dates pretty women. Misses his kids. A little shy.”
“Shy? He has more friends than anyone! He’s got parties and plans all the time…”
“I’m no shrink,” Beau said. “That’s just my impression. The guy can have friends and stil
l be shy, can’t he?”
“Well,” I mumbled, “compared with you, everyone’s shy. Who else has the keys to six apartments beside his own?”
We got the same booth at the diner. Beau poured salt on the table again.
I wrestled with my pride for a while, then gave in and asked, “What makes you think he misses his kids?”
“Who? Two sixteen?”
I nodded, trying to look casual.
Beau shrugged. “He brags about them.”
Curiosity squelched whatever pride I had left. “Both of them?” I asked.
“Sure! He says his daughter is very gutsy and she’s in drama, theater, all that. He says she’s funny and doesn’t take any bull. And he says he has a son who’s smart and thoughtful and fair. Says he tries to see both sides of everything and would make a good judge.”
“Two sixteen said that?”
“He told me a story about his son getting clobbered by the older sister when he was little. And even while the kid was crying in pain he said, ‘She didn’t mean to hurt me this bad! She was just mad!’”
“He told you that?” I said.
Beau rolled his eyes. “Did I make it up?”
I poured some salt on the table and licked it off my finger. “Most kids see their divorced dads every other weekend, dinner on Wednesday, half the summer, Thanksgiving, Christmas vacation…” I frowned. “We see him a week a year. Period. And when Liz told him she wasn’t coming this time, he didn’t even squawk.”
“If he’d squawked, would she have come?”
I’d never asked myself that.
chapter twelve
When we got back to our building, Beau stopped at his door and said, “See ya later.”
“What’re you going to do today?” I asked.
Beau shrugged. “Earn my keep, I guess.”
I bet Beau would have liked to go blading with us. But I shook off the thought.
When I got to my dad’s apartment, I heard him singing in the shower. The phone was ringing. I answered.
“Well, thanks for calling me back, Tin Man,” Iris said sarcastically.
“We were busy,” I said. “I didn’t have anything to tell you anyway.”
“What do you mean you didn’t have anything to tell me?”
“I mean my dad didn’t say anything about your aunt.”
“What do you mean he didn’t say anything?”
I was getting so tired of this that I didn’t even try to keep my voice from cracking. “Sorry, Iris,” I said. “I gotta go.”
“Men!” she spat, and hung up.
Dad came out in a towel. “Who was that?” he asked.
“Iris,” I admitted.
Dad laughed. “She’s really on your trail, isn’t she?”
“Actually, Dad, she’s on yours. She wants to know if you and Cora are going to make up.”
Dad raised his eyebrows, stuck a wad of toilet paper in his ear, and dug around in there. “Maybe she’s just using that as an excuse to call you,” he said. “People drum up all kinds of excuses to call each other. Happens all the time.”
I thought about that. Was it possible? “Nah,” I said. “She’s worried about her aunt.”
Dad shrugged. “Cora’s a nice lady,” he said. “She deserves better than me.” Then he smiled. I guess he didn’t feel too bad about being undeserving. I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t exactly rooting for Cora with her four cats and her elevator music.
“Beware of the kind of women who like to help,” Dad said. “At first they just cook for us, sew on buttons. But after a while, they want to pick out our clothes, change our haircuts, correct our speech, our thoughts.” Dad shuddered. “It’s not entirely their fault, though. I’m convinced it goes way back to the dolls they had as girls.”
“Huh?” I said.
“It became clear to me years ago,” Dad explained, “when Liz was about six. She held her Ken doll in one hand and hopped him over to her Barbie. Liz made Ken say, ‘Hi! You’re cute. Want to get married?’ And Barbie’s answer was, ‘Sure! If you wear this!’ And she held up a Ken-doll outfit.”
I’d have to tell Liz that he remembered that. She might roll her eyes and call Dad a sexist, but still.
Dad got dressed and we headed out. Beau was nowhere to be seen. I was glad in a cowardly way.
“Was Mom one of those women, you know, who wanted to change you?” I asked Dad in the car.
“Your mom? No way! Your mother’s a great gal. Really! A very hard act to follow. They don’t make many like her.”
I chewed on that awhile as we drove. I’d always thought it was Dad’s idea to leave us. But I didn’t actually remember anyone telling me that. Maybe Mom threw him out! Whenever I asked her anything about it, she always gave the same zero-information nonanswer: “Your father and I fell out of love with each other, but we’ll both always love you.”
My friend Theo’s mom told him everything, and I mean everything, about why she divorced Theo’s dad. And she still, to this day, tells him whenever his dad does anything cruddy, like when he’s late sending the child support checks. Theo says I should consider myself lucky that my mom-doesn’t dump on me. He says a few unknowns are well worth it. But I think it stinks that parents can decide what to tell and what not to, and that’s just that.
We got to the pier and rented Rollerblades, knee pads, elbow pads, and helmets, then sat on a bench to put it all on. Dad said he felt like a giant insect. He tried to stand up, but his arms windmilled around, his ankles turned, and he plopped back down on the bench with an explosive laugh.
He grabbed me and hauled himself up, but his feet shot out from under him. I couldn’t tell whether he was really as bad at it as he seemed, or he was kidding. I’d fallen plenty of times in the beginning—but I was me and Dad was Dad!
“This is a blast!” he said. “Why haven’t we done stuff like this before?”
I didn’t answer.
The other skaters and bikers whizzed past us, some smiling over their shoulders at the spectacle we made. Dad-didn’t mind. He had his arm around my neck and his butt poking way out in the back.
“Bend your knees!” I instructed, laughing. “Straighten up.”
He let go of me and boom! Back down on the bench.
We tried again. This time we got about three feet and were on our way, Dad clinging to my neck and giggling like a kid.
After a while he started getting the hang of it, although one of his feet would skid off on its own every now and then, making him clutch at me. By then, I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. I almost felt like the screaming meemies were on their way.
“I love this!” Dad hollered, sounding a little hysterical himself.
We got as far as a hot-dog stand, and Dad said he needed fuel. He bought us each a dog and a Coke. I scarfed mine down but Dad was having trouble. Every time he lifted his drink to his mouth, his feet would slip and he had to fling his arm around to stop himself from falling. I didn’t even try not to laugh at him.
Then out of nowhere there was a bicycle, and suddenly the bicycle and my dad were in a heap on the ground, with the biker cursing and my dad saying, “Uh-oh.”
Was that ketchup or blood all over the place? I untangled the men and the bike, and helped Dad hobble over to a bench. Phew! It was only ketchup. The other guy threw a fit about his busted bike. Dad pulled out his business card and said, “Call me.”
The biker snatched Dad’s card and grumbled away.
“Too old for this,” Dad mumbled, wincing with pain. “Should’ve listened to the little voice inside my head.”
“Where’s it hurt?” I asked.
“Everywhere,” he said. “Knee.”
I helped him take off his knee pad and could practically see his knee getting bigger before my eyes. So what was the point of knee pads? I lugged the gear back to the rental place and retrieved our shoes while Dad sat there with Coke in his hair and ketchup all over his shirt. He tried to smile when I got back, but he was
n’t very convincing.
“We have to get you to the hospital,” I said.
“Can you drive a stick shift?” he asked.
“Me?” I said. “Dad, I’m twelve.”
He laughed. “I keep forgetting that! I keep thinking you’re just a really short adult.”
“Well, the really short part is right,” I said, trying to put his shoe on for him.
“Yeah? Are you short for your age?” he asked.
“Way short!” I said. “Everyone in my grade is at least a head taller than me. Including the girls!”
“No kidding!” Dad laughed again. “I was the same way! I didn’t grow until I was a junior in high school.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“Then I grew so fast all at once that my joints were in agony! Not like this, though,” he said, pointing to his ballooning knee.
It sounds bad that even though my dad was in pain, I was feeling happier than I’d ever been in my whole life. But it’s true.
We decided to take a taxi. I’d never flagged one by myself. I walked up to the street but couldn’t find any. Not a single cab. I was about to go back down and ask Dad what I should do, but then I saw a phone booth and figured I’d try calling one. I had change in my pocket.
I got the number of a cab company, then checked the name of the street and the address of the tattoo place next to the phone booth. I called and they said they’d be there in ten minutes. Nothing to it.
I went back to Dad, then ran up the street to wait. I was afraid the driver would see I was just a kid and take off, but he didn’t. He even helped me get Dad—driver on one side, me on the other, Dad kind of pale and rubbery between us.
The hospital wasn’t far, and an orderly met us at the emergency entrance with a wheelchair. There were a ton of insurance forms and whatnot that took forever. Then we had to wait with all the other sick and hurt people, including an enormously pregnant woman who was moaning. Her nervous-looking husband kept telling her to breathe through the pain.
“You breathe through it!” she finally barked back at him. And half the people in the waiting room cracked up.
Dad leaned over and whispered to me, “Everyone pretends both parents are going to share the birth experience. But once the pain starts, it’s a different story.”
Stranger in Dadland Page 7
