My father thought about it.
“You have a point,” he said.
When the Cathedral Latin school yearbook came out, I noticed that my senior picture wasn’t in it. I was there in the group pictures of speech and debate and Latineer members, but my individual yearbook photograph wasn’t included. Pictures of the other graduates were there, but not mine.
I went to the brother who was the yearbook adviser and asked him why my picture wasn’t there.
“It’s not there?” the brother said, and paged through the book.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It must have been lost somehow—at the printer maybe. But look—I saw your picture in the Latineer so often this year that I’m sure it more than makes up for this mistake, Mr. Esterhose.”
My mother didn’t say much to me anymore. She didn’t ask me why I didn’t go to church anymore. She didn’t ask what I was reading. She didn’t ask me about school. She cooked. She complained of her headaches. She smoked. And she went to the office every day with my father.
Once, as we were eating Hungarian bacon together, I asked her, “Nana, remember the times we’d stay up till midnight on Friday and you’d make bacon soldiers on bread?”
“Yes,” she said.
She didn’t smile. She didn’t look at me.
[Close-up]
The Negotiator
A NEGOTIATOR WITH the studios representing some of the top talent in the world, the lawyer had a reputation as a ballbuster. The studios hated negotiating with him. He made the lives of their executives a living nightmare.
His clients, naturally, adored him.
His clients didn’t know that he padded his income about a million dollars a year by writing screenplays under a pseudonym … and selling them to the same studios he was negotiating with on behalf of his clients.
The studios bought his scripts, never made them into movies, and paid him the money in the hope that it would give them the slightest edge in negotiations with him involving his clients.
But he kept busting their balls, having figured out there was no reason to compromise his integrity just because they were so willing to compromise theirs.
CHAPTER 25
Love Hurts
MILANO
He’s gonna remember, huh?
DOYLE
He don’t forget. He’s a hundred percent.
MILANO
Nobody’s a hundred percent.
F.I.S.T.
GERRI WAS HAPPY we were going to Maui, especially so because Naomi was coming with us along with Steve and Suzi and two of their friends.
“I don’t want to argue anymore,” my wife said. “Let’s just have fun. I want to sit and watch a lot of sunsets.”
From Naomi’s journal, April 6, 1993:
We left for Hawaii this morning. There’s so much energy in the house when Joe is there. It’s a whole different dynamic. As we were getting ready to leave, Steve said, “My dad wants to see you in his office.”
I love Joe’s office. It’s full of books and leather furniture. It smells heavenly. I go down when he’s not there sometimes just to read.
I headed down and Joe was holding an armload of books, scanning the shelves for more. “Here,” he said, “this should keep you busy.” He gave me Larry McMurtry and Joyce Carol Oates and Anne Tyler and Updike—a treasure trove. It’s so strange. No one else in the house reads. It’s like speaking a language with him no one else understands. I thanked him and headed upstairs.
As we all prepared to pile into the limo, it was cold. I have so few clothes—only the ones I brought when I first came here.
Joe said, “Are you cold?”
I said, “No, I’m fine. I’ll be fine in the car.”
He said, “Grab my jean jacket behind you.”
I argued but he insisted. So I took it. As I put it on, I felt Gerri, Steve, and Suzi all watching me. I was self-conscious.
It was just a moment, but it felt a little strained. Maybe I’m imagining it, I don’t know. But I loved wearing his coat.
As the kids partied, Gerri, Naomi, and I spent most of our time together on the beach in the blazing sun, sipping Seabreezes and Mai-Tais.
Gerri slept much of the time and Naomi and I talked about the roads that led us here. My life in the refugee camps … her gawky high school years … my years at Rolling Stone magazine … her years working on Wall Street, at Warner Communications and American Express. I felt such an electric undercurrent between us that I almost jolted when my arm brushed against her as we played backgammon. Except for those few moments in my kitchen when she had held my hand, we’d never touched each other.
While we were out there on the beach, we kept playing the Beatles’s “Don’t Let Me Down” over and over again.
From Naomi’s journal:
Each day, Joe and Gerri and I sit down on the beach and watch the sunset. It’s my favorite part of the day. The weird thing is almost invariably Gerri falls asleep.
Suzi and I were in the pool this afternoon. She is so excited about a rave that’s going on this weekend on Maui. I guess Steve and his friend Tommy are going, but Suzi’s afraid her dad won’t let her and Dana go.
She said, “Naomi, can you talk to my dad and ask him if we can go?”
I said, “Why don’t you ask your mom?”
She said, “She’ll just tell me to ask him. It’s always his decision.”
I said I’d see what I could do.
Then she said, “I want to thank you for being such a good friend to my mom. You’ve really helped her.” Suzi is very protective of her mom. It’s almost like their roles are reversed. She worries about Gerri like a little mother.
That night at dinner I chose my moment and leaned over to Joe and said, “You know, there’s this rave tonight and Steve and Tommy are going.”
He said, “I know.”
I said, “Well, maybe, if Suzi and Dana stick with them and come home with them, they could go, too? They go to raves at home all the time …”
He thought a minute and then said, “Hey Steve, take your sister and Dana to the rave tonight, okay?”
Steve about died. Suddenly he was going to have his sister tagging along. But he just said, “Okay, Dad.” Suzi and Dana were overjoyed.
After a few minutes Joe leaned over and said quietly, “My daughter thinks you have influence over me …”
I said, “Well, she’s going … isn’t she?”
Gerri was in the pool when two little children flitted by us on the beach. They were almost silhouettes in the setting sun.
Suddenly Joe said, “Do you want to have children?”
And I said, “I’ve always wanted children.”
It was quiet for a moment.
Then Joe said, “Me too. I’d love to have more children someday.” He was looking out at the sunset, so I couldn’t see his eyes.
I thought—Is he talking to me? Because certainly Gerri can’t have more children. Or is he just wishing something he knows won’t be? Or is he telling me something?
Last night I tried to excuse myself from drinks on the terrace, but both Joe and Gerri said, “Why?” and seemed disappointed. Almost a little hurt. It was after dinner and I said it was late, and they said, “Just one drink.” Truthfully I wasn’t tired, I just thought they might like to have a little time by themselves.
But more and more I find I’m not in control. I’m just going with the flow. And it’s getting very strange. We smoked a joint this time, and Joe said something outrageous, I don’t even remember what it was.
I said, “You know, you’re really insane. You should commit yourself.”
He laughed.
Gerri looked at me and said, “If he’s insane, what are you?”
She said it with a smile, but I felt very uncomfortable. I said, “I don’t know, what am I?”
And she said, “You’re … scandalous.”
We all laughed, since I had been tabloid fodder in the past month. But an uneasiness was clearly th
ere.
Then she said, “And what am I?”
I didn’t answer. We all sat for a few seconds.
Then Joe said, “I know. You’re responsible, Gerri. You’ve always been very responsible.”
She smiled. I smiled. We all smiled.
Maybe I should go home.
I love Hawaii and Joe and Gerri are great company, but this trip is becoming more and more strange each day. I feel like I’m in some twisted play that never ends. The kids have brought their friends, so they aren’t around much of the time. Which leaves the three of us.
Gerri and I go down to the pool and Joe says he will be down to join us. If I sit next to Gerri on the end she says, “Oh no! Sit next to Joseph.”
I’ll say, “But I want to sit next to you.”
She says, “Then sit in the middle.”
When we go out for dinner in the van, she says, “Sit up front next to Joseph, I’ll sit in back.” If I argue, she just gets in and smiles and says she wants to sit with the kids.
So there I am, up front with Joe. It makes me self-conscious. I love to talk to Joe, but it’s weird to be riding in front with him. Maybe I’m being paranoid or petty but this is just becoming more disconcerting for me.
At the pool yesterday Joe, Gerri, and I were all lounging in the sun. I don’t remember what we were talking about but I said something to the effect that sometimes nothing seems to make sense anymore. Maybe not quite that esoteric but something in that vein.
And Joe was lying there with his sunglasses (he always wears sunglasses, so you never know where he’s looking or what’s going on inside). He said, “Well, I’ve lived forty-eight years and I would say I have learned one thing for sure: Life is strange.”
Yesterday Gerri wanted to go shopping. I don’t much like shopping to begin with, let alone on Maui where I’d rather just lounge by the pool or read a book. But I always go or she’ll have to go alone and I’d feel terrible.
So we’re in a sort of barren department store and I see this little red dress. I don’t think I’ve ever owned a red dress but it was on sale and caught my eye and I bought it. She wanted to buy it for me but I said, “Please, Gerri, let me treat myself.”
Then she came over to me with a black lace bed jacket. She loves lingerie.
She said, “Oh, let me get this for you.”
I said, “Gerri. I’ll never wear it.”
She said, “But Joseph would love it on you. You can wear it for cocktails.”
I should explain that each night after the sun sets, we come up and put our robes on and have a drink before dinner on either my balcony or Joe and Gerri’s. (We are in adjoining rooms.) But these are big, bulky terry cloth hotel robes—not lacy underwear.
I said, “Gerri. I won’t wear it—please.”
She walked away, but again I think I hurt her feelings.
I really looked at her when she said Joe would like it. I thought—Maybe she’s being sarcastic or testing me. But she just seems guileless. I have never been in a stranger situation.
When we were alone, Gerri told me how much fun she was having. “Isn’t this the greatest vacation?” she said. “Naomi and the kids are having a lot of fun, too, aren’t they?”
I saw, though, that she had a stack of books about witchcraft and demonology and was still reading them as I fell asleep each night.
· · ·
The day before Guy McElwaine was supposed to arrive, Gerri decided to go with Suzi and her friend for a long hike.
Joe and I sat in the sun, had lunch, and talked. He always makes me laugh, really laugh. He said, “We think alike, you know,” and I knew what he meant immediately. We always seem to have some level of communication that’s beneath the surface. Here we are having conversations with his entire family around, but it sometimes seems to me we’re the only two people in the room.
The hikers weren’t due back until dinnertime. At around four o’clock Joe said, “Let’s have a beer at the Hyatt. It’s a beautiful bar.” So we did. I have not had so much fun in years.
As the sun set, I thought, I would love to just climb in his lap and stay there forever. He feels like home. I don’t know if my feelings are because he has rescued me at a time when I have felt so alone, or because I’m falling in love with him. All I know is that no matter who’s in the room anymore, I only see him.
Just then he looked at me and said, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
I was stunned. Joe never says or does anything carelessly.
He said, “I’d love to spend my life with you, just like this. I’d love to have children with you.”
It was the first time I’d ever seen him nervous. He looked like an awkward boy. I wanted to hug him.
I said, “I think I might be falling in love with you, too.”
And then he smiled. So beautifully. He took my hand and squeezed it. I felt like an electric current ran up my arm. I thought—I don’t know what this is but I’ve never felt it before.
We said nothing more, but when we walked back to our hotel he held my hand. It was so wonderful. Bill would never hold my hand. I realized the last person who had held my hand like that was my mother.
· · ·
We had dinner that night but as I listened to Gerri’s and Suzi’s account of their hike, the words felt like they were coming through a haze. I felt guilty and I felt overjoyed. But I felt warm, and so different than I ever had felt in my life.
After dinner, Gerri, Naomi, and I smoked some dope on the patio of our suite. Gerri nodded off after a while and fell asleep in her chair.
Naomi and I went inside to pour some more wine and I kissed her, more and more passionately. Naomi said, “We can’t do this.”
I picked her up and carried her into her own bedroom and locked the connecting door to the suite.
I kept kissing her and we were on the bed now, our clothes off, making love; the intensity of the feeling that had built up between us suddenly exploding.
I was smoking a cigarette and we were lying there quietly in each other’s arms when we heard a loud pounding on the door to the suite. It was Gerri. Her voice was stoned and slurred.
“Joseph!” she yelled. “I know you’re in there, Joseph.”
She started throwing fruit from the complimentary fruit basket at the door. Apples, oranges, and pineapples smashed on the door.
“You’ve got to get out of here,” Naomi whispered to me.
I kissed her quickly, put my shirt and shorts on, and ducked out a door which led to the stairway, then ran seven floors down to the lobby.
An hour later, I reappeared in the suite. Gerri was sitting quietly on the patio, staring off. Pulped fruit was everywhere on the rug around the door leading to Naomi’s door.
“Jesus,” I said to Gerri, “what did you do?”
She said, “I thought you were in there with Naomi.”
I said, “What? You thought what?”
She said, “Where were you?”
“I got stoned out on the patio and went down to the beach to straighten out.”
She said, “Where’s Naomi?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “she’s probably asleep in her room.”
I looked at the pulped fruit on the rug again and said, “Gerri, you’ve gotta stop this. You’re flipping out.”
Gerri looked at me, tears in her eyes, and said, “I know. I’m sorry.”
I held her and said. “It’s okay. It must’ve been the dope. This Maui stuff is so strong it can make you paranoid.”
· · ·
Guy came over from the Big Island, from his beloved Mauna Kea Hotel, to spend a few days with us. He had never met Naomi Macdonald, he didn’t even know we were good friends.
I told him that Naomi was here with us and that I thought I was falling in love with her.
He seemed shattered. He knew me well. He knew I had a reverence for my family. He knew, too, that I was lonely … he knew about the other girls and the “research” trips in dif
ferent cities. He also knew and liked Gerri.
And, of course, he was still Sharon’s agent, unofficially representing Bill Macdonald now, too, who was talking about forming a production company with Sharon and was trying to find scripts for her to star in (including Atlas Shrugged).
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Does Naomi love you?”
“I don’t know. I think she does. I feel that she does.”
“She’s a train wreck,” Guy said. “Her husband leaves her for Sharon Stone after five months of marriage and two months later you, her husband’s best friend, fall in love with her. She’s gotta be reeling.”
Joe said to me, “I’m going to meet Guy for a drink before you and Gerri come down. I’m going to tell him that I think I’m in love with you.”
I panicked. “But I’ve never met him. What is he going to think of me?”
Joe said, “Trust me.”
When I was ready to go downstairs, I knocked on Gerri’s door. She said to come in, but she had just come out of the shower and wasn’t ready.
“You go on down,” she said, “I’ll meet you.”
“That’s okay,” I said, “I’ll wait.”
She insisted. “Go on, I’ll be down soon.”
And so I went. I’ll never forget how they both looked as I walked in. Guy was smiling, but his eyes were sweeping all over me curiously. Joe was beaming. They both stood up when I walked up to the table. I was wearing my little red dress, the one Gerri wanted to buy for me.
· · ·
Joe, as he always did, told me how pretty I looked. As we began to talk, I felt at ease. We were laughing and talking about nothing at all and I was so happy.
Guy said, “You know even Stevie Wonder would see what’s going on here.”
Then Gerri arrived. She seemed almost giddy. And as the evening wore on, and she had more to drink, her eyes were bright and she was increasingly bubbly.
And I thought—She knows.
We went to eat at Avalon in Lahaina, with Guy, Steve and Suzi and their friends. We had a lot to drink and when we came out of the restaurant we walked up the stairs to Lahaina’s only live-music rock club, Moose McGillycuddy’s.
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