Then again, there is only so much you can do and there are final, unsolvable mysteries. With a clear conscience I can say that for the years we lived together, Lincoln had been my great obsession. Our children should be our obsession, but there is a critical distinction. Knowing they are a product of our love, combined genes, and the environment we create from resources, hopes, and effort is one thing. Knowing they are literally us, only in another skin, is the difference between coincidence and fate. No matter how much trouble Greer was, all we could do for her was to give everything we had and then pray to God for the rest.
My parents began staying with us for a month every summer. When he could, Saul would join us. Much of that time was spent reminiscing about our lives and I pumped all three of them for forgotten details, trivial aspects, and explanations about past days and experiences that would give me better insight into who I’d been. What ingredients was I wholly unaware of then that had gone into making me the man I was now? Can we ever really know ourselves without hearing what others think of us?
Sometimes they wanted to know why I was so interested in our past. Saul got angry one night when I overdid the questions. What the hell did twenty years ago matter? Why did I persist in trying to dissect or put those days under a microscope? Why not just leave them alone, enjoy the memories of a family that had held together and continued loving one another right up to today? Luckily I had a ready answer which soothed all of them and permitted more questions. I had read about an artist in Europe who’d had a show of paintings she’d done of her own childhood. Pretending it was my idea, I said drawing my history had been a secret dream project for years but I’d only recently gotten up the courage to begin taking notes and do some preliminary sketches. It was something that would take years to complete but, if done successfully, might turn out to be my greatest work. The Fischers were proud of my success as a cartoonist, and once they knew what was going on, they were charmed by the idea. Afterward, they talked and wrote letters or called me long-distance to say they’d just remembered something that might be useful…
I listened, read, worried. I worked so hard to learn the exact contents of, then clean up and order, the room that was my life. Not so I could one day draw it as it really was, but to use to help my boy make his life into something magnificent.
Mary Poe was correct in saying we had tried to do everything right for our son. But beyond the bedtime talks about God or how thunder wasn’t dangerous, the carefully wrapped sandwiches and only two cookies in his lunchbox, the circus, the ball games, vacations, going over multiplication tables together, popcorn, mowing the lawn, talking about the death of the dog so that it became an acceptable part of life…
Despite knowing what I did, what constantly surprised me was realizing the only appropriate way to raise this child was essentially no different from any other good and concerned parent’s method. My history, the secret knowledge, the huge number of books I read and thought about for years all said basically the same thing—love them, teach them humility, balance, and restraint, applaud them, tell them no when it is necessary, admit your mistakes.
Yes, you know these things already and I needn’t go on. Maybe I’m only talking to myself now. Like the man who has gone over his checkbook ten times but still cannot find out why he is in debt. I had a hundred dollars. I spent this for this, that for that. I can account for all of it, but why, then, is there less than nothing left? Why had our son turned into a dishonest, sullen, secretive knot of a human being? There should have been something good left over from the years of support, careful guidance, and love. But there wasn’t. There was nothing in this “account.”
“Hello, Mary Poe.”
“Hello, Greer Fischer.”
“Did you bring your gun?”
“I did.”
“Can I see it?”
“It’s just the same old gun you saw the last five times.”
“Please?”
Mary looked at me and I nodded okay. She opened her blazer and undid the thing from its shoulder holster. Slipping the bullets out, she held it up for Greer to see.
“Is it heavy?”
I knew what she was moving toward. “Greer, you can’t hold it. You know the rules.”
“I was just asking.”
“I know what you were doing. Look, but no touching.”
“Smith and Wesssson. That’s the guys who made it?”
“Right.”
“Do they make bombs?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a gun, Daddy?”
“You know I don’t. Only police and private investigators like Mary have them.”
“Lincoln has a gun.”
“What do you mean?”
Greer was very smart but she talked too much. Whenever she was in a room she wanted center stage and would do almost anything to get it, including lie. Looking from me to Mary, she knew she’d struck gold with this piece of information and her expression narrowed down into cunning.
Climbing into my lap, she cuddled up close to my ear and whispered. “Promise you won’t tell? Lincoln doesn’t know I know. I went into his room and saw it behind the dresser. He has it stuck with tape there.”
I nodded as if it was okay. Your brother has a hidden gun in his room? That’s okay. I managed to say in an even voice, “I don’t know what he needs that for. Oh well.” As gently as I could, I pushed her down. “Okay, that’s all right. Why don’t you go in the kitchen, honey, and get a little snack. Mary has to go soon and we have to talk some more. I’ll be in in a minute.”
Disappointed her secret hadn’t made a bigger splash, she put her hands in her pockets and scuffed out of the room.
When she was gone, I told Mary what she’d whispered. She closed her eyes and tightened her lips. “Shit. Okay, Max, stay cool. Don’t fly off and get crazy, or you’ll blow this. First, you’ve got to see what kind it is. Maybe it’s only an air pistol or something, a pellet gun, he doesn’t want you to know he has.
“If not, if it’s a real piece, try and get the serial number off it so we can find out if it’s hot. You’ve got to handle this right or we’ll be in big trouble.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Max—”
“I said I’ll take care of it, Mary. I’ll do what you told me. There’s nothing else to do, is there?”
“Not yet. But remember, it could be nothing. Teenage boys love this stuff, but it doesn’t mean—”
“I know that, but we also knew Bobby Hanley, didn’t we?”
Without making eye contact, she stood and buttoned her jacket. Bobby Hanley was a legendarily violent, frightening kid from our hometown who had ended up dying in a gun battle with the police.
“Bobby Hanley was a criminal. Your son’s a messed-up brat, not a criminal.”
“He has a fucking gun, Mary. How do I know he’s not?”
“Because he isn’t. Okay? Because he is not. I’m going to go right now and talk to my friend Dominic Scanlan at the LAPD. I’ll get him to check out… I don’t know. I want to feel him out on this. He’ll know what direction to take. But we’ll find out. You look at that gun and get the numbers off it, if it’s the real thing. But don’t take it. Don’t touch it. If Lincoln’s done anything wrong and knows you know about his gun, it’ll complicate things. I’ll call you in a couple hours.”
When she was gone, I went to find Greer. She was out on the back patio eating a brownie. I put my arm around her and sat us down on a sun chair.
“Is Mary gone?”
“Uh-huh. Listen, sweetie, I was thinking about what you just told me.”
“About Lincoln’s gun? I know I shouldn’t have gone in his room, Daddy. I know you and Mom said not to. Are you mad?”
“I’m not happy. Plus, I know you wouldn’t like someone snooping round in your room.”
She hung her head. “I’d hate it.”
“Okay, then that’s that. Let’s forget about it. I know how much your brother loves you bu
t he’d probably be really upset and disappointed if he knew you were doing it again. Remember last time? So look, if you don’t tell him what you told me, I won’t say anything either. It’ll be our secret. But you’ve got to keep the secret, Greer. ‘Cause if anyone finds out, you’re the one it’ll hurt.”
“Are you going to tell Mommy?”
“Mom doesn’t need to know either.”
Hearing that, she knew she was off the hook and could be mischievous again. “Okay, but sometimes I can’t keep a secret, Dad. I just have to open my mouth and scream it out ‘cause it’s like a burp, you know? Like it can’t live in my stomach or I’ll explode.”
“Baby, do what you like, but if you tell Lincoln, he’s not going to let you in his room again, because he won’t trust you. If you tell Mom, remember what she said last time about snooping where you’re not supposed to in the house. I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about this with anyone, but the decision is up to you.”
“Are you going to tell anyone?”
“No.”
“It’s bad, huh, Dad? About Lincoln having it.”
“I’m not sure yet. I think it’s kind of bad because what does he need a gun for?”
“Maybe he wants to protect us!”
“I’ll protect us. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about that.”
“Maybe he wants to show off. Or maybe he’s going to shoot someone!”
“I hope no one we know!”
Looking to see if I was serious, her small concerned face relaxed as soon as I smiled and she understood I was joking.
I could trust her not to tell only for a little while because sooner or later Greer spilled any bean she owned. I called Lily at Crowds and Power and said we would be going over there for dinner. She was in a good mood and wanted to know if anything new was happening.
“Nothing much, except I love you.”
“That’s new? We’ve been together seven years but only now you’re starting to love me?”
“I think we love differently every day. Like the guy who said you can’t stand in a river at exactly the same place twice. Today I love you differently than yesterday, or will tomorrow.”
“Oh. Uh, Max, are you okay?”
“Is that Mommy on the phone? Can I talk to her?”
I handed the phone to Greer. She took it with two hands and pressed it tight up against her face.
“Mom? Ms. Zuckerbrot says I have to bring two thousand peanut butter cookies to class Thursday for our party.”
I heard Lily squawk, “Two thousand!?” Greer giggled into her hand and grinned at me. “Just kidddding. But I do have to have a lot of cookies for the party. Will you help me make them?”
We worked on her homework together and then played Chinese checkers for another hour.
“Max, I’m going out.”
I turned and saw Little White making a flirty face at Elvis. He grabbed her by the jaw and apparently squeezed too hard, because she squealed like a pig and slapped his hand away. “You always hurt me, assho—” Seeing us, she caught herself and gave a lame smile. Lincoln ignored them.
“Be back by seven, huh? We’re going to the restaurant for dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Lincoln, be home at seven o’clock tonight. I don’t care if you’re hungry.”
Elvis whistled and shook his hand slowly back and forth at my “show of might.” The girl rubbed her jaw.
“Whaddya want me to do there, sit at the table with an empty plate and listen to all the fags?”
“If you want to be sarcastic, tiger, you gotta be witty too. You almost have the tone now, but you ain’t got the funny yet.”
Little White thought this was hilarious. She clapped her hands delightedly. Elvis put a finger out, touched him on the arm, and, pretending to be burned, made a hissing sound and whipped his hand back fast.
“Guess he burned your ass, Linco.”
“I guess you better kiss my ass, Elvo. Come on, we’re outta here.”
They trooped out in their seven-league Gestapo boots and I’d guess it was my son who slammed the door and then gave it a loud kick for good measure.
“How come you and Lincoln always fight, Daddy?”
“Because I think he should do certain things but he thinks he shouldn’t. Come on, it’s your move.”
Seven o’clock rolled around with no sign of him. I waited another half hour before going to dinner. I tried to be as calm and good-natured as I could with Greer, while at the same time figuring out what to do with her brother. Getting into his room was no problem—a week after he put the lock on his door, I had a locksmith come in and make me a copy of the key. What I’d told Mary was true—I had been in his room only once since the lock was installed, but I’d also stopped trusting our son long ago and felt the secret key necessary. No one knew I had it, not even Lily.
Crowds and Power was packed with pretties when we arrived. In the years since Lily and I met, it had become one of the “power” spots in Los Angeles for people to meet and be seen. Articles were written about it in trendy magazines, the parking lot was invariably full of the appropriate German, English, and Italian cars with license plates that said things like “L.A. Gent,” and getting a table reservation was tough if you were not important. Ibrahim and Gus were still together despite their never-ending bickers, yet I liked them less because of how they had changed with their success. On the one hand, they worked too hard to be cool. On the other, both were overtly sycophantic. This showed in the way they dealt with their increasingly famous clientele. If you were someone, a table was always ready. If you weren’t, you might be allowed to sit in the back near the kitchen. The no-man’s-land Gus called “Table Hell.” There was little of the original warmth and happy frenzy that had been such a precious trademark of the place when I’d first known it. A few years back there had been a palace revolt because of this elemental change of heart. The Band sisters and Mabdean Kessack quit because none of them liked how elitist and false their bosses had become. In a move that troubled Lily because it erased most of what was left of the original “feel” of the restaurant, Ibrahim replaced the women with a gay couple named Ace and Berndt who were both very swish and snobbish but efficient.
“Hi, guys. Where’s Lincoln?” Lily had an armful of menus, and her hair, which had grown much longer, was sticking out in all directions. We kissed, then she bent over and traded big ones with Greer.
“He’s with his friends. He might show up later.”
She gave me her “Is this what I think?” look and I nodded. She grimaced and sighed. “He used to love coming here so much, remember? We had fun. Remember how Mabdean used to make him that special pizza?”
“And his birthday party with the snakes?”
“Golden days at Crowds and Power. How I wish it was like that now. Are you hungry?”
One of the waiters came up and, with the slightest head tip of recognition to us, started talking to Lily in an urgent whisper.
“Just tell her it’s not on the menu, Berndt. I don’t understand the problem.”
Offended, he looked at her as if she’d asked if he had farted. “The problem is, I did tell her that, but she insisted we make it for her because we served it before.”
“Too bad. She can eat what’s on the menu, like everyone else.”
“Gus might be upset if he hears you said no. He loves this woman’s show.”
“I’ll worry about that. Please do as I told you.”
Flashing a bitchy little smile, he walked off. Lily scratched her chin. “I miss Sullivan and Alberta at least ten times a day, every day. Things used to be so much more merry around here. Once upon a time, we would have made that actress what she wants because we’d have been so excited to have her here. Not no more.”
“Mom, can we eat now?”
“Yes, love. Let’s find a table.” Leading us through the packed room, Lily turned and asked, “Where is His Majesty?”
“Last I saw, he was sh
uffling off to places unknown with Mickey and Minnie. We had a face-off at the door and I told him to stop being such a wise guy.”
“I’m sure he loved that. Here, let’s sit here. Did you embarrass him in front of his friends? You know how he hates that.”
“He hates most things. That’s the problem.”
“Sometimes he hates you, Daddy.”
“I know, but that can happen when you have two guys butting heads like we do. You know the way we disagree about things.”
“What did you tell him to set him off?”
“To be home at a specific time so we could go to dinner. He said he wasn’t hungry, I said be home. That was the extent of our discussion. Looks like he decided not to join us after all.”
“Mom, Lincoln had his ‘fuck’ shirt on.”
“Thank you for telling me, Greer, but you know the only reason you told me was so you could say the word. Don’t think you’re tricking me.”
“Lil, I had a couple of ideas for the strip coming over. I’d like to leave right after dinner to go back and work on them. You’ve got early shift tonight, right? Can Miss Muffet go home with you?”
“Sure. We’ll have to stop at the market first, but you don’t mind staying up past your bedtime a little, do you?”
Sounding out words on the menu to herself, Greer shook her head.
“You look great tonight. That long hair really suits you.”
“Oh, Max, does it? Thanks. I think I look like a hundred years old today.”
“No, you look great. You’re one of those people who get better-looking as they grow older. I’m very lucky to have you, know that?”
We often complimented each other. I didn’t know a happier couple. Neither how she had stolen Lincoln nor what had become of him could affect the fact that we loved each other more and more as the years passed.
“Thank you. You’re a good guy to say it.”
“It’s the truth. What are we having for dinner?”
Although it was a good family meal with lots of talk, gestures, and laughing, both Lily and I kept scanning the room to see if the boy had arrived. Sometimes our looks crossed and one or the other would raise an eyebrow as if to say, “What can we do? The kid isn’t coming.”
After Silence Page 18
