A Changed Man (25 page)

“I guess we’re lucky,” Max says.

“
I
might be,” says Danny. “But
your
luck just ran out. That’s my bed. Get up to the top bunk, or I’ll get Mom and Dad to send you away to one of those boot camps.”

“They would never,” Max says.

“Dream on,” says Danny. “I’ve been around them longer than you have. I know what they’re capable of. Lorraine would send
your
ass there in a minute.”

They keep waiting for Dad to come in and take them out to buy sneakers. Maybe Lorraine never told him. And it’s weirdly depressing that they don’t feel comfortable enough to go find him.

Chandler
ends, and they watch a couple repeat episodes of
The Real World
that they’ve already seen. Danny and Max are arguing over what to watch next when Lorraine knocks on the door.

“Come have some Coke and potato chips,” she sings out.

“That’s okay,” says Danny. “We’re watching something.”

But Max is already out the door, and Danny follows, just for a change of scene.

Coke and potato chips turns out to be Lorraine’s lying code phrase for a house full of grown-ups sipping drinks, admiring the view, making boring conversation. Danny and Max stick together and edge into the living room like Top Cops busting a crack house.

“Danny,” shouts Dad. “Max. Hey, guys! Come in and say hello.”

With his arms around their shoulders, Dad introduces them to a dozen strangers. At least Dad had the decency to acquire brand-new friends to match his brand-new life. It would be even worse if these were people Danny knew from before. The friend they used to see most was his Dad’s partner Jeffrey. Now Jeffrey’s dead. Lorraine killed him. And Dad is with Lorraine.

Some of these new friends look as if they never knew that Dad
had
kids, but are trying to pretend that they knew, or maybe that they knew and forgot. Danny shakes their hands only when it can’t be avoided.

“Everybody sit down,” Lorraine says. “Believe it or not, I did place cards!”

“How ambitious!” somebody says.

Danny would rather stand all night than poke around searching for his name with everybody watching. He waits till everyone sits, then takes his seat across from Max with Dad between them at the end of the table. They’re in the guest-of-honor chairs, so maybe it’s true about Dad being proud of them. Then again, maybe Dad feels guilty about how rarely he sees them. Or maybe Lorraine wanted to put them the maximum distance from her.

Danny decides to go with the “Dad is proud” explanation. Despite himself, he’s flattered, so that it takes him a while to notice that Dad isn’t talking to him or Max, but leaning around to exchange hospital gossip with a bald, fat doctor. This one got a substantial raise, that one’s being sued, that one’s screwing the ER nurse. Hello-o? Has Dad forgotten that Danny and Max are here?

What would Vincent do in this situation? What is Danny looking for? Etiquette tips from a Nazi? Weirdly, thinking of Vincent makes Danny feel more in control. He likes it that he and his mom and brother are living with a guy who would probably scare the shit out of Dad and Lorraine and their friends. If Vincent were in this situation, he would probably do exactly what Danny’s doing: sitting quietly, being polite, trying not to be noticed.

Lorraine taps her wineglass with a spoon.

“People!” she says. “People? I’d like you to meet Consuela. She’ll be our server tonight.”

Consuela isn’t their server! Danny and Max have been here when she’s come to clean the apartment. But if Dad’s new friends have never met Danny and Max, fat chance they know Consuela.

The guests applaud Consuela, embarrassing her and themselves. Though maybe what they’re applauding is the platter she’s carrying and the gross slab of meat.

Dad’s fat, bald friend says, “It takes balls to serve red meat these days.”

“That’s Lorraine for you,” Dad says proudly.

Consuela circles the table, stopping at each guest and trying not to seem impatient with the ones who have trouble serving themselves. Danny’s dreading his turn. It’s like playing baseball and coming up to bat. But he concentrates, and it’s not too bad. Home run is a thick slice of roast beef on his plate and no stains on the tablecloth.

At last Consuela reaches Dad, who’s telling his friend a story. Apparently, the surgical floor was in a tizzy because the relatives of a recently diseased patient got hold of the patient’s chart and were asking about every test and pill and procedure during his three months on life support.

“So they get to the page where the resident has written GORK in big block letters.” About half of the guests laugh knowingly. “That’s hospital-speak for God Only Knows,” Dad explains to Danny and Max.

“God Only
Really
Knows,” his fat friend corrects him. Danny hates this story.

“Right,” says Dad. “God Only Really Knows.” Meanwhile Consuela’s still standing there. How could Dad not notice?

“And the family’s asking what that means, and I say, off the top of my head, ‘Oh, it’s short for Gravity Oxygen Reduced Potassium.’” The same guests who knew what it meant in the first place burst out laughing, while some of the others—Danny included—are beginning to stare at Consuela so maybe Dad will get the hint.

“Joel, dear,” says Lorraine. “Do help out Consuela, won’t you?”

Dad turns and nearly crashes into the platter. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he tells Consuela. He helps himself to a million pounds of meat, then looks down the table at Lorraine.

“Lorraine humanizes me,” he says.

Max makes the classic gagging sign, so subtly that only Danny sees.

They’re up to the dessert course—some kind of molded pink pudding that tastes like watermelon with chocolate chips—when Lorraine clinks her glass again.

“Hey, everyone?” she says. “People? Joel and I have an announcement.”

Danny looks at Max. This is what they’ve been afraid of.

“Joel and I are getting married,” says Lorraine. Everybody cheers and whistles as if they all thought marriage was the greatest thing on earth, as if Danny and Max weren’t living proof of how often it doesn’t work out.

“In August. But wait!” Lorraine holds up her hand. “That’s not all.”

She pauses and grins at Dad, who grins, like an idiot, back.

“Joel and I are adopting. A little baby from Bulgaria! A darling girl named Nina. Ten months old, an orphan, no health problems that we know of.”

“That we
know
of,” says Dad.

Lorraine raises her penciled-on eyebrows. “I would have shown you all the videotape we got from the agency. But it seemed a little awkward. So I got a great idea. I’ve e-mailed everyone her picture. Baby Nina will be on your computers by the time you get home!”

Everybody asks at once: How does it work, what needs to be done, when will the baby arrive?

“We’re having her FedExed,” says Dad.

Under the laughter, Max hisses to Danny, “A Bulgarian?”

“Whatever,” Danny says.

“A
Bulgarian?
” repeats Max.

“What’s the difference?” says Danny. “Retard.”

Now it’s Dad’s turn to clink his glass. “And the best news of all,” he says, “is that Lorraine’s writing a book about the adoption. So we can write the whole thing off as a business expense.”

Everyone laughs again, nervously. Dad’s joke has fallen flat. His jokes always did. They used to tease him about it. Once more, Max and Danny exchange looks. These people don’t know Dad. Still, it’s not the smartest thing to say that the new Bulgarian baby is a tax write-off. Danny wonders if Dad ever says that about him and Max. How much child support does Dad pay? Among the things Danny knows his parents learned in counseling was not to complain, in front of them, about how the other spouse handles money.

“Jesus, Joel,” says Lorraine.

“Joking,” says Dad. “I was joking. Where’s your sense of humor?”

“A tax-deductible baby,” Lorraine asks the guests. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Strangely, everyone laughs harder. Which must be the right thing to do, because it defuses the tension between Dad and Lorraine. They’re all relieved to turn back to Lorraine and resume asking questions and not listening to the the answers. Dad says to his bald friend, “It’s basically Lorraine’s idea. I mean, I’ve already got kids.” And he wraps both arms around the back of Max and Danny’s chairs.

The friend says, “I assume that you and Lorraine have been trying to have your own.” Are Danny and Max invisible? Do these guys really want to talk about
trying
to have kids around the kids the guy already has? “No one wants to admit it, but thirty-four’s the cut-off. After that the odds gets tougher.”

Dad says, “It’s been hard on Lorraine.” And now Danny understands why his dad is so proud, why he’s making such a big deal of having fathered two kids. He wants to make it clear that whatever fertility problem they’ve been having—whatever glitch has forced them to go to Bulgaria to buy a kid—is not his fault. It’s not that he’s proud of Danny and Max. He’s proud of himself. Of his sperm count.

After that, Danny zones out. He knows he’s free to absent himself just as long as he physically sits there. More talk, more stupid laughter, then everybody gets up to go home. A few women kiss Danny. They’ve gotten to be such good friends that shaking hands isn’t enough. Max stays at the table: a clever way to keep from having to kiss anyone.

Danny’s thinking how brilliant Max is for figuring this out when suddenly he realizes that Max is crying. Fat tears wobble down his brother’s cheeks. Dad and Lorraine are standing at the front door. See you soon. You’re welcome. Exchanging that one last banality while Max is sobbing his eyes out.

Danny puts his arm around him. “Hey, man, what’s the matter?”

Max’s mumble is unintelligible.

“I can’t understand what you’re saying!” Danny is instantly frantic. He needs to hear what’s bothering Max before Dad and Lorraine come in and make everything worse.

Max takes a rattling breath and tries again. This time, Danny makes out two words:
Bulgaria. Dracula.

It would be hilarious if it weren’t so sad. Max is totally freaked out about their new vampire baby sister.

“No, man,” Danny says gently, trying not to sound impatient, trying not to lecture him the way he normally would. “That’s Transylvania. This is Bulgaria. Different country completely.”

That should solve Max’s problem. But of course, it doesn’t. Max starts crying again, pausing every so often to take heavy liquid gulps. Because Max’s problem isn’t Dracula, it isn’t even Baby Nina. Naturally, Max and Danny understand that the baby is bad news. Dad will have even less room and time for them than he does now, especially when he figures out that the kid is more than a tax deduction. Does the baby get the guest room? The
Star Wars
sheets? Where will Danny and Max sleep?

But even that, bad as it is, isn’t what’s troubling Max. He’s crying about what their lives were and what their lives are now, and how much worse everything is, how they’ve completely lost Dad. They can hardly remember before the divorce. What’s bothering Max is that their old life will never come back again, and there’s no way they can change that. They keep wanting to see Dad, but when they do, he’s not the guy they imagined.

Danny’s nearly bawling too by the time Dad and Lorraine return. He can’t believe how long it takes them to notice that something’s wrong with Max. But why should Danny be surprised? They know what’s important. The farty self-congratulation.
That was such a nice party. I thought so. Didn’t you, darling? Everybody was so happy for us. Everybody enjoyed it.

Finally, Dad says, “Max! Hey, guy? What’s up?”

Max has lost the power of speech. Tears keep welling up. His silence and total…
limpness
make it scarier, less like watching someone cry than like watching someone bleed. What if he never stops crying? Nobody cries forever. It’s like hiccuping, when you think it might go on and on.

Just as Danny predicted, Dad and Lorraine make it worse. They’re all over Max. It’s like a scene from
ER,
the crack team of doctors and nurses flinging themselves on the gurney. Sir, where does it hurt? Can you tell us what’s wrong? Dad could probably think of a dozen reasons without even trying, starting with the new marriage and the Bulgarian baby. Dad is a cardiologist. Max’s heart is broken.

Max stops crying, then starts again. After a while, Lorraine says, “Joel, darling. Isn’t there anything you could give the poor child? Something to calm him down. You can’t just let the kid suffer.”

Dad says, “Excuse me, but I’m not drugging my kid just because you’re sick of hearing him cry.”

“It’s not
me,
” says Lorraine. “Look at him.”

“He’ll be okay,” says Dad. “Give him a chance. It’s been a stressful time for everyone.”

“What’s been stressful?” says Lorraine. “If this has been so stressful for you, we can call it all off. The wedding, the adoption. I wouldn’t want to make your life
stressful.
”

A volley of sobs from Max ends the conversation. For Max, this is way out of control. Kids wind up in mental hospitals for less. Danny imagines visiting his little brother in a middle-school version of
One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
In an institutional room, smelling of sour milk, Max is playing checkers with some elderly zombie.

“I’m calling Mom,” says Danny. But when has their mother ever been helpful in a crunch? Though sometimes, when someone in the family was upset, Mom would get so hysterical that whoever had been crying or fighting stopped cold and watched Mom spin out.
That
always seemed to help. “I can reach her on her cellphone.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” says Dad.

“I don’t know, either,” says Lorraine. “You know how she worries about you guys.”

That settles it. Danny’s calling, just to let Lorraine know he’s on to her. She doesn’t care about Max, and certainly not about how much Mom worries. At least Mom is a good person, working to make the world a better place. And what does Lorraine do? Buys a baby so she can write a book and make a ton of money.