B008J4PNHE EBOK (58 page)

“Okay.” Tess yawned. “When I was, jeez, about seventeen, the situation started to get really itchy because my mom, she decided she wanted— Oh, Christ, Sam, can I tell you this another time? I’m enjoying the drive.”

“Sure,” he said.

“It’s like, ‘He spends all day writing insurance binders for theater producers so their asses are covered in case a piece of scenery falls on one of the actors. She retired at fifty and spends her days buying ceramic creatures and organizing the ones that she already has in little tableaus on the windowsills. At night, they make drinks together and then go drink them in different rooms. They make me insane and they make each other insane. The End.’ That’s the CliffsNotes version. Are your parents any different?”

“My mother’s dead.”

“See. Now I feel bad.”

“Don’t. Honestly, don’t.”

“By the way. If you made that up, you’re going to hell.”

“She’s dead, I swear. Totally, totally dead. When I was in college, she had a heart attack out walking.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Thanks. Our friend Tom tilled her ashes into a bed of his echinacea. You walked by the spot when you were at the house.”

“I like echinacea. They’re tenacious.”

“And my father. He’s—a lot.”

“But see, Sam? Do you really want to go there today? Right now? It’s already been a long weekend.”

The rental car was in the second of four packed lanes. In front of them was a smoke-colored SUV that had a bicycle belted to the top. The SUV’s passengers were keyhole-shaped silhouettes. The bike’s wheels spun. Sam wanted to pass the SUV—the turning of the bike’s wheels seemed to hint that it wanted to break loose from its straps and shoot back into their windshield—but the traffic was tight.

For a few quiet moments, Sam placidly contemplated a vision of the bike slipping its tethers. He saw it plunge backward into the windshield, the glass splintering and folding, and their bodies enveloped and shredded by debris. As was nearly always the case when he imagined bad things happening, his thoughts spun off to Brooks, to the movie, and to what it had been before the AD put a match to it. Much quicker than usual, the thought gave way, snapped over like a slide, and what replaced it was a small hairy man, spitting and moaning on the ground.

Sam checked his mirrors, signaled, slipped into a space in the passing line, and pulled around the SUV.

“Nice maneuver,” said Tess. “What’s the hurry?”

“I was worried that the bike on top of the SUV was going to fall off and kill us.”

“That’s a hopeful thought.”

“I am hopeful,” he said. It was the truth. The blatant fantasies of his youth, the ones that his father had performed in and the ones that his father had committed, had made him suspicious of make-believe, and Sam prided himself on his sense of realism. To suspend disbelief had always been a problem for him. But if the last few days showed anything, it was that truly improbable things did sometimes happen. He wasn’t thinking of Jo-Jo driving the GTO through Tom’s house, either, or even of how he and Booth seemed to come to a détente. What he was
thinking of was Tess, of her putting up with him, of her coming all this way—for him. It wasn’t a miracle, exactly, but it was damned generous of her.

And from there, it struck Sam that he needed to balance the scale, to make his own gesture of goodwill, to get in the passing lane and make some time. He needed to try and do something for Brooks Hartwig, Jr.

“Do you think your father could help me sort out the residuals on
Who We Are
? You said he was an entertainment lawyer.” The unopened checks back at the apartment in Red Hook—by all rights, at least half belonged to Brooks.

“Probably,” said Tess. “What’s in it for me?”

“Dinner and a movie.”

“Dinner and a movie?”

“No. Better still: two movies.”

“Two? Wow.”

“Uh-huh. Later this week. A double feature of
E.T.
and
Dog Day Afternoon
. And sometime after that, we’re going to make our way to the nearest Segway store, take a test spin, and settle things once and for all. Which, I’m optimistic, you’ll see is pretty neat, even if it’s not a jet pack.”

“You’d take me to test-ride a Segway?”

“I’d take you anywhere.”

“Aw.” Tess touched his knee.

A mighty lion reared across a maroon background. The wind turned the flag lightly back and forth, an oar dipping in and drawing out, and the blue sky like water.

“Gryffindor,” said Farah. “That’s the emblem—of Gryffindor.”

“Awesome,” said Wesley. “I’d totally take that.”

They parked the car alongside the walk that edged Rick Savini’s long driveway. There were already a half dozen or so vehicles lined up, Tom’s truck among them.

As they walked up the driveway, Sam was pleased to see that his fills had held over the eight-plus years since that spring morning in 2003; Rick Savini’s driveway was in excellent shape. He further surmised that the Gryffindor flag, which flew from a pinnacle at the top of the house,
was the actor’s solution for differentiating his house from the others in the neighborhood—and an elegant, magical solution it was, too.

As they were getting out of the car, Tess noted that she thought she’d seen it in an airplane catalog not too long before.

 ■ ■ ■ 

Rick Savini embraced Sam in the doorway. “Kid, you don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t show up unannounced and perform house repairs. I was starting to worry you’d forsaken me.” The actor appeared the same as ever, as if he’d spent the preceding night trying to sleep while someone stood outside his window banging trash can lids.

“I’m sorry,” said Sam. He held out the rusted sword.

Rick took the weapon and turned it over a few times. “My Precious.” He stuck it through his belt, grunted in apparent satisfaction, and glanced up at Sam. “You should be sorry. You goddamned should be.” The actor inspected him with a pursed-lipped expression of disapproval. “What’s your next movie about? I need work.”

Sam couldn’t hold off a smile. The guy really was a hell of an actor. “I was actually just working through an idea. It has to do with a guy who gets stranded in a mall parking lot.”

“Shit, Sam, that sounds like a blockbuster,” said Rick. “Okay, send me the script when you’re ready. I’ll do it.” He waved the rest of the group inside. “Come on in, we’re celebrating fall and getting drunk.”

Sword clacking at his hip, he guided them down a long hall toward the rear of the house. As they approached, there was the tidal sound of lots of people talking at once. Tess squeezed Sam’s hand.

About twenty people were gathered in Rick Savini’s parlor, a high-ceilinged room outfitted with a large television, a couple of leather couches, some armchairs and oak occasional tables, and French doors that gave onto the lawn. In the crowd Sam spotted his father, Tom, Mina, Christine the recording engineer, and Christine’s daughter, Logan, who was dragging her amputee bunny by an ear. An aromatic spread of barbecue had been set on a table, as well as some ice buckets. There was a basket of apples. Running along the entire length of the French doors was an elaborate navy-carpeted scaffold, vaguely resembling a model roller coaster, which must have been for Rick Savini’s cats to play on. Somewhere out of sight, a stereo was playing Motown. It wasn’t too warm or too cold. Laughter came from all directions.

Tom spotted him, put up a hand, and waved. “There’s beer!”

Sam realized that everything was going to be okay. He bent down to Tess and whispered in her ear, “Everything is going to be okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked, and detached herself to go and chat with Mina.

A broad-shouldered figure rose from one of the couches. Johannes “Jo-Jo” Knecht strolled over. Rick introduced him. “Sam, this is my neighbor, Jo-Jo.”

Jo-Jo said they’d already met. “Sam’s a friend of Polly’s, dude.”

They shook hands. Jo-Jo’s hands were large enough to palm Sam’s head.

Polly approached holding Rainer. “It’s Uncle Sam!” The baby glared from the depths of its face fat.

“Hey,” said Sam.

“Did I interrupt something?” asked Polly. “Oh, dear. Were you boys about to compare penises, and I came over and made it awkward?”

“No. We already did that,” said Sam.

“Mine was bigger,” said Jo-Jo. To demonstrate, he put out his enormous hands and spread them apart about seven inches, parallel.

Sam reached over and readjusted one of Jo-Jo’s hands to widen the gap another inch. “There.”

“My stars.” Polly fanned herself.

 ■ ■ ■ 

After he’d helped himself to a beer, Sam milled around and talked with the people he knew and introduced himself to some of the ones he didn’t.

Tom said he’d already started reframing the broken walls of his house. The car, he observed, could have been a lot bigger. Sam nearly pointed out that the car could have caused more damage if it had been an aircraft carrier or a neutron bomb, but he wished his old friend a happy autumn and told him how glad he was that he was here, and that he loved him. Tom blushed.

Over by the French doors, Sam chatted with Christine, Logan, Polly, and Rainer. Christine said she didn’t want to offend Rick, but she thought that summer had a lot to say for itself. Polly nodded; she liked summer, too. “And I’ve never murdered anyone,” she said, “let alone a whole string of people.” The little girl slid her hand over the sloping
surfaces of the cat conduit and observed that it must be pretty nice to be a famous person’s pet. Rainer pooped.

Rick Savini’s UPS man, Rick Savini’s agent, Farah, and Wesley were clustered around an occasional table spread with the laminates of Wesley’s list of “
Seventy-four
Seventy-five Things That Cause Unnecessary Fatigue.” They resembled generals around a battlefield map. Loud sounds of appreciation were voiced. The UPS man said it was like seeing a printout of the inside of his mind. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see someone stand up to grapes with seeds,” he added, referencing item #59. The agent said, “This is wonderful. I mean, it’s really all here, isn’t it?” Farah gave Wesley a thump on the back. “Thank you,” said Wesley. “Thank you.”

Seated on a couch, Booth held forth for a group that included Rick and Jo-Jo. Sam’s father had a sweating bottle of beer in one hand and was leaning forward, all of his bulk piled on his thighs. His cape was draped over the back of the couch, and he was raising and lowering his free hand as if relating a story about weights and measures. Everyone was smiling.

 ■ ■ ■ 

Sam was feeling good. It wasn’t often, he thought, that you could cast around a crowded room and feel nothing but generosity toward the assembled—maybe at your wedding, or perhaps at your funeral, on the unlikely chance that some remnant of you was able to look on. Sam wished he’d felt that way when he’d wrapped his movie, but he’d been too sick, and too young.

He made his way over to Tess and Mina. They were standing by the fireplace, commiserating about boyfriends who turned out to be gay.

“You want them to be a little gay,” said Tess. She was wearing Mina’s
DOOM
watchcap.

“Yeah.” Mina grimaced. “But not totally gay.”

“No.” Tess shook her head. “That’s when you’ve got a problem.” She turned to beam at Sam. “Mina gave me her hat! She’s making a whole line: doom, plague, wreck, and toxin. Isn’t that great?”

“I’d wear any of those,” said Sam.

Mina, looking past Sam toward the rest of the room, inhaled sharply. When he swung around, he saw Sandra shuffling in on the arm of a
lanky teenage boy whom Sam recognized by his skinny tie as young Peter Jenks. Sandra appeared even more wind-whipped than usual, her eyes large and her cheekbones drawn sharply. She wore a clashing ensemble of purple sweatpants, plaid shirt, and fringy scarf. Behind her came a man in a doctor’s coat—a filled-out version of Peter, wearing a grown-up tie—and behind him, another teenage boy, this one wearing a Killers T-shirt.

“I’ll go talk to her.” Sam had no idea how Sandra had found her way to Rick Savini’s party—he sensed Booth’s errant hand—but he was prepared to drag her right out the door if she started to make a scene.

“I hope you don’t expect to get much out of her,” said Mina. “Dr. Jenks dosed her. She’s real mellow. I guess she’s going to be crashing with Tom and Booth for a while, too.”

“Really?”

Sam’s sister nodded. “The whole happy family. Think about it: you know how convincing Booth can be. If anyone can get her to take her pills, it’s Booth.”

“Are you okay with this?” Sam thought she sounded mostly resigned.

“Eh,” said Mina. “I could go either way. We’ll see. It ought to be interesting, anyway.” With this, she snorted. “I just can’t believe Peter brought
him
.”

Tess slid an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Whatever. He’s not that cute.”

 ■ ■ ■ 

Sam went over. Sandra had settled in beside Booth, and her head was resting against his shoulder. The sight was surprising but sweet, the comfort between them, and the feeling that Sam had—of wanting only the best for everyone—expanded to a point where he felt almost dizzied by it.

Sam squatted down alongside his stepmother. He asked how she was feeling.

“Glum,” Sandra said. “And so stoned. I’m trying to smile now. Can you tell?” A corner of her mouth twitched.

“Oh, yeah,” said Sam.

“Liar,” said Sandra. Now one corner of her mouth did curl up.

“Mina loves you,” Sam said. He took her hand. It was thin and dry. It felt lifeless. “Try and concentrate on that.”

“Maybe that’s it,” she said. “I’m already thinking of later, of the disappointment. I’m always going to be disappointing. Even if I’m not crazy, I’ll still make mistakes. There’s no medication for that.”

“No, there’s no medication for that,” said Sam. “But Mina loves you. And there’s no medication that can take that away, either.” He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed it back.

His father, meanwhile, was speaking:

“And here was this boy. He peers up at me with this little scalded face and does not cry, does not make a single peep. And the nurses have swaddled him in a rough brown cloth, such as an extra will wear in a biblical production, so that he resembles a tiny leper. And he makes no fuss, no fuss at all. He just squints at me with these hot blue eyes. Looking so aggrieved, so deeply aggrieved. Can you picture it? It was most disquieting.” Booth shut his eyes and nodded, and the bare skin above his beard was hatched thick with wrinkles. When he opened them, he spotted his son nearby. The old man gave his nose a sly tap. “I mean, really. Allie was so happy. And I was so happy. You could not look at him for more than a moment and not love him.”