One Last Thing Before I Go (17 page)

C
HAPTER 42

F
or the first hour of their drive back, Casey drives in silence, refusing to look at him. He tries to wait her out until he can’t take it anymore.

“Are you going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. I just think we should talk about this.”

“Which part?”

“What?”

“Which part would you like to talk about? The part where you betray me and tell Mom about Jeremy? Or the part where you betray pretty much everyone by having sex with Mom?”

“Are those my only choices?”

“Joking, right now, would be a serious fucking mistake, Silver. And I say that with the full knowledge of your incredibly rich history of serious fucking mistakes.”

“I’m sorry. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“What I’d like you to do is to unfuck my mother.”

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Fuck you, Silver. I’ve done nothing but make it easy for you. And in return, you’ve turned my life to shit. You’ve turned all of our lives to shit. That’s what you do.”

“There’s a rest stop. Let’s pull over and get some ice cream.”

“Fuck you, and fuck your ice cream.”

“You say ‘fuck’ a lot.”

“Every single fucking ‘fuck’ is earned.”

“You know, what happened between your mother and me isn’t really something for you to be angry at.”

“No?”

“I mean, if you think about it, it’s really not any of your business. It’s just a mistake made by two consenting, slightly intoxicated adults. And we’ll face the consequences of that mistake, if there are any, just like you have to face the consequences of, you know . . . yours.”

“I think you need to stop talking now.”

“I wish I could.”

“Just hold it in.”

“I’ve been trying all day. It just keeps pouring out of me. It’s like something is loose.”

“Something is loose, all right.”

“I think you should forgive me.”

“I’ve spent my entire life forgiving you.”

“And I appreciate it.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I am. I know I am. Just tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

“You can stay away.”

“What?”

“From all of us. Mom, Rich, and me. We’re a family, the only one I’ve got. And now, thanks to you, that may all fall apart. I’ve already lost one family, and I can’t do it again. Not now. Not ever.”

“Casey.”

“I’m not saying it to be mean. I just need you to understand.”

“Please.”

“Do you understand?!”

“I understand.”

CHAPT
ER 43

O
n the elevator ride up, he collapses against the wall and sinks down to the floor, unable to summon the strength required to remain upright. He is profoundly exhausted, can feel his remaining energy slowly seeping out of him like blood in a horror film. He watches the door open onto his floor, sees the faded wallpaper of the hallway. He’s never seen it from this angle before, at eye level with a small constellation of scuffs and tears from the corners and wheels of countless suitcases and pieces of furniture, as sad, defiant, angry, lost men moved in and out of
the Versailles. They should leave marks, he thinks. Gashes and smears, scars for all the lives and families coming undone, for all the damage still to be done.

The door slides closed, and the elevator is still. It feels strange to be in an unmoving elevator, like time has stopped. Maybe, when the door opens again, he will walk out into another world, one in which Casey didn’t say all the things she said to him on the drive home, things that are now permanently etched into the scuffed hallway walls of his brain.

It’s quiet. Someone will push a button soon, and the elevator will either take flight or descend, and life, or whatever the hell it is he’s living here, will start again. But for now, there’s nothing but the piercing stillness of this immobile box, and the soft, intermittent sounds of his shallow breathing. The elevator would be a strange place to die. On the plus side, though, he’d be found pretty quickly, before he had time to ruin his apartment with the stink of his rot. He’d become something of a legend in the Versailles, the former rock star discovered dead in the elevator. Speculation will run rampant about the fact that he was found barefoot, with his damp sneakers in his hand. And then, after a little while, with a bit of turnover, he will just become one more footnote in the vast compendium of the building’s ever-growing tragic lore.

With that in mind, he somehow marshals the strength to pull himself to his feet and stagger down the hallway to his apartment, where he falls down onto his bed, and where, with a surprisingly minimal number of interruptions to urinate, he spends the next forty-eight hours in semiconsciousness and complete silence.

CHAPTE
R 44

A
shley Ross is celebrating her bat mitzvah at the Stoneleigh Country Club, with three hundred of her parents’ closest friends. It’s an island theme, and three black men in dreadlocks and robes play calypso music on steel pans in the atrium, which is festooned with fake palm trees and a wall of LCD screens showing a rolling blue surf on a white beach.

The guests have all been given coral necklaces to wear over their blazers and dresses, and a specialty bar mixes Bahama Mamas and other rum-based island drinks. Silver has played functions like this a million times, to the point where he recognizes the steel pan players and the bartenders, the women sitting at a station in the corner putting beaded braids into the girls’ hair. It never fails to stupefy him, the things people will spend their hard-earned money on. Still, the Bahama Mamas are hitting the spot, and the buffet is first-rate, so, all things considered, he really can’t complain.

He was reluctant to come along, had in fact flat-out refused when Ruben showed up at his apartment to shake him out of his bed and into the shower. “Come on,” he said, standing over his bed. “You promised me.”

“No, I humored you.”

“Same difference,” his father said, yanking the comforter off of him. “My God, this thing needs to be burned. Don’t you ever send anything out to be cleaned?”

“I’m not feeling well,” Silver said, curling up into a ball.

“My heart bleeds pink borscht for you,” Ruben said. It was a favorite expression of his, one he used repeatedly in sermons.

“I need to sleep.”

“You’ll sleep when you’re dead.”

“Death jokes. Nice, Dad.”

“When in Rome.”

“Go away.”

“Come on, it will be fun. You could stand to socialize a little bit.”

“I won’t know anyone.”

Ruben sat down on the edge of the bed to tie his shoe. “You’ll know Casey.”

Silver opened his eyes and looked up at his father. “Casey’s coming?”

“Apparently she used to babysit for the bat mitzvah girl.” He shrugged. “Small world.”

Silver sits up, suddenly alert. “Does she know I’m coming?”

“No. We can surprise her.”

Silver thought about it for a moment. “I should probably take a shower.”

Ruben smiled warmly. “I think that would be wise, yes.”

* * *

They ran into Casey almost immediately, who took one look at him, then rolled her eyes angrily at her grandfather and said, “Seriously?” before turning on her heel and walking away. And now Silver locates her on the dance floor, falling into step with the younger girls and the absurdly sexy dance motivators, tearing up the floor with “Cotton-Eyed Joe.” She grins widely, enjoying herself as she moves across the floor, slapping her heels and spinning around in step, taking great care to avoid any and all eye contact with Silver. For his part, he’s happy to see her smiling and dancing, even if there’s an ironic texture to her glee.

There is no seat for him; he has crashed the event with his father and mother. But Ruben is almost constantly being drawn into conversations with his congregants, so Silver slides into his father’s seat, next to Elaine, who has pushed her chair back and is taking miserly sips of a colorful drink. She smiles at her son and moves her chair closer to his, so that she can lean against him.

“What happened to your nose?” she says.

“Rich punched me.”

She gives him a stern look. “Well, someone was bound to.” Then she looks away, forcing herself to change the subject. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it,” she says, her eyes wandering the room. “I mean, what are they going to do for her sweet sixteen?”

He looks at his mother, taking note of how the lines around her eyes now break off and descend in angled streaks down her once plump cheeks. Her lips are thinner than he remembers, as if years of pursing them have worn them down, and her hair, he realizes with a shock, is now completely silver, and he wonders when that happened.

“What is it?” she says, noting his look.

“You look older.”

She is momentarily surprised by his candor, and her hand comes up to touch her face. “You try having you for a son.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. For all of it.”

She takes his hand. Her fingers are cold and damp from holding the drink. “You want to make it up to me? Live long enough to take care of me when I get really old.”

Silver nods, and sits back in his chair.

“You’re not going to really make me come to your funeral, are you?” she says. “Because I can tell you right now, if you let this happen, I will not come to watch them put you in the ground. I’ll go get my nails done. The list of things I wouldn’t do for you is pretty damn short, but that’s number one on it.”

He rests his head against hers. “I understand.”

“That’s great,” she says. “Because I don’t understand you at all.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, watching Casey do the Electric Slide. “Look at her,” Elaine says. “She’s a mess.”

“She’ll be OK.”

“No!” Elaine snaps at him, jerking herself away from him. “She will not!”

Silver sits up a bit, surprised by her anger, which has come on without warning.

“I don’t need to tell you that you’ve been a lousy father,” Elaine says.

“And yet, you feel compelled to,” he says warily.

“Because you still don’t get it! Your daughter is eighteen years old and pregnant.”

“She’s not a crack whore. She made a mistake.”

Elaine shakes her head. “I don’t know what was going through her head, but I do know that it’s your fault.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Exactly. What did you do?”

“Jesus, Mom.”

Elaine’s face has grown red, her chin quivering with a quiet rage. “You gave her every reason in the world to write you off. And by some miracle, she hasn’t. She still loves you and believes in you. Why do you think she came to you?”

“Because she was scared to go to Denise. She figured I’d be more sympathetic.”

He is aware that the music has stopped, that the bandleader has announced the next course. He is so accustomed to the rhythm of these affairs that he mentally logs it without knowing that he has.

“You’re an idiot,” Elaine says, getting to her feet, inadvertently spilling her drink onto the table. The two older couples seated across from them make a big show of not paying any attention to the mini-drama unfolding right there in front of them at Table 16. “She came to you because she’s terrified, and she wants her daddy. To make it better.”

The truth of what she’s just said cuts into him. Casey wants her daddy. He has been an idiot for so long that sometimes he forgets what an idiot he is.

“I’m trying.”

“How? By killing yourself? Are you kidding me? What do you think will happen to her then?”

“She’s a good girl. She’s done fine without me.”

Elaine shakes her head at him, stepping away from the table. “You can tell yourself that over and over again, until you’re blue in the face. It’s not going to make it any more true.”

She gives him one last, pained look, then turns on her heel and storms away from him. Silver looks across the table at the two other couples and nods apologetically.

In the center of the dance floor, the DJ is addressing the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, for your entertainment, the Ross family is pleased to present world-renowned mentalist Mr. Dave Zellinsky!”

There is a round of applause as a tall, thin, completely bald man in an expensive tuxedo steps forward and takes the microphone. “Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. How about a big hand for our host, Ashley!”

Another round of applause. Silver decides he can’t be here anymore in this hot, loud, shiny room full of strangers. He gets up and begins making his way through the tables toward the exit.

“We’re going to have a little fun, now,” Zellinsky says, moving into the crowd of tables. “I need a volunteer. Come on, people, it’s an open bar. Someone here has to be drunk enough to volunteer.” The patter of a seasoned professional. This guy has been at it for a few years. Silver wonders, as he always does when faced with the performers who occupy this vast and sad level of the entertainment business with him, what tragic detour landed this guy on the bar – and bat mitzvah circuit. Whatever the story, he thinks he has a pretty good idea of the lonely, self-loathing hell he goes home to.

He is still somewhat stunned by his mother’s angry tirade, and so he doesn’t realize the unfortunate moment at which he reaches the open dance floor until it’s too late.

“Terrific!” Zellinsky says, running over to him. He puts his arm around Silver and leads him to the center of the dance floor. “We’ve got our first victim!”

“No,” Silver says. “I was just on my way—”

Zellinsky turns to him. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Silver.”

“Let’s have a big round of applause for Silver!” Zellinsky says. The crowd applauds. Silver sees his father, standing in a cluster of older men, suddenly looking up, his eyes wide with concern. He sees Casey, standing in the back, looking alarmed and mortified at the mess he’s gotten himself into.

“So, Silver. Before I read your mind, I just want to get to know you a little bit. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a musician.”

“You any good?”

“I’m OK.”

“Yeah, me too. That’s why I’m playing a bat mitzvah. It’s all about the craft, am I right?”

The crowd chortles appreciatively.

“So, is there anything you’d like to say to Ashley, right now that we have everyone’s attention?”

“Congratulations, Ashley.”

“And how do you know the bat mitzvah girl?”

“I don’t know her.”

“What, are you, gate-crashing a bat mitzvah?”

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

Zellinsky suddenly looks uncomfortable. He’s not sure how to play this one. He gives Silver an inquisitive look, and Silver shrugs. A quiet falls over the room. Silver is suddenly aware of Zellinsky’s flop sweat, trickling down from his bald pate to his temple. He can feel his own sweat chilling the flanks of his back. His eyes fall on Casey, who has stepped away from the wall and is shaking her head, desperately pointing toward the exit.

“Casey,” he says, and waves. He had not realized that Zellinsky still has the microphone extended to him, and his voice fills the room. Casey cringes as three hundred pairs of eyes turn to find her. She blushes and waves back, offering a forced but, Silver thinks, still charming smile. Silver takes the mike from Zellinsky, never taking his eyes off of Casey.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he says.

Casey’s eyes grow wide, and she starts to shake her head emphatically.
Not now! Please!

But it’s like he’s watching himself from the ceiling, from a perch on the grand crystal chandelier that hangs in the center of the ballroom, and there’s nothing to do but watch, along with everyone else.

“I don’t want to be here,” he says. “I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t mean here at this party, although, to be honest, I don’t know why I’m here, either. I don’t know these people, and if this ridiculous party is any indication, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like most of them. But that’s not what I mean.”

He is dimly aware that the silence in the hall has taken on a new weight, a clarity it didn’t possess before. There is not a single clink of flatware on a plate, not a whisper or even a discreet cough. It has been transformed from a polite silence to rapt attention. Casey has stopped motioning to the door. She is now just staring at him, and he can’t tell if she’s appalled or interested—the lights from the video crew are throwing a glare at his one good eye. But he has her attention and he doesn’t know when he will again.

“I don’t know how I became this person, this quiet, pathetic waste of space. I’ve been going over it in my head, trying to find some moment or event where it all went wrong, and I just can’t. It’s like, I went to sleep one night, and woke up numb.” She has moved a bit, stepped between some tables, and he can see her face well enough now to know that she’s crying.

“I haven’t felt anything for so long, Casey. I forgot what it feels like just to feel something. But then that day I woke up in the hospital, I was suddenly feeling things again. And I have been ever since. I’ve always known how much I loved you, how proud I was of you, but now I can feel it again, and it’s enormous. It fills me up. And that’s why I don’t want to have that operation. I’d rather die right here, right in this spot, feeling this way, than live another thirty or forty years like I’ve lived the last ten.”

Casey is crying openly now. Behind her, near the ballroom entrance, he can see the man he assumes is Mr. Ross, speaking heatedly with two security guards. The guards begin to weave their way through the tables toward the dance floor. Silver looks over at Zellinsky, still standing next to him, looking like he’s going to be sick.

And then, from behind him, the bouncing climb of a familiar bass riff fills the room. A flicker of lead guitar flits in and out, and then the drums kick in as the band starts to play that old chord progression. In an instant the music takes him back to a warm spring morning. He is sprawled on the couch with his new baby girl lying across his chest. He is kissing her bald head, inhaling her baby scent, and humming to her—a loose, free-form melody that gradually takes shape into the thing that will become this song.

Silver turns around. Danny Baptiste is up onstage, grinning at him as the rest of the orchestra takes up their instruments. Silver smiles up at him, grateful that the onerous silence has been broken. Danny leans into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, that’s Drew Silver, I’m Danny Baptiste, and we are the Bent Daisies!” The crowd breaks into surprised, scattered applause. The band’s intro to “Rest in Pieces” reaches the clattering pause, which was McReedy’s cue, but McReedy isn’t here. Baptiste looks at him, and nods encouragingly. Silver looks at Casey, brings the mike up to his mouth, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. And then, he sings. He doesn’t possess McReedy’s resonance or pitch, and his voice sounds more nasal than usual thanks to the swelling from Rich’s punch, but he can carry a tune well enough, and having sung backup on the album, his voice sounds at home in the song.