Pass It On (3 page)

“It'll be fun! And I was sorry I didn't get to see you more yesterday.”

“You were out at dinner with the Grobarts from six till midnight.”

“And that's part of why we need to talk now, because dear old Sam Grobart really helped me see some things—”

The phone rang then. I assumed it was the car company saying that her car was downstairs, so I answered it “Talk to me,” which I knew my mom hated.

“Jonathan?”

I froze. It was my dad. “Hey. Um, sorry about that. I thought you were the car service.”

“Nah, just me, son.” Since moving to London, my dad had developed an unfortunate faux British accent, like Madonna. It killed me. “How are you?”

“Fine, Dad. You?”

We went on like that for a minute while my mom wandered around my room and took a seat on my bed, watching me, which was weird. I
congratulated him on PISS, though I didn't call her that, and still felt I had to turn away from my mom when I said it.

“Jonathan, there are some things I'd like to tell you. The first is that you'll soon have a stepbrother. His name is Serge. He's your age and very cool. He's like you in a way, only a bit taller. Anyway, he's going to join Penelope and me on our honeymoon next month.” I made a face at my mom like Dad was being totally nuts, but he kept talking. “Penelope is incredibly wealthy.”

“Great, Dad.” My voice was flat.

“She has a boat, a yacht, a ship, whatever you call these two-hundred-fifty-foot sailing monstrosities. The crew is bringing it from the Mediterranean to the States right now, and after Christmas we're taking it from Miami, through the Caribbean, to Venezuela to visit Penelope's family. We'd like you to join us as well.”

“Um, well, I can't really sail.” Other than saying,
no fucking way am I bunking with a weird kid named Serge in the middle of the ocean,
this seemed like the most legit excuse.

“Not relevant. There's a sixteen-man crew, incredible food, and all the luxuries of a five-star hotel. You won't have to worry about a thing,
unless you feel like joining Serge for the waterfall hikes in Venezuela, of course.” He chuckled like that was a really hilarious image, which, of course, it was. “It would mean a lot to me, Jonathan.”

I paused. Something was off here. “Dad, what's going on? There's something else. I can tell.” I said it with more authority than I felt, which was probably good, since I wasn't nearly strong enough to hear all the things I was about to start hearing.

He made an uncomfortable noise. “Yes, Jonathan, there's more. You're right, but I don't think you need to hear it from me. Your mother has always been better at this type of thing. I think she should tell you.”

“This is kind of freaking me out.” The “out” got caught in my throat, and I made a clearing sound like it itched, even though I knew that wasn't the problem.

“Just remember, Jonathan, it's not about the money.” I heard him cover the phone for a second with his hand and say something to someone with a twittery voice that I could only imagine was PISS. “And you can bring one of your friends. I'd say bring them all, but even a
few hundred feet can get crowded in the middle of the Caribbean. And buy the clothes that you'll need for the trip, too. You have the AmEx, son.”

It occurred to me as I hung up the phone that I didn't exactly want my dad calling me “son” right then, even if it was attached to a shopping spree. Not until I knew what the hell was going on, at least. I turned back to face my mom, who was still on my bed.

“Did he tell you, sweetheart?”

My mom never said things like “sweetheart,” so I started to really panic. “He told me he's taking me on a huge yacht and that I could bring one friend and that you would tell me the rest.”

The phone rang again, and I answered it with a normal greeting, even though this time it was the car company after all.

“Just come with me darling—there's nowhere better to talk than in the back of a cozy black town car.”

“Fine,” I said, not sure what else to do.

So we zipped up our bags and made a last-minute check of the apartment. We went and got into the elevator with old Richard, the elevator guy.

“Big paint job coming,” Richard said mournfully,
like a paint job was a hurricane, or a blackout.

“Yes. Sorry about that,” my mom said.

“I guess nothing can be done now.” Richard sighed. My mother rolled her eyes at me.

In the lobby, Richard helped us get our bags into the back of the town car. My mom's driver had quit a few weeks before to start a Brazilian restaurant on the Lower East Side, so we'd been using a service. This driver had a shaved head and wore a headset. He barely looked at us. We clambered into the back and then my mother turned to face me.

“So there's more?” I asked. The car was warm, but it also smelled strongly of cologne. I tried to open the window, but it didn't work. We drove toward Houston Street, but the traffic was heavy. So we sat there, only two blocks from our house, in traffic. “Look, can I just get out? I'm going to be late for dinner at the Wildenburgers.”

My mother brushed at the air in front of her. “Don't be ridiculous. This is far more important. Frankly, I wish you didn't have to know, but here we are.” She stopped talking and looked out the window at a guy passing by on a bicycle.

“Mom?”

“Right, yes. So, your father seems to have chosen the occasion of his upcoming wedding to come clean about a few things.”

“That's bad?”

“It isn't good. When we were all younger, back when you and your friends were schoolmates at Grace Church Elementary, your father helped everyone with their taxes. He was a true wiz with a tax form. Perhaps we should've been suspicious even then …”

“I thought he was an accountant.”

“He became a sort of investment counselor. And he lost great sums of money for all of his clients. At least, that was how it appeared.”

“But he earned it back, right? I mean, he's got a lot of money now, doesn't he?”

“He also lost money for the Wildenburgers and the Pardos and the Floods and the Grobarts. Sam Grobart and I had a long session before we went out for dinner last night. If he weren't my therapist, I don't know what I'd do. It was his suggestion that I be open and honest with you about all this, even if your father isn't.”

“Come on, Mom, even David admits that his dad is crazy. I thought you knew that!”

“That's wholly untrue. The man's a genius.
Anyway, years ago we thought everything your father did was perfectly legal. And then he and I divorced. And he fled to London.”

“Yeah. I've seen him like twice since then.”

“Yes, well, he's done a poor job of being in touch with any of us. But his checks have always arrived on time. Now your father has admitted that he didn't lose all of that money after all. Apparently, he made it look as though he'd made some bad investments, but really, he stole the money.”

I made a little throttling sound in my throat. “From who?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“From everyone, darling—the Floods, the Pardos, the Grobarts, the Wildenburgers. Others, too, it seems.”

I stared at the headrest in front of me, not saying anything.

“We'll need each other's help through this period, Jonathan. I'd ask your brother to come home, but to be honest, I've always found him a little remote. Of course you'll need counseling. This will not be easy.”

“How can we help each other if you're going to Paris? And aren't you pissed at Dad?”

“Well, yes I'm extremely—”

I pulled at the door-lock. We were near the Williamsburg Bridge, but we weren't on it yet. I could still get out of the car and be in Manhattan.

“But this was all a long time ago. Jonathan, do you understand? Everything is different now.”

“How?”

My mother stared straight in front of her at the back of the driver's head, which had grown redder as he listened to our strange family tale. Immediately I hoped he didn't drive for any of my friends' families.

“Dad said it wasn't about the money …” I trailed off.

“The hell it's not.” She sighed. “But if this Penelope is so rich, perhaps that should take care of some things.”

“I think I'm going to get out of the car now.”

“Sam Grobart says you can go and talk to him if you want.”

“Yeah, that'll happen.”

She touched my cheek, which I let her do since she is my mother, after all. “You should still go on that boat trip. This, too, shall pass.”

I pecked at her cheek, zipped up my jacket, and got out. The trunk opened and I grabbed my bag
and gently pushed it shut. I could feel my mom's eyes on me as I tried to decide which direction to go. My eyes were smarting and I wiped at them. After a moment of indecision, I headed northwest, in the direction of Arno's house. I figured I'd walk for a while and then grab a cab.

But I slowed down.
Wait
. If Mr. Grobart knew all about what happened—that my dad had stolen bundles of money from him and from all my friends' families—and if he'd talked to my mom about it, would that mean David knew?

I walked quickly along Delancey, back toward the West Village. I passed McDonald's and Burger King and Sneakerworld and Sneakerhaven. Usually if I was this far east, it was past midnight and I was with my guys, but right now it wasn't even totally dark out. I turned to look behind me at the stream of cars going over the bridge. I hoped my mom would be okay. I hoped her friend Milla would help her out.

And then I hitched my bag over my shoulder and put my head down and got going, walking fast, with the hope that I'd get to Arno's with enough time to chill out and forget all this and maybe get some homework done before dinner.

Arno was at Liesel's house, playing music and fooling around with her.

“You fucking stud,” Liesel said. She was in his lap. Arno stared at her. He smiled, and hoped his look suggested that people should only say things like that as a joke, even though she wasn't kidding. They were drinking leftover champagne from the fridge and eating some square-cut sandwiches they'd found on a silver tray in the kitchen.

“You're so into it.” Arno tried to sound gruff, but he didn't even know what he meant by it. He just couldn't think of what else to say.

“Yeah,” Liesel roared at him. She was certainly a knockout. She was nearly six feet tall—exactly as tall as, if not a bit taller than, Arno. She had practically no hips and very small breasts. But her eyes were huge and blue and she had a thick mane of ash-blond hair. Her voice was almost as deep as Arno's and she had a tendency to
swallow and then roll her
r
's, so she could be both loud and a little bit hard to understand. Any way he looked at it, she freaked him out.

After he met her on Friday night, they'd spent all day Saturday in bed. And then, once it was Saturday night, they went slumming at the 40/40 Club and ended up making out in a bathroom stall. Then he'd gotten away from her for those two good hours at Patch's and now he was back. And it was only now, in her house, that he realized her parents were
the
Reids, well-known art collectors. Of course, his parents were well-known art dealers. They were dangerously well matched.

“Let's watch repeats of that stupid
Newlyweds
show!” she yelled. Arno practically had to cover his ears. She stood up, shirtless, and bounded out of the room, toward her bedroom.

“I'll be there in a second.” Arno looked around. Liesel's parents were at a dinner party so Arno and Liesel had been hanging out in the formal living room, which was covered with an amazing variety of printed fabrics. There were all sorts of flowers: real ones in vases, a flower print on the wallpaper, and raised ones in velvet on the couch. Downtown, nobody ever bothered covering everything with weird colors that way. It was giving him a headache. Arno's phone rang and the
screen lit up with the words
MEAN OLD LADY
.

“Hi, Mom.”

“No, it's me, Jonathan. I'm at your house.”

“Oh. Right. I'll be home soon, dude.”

“Hurry up!” Liesel screamed.

“Okay, take your time,” Jonathan said. Arno clicked off. Jonathan sounded weirdly quiet and awkward, and Arno thought about what Patch and David had said about something being up with him.

“I'll watch the show with you, but then I have to go home,” Arno said to Liesel.

“Fuck that!” He heard her scream. She had the TV on loud. She did everything loud. They hadn't had sex yet, but Arno was sure it would be sonicboom loud. He was a little afraid they'd tear apart whatever room they used. He wanted to get her to his parents' new place on Shelter Island, where nobody could hear them, but he wasn't sure he could handle another entire weekend with her. He already felt like he needed to sleep for a couple of days to recover from this one.

“Come on baby!” she yelled.

Arno stood up. He sucked air in through his teeth. He caught a glimpse of himself in a silver-framed mirror. His black hair was standing on end and his eyes flashed. He could handle Liesel. She was wild. She was
unbelievably beautiful. He was wild. He was painfully good-looking. It fit. He shot out of the living room and made it to her room in a flash—before he could have any more annoying interior thoughts.

I got off the phone with Arno, who clearly knew nothing about my new predicament, which was a big relief. I still hadn't figured out how I was going to tell my guys that my dad had stolen money from their families, and I definitely wasn't looking forward to it. Obviously my mom was right and there was no way Arno's parents knew the whole story about my dad, since Arno's dad was supposedly going to be his best man. I mean, you wouldn't be best man for a guy who'd stolen your money, right?