Part 40 (1/2)
”Well, she's grading papers.”
”She never grades papers until Sunday.”
”Jake. She has things to do. She just couldn't come with us today.”
”She never comes with us anywhere anymore.”
”That's not true! And remember, she takes you to your cello lessons.”
”You never come to my cello lessons.” never come to my cello lessons.”
”Buddy boy, I do do have a job. If I don't show up once in a while, my boss tends to get upset.” have a job. If I don't show up once in a while, my boss tends to get upset.”
Jake ignored what I'd just said. ”Doesn't Mom like us?”
I stumbled on the slippery subway steps, grabbed the handrail to keep from falling. ”Jake. What a question!”
”Doesn't she?”
”Your mother loves you, Jake. You know that.”
”Does she love you?” you?”
We'd reached the subway platform. The uptown Number 1 train roared into the station just then, giving me time to compose myself in the wake of this dreadful question. We got on the train and settled into our seats. Jake was all earnest-looking in his thick winter coat and hat, staring at me as he waited for his answer.
”Of course your mother loves me, Jake. And I love her.”
There was no strength in my words, absolutely none. My heart was colder than my slush-numb feet.
”You never kiss her,” Jake said.
I forced a chuckle. It had a horrible sound, like laughter in a funeral parlor. ”Sure I do!”
”I've never seen you kiss her.”
”We kiss in private, in our bedroom.”
”You don't sleep in the bedroom.”
How long had he been holding this this in? How the h.e.l.l did he know? I didn't have to ask. in? How the h.e.l.l did he know? I didn't have to ask.
”I was thirsty one night and I got up to get a drink and I saw you on the couch.”
He'd gotten himself a drink of Wilson's Grape Juice, packed with Vitamin C and fortified with essential nutrients. We always had plenty of that stuff around, free of charge.
I swallowed, long and hard. Jake's gaze was steady, relentless. Did he want the truth, or did he want comfort? I opted for comfort. It would be easier on both of us. ”Sometimes I can't sleep, so I get up to read, but I don't want to wake your mother. So I go to the couch with my book, and sometimes I fall asleep reading.”
”The light wasn't on, Dad.”
”What light?”
”The reading light by the couch. You were just asleep there, in the dark.”
Jesus Christ. ”I didn't want to wake up your mother by going back to bed in the middle of the night, so I just stayed on the couch. It's no big deal, Jake.”
He stared at me like a trial lawyer who knows the witness is lying, and can do nothing about it. I had to say something to break that terrible stare. ”We usually eat dinner together, don't we?”
This gave him something to think about. ”Yeah....”
”When you're in a play, we always go together, and what about when we take weekend trips upstate? Aren't we all together then?”
It had been a long time since we'd taken a weekend trip, but he seemed to be buying it.
”Yeah.” A tickle of a smile appeared on his face. ”I guess we are.”
”Sure we are!” I was encouraged by my own false enthusiasm. ”Listen, when we get home, we'll all have dinner together, and maybe there'll be a good movie on TV that we can watch.”
”Mom doesn't like the movies we like.”
”Well, that's all right. The main thing is we'll eat together, and we can tell her all about the painted grapes.”
His face lit up. ”Can I tell her?”
”Sure. It's all yours, champ. You tell her.”
We came home to an empty house. It was nearly eight o'clock when Doris trudged in with a shoulder bag full of books. The sight of this was supposed to tell us she'd spent the day at the library. Maybe she had, or maybe she'd spent the afternoon humping one of her colleagues. I didn't really care, either way.
By this time I'd begun a stupid fling with a copygirl from Hoboken that took place one night a week, during Jake's cello lesson. Her youthful enthusiasm soon gave way to whiny complaints about the limits of our relations.h.i.+p, to which I could only reply: ”What relations.h.i.+p?” She knew my situation, knew I wasn't about to make any kind of move that would jolt my son. She ”wanted to write” and heard I was a good person to learn from, and that's how it started-the crusty old rewrite man with the heart of gold, showing the budding journalist the way.
But my heart wasn't gold, and her dreams of a journalism career were tarnished by a nightmarish lack of talent. She could not put a sentence together. If the English language could speak for itself, she'd have found herself facing a.s.sault charges.
I was always eager to catch that train out of Hoboken, to get home in time to tuck my son into bed. The fling only lasted a few weeks, and when I broke it off in a coffee shop near the Star Star she was as relieved as I was. She stared at me long and hard before saying, ”You think you're doing your son a favor, but the price he'll pay goes up every day.” she was as relieved as I was. She stared at me long and hard before saying, ”You think you're doing your son a favor, but the price he'll pay goes up every day.”
I was stunned by her words. For one thing, it was a startling perception. For another, it was the most coherent sentence she'd ever come up with. Maybe I was a better mentor than I'd thought....
Anyway, Doris entered the house after a day of reading and/ or f.u.c.king, and luckily Jake was taking his bath, so I had a chance to fill her in as she poured herself a gla.s.s of white wine.
”Doris. He's asking all kinds of questions.”
”He has an inquisitive mind.”
”He was asking why we never kiss, and why I was sleeping on the couch.”
Now I had her attention. ”What did you say?”
”I told him we kiss in private, and I like to get up and read at night so I won't disturb you.”
Doris nodded approvingly, one conniver to another. ”Not bad.”
”I also reminded him that we eat dinner together.”