Matchstick Men: A Novel About Grifters With Issues (8 page)

“The Arab.”

“The Turk. Or Afghan, whatever—yeah, him. I been trying to set up a meeting for months. I’m telling you he’s a good guy, he’s ready to do business, and every time I bring it up, all you do is crap over it.”

“I do not.”

“You do, you take a massive dump over the whole thing.”

Roy maintains, “I don’t see where we need it.”

“I need it. Trust me on that one, okay? I need it. I got guys.”

“Yeah, I heard about your guys.”

Frankie finishes off his burger. He’s not letting up this time.
“I’m telling you, there’s some real money in this thing, and all I’m asking for is a meeting. One little meeting, and that’s it.”

Roy doesn’t understand why Frankie’s so agitated, but it doesn’t matter. He’s got his quirks, his little tweaks, but he’s been a good partner for years. He’s more on top of things than he ever was before. These fights, they don’t help anyone. Throw him a bone. “One meeting,” Roy says. “You set it up, time, place. And if I don’t like the guy—”

“We split. No problem.”

“I’m saying even if I don’t like his goddamned
hair—
”

“Then we’re out,” Frankie says quickly. He’s excited. Like a kid, Roy thinks. A kid with his first after-school job. “It’s all your call, Roy.”

“Bet your ass it is.”

“You won’t be sorry. We’re gonna be swimming in cash, I promise you.”

He’s barely inside the door when the phone starts to ring. He locks the door, fights the urge to unlock and lock it again, and heads into the kitchen. The carpet is looking good. Helps not to look down. Helps to
imagine
it looking good, and take it from there.

“Speak,” Roy says into the phone.

“Roy?”

“Yeah?” Suspicious. It’s not a voice he knows.

“It’s Dr. Klein.”

Roy relaxes. “Hey, doc. We gotta reschedule?”

“No, no, not at all.” The doctor sounds excited. Excited and
nervous. Roy pulls out a chair from the breakfast bar and sits down. “I’ve got some news.”

“About Heather?”

“Yes and no. Yes.”

Over the last few sessions, Roy had opened up. About Heather, about their relationship. The few good times, the many bad. And Dr. Klein had gotten him wondering. Mostly about her, but a little about the kid. About the possibility of a kid. And though Roy wanted to know, he couldn’t bring himself to call. To talk to her. Every time he thought about it, played out the conversation in his mind, the bile rose up, choked him off. Once, he had to run to the doctor’s bathroom, kneel by the toilet. Dry heaves. Spittle drenching the floor.

But the doctor said he’d do it. It was unorthodox, it was unusual, but he would do it. Call Heather on Roy’s behalf. See if she wanted to talk. If so, it would be a step. Maybe then Roy could put words together. Couldn’t hurt to try.

“I found her,” says Klein. “I found her across the state.”

“Where?” asks Roy, and then a second later, “Wait—don’t tell me. Go on.”

“I found her, and I called her, and we had a … a nice conversation.”

Roy swallows. No bile yet. “Does she want to talk to me?”

A deep breath from the other side. A sigh. “No,” Klein says eventually. “She doesn’t.”

“I see.”

“She didn’t understand that it might help you with your therapy.”

“You told her I was in therapy?”

“I told her I was a psychiatrist, yes. I can’t lie, Roy.”

He slumps lower in the chair. “So she doesn’t want to see me.”

“No. No. But there’s good news, Roy. Very good news.”

Roy laughs bitterly. “She’s got cancer?”

The doctor is silent for a moment. The phone line hums. “Was that … a wish, Roy?” he says quietly. “That’s a lot of rage we should work out—”

“It’s a fucking joke, doc. Wake up. C’mon, what’s the other news?”

He waits a second, just to build it up. Roy holds his breath. “You have a child.”

Exhale. Roy knew it was coming, felt it as soon as he picked up the phone. This was why Klein called him at home. Heather could have waited until the next session. But a kid … “What’s his name?” asks Roy.

“Angela.”

“He’s a—it’s a girl?”

“Funny name for a boy, huh? Yes, Roy. You have a fourteen-year-old daughter named Angela.”

“Jesus. Angela, huh? Nice name, I guess.”

“And she wants to meet you.”

Roy takes a deep breath. Holds it. This wasn’t something he expected. The doctor was supposed to talk to Heather.
Talk
to her. Meetings weren’t until the future, that’s what they had agreed upon. But a kid. A daughter.

“When?” he asks.

“Whenever we can arrange a time and place. She’s got school, but there are weekends, there are evenings.”

“Can you do it?” says Roy.

“I can, but you should really be the—”

“Do it,” Roy says. “You set it up, and I’ll see her.”

There’s a park two miles away from Roy’s house. It’s got swings, it’s got benches, it’s got a castle up on a hill. A nice park, a good place to meet. This is where Dr. Klein decided to have the meeting. This is where he’s going to bring Angela.

She’s coming in by train, Roy knows, but he didn’t want to pick her up. That was an option the doc gave him. Pick up your long-lost daughter at the train station. Something about it didn’t work for Roy. Made him feel odd. Lots of people at a train station, no room to move. To maneuver. He prefers this meeting in the park. It’s open. There are bushes here, places to go if he gets sick.

Roy arrives early. He didn’t tell Frankie about the meeting. It didn’t seem right, but he didn’t tell him. Maybe once it’s over, Roy figures. Maybe then, when he’s already met his daughter—Angela—when he’s already met Angela, then he can tell his partner about her. That he’s got a kid. Until then, Frankie thinks he’s at a regular appointment with the shrink. That kind of thing he understands. Frankie’s mom was a good lady, a real nice lady who made them eat until they burst and never said a bad word about anybody. Then, five years ago, she started seeing things, screaming at the walls. Yelling at Roy when he’d come over, cursing at him. Calling him names. Talking filthy. So Frankie understands about shrinks. About pills. He just might not understand Roy having a daughter, that’s all. It can wait.

He takes a seat on a bench, wiping off the bird shit with a
handkerchief. Roy put on one of his best suits for this day, black with a yellow tie. The shirt is loose on him, bunching up at the waist where more of his stomach used to be. The collar is loose, too. Usually it pinches his neck, cuts off his air. Today, there’s an inch of space up there. Roy needs some new shirts, he knows, but he likes the feel of these big ones. Likes to feel the space.

Families running through the park. Kids running from their dads, laughing, screaming. Roy wonders if he missed that. Doesn’t feel like he did, but he knows he should. Maybe once she gets here, Angela will want to be chased around. What if she asks him to carry her piggyback? Roy doesn’t know what he’ll do.

As he waits, Roy takes stock of the other people in the park. A few singles, like him, walking along by themselves, jogging, bird-watching. For each one, he instantly comes up with the perfect con. Can’t help himself. The lady over by the duck pond would be an easy touch for the covered-message scheme. Young man under the tree, a perfect setup for the Spanish Prisoner. Run the twenties on any of ’em. Roy thinks Klein would fall for nearly any con he ran. Shrinks play analytical, but they’re the easiest touch of all. Roy wonders what Angela’s hook will be. Is she the kind of girl who’d fall for long-con? Is she the kind of girl who’ll take off on short? Would she rat? Would she fold? Until he knows these things about her, he won’t understand her. After he knows these things about her, there’s no need to understand her. He feels good today.

A sedan pulls into the parking area fifty feet away, and Roy knows without looking that it’s Klein’s car. It’s the kind of thing he would drive, the kind of thing a man in his situation wants to drive. Not too flashy, but comfortable. Proper.

Dr. Klein steps out of his car, sees Roy, and waves. Roy waves back. The windows on the car are tinted, but Roy can see a wash of hair inside the passenger seat. Heather’s hair. Long, thick. For a moment, Roy thinks Klein’s brought his ex-wife along, and suddenly he’s off the bench, on his feet, looking for a tree, a bush, as the vomit rises in his throat—

A girl. Not Heather, just a girl. She steps out of the car, long auburn hair pulled into a ponytail. Shorter than Heather, better posture. Delicate features, pert nose, eyebrows arched in confidence. Slim figure, long legs for her height, budding breasts, and Roy thinks how beautiful she’ll be when she’s all grown-up, that she’ll be just the kind of girl that he likes. He stops. Closes his eyes, shuts it out. Daughter. She’s his daughter.

When he looks up again, they’re closing in. Angela walks next to Klein, not shy, not overly anxious, just walking. She catches Roy’s eye and smiles, her lips turning up, dimples poking in. Roy tries to find something of himself in her. The ears, maybe. The lips. He’s not sure. He doesn’t know his own face that well.

“The traffic,” Dr. Klein begins, looking at his watch, “it was … there was a mess down at the station.”

“No matter,” says Roy. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You haven’t been waiting long?”

“No, no, forget about it.”

Klein steps back, puts a hand on Angela’s shoulder. “We’ve been having some good discussions on the way over,” he says. “Roy, this is Angela.”

The girl sticks out her arm, thrusts it right out there, and Roy grabs and shakes. Her hand is small inside his, a plum in his fist, and he wonders if it was even smaller once. What that would have felt like.

“Good to meetcha,” says Angela. Her voice is high. Perky. Roy thought it might be this way. Heather spoke this way.

“Yeah, yeah, good here, too. You sound—you sound a little like your ma.”

“Yeah?” says Angela. “Everybody says I sound like Lisa McPherson.”

“I dunno,” Roy says. “Who’s that?”

“Girl who went to my school a while back. She does the news now on Channel Nine.”

“And you sound like her?”

“Guess so. That’s what people say, anyway.”

Dr. Klein steps between them. “I’ve got a three o’clock back at the office—I’m sorry to take off like this—”

“It’s fine,” Roy says. “We’ve got it from here.”

Klein smiles, pats Roy on the back. Most people don’t pat Roy on the back. Not more than once. But Roy doesn’t say anything. Klein didn’t mean anything by it. “She’s got a train back home at eight o’clock. If you need me to—”

“I can get her there,” Roy says. “I can take her. If that’s okay …”

“Sure,” Angela squeaks. “That’s great.”

Dr. Klein shakes Roy’s hand, shakes Angela’s hand. Waves and walks away. Back to the car, guns it up. Roy watches as the sedan pulls out of the parking lot. Watches it go down the street. Easier to look away than to start the conversation.

“So,” Angela says. “You’re my dad.”

“Guess so,” says Roy. “That’s what—that’s what Doc Klein found out.”

“Cool. Thought I didn’t have one, you know.”

“Your mom didn’t tell you about me?”

Angela shakes her head. “She told me you were dead.”

Roy swallows. “Oh. I see.”

“I mean, I saw pictures and all, but I didn’t know.… I figured that was that, and so I didn’t think about it much.” She looks up at Roy, who is having trouble looking back. “Hey, you wanna go on the swings?”

Roy doesn’t fit too well in the swing seat, but he grabs tight onto the metal chain and pushes off. Angela’s already flying back and forth, legs whipping through the wind. “That doctor guy was nice.”

“Doc Klein?” Roy says. “Yeah, he’s a good egg.”

“We talked on the drive over. After the train.”

“ ’Bout what?” asks Roy.

“ ’Bout stuff. His wife.”

“He’s got a wife?” Roy asks.

“Uh-huh. You didn’t know that?”

Roy shrugs. “We mostly talk about me. When I see him. What’s her name?”

“His wife? Lily,” says Angela. “He showed me a picture. She’s pretty. And we talked about how things are going, what my mom’s like, what she says to me, what she does. I asked him some about you, that sorta thing.”