Stranger in Dadland (9 page)

Once she was convinced that I wasn’t dead or dying, Mom said, “I keep thinking I hear Ditz’s toenails on the kitchen floor.” Then she felt bad for saying that and apologized for making me sadder than I probably already was. She said she hoped that Ditz’s death wasn’t ruining my trip and that I was having some fun in spite of it all. “Ditz-wouldn’t want you to be unhappy,” Mom choked.

I told her I was having a great time.

When I went back into the living room, Dad told me there was a message from Iris and she’d left me her phone number. He raised his eyebrows at me. I couldn’t say the call was about him and Cora, so I let him think Iris liked me. I wondered if that sort of thing impressed him.

But I didn’t call Iris back. Three days down. Four to go.

The phone woke me the next morning. I stumbled into the living room. Dad, in his jogging clothes, was pacing as he talked. He held up the coffeepot, offering me a cup. Of
coffee?
What the heck. I nodded as if I drank it every day.

But then Dad handed me the phone and said, “It’s Liz.”

“Now who’s dead?” I asked her, too groggy to actually panic.

“Jet!” she said. “At least I
wish
he was! Do you know what he said, the creep? You won’t
believe
it!”

“Jet?” I asked, tasting my coffee. Awck! Added more sugar, more cream. “Your boyfriend Jet?”

“Oh,
please!
How could I have been so
stupid?
” Liz said. “When I told him about cremating Ditz, do you know what he said?”

“What?”

“He said it was a waste of dog! Said we should take her to a
taxidermist!
Have her stuffed in a mean pose and stick a barking cassette inside her to scare away burglars! He thought that would be
cool!
He thought it was
funny!
”

“It is a
little
funny, Liz,” I said.

Dad winked at me. He was smiling. Liz must’ve told him about it too.

“It is not a bit funny, John! How can you even
say
that?”

“Liz,” I tried, “that’s why you
liked
Jet! Because you said he doesn’t think like everyone else. Shaved head, striped car, all that. He isn’t
predictable
and
boring!
Remember?”

Liz’s voice went cold. “I thought
you
, of all people, would understand, John.”

“Jet liked Ditz,” I told Liz. “I’m sure he didn’t say that to be
mean.
He was just being…
Jet!
”

“Yeah, well, if
that’s
who he was being, I hate him.”

I sighed.

When I got off the phone, Dad laughed out loud. “That’s rich!” he said. “Stuff the family pet!”

I was just about to smile—my face was halfway there—when suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore.
The family pet
, as Dad had called her, was
Ditz.

Jet knew Ditz. He’d taken us to the vet last month when Ditz had hurt her paw and Mom wasn’t home. Jet had let her bleed all over the backseat of his striped car. He’d been the one to carry Ditz into the office. Dad hadn’t been there. He never even met Ditz.

“Who’s this Jet fellow?” Dad asked. “And what’s with the
name?
”

I got control of myself. “He’s Liz’s boyfriend,” I said. “At least, he was.”

“Did I hear you say he shaves his head? Our Liz is a classy gal,” Dad said. “She can do better than a guy like that!”

I was glad Dad thought Liz was classy; I’d have to tell her that. But he didn’t know Jet. “He’s a nice guy,” I said. “I like him. We all do.”

Did I see Dad wince when I said
all?
Because the
all
-didn’t include him?

No, I must’ve imagined it.

Dad clapped his hands. End of Liz-Jet discussion. “
So
,” he said, “do you just want to stay here today? Swim with Beau?”

I shrugged. “What are
you
going to do?”

“Nothing. It’s Sunday.”

“You mean you don’t have to work?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“Not at
all?
”

Dad shook his head. “No.”

“No barbecues? Beach plans?”

Dad squinted at me. “Are you trying to tell me something here, Big Guy?”

I shook my head. “It’s just…you usually have a lot of stuff planned,” I stammered.

“Well, we
were
going to go sailing with Cora and some of her friends today,” Dad said. “But plans have changed.”

That made more sense. Of course Dad hadn’t
deliberately
left a day open for me—but still. “You mean we could do something, just
us?
” I asked.

“Sure,” Dad said, looking surprised. “Is there something special you wanted to do? You want to go for a drive? Or, I don’t know, horseback riding? Or there’s a batting cage up on Lexington.”

My dad was actually asking me what I wanted to do with him today. Him and me. I’m allergic to horses and I’m not much of a batter. But I didn’t want to wreck this. I tried to think fast—what do guys do with their dads? I mean normal guys. Go fishing? Hunting?

“You don’t play golf, do you?” Dad asked.

Ack!
This was it—the moment when we’d get to know each other, father to son. Man to man. But I couldn’t think of a
thing
to tell him about me! What
did
I like to do? My mind was blank. “I’m not too athletic,” I confessed, “except for swimming—and Jet taught me to Rollerblade.”

Dad lit up. “Rollerblade? No kidding. You any good at it?”

“Not bad,” I admitted.

“Think you could teach your old man? There’s a place that rents skates down on the pier.”

“Sure!” I said. “You bet!”

“Terrific! I’ve always wanted to try that,” Dad said. “I’ll just go for my run, take a quick shower, and we’ll be off.”

“Cool!” I grinned. Then I tried to grin a little less. I didn’t want to look like Ditz, wiggling with joy at the mention of a walk. I calmly sipped my horrendous, and now cold, coffee, as if going Rollerblading with my dad was no big thing.

Not two seconds after Dad jogged out the door, Beau showed up. I wanted to shoo him away, afraid Dad would
invite him along if he caught sight of him. But I also wanted to brag a bit.

Beau loped in and collapsed in a chair. “Wanna go to the corner, get something to eat?” he asked.

Actually, I was starving, but I wasn’t sure how long Dad ran, and if I was late, the whole plan might get screwed up.

“When my dad gets back, we’re going Rollerblading,” I said. Then I added, “Just
him
and
me.
”

“Well, that gives us forty-eight minutes,” Beau said, not taking offense.

Beau and his bottomless knowledge of my dad!

“So, whatcha think?” he asked.

“Well, let’s hurry, then!” I said, and I wrote Dad a quick note. I put it on the phone because for sure he’d notice it there. But then I froze, wondering if I should leave the door open for him or lock it.

“He’s got his key,” Beau said.

That was the last straw. “Why do you know so much about my father?” I asked, practically stamping my foot. “You’ve got your
own
father.”

Beau backed away, putting his hands up as if to fend off my punches. “Harsh!” he said. “Harsh words before breakfast!”

I felt like a jerk but I didn’t back down. “I
mean
it. I want to know.”

Beau scooted past me out the door and said, “Come on, let’s eat.” Then he pointed to the door next to my dad’s apartment. “Two fourteen, Beverly and Lou. Lou has
prostate cancer and has to pee into a bag he wears. Beverly works at a spa. She pours hot wax on ladies’ legs and armpits, and when it cools, she rips it off, yanking their hair out while they scream.”

“You’re kidding!” I said.

“For real,” Beau insisted. “Ever see signs that say
waxing?
That’s what it means!”

“Sheesh! Do you think that’s how Cora got rid of her eyebrows?”

Beau shrugged, then nodded toward
his
apartment. “Two twelve, my gene pool.”

At the next door he said, “Two ten. Martin Baxter. You seen him?”

I shook my head.

“Nervous guy. He sneaks in and out of his apartment. Acts like he’s being followed all the time. He’s got three locks on his door. I’ve been in there to feed his fish, and I’ve never seen anything worth locking up.”

“If he’s so nervous, how come he gave you a key?” I asked.

“Not a key,
three
keys,” Beau said, laughing. “Actually, I have the keys to six apartments here, not counting my own. Including two oh eight. Miss Candy Corn. She used to be a Vegas dancer and has sexy pictures of herself from the old days all over her walls. But that was eons ago. Now she’s a skinny old lady, but she still tans her hide at the pool every day from eleven till noon. It’s her yippy dog you hear sometimes. When she’s too tired to walk him, I do it.”

We got to the stairwell, and Beau said, “More?”

I wanted him to tell me about the rest, but I also got his point. “Can you do every apartment in the building?” I asked.

“Except the newlyweds in one oh three. They haven’t been here long and they keep to themselves.”

“I don’t know anything about my neighbors back home,” I told Beau, “except which ones have dogs or kids.”

“None of these have kids,” Beau said. “Me and my brothers, that’s it. In fact, this whole area is pretty much an old-fart zone.”

“Bummer,” I said, and Beau nodded. Then I remembered what we’d been talking about and I asked him how he’d describe the guy in 216.

Beau punched my arm, a little too hard. “Two sixteen? Nice guy. Dates pretty women. Misses his kids. A little shy.”

“Shy? He has more friends than anyone! He’s got parties and plans all the time…”

“I’m no shrink,” Beau said. “That’s just my impression. The guy can have friends and still be shy, can’t he?”

“Well,” I mumbled, “compared with you,
everyone’s
shy. Who else has the keys to six apartments beside his own?”

We got the same booth at the diner. Beau poured salt on the table again.

I wrestled with my pride for a while, then gave in and asked, “What makes you think he misses his kids?”

“Who? Two sixteen?”

I nodded, trying to look casual.

Beau shrugged. “He brags about them.”

Curiosity squelched whatever pride I had left. “
Both
of them?” I asked.

“Sure! He says his daughter is very gutsy and she’s in drama, theater, all that. He says she’s funny and doesn’t take any bull. And he says he has a son who’s smart and thoughtful and fair. Says he tries to see both sides of everything and would make a good judge.”

“Two sixteen said that?”

“He told me a story about his son getting clobbered by the older sister when he was little. And even while the kid was crying in pain he said, ‘She didn’t mean to hurt me
this
bad! She was just mad!’”

“He
told
you that?” I said.

Beau rolled his eyes. “Did I make it up?”

I poured some salt on the table and licked it off my finger. “Most kids see their divorced dads every other weekend, dinner on Wednesday, half the summer, Thanksgiving, Christmas vacation…” I frowned. “We see him a week a year. Period. And when Liz told him she wasn’t coming this time, he didn’t even squawk.”

“If he’d squawked, would she have come?”

I’d never asked myself that.

When we got back to our building, Beau stopped at his door and said, “See ya later.”

“What’re you going to do today?” I asked.

Beau shrugged. “Earn my keep, I guess.”

I bet Beau would have liked to go blading with us. But I shook off the thought.

When I got to my dad’s apartment, I heard him singing in the shower. The phone was ringing. I answered.

“Well, thanks for calling me back, Tin Man,” Iris said sarcastically.

“We were busy,” I said. “I didn’t have anything to tell you anyway.”

“What do you
mean
you didn’t have anything to tell me?”

“I mean my dad didn’t say anything about your aunt.”

“What do you
mean
he didn’t say anything?”

I was getting so tired of this that I didn’t even try to keep my voice from cracking. “Sorry, Iris,” I said. “I gotta go.”

“
Men!
” she spat, and hung up.

Dad came out in a towel. “Who was that?” he asked.

“Iris,” I admitted.

Dad laughed. “She’s really on your trail, isn’t she?”

“Actually, Dad, she’s on
yours.
She wants to know if you and Cora are going to make up.”

Dad raised his eyebrows, stuck a wad of toilet paper in his ear, and dug around in there. “Maybe she’s just using that as an excuse to call you,” he said. “People drum up all kinds of excuses to call each other. Happens all the time.”

I thought about that. Was it possible? “Nah,” I said. “She’s worried about her aunt.”

Dad shrugged. “Cora’s a nice lady,” he said. “She deserves better than me.” Then he smiled. I guess he didn’t feel too bad about being undeserving. I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t exactly rooting for Cora with her
four
cats and her elevator music.

“Beware of the kind of women who like to
help
,” Dad said. “At first they just cook for us, sew on buttons. But after a while, they want to pick out our clothes, change our haircuts, correct our speech, our thoughts.” Dad shuddered. “It’s not entirely their fault, though. I’m convinced it goes way back to the dolls they had as girls.”

“Huh?” I said.

“It became clear to me years ago,” Dad explained, “when Liz was about six. She held her Ken doll in one hand and
hopped him over to her Barbie. Liz made Ken say, ‘Hi! You’re cute. Want to get married?’ And Barbie’s answer was, ‘Sure! If you wear this!’ And she held up a Ken-doll outfit.”

I’d have to tell Liz that he remembered that. She might roll her eyes and call Dad a sexist, but still.

Dad got dressed and we headed out. Beau was nowhere to be seen. I was glad in a cowardly way.

“Was Mom one of those women, you know, who wanted to change you?” I asked Dad in the car.