The Road Narrows As You Go (62 page)

Now Frank wore a tailored jacket over a white turtleneck that looked to be made of fine silk. His pants fell properly. He wore braided leather sandals. This surprised her, too, and the pedicure. This was the man she used to remind to take showers. He seemed to be
literally
a cleaner businessman now. She wasn't sure what to make of him, whether he meant to present himself as a New Age guru in this new outfit, or a movie director, maybe a mobster, or a penitent.

Bad timing, she said. My daughter's boyfriend is coming for dinner. I'm making risotto.

I don't need to stay long.

The hair, she said.

Oh. Yes, I went
bald
.

She took him to her drawing studio where
Orphans
sketches were strewn around a Cintiq tablet she used to polish, colour, and sometimes draw. How was your vacation?

Worst twenty months of my life. Is that coffee?

Yes, she said and fixed him a cup in her studio's mini-espresso machine, and they sat down at the table with their mugs both steaming and a plate of sweet biscuits she bought at a health food store.

Coffee is the Mona Lisa of drinks, said Wendy in an effort to make a toast.

What have you done for money all this time?

She just laughed at the word coming out of his mouth already. Well, she said and rubbed her wrist back and forth. First thing I did, I sold the Rolex. That's right. Ten thousand dollars goes a long way.

Cost
me
fifty …

Yeah, well, I also sell
Strays
and
Biz Aziz
and
Pan
originals. I had a trove of colour sketches Hick made of Peter Pan and Captain Hook and all the others, now I'm down to two or three, that's it. All sorts of comics
memorabilia. I used to post a list in the comic trade magazines, and later I switched to eBay. Lots of collectors in Japan. There was my record collection worth a mint, and rare toys and other original artworks, too. That's what I do. I sell stuff. Weren't you banned for life from banking?

Me? Yes, said Frank. I went straight into another prison. The doctor diagnosed me with a popular form of prostate cancer. I got hit with a nasty metastasized tumour. Instead of getting back even a shred of my previous life, I left prison and spent the next year and a half in and out of chemotherapy, round after round until my immune system was basically zapped to death.

I had no idea.

I saw scans of the tumour, Frank said. Like something from an H.P. Lovecraft story. Devastated me beyond words. Worse than prison. You'd think what could be more devastating than hearing a judge sentence you to five years. I was ruined by this cancer news. The idea of it growing inside me, just the idea almost killed me. My nerves were shot. My gut was in knots. My brain, fried. I couldn't count my own fingers. It was during this hell that I became acquainted with the best and worst of hospital beds, bedrooms, bedpans, and the true scope and scale of the American medical system and not to mention health care's influence over the economy. One revelation I had early on at Hexen was the sheer size of U.S. pension funds. And when I brought those pension funds into the high-yield market my leverage was outrageous. I was the unstoppable kingmaker. The only way to stop me was to ban me for life. So all of a sudden I saw how cancer research was the same. I'm taking experimental drugs and realizing cancer research is just like a hedge fund or private equity firm. I was terrified of being out of control of my own disease, of putting my investment in someone else's hands. I'm used to being the one in charge. It wasn't up to me if I succeeded in beating cancer, it was up to my doctors and the health care system. I saw that I was the unwitting customer of my own junk bonds, investing in cancer cures and rounds of
treatments that I didn't get enough time to research. I wondered what I should do if I lived. I decided I wanted to invest in my own cure. Wendy, that's what I do now. I got cancer and I
beat
cancer and now I invest in medical research looking for the cure.

How did you beat cancer? Wendy asked.

Well, one thing I did outside the therapy was I changed my diet. I used to eat three hotdogs a day and two hamburgers. Now I eat a ninety percent Ayurvedic diet and exercise at least two hours daily. I eat no red meat. No saturated fats. No processed foods of any kind. No more candy. As little modified corn as possible. Lots of steamed broccoli. Fresh fish. Kale. I published a cookbook last year.
An Appetite for Life
. I'll give you a copy. The data on Ayurvedic scores high. See, now I use Jonjay's formula to find the cure for cancer.

His formula …, she had almost forgotten about Jonjay's secret. What was it called?

Cancer is a panicked guess, too, Frank said. Like an evil Pac-Man, cancer eats your health and energy trying to find ways to survive against the guards of the body's maze. I think this is what Jonjay had been using his formula for all along. When I was testing it against the market, he was using it as a cure for death.

He finished his coffee and remarked on what he described as the narcotic beauty of the view through the picture window that took up the entire south-facing wall of her studio and continued on into the living room. She sat across from this view on her drawing chair, and leaned on a stack of graphic novels. The ocean, the Olympic Peninsula on the horizon, the orange and white lights on the shores of Port Angeles, the waters changing colours, slate, cyan, blueberry, and the winds through the trees across the street, yes, you could say yes to this, too.

Ever see whales?

Oh sure, grey ones, humpbacks, orcas. And on July Fourth I watch the fireworks go off across the water.

I see that for your exile you chose paradise.

I didn't
choose
exile, she reminded him. And I was born here. The beauty is lost on me.

Mom? Are you home? Hey, Mom, can I borrow— Oh hi, who's
this
?

Frank stood and flattened his pants.

This is Frank, an old friend from San Francisco. Frank, this is my daughter, Essa.

They shook hands with genuine interest in each other, and then Essa stepped back and studied Frank with an ambivalence not typical of this teen with a generally unskeptical interest in men. But in this cute reticence, she showed she was maybe attracted to the latent father figure in his composure.

Frank was about to tell me why he's in Victoria, Wendy said. Do you want to stay and hear Frank's story?

Okay, said Essa with some uncertainty and sat on the free chair in the corner.

Frank happens to be a genius. You don't meet a genius every day, do you? Go ahead, Frank. Tell us what brought you here.

My health, he said. My good health.

He's going to cure cancer, said Wendy.

Really?

You know, Essa, you have your mother's eyes. You're a lucky girl to have such a talented mom.

When does your boyfriend get here? Wendy said.

His name is
Tom
and not for another half-hour, Essa said and then asked if she could borrow her mom's favourite Rolex to wear tonight and Wendy blushed hard at Frank and said yes, she could, and to take a sweet biscuit with her.

Essa muttered, Is
he
staying for dinner?

His name is
Frank
and yes.

Mom
. Essa had her fingers in her mouth, her eyes were fiery slits.

I'd love to stay, I mean, if it's no trouble, said Frank to Essa.

No trouble at all, Wendy answered.

Mom. Oh my god. Essa stomped away growling and clawing the walls as she ran down the hall to her room.

After the bedroom door slammed shut, Wendy turned to Frank and said, I don't know what to do with her. She's at that age when everything I say in front of strangers blows her cool. But if she can have her
new boyfriend
over for dinner, I can very well have an
old
one.

Who is … her father?

Nobody I know. I keep meaning to tell her I'm not her real mom, but she still doesn't know I adopted her.

Oh. But you two look so much alike …

Every time I look at her I still see the sweet baby who slept on my chest and cried so much for the breastmilk my boobs couldn't deliver. When I adopted her the prison doctors called her a crack baby, but I never saw signs, except maybe clairvoyancy. She got more As in school than I ever did. Knows how to walk the tightrope. Can juggle. Card tricks, ballet, modern improvised dance choreographer. Volleyball. Loves to ski. Never had school ski trips in my day. Piano, guitar. Helps her friends make all their Halloween costumes. Ballet at least comes in handy later in life, I'm told.

Sounds like your daughter wants to join a circus.

More like the circus wants to join
her
. Writes and performs skits with friends. Memorizes lines from
Spin City
. Reads a magazine called
Beer Frame
. Knows all the songs on
The Simpsons
. She's a Broadway musical in the form of a twenty-first-century child. I can't keep up. She told me he's mature for his age.

Who?

Her
boyfriend
. A high school dropout apparently now of college age loafing around the city picking up sophomore chicks. Sounds real mature.
When Tom arrived an hour later, Essa ran to answer screaming
I'll get it!
Wendy's daughter and the boy then stood at the door for what felt to Wendy like many minutes too long talking and being quiet probably kissing before they presented themselves to her and Frank in the living room.

Mom, this is Tom, Essa said. This is …

Frank stood up and shook the young man's hand and introduced himself.

Hey, man, how's it going? said Tom in a bongwater drawl. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and turned to Wendy and said, Hiya, Miss Auer. Thanks for having me over. I'm a big fan of your eBay site. I was just saying to Essa I can't believe how much cool shit you've got.

Essa blushed and Wendy said she hoped he liked mushroom risotto because that's what they were having.

He said, Never heard of it but I bet I'll love it.

Tom was fair haired, strong boned, he had an imperial nose, full lips, a dimple on his chin, and whiskers that did not amount to a beard. Over one shoulder he carried a canvas pack loaded to the seams as though he'd just returned from distant travels. With his dark tan, he could pass for a bleach-blond Aladdin. Wendy thought it was cute Essa's boyfriend looked like the kind she used to crush on back when she was that age. A flavourful teen boy whose hair was all his own and whose eyes shone clear with innocent curiosity. Essa was safe with this boy; she had nothing to be afraid of from this darling adolescent, she thought. A respectably flaky youngster for her daughter to date, she decided.

Hi, Tom, Wendy said brightly. Nice to finally meet you. Essa raves.

Your daughter's the coolest girl, Tom said.

You don't have to say that, Tom.

Mom
. Essa rolled her eyes. His name is
John
.

What? All this time I've been hearing
Tom
. Okay. Okay, sorry, John.

Hey, no worries. Thanks for having me over for dinner. I'm starving.

Essa asked if she and John could hang out in her room before dinner and Wendy said yes if they kept the door open.

Oh my god, said Essa on her way out. She did not keep the door open. The volume went up on her stereo to drown out their voices.

Frank commented that they made a cute couple, didn't they, and Wendy shed a tear that stuck to the side of her eye. What's the matter? Frank said.

Nothing. Just … I miss sex.

He seems androgynous enough.

He seems real fine.

Had no idea you raised a daughter. She's got an epic personality, just like you.

Just as Frank placed his hand on Wendy's face, Essa came back out to the living room and stood in front of them and announced that John was staying the night. He didn't have any place else to go.

No way, he isn't staying here, Wendy said and took a step away from Frank. You're fifteen. You can't have a boy sleep over.

Jesus, Mom. What do you think I am, a child?

Don't start with me, not right now. Let's have a nice dinner together. We can talk about this later.

Later? Like when? He needs a place to sleep. He'll sleep on the couch.

Go tell your friend Tom or John to wash his grubby hands and come to the table. We're eating soon.

I'm only eating if he stays the night, Essa said.

Fine then, dinner's cancelled.

You're just being mean for no reason. He has nowhere else to
go
.

You're my daughter and I'm telling you it's inappropriate.

I'm
not
your daughter! Essa screamed at Wendy. What do you think, I don't know how to use the Internet? Don't you think I'd ever wonder why my middle names are Mole and Deattur? My real mother is
in prison for life
.

Oh my god, Wendy said. Oh my god, I'm sorry. It's true. I wanted to tell you, but how, but when? I gave you those names so you would always know. I promise. Why else would I give you her whole name? So you'd know.

But how did you—? When did—? I don't—

Mother and daughter both let out sobs now, and then Essa turned and ran from the room groaning and locked the door to her bedroom, where Tom or John was waiting. Wendy followed but then after some time gave up her vigil and went back to her studio. She and Frank sat in awkward silence as they listened in vain to the mumbled voices in Essa's bedroom.

That wasn't how I expected it would happen, Wendy said.

I'm sorry, said Frank. I'm so sorry. This is my fault.

They sat and waited. Ten minutes later, when the chill seemed to have left the air, Wendy went back and gently knocked on the bedroom door. Essa? Do you want to come out for dinner and we can talk? Essa?

Wendy knocked. She knocked harder and still got no answer. Essa! Tom? Essa? Are you in there? Frank! Oh no, what's he done to her?

It took two blows, one good kick and a shoulder for Frank to break the door open. Her bed was unmade but no one was on it. The closet was empty. Behind the dresser? There was nowhere else to hide. They were gone.