Wade’s pocket buzzer went off and he took a 3TC capsule swigged down with the dregs of a can of Orange Crush. He felt seasick and chalked it up to the monorail ride, now entering a large A-frame concrete building he’d seen on TV thirty years before. The hotel had once seemed like the future, and now it looked like … just another building. He’d never expected to see the structure in his lifetime, yet here he was.
The monorail stopped at the Magic Kingdom and they disembarked. Wade remembered his conversation with Beth before leaving for Disney World: ‘No freaky shit, got it? I don’t care what deal you set up for your dad, but you are not to be an accomplice. Do you read me? And I don’t care how much money we owe the fertility clinic or whoever – I don’t want you in the pen or on the lam. Read me?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Don’t eat junk food. You know what the clinic said about junk food.’
‘I know.’
Ted and Bryan stood in a patch of shade that lowered the temperature not even a smidge. Around them churned a foam of two-parent families. Wade got to thinking: How many of these fathers whispered like pigs into the ears of temps in the office supply room? How many were spending their noon hours in motels? And the mothers – how many were starting to drink Chardonnay with their lonely lunches in the kitchen? How many felt trapped and unloved? How many were almost sick with jealousy over ‘that bright young gal who’s just turned the marketing department upside-down with fresh ideas?’ – That bright young gal with a future as big as Montana and legs like Bambi’s mother’s?
His father’s voice interrupted his reverie: ‘So where do you know this Norm guy from?’
‘Kansas City.’
‘What does he do?’
What does Norm do? ‘Norm is Norm for a living. He’s based in Tampa now.’
‘He’s late.’
‘No, he’s not. We’re exactly on time – a slightly different thing.’
Pow! A parade burst out of nowhere, like a living room turning into a surprise party.
‘Give this place a mute button and it might be OK,’ said Ted. His voice picked up. ‘Geez, look at the knockers on Miss Mermaid.’
‘I never understood the deal with mermaids,’ Bryan said. ‘I mean, how are you supposed to actually do it with one? And I mean, she’s got a great rack and all, but she’s half fish.’
‘Bryan, she’s a goddamn cartoon, you moron.’ Ted was indeed not in a Bryan mood. Soon the two were focused on Beauty, floating by them, seated atop a mobile balcony along with Beast.
Where’s Norm?
Wade was feeling dizzy. The glare and the crowds were swamping him. I’m in Walt Disney World. I never thought I’d be here, yet here I am. No newspapers. No litter. No evidence of the world outside its borders – like a casino, really. Endless distractions. It could be 2001, it could be 1986, and it could be 2008. And all these young parents – so much younger than me – no old people save for Dad. A few bored and embarrassed teenagers. This is supposed to be life-affirming? This place is like some cosmic dream crusher. All you can get out of a place like this is a creepy little tingle that lets you know your kid is never going to be anything more than a customer – that the whole world is being turned into a casino.
‘Wade.’
It was Norm, a ponytailed beanpole, no child in tow, with skin the pale yellow color of those with overtaxed livers. He was carrying an attaché case, an item that stood out in Disney World like a machine gun. Norm motioned for Wade to follow him into an olde-time restaurant away from the throng. Wade grabbed Ted and Bryan and headed after Norm into the restaurant, where he’d already secured a table in the far corner.
‘Norm, this is my dad, Ted, and my brother, Bryan.’
‘Charmed.’ Norm made no effort to shake hands.
There was an awkward silent moment, and then Ted asked, ‘So, Norm, what is it you do?’
‘I follow in my father’s footsteps.’
‘What did your father do?’
Wade cut in, ‘Dad, I’m sure Norm doesn’t want to be job-interviewed.’
‘No, Wade. It’s OK,’ Norm said. He turned to Ted. ‘After World War II, my father made his living returning stolen artwork to its rightful owners.’
‘Decent,’ said Ted.
‘Yes. Very decent. Very noble. And you can just imagine the bargains and temptations and bribes that came my father’s way. And you know what? Not once did he ever succumb.’
‘Really now?’
‘Yes, Ted, really. And because of this nobility, we spent our lives in a two-and-a-half-bedroom Monopoly token of a house in one of Kansas City’s lesser suburbs.’
‘I see.’
A waitress in period costume broke in and demanded their beverage order. They ordered iced teas and she left.
Norm continued. ‘Fortunately, dear old Dad allowed me to escort him on many of his jaunts. I’ll never forget the day we returned a Rubens to a camp survivor who once owned a chain of department stores in Baden-Würtemburg. I become warm and verklempt every time I think about it. But that’s not too often, really.’
Four iced teas were plunked onto the table. From his attaché case Norm removed a flask of peppermint schnapps. ‘The favored beverage of teenagers around the world. It rots my gut, but leaves my breath minty fresh. Life is such a collection of little trade-offs.’
‘Go on,’ said Ted. ‘You were talking about your father.’
Norm finished spiking his iced tea. ‘Yes, well, dear old Dad let me come along on his trips, and the greatest gift he ever gave me was making a proud moral point of ensuring I knew who among his clientele were the biggest bribers, sleazebags and connections in the business.’ He sipped his tea. ‘A toast—’ The four men raised their glasses. ‘To dear old Dad.’ They toasted and then Norm’s face became almost wistful. ‘His Piper Cherokee hit a set of utility lines outside El Paso in 1981, after which I took over the family business. Needless to say, I do not live in a two-and-a-half bedroom Monopoly token house.’
Ted said, ‘The war ended over fifty years ago, Norm. You mean you can still do good business finding and returning loot after all these years?’
‘The war? Pffft. These days my job is to—’ He paused. ‘Find objects, find people, and then match them up.’
Bryan said, ‘So you’re not a drug dealer then.’
Norm howled. Ted slapped Bryan on the chest. ‘Christ, what a loser, Bryan. Keep your trap shut.’
Norm stopped laughing enough to say, ‘No, Bryan, no drugs.’
From across the restaurant came a commotion. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have an important announcement to make. Young Cicely at this table here is eight years old today. Please join us in singing her a very “Happy Birthday”.’ Young Cicely, flanked by two camera-crazed parents, bravely tried to exhibit enough pleasure to be worthy of the attention thrown her way. The restaurant, like everywhere else in the theme park, burst into song. At the song’s end, the patrons clapped, and Ted said to Norm, ‘This place is driving me apeshit. Norm, get to the point. Wade says you and he have some kind of caper I can help with.’
Norm cocked an eyebrow, stole a quick glance at Wade and said, ‘A caper! I haven’t heard that word since the last time I saw Faye Dunaway in a mink stole driving a pink Corvette into Mexico.’ He looked squarely at Wade: ‘Tell me about this caper, Wade.’
What an asshole. ‘You made your point, Norm. Tell my dad about this courier gig, and the sooner we’ll be out of here.’
Norm said, ‘Very well. Mr. Drummond, allow me to show you and your sons the artifact in question.’ From his attaché case he removed a clear, zippable sandwich bag. Inside it was a white greeting card envelope that was in turn protected between two screwed-together sheets of clear plastic. He sighed and handed it over to Ted, whose eyes immediately goggled.
‘Holy shit. Is this what I think it is?’
‘Yes, Ted, it is.’
Bryan said, ‘Lemme see it,’ and tried to grab it, but Ted swatted him on the knu
ckles with a spoon.
‘Ow! That hurt. Lemme see.’
‘Show some respect, you little twerp.’
Bryan looked at the envelope’s front. It read: Mummy. ‘Big deal. What is it – a map to some stolen Egyptian mummy or something?’
‘Oh, Jesus’ Ted was stilled with awe. Wade was in a form of shock, too.
‘What’s going on here?’ asked Bryan. ‘It’s just a Hallmark envelope with a card in it or something. Just a—’ He froze. ‘It’s from the funeral. It’s from the coffin … her coffin.’
Norm took the letter from Ted and placed it in his attaché case. ‘Yes, Bryan, it is.’
‘Lemme see it again.’
‘No.’
‘That is the real letter, isn’t it?’
‘I already told you, Bryan, yes, it really is. People don’t spend ten million dollars on fake letters.’
The Drummond men sat speechless as young Cicely across the restaurant sliced her birthday cake. Another song began, and Wade entered a trance. I shouldn’t be tired, but I am, and I have to slog through the rest of the day. And what the hell is Norm doing with a copy of that English William-the-Prince guy’s letter from his mother’s coffin? And why does Bryan have to be such a goof? And please, God, let Dad make his money and then let him run far, far away. The music in this place – it’s so loud and so blank. And my glands are so raw—
‘Wade?’ Bryan was shaking Wade by the shoulder. ‘You OK?’
‘I didn’t sleep last night.’
Ted spoke to Norm. ‘How do you know the letter’s real?’
‘Oh, please.’
‘Has it been opened?’
‘No.’
‘Why not X-ray it?’
‘We do not X-ray it because the envelope is part of the royal family’s custom stationery, made of bleached birch cellulose bonded on the inside with a titanium layer that keeps out both X rays and ESP. The letter inside might as well be encased in lead.’
‘What sort of person would buy a letter like that?’ Wade asked.
‘Wade, you of all people ought to know that people will pay just about anything for just about anything.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Tetchy, tetchy. The buyer could maybe be a rich class-obsessed Saudi who wants a social lift. The buyer could represent a faction hostile to England who wants to hold the letter ransom in return for a political favor. The buyer could be the heir to a lowend retail outlet chain who once fell in love with an Englishwoman. Who knows? Maybe it’s the Franklin Mint, and they want to own it so they can make licensed copies.’
‘It’s that Kraut in Lyford Cay,’ Wade said. ‘Isn’t it? Florian.’
‘You do have ESP, today, Wade. Maybe your powers can penetrate the envelope.’
‘What’s Lyford Cay?’ Bryan asked.
‘It’s the Richie Rich part of the Bahamas,’ Wade said.
Bryan wasn’t interested in this. He asked Norm, ‘Can’t you steam it open?’
‘No,’ said Norm. ‘Part of the ten-million-dollar price tag is the confidence that the letter’s message be known only to its owner.’
Ted asked, ‘How does a person even go about finding a letter like this anyway?’
‘She was cremated,’ said Norm. ‘The local crematorium was borrowed for the evening. There was chaos. Things slip through cracks. And so forth.’
‘Why would they cremate her? I thought she was buried on a little island in a lake.’
‘Bryan, do you honestly think the royal family wants DNA like hers lying around? The secret service most likely went through her boudoir to find her old toenail clippings to flush down the toilet. As for Prince Charles, well, they’re probably cloning him like a battery chicken. Royalty is either going to do very well with biotechnology – or it’s going to disappear completely. Regardless, we are Americans. Our very roots are nourished at their deepest levels with our disgust for the monarchy.’
‘It’s so sad,’ said Wade.
‘Oh, boo hoo. Just get it to the Bahamas for me by tomorrow night. You know where he lives.’
‘What’s our cut?’ asked Ted.
‘One percent of the take. Cash.’
‘We’ll do it,’ Ted said.
‘What do you mean “we”?’ Wade asked, more irked at how Dad had hijacked the proceedings than anything else. ‘Exactly whose gig is this?’
Ted said, ‘We’re all in on this, Wade.’
‘I think I’m feeling love in the air,’ said Norm, with a paternal smile.
‘Norm, why don’t you just take it there yourself?’ Wade asked.
‘Because, young Wade, the Bahamian gendarmes know me far too well. You know how nasty those Bahamians can become over a stack of, how shall I say, “unpaid parking tickets”. You three chaps will be my go-betweens.’
Wade was unimpressed. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’
‘Actually yes,’ Norm said.
‘I thought so.’
‘What is it?’
‘Well, the thing is’ – Norm lowered his voice an octave – ‘I’m not really supposed to have this letter.’
‘Don’t tell me – the people who actually own the letter – if ownership is even the correct word in this case – want it back.’
‘You might say that.’
Wade looked at his father and could tell from his eyes that he was already feeling solvent.
‘You three lads are going to have such fun,’ said Norm. ‘I gather you don’t socialize too often.’
‘When was the last time the three of us did anything together – just the three of us?’ Bryan asked.
‘Oh, geez—’ Ted hated this kind of question.
Wade said, ‘We went to see Diamonds Are Forever at the Odeon.’
Norm said, ‘You must be kidding. That movie came out in 1973, at least.’
Wade said, ‘Let’s be practical. How are we going to get to the Bahamas? If we’re going to go, I suggest we hop to it, because we can only fly there in sunlight. We should be driving to the east coast, pronto.’
‘How come you know so much about this stuff?’ Ted asked.
Wade said nothing.
‘Let’s just charter a jet from downtown,’ Bryan said.
‘Yeah, us and our triple-A credit ratings,’ said Ted.
Norm said, ‘I need to take Peter Pan to the men’s room and give him a severe shaking down.’ He stood up. ‘Wade, guard the case for me.’ Norm began to walk away.
‘Boy,’ said Ted, ‘he trusts you big-time.’
Norm turned around. ‘Wade is quite trustworthy, Mr. Drummond. You should give him a chance to display this trait.’ Wade smirked and then the power went off. Everybody froze.
Norm said, ‘A power failure – in Disney World?’
A hive-like chatter began to rise in the restaurant. Outside, the rides went dead.
‘You never think of power being a factor in a place like this,’ said Ted.
‘I know,’ Wade said. ‘It’s like the place is fueled by Tinkerbell’s pixie dust.’
‘Speaking of which, Peter Pan still needs his shakedown.’ Norm went to try and use the men’s room at the restaurant’s rear, but returned shortly. ‘Too dark.’
‘You’re afraid of the dark?’ Ted asked.
‘I am.’
‘I’m going to try and find a men’s room.’
Once he was out the door, Ted said, ‘He’s a freak.’
‘That freak is bailing you out of hock,’ replied Wade. ‘You could be a bit more polite, you know.’
‘How far away is the Bahamas?’ Bryan asked, ‘Is it near Mexico?’
‘It’s 120 miles east of Miami.’
‘That’s close,’ Bryan said.
The three sat and waited for Norm to return. In silence Wade contemplated the letter. What could it possibly say? I miss you. I had things to tell you I never said. Come back. Don’t leave me like this.
A waitress said they’d have to wait for power to order
food. Minutes passed. Wade was becoming aware of how the three were utterly uninterested in one another’s company. Beth had once said that males within a family were never really close with one another; it was only with women that intense family relationships were born. Wade saw what she’d meant.
The power came on and the restaurant’s guests clapped. Wade said, ‘I’m going to go find him.’ In the nearby men’s room Wade found only a dad changing a diaper and a teenager washing his hands; the bank of toilet stalls was empty. He asked the dad if there had been a guy with a ponytail in there recently, and the reply was no. He looked for and found the next nearest men’s room. No Norm inside. Then, down Main Street USA, he saw a small crowd clustered around something; Wade immediately knew the something would be Norm. He pushed his way through the crowd to find a doctor on holiday with her family, crouched by Norm’s body, saying, ‘He’s dead.’
‘Dead?’
The woman looked at him. ‘Are you related?’
The last thing Wade wanted was an association with Norm. ‘No – it’s just that people don’t actually die in a place like this, do they?’
‘This guy did. Cardiac, it looks like.’
Wade quickly scooted back to the restaurant. He sat down with the gravity of a person bearing bad yet interesting news. ‘Guys, it would appear we’re now on our own.’ He grabbed the case and unclasped the lock.
Ted asked, ‘What are you talking about?’
Inside the case, sandwiched between the upper and lower lids of the case’s foam, were an empty schnapps bottle and the letter.
13
The last time the Drummonds had been together as a family was a warm June night in the 1970s. Ted and Janet Drummond were throwing a party for no other reason than that they owed one to a lot of people. They still had friends then, and they still cared a good deal about what their friends thought. The three kids were in high school, and Ted and Janet still thought of themselves as being younger rather than older.
All Families Are Psychotic Page 9