A Changed Man

by Francine Prose

For a while they’re both cracking up. They can’t even look at each other. Then they exchange quick glances, shrug, and start laughing again. Vincent’s laugh is one part surprise, one part relief, one part embarrassment, one part what-the-hell. This could so easily have gone another way. The kid could have decided to make Vincent’s life difficult. But what could he do? Report him to the cops? Tell Mom he caught Vincent helping himself to his drugs? He’ll have to bite the bullet.

  Vincent says, “You want me to put this bud back? Just say the word.”

  Danny says, “Nah, keep it. Now that you’ve gone to the trouble.”

  Vincent replaces the can and the book. This should not be happening. Bonnie trusts him to be a role model. How does it look for a cultural hero to be stealing drugs from a kid? How would it look to the charity donors, to Laura and Larry Ticknor? To the readers of People?

  Vincent owes it to the kid to act like an adult, since there are so few around him. From Danny and Max’s point of view, the dad is a total zero. Thanks to the doc’s middle-class, midlife, walking nervous breakdown, he’s more immature than they are.

  “Hey, man, I’m glad it’s you,” Danny says. “I heard the noise in here and—”

  Once again, the kid looks freaked. Like he did when he walked in the room. And Vincent feels even more certain that it’s not about catching him with his hand in the cookie jar. Vincent decides to play it cool. The kid will tell him when he’s ready.

  “Who did you think it was?” Vincent’s been getting along with the kid. And now the situation they’re in—Vincent and Danny busting each other—is what you might call a bonding experience.

  “No one. I don’t know.” Danny leaves the room to avoid watching Vincent hop down from the bed.

  Vincent finds him in the kitchen, grimly working his way through a bag of potato chips.

  “Aren’t you home early?”

  “How come you’re home?” Danny says. “How come you’re home at all?”

  “Didn’t your mom tell you not to answer a question with a question? I needed a day to catch up. I have to pick up the van from the garage.”

  “She’s letting you drive the van?”

  “As I understand it,” Vincent says, “the lady had no choice.”

  “Whatever. Want some chips?”

  Vincent doesn’t. A heap of them came with his tuna fish sandwich. But he takes a big handful, which seems only sociable, the friendly thing to do with a kid who’s just found you dipping into his stash.

  Vincent and Danny eat their chips, until, at the same moment, they notice how loudly they’re crunching, and laugh again.

  “Crispy,” says Danny.

  “Right.” Vincent wonders if the kid’s high. “Want to come with me to pick up your mom’s car?”

  “I still can’t believe she’s letting you drive the van.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?” says Vincent. Once, Bonnie might have hesitated to turn over the car keys to the Nazi houseguest. But that’s not what Vincent is anymore. He’s Brotherhood Watch’s new hero. To say nothing of the fact that he’s a guy who, not long ago, Bonnie seemed ready to have sex with. Would you want to sleep with a guy you wouldn’t let drive your car? Actually, lots of women would. Women are insane.

  “Maybe your mom trusts me. Maybe she’s figured out I’m a better driver than she is. Maybe I’ve been driving since I was fifteen, and I’ve never had an accident except hitting a couple deer.”

  “Fine,” says Danny. “Just don’t tell her you drove me anywhere.”

  “I got that,” Vincent says. “Believe me. Without your having to tell me.”

  “We’d never hear the end of it,” Danny says. “She doesn’t want me getting in a car with anyone but her. But she won’t admit that. She talks about our family situation not working unless we all know where everybody is every minute of the day. It’s like Soviet Russia around here—”

  “Give your mom some slack, okay?” Poor Bonnie. Not a minute goes by when she’s not worrying about her kids, and they think that makes her Stalin.

  Danny says, “Actually…you know what? Earlier, I was thinking I’m glad she’s my mom. Because I’m pretty sure she’s going to be on my side about this nightmare at school.”

  “What nightmare at school?”

  “They hated my Hitler paper.” Is that why Danny is so upset? He must take this school stuff seriously. He seems more fried than you’d expect just because a teacher didn’t like his paper.

  “What happened? Wait, don’t tell me. They don’t want you thinking about Hitler.”

  “They don’t want me thinking about gay people,” said Danny. “They think saying Hitler might have been gay is an insult to gay people.”

  “The fact that he was human is an insult to the human race,” Vincent says.

  “That was sort of my point,” Danny says.

  “Tell it to the judge,” Vincent says. “Hey, I know. I’ve been there. I put in some hard time in various principals’ offices. Well, there’s nothing you can do. We better go get the car. The garage guy’s closing early so he can take his kid to a dirt-bike meet.”

  Danny and Vincent hit the street like a pair of TV detectives tearing out of the station house after a break in the case. Vincent wonders about the people—moms with strollers, nannies, senior citizens—they pass on the way to the garage. Do they assume he’s a regular guy and Danny is his son? Unless everyone in town knows everything. Vincent has no way of telling. They might know Danny’s whole history, and everything about Vincent. No reason to get paranoid. Just earlier, he was on this same block with zero paranoia. It’s the kid who seems paranoid. He keeps looking back over his shoulder.

  They pass the church where the billboard says: HONOR YOUR MOTHER.

  “Honor your mother,” Vincent says to no one in particular.

  “They mean Mother Earth,” says Danny.

  “When did they change it from the last message? The Tomb Is Empty. Maybe they should combine it. Your Mother’s Tomb Is Empty.”

  “This town sucks,” Danny says. “It’s a dump. Some days it looks pretty, like today. But underneath—”

  “Enjoy it while you can,” says Vincent. “It might take you twenty years to be able to afford a house in a dump like this.” It might take the kid his whole life, but Vincent decides not to mention downward mobility. No reason to depress them both on this lovely afternoon. Not that the kid would listen to him or know what he’s talking about. Whatever’s going on at school is all the future he can imagine.

  Neither speaks again till they get to JZ’s. Vincent sees Bonnie’s car on the lot, looking fixed and ready to go. He feels a rush of tender emotions for the van, as if it’s a toddler he’s picking up from nursery school.

  Vincent likes JZ right away. He’s a good-natured, hardworking stiff just trying to get along and keep his garage afloat. He hasn’t got time to wonder why Vincent’s picking up the car for Bonnie, if he’s some kind of servant or assistant or gigolo, or what.

  “I’m here to get Bonnie Kalen’s car.”

  “Right. So she said.” JZ believes Vincent. No ID check, no searches, no long looks. Vincent would prefer to think that this is about clear communication rather than about this guy being so eager to leave on the trip with his kid that he’ll hand over Bonnie’s van to the first deadbeat who claims to know her.

  Anyway, Danny’s presence gives Vincent credibility. Having him along makes things more familial. Vincent’s a friend of the family, a friend helping out a friend. That’s partly why he asked the kid to come along in the first place.

  JZ gives Vincent the keys. The van starts up right away. Minus the warning light on the dashboard and the noise from under the hood.

  “Beautiful,” Vincent calls to JZ, who nods. He knows what he’s doing.

  “She’ll call you. She’ll bring in the check,” Vincent says.

  “Whenever,” says JZ.

  “I hope your kid wins the race,” says Danny.

  “Thanks. I’ll tell him
. Catch you later.” JZ goes back toward the office.

  “What do you say we try it out?” Vincent asks Danny. “Take it for a spin. A test run. See how she’s driving. We wouldn’t want your mom breaking down again in traffic.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” Danny agrees. “Just like we wouldn’t want her knowing we did this.”

  “No reason for her to know,” Vincent says. “It’ll just make her nervous for nothing. Hey, are you okay? You look a little spooked.”

  “No, I’m fine,” says Danny.

  Vincent eases the minivan out onto the streets of Clairmont. The bliss of being behind the wheel is almost hallucinatory. It’s freedom. It’s like the day he got his license. That was when his mom was making salad at the Zen monastery. The dishwasher, Ronnie, taught Vincent to drive in the monastery van. He took him for the road test both times. He even let him kidnap the van after he passed on his second try. Vincent was raised to steal cars! It’s not his fault he stole Raymond’s. That’s the way he should be thinking in preparation for Chandler. Nothing was ever his fault. He’s been through a lot. He suffered. Some pervert at those meditation camps was always grabbing his ass. But Vincent got over his problems. He was able to move on and change.

  Vincent’s enjoying the chance to imagine that this is his van, his life, his laid-back drive with his kid on the spring afternoon he’s taken off early from work, kicking back for a few hours before he heads home, where the missus is cooking dinner. Vincent can go two ways with this. He can wallow in self-pity because his real life isn’t like this. Or he can enjoy this moment of dropping into that life and not having to deal with the tedious parts, the mortgage, the taxes, the homework. He’s already doing the homework. He might as well have fun.

  Vincent rolls down his window. So does the kid. The air streaming in feels terrific. They’re silent, but Vincent senses that the kid has something to say.

  Finally, Danny says, “Did you hear about the Bulgarian baby?”

  “Is that the first line of a joke? Is that what you guys are telling now? Bulgarian baby jokes?”

  “Right. A joke. I wish. Did you hear that Dad and Lorraine are adopting a Bulgarian baby?”

  “I was there when you told your mom, remember? Very diplomatic.”

  The thought makes Vincent want to gag. That is so like those middle-class idiots, adopting a designer Bulgarian baby when there are millions of perfectly healthy American kids, white kids, without homes. To say nothing of the fact that the guy already has two kids, one of whom is getting stoned daily and no one seems to notice.

  Vincent feels a familiar vibe emanating from Danny. It reminds him of how the atmosphere got when some chick was about to cry, and there was nothing he could do. Vincent’s glad he never had kids. Women are hard enough.

  Vincent says, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” says Danny. “As long as I don’t have to answer.”

  “When your mom and dad split up, was there a big custody battle?”

  “No,” Danny says. “My dad signed some papers. The lawyers met. It took about five minutes.”

  Not exactly what Vincent imagined: the cardiologist rolling over. Maybe the doc feels guilty. So here comes the Bulgarian baby.

  Vincent drives for a while. Scales of sunlight bounce off the Hudson and give the air a silvery gleam. The road curves through a patch of forest. The kid loves it. Who wouldn’t? Vincent feels Danny shedding some of the tightness he brought back from school. But he’s still hiding something. He’s got something to say. And he wants to say it before the drive is through. Go ahead. Spit it out. Vincent’s all ears. To be here for the little pip-squeak is the least he can do.

  Finally Danny says, “Today when I got home from school, there was this guy parked in the driveway.”

  “What kind of guy?” says Vincent. Very calm, very cool.

  “Pickup truck,” says Danny.

  “And?”

  “Swastika on his right hand.” So that’s what’s been bugging the kid. Everything becomes clear. Vincent’s got to give him credit for not blurting it out the minute he walked in the house. Where was Vincent when all this was going down? Inside, taking a nap.

  “Got the picture,” says Vincent. “What did he want?” What a stupid question. Raymond wants Vincent dead.

  “He said to tell you he knows where you are.”

  “Obviously,” says Vincent.

  “Is this guy going to kick your ass?” says Danny.

  “He could try.” Vincent likes the unperturbed, Clint Eastwood– like way he sounds.

  “Does that scare you?” Danny asks. Talk about stupid questions. Does Danny think Vincent’s looking forward to getting his ass kicked? Anybody would be scared knowing there’s somebody out there who wants to hurt you, somebody sneaking around so you’ll never know when he’ll jump out of the bushes. Sure, he’s scared. Danny knows about being scared. Danny knows it better than anyone.

  Vincent checks his rearview mirror. Not a car on the road as far back as he can see. He would have noticed if they were being followed, especially by a pickup. Raymond was in their driveway. While Vincent slept in the house. Vincent wonders if this is how Maslow felt, dodging one bullet after another.

  “Shit,” says Vincent.

  “You said it,” says Danny.

  The Warrior does not admit to fear in the presence of a child who is looking for a model of adult male behavior. Bonnie would say that Vincent was wrong, that men should admit they’re scared. Let Bonnie see how useful it is to admit it when Raymond shows up. I’m scared. Please don’t hurt me. Why is Vincent having a conversation in his head with Bonnie?

  “What the hell. It was bound to happen. The past has a way of catching up.”

  Vincent can tell that Danny’s impressed. He doesn’t think it’s macho bullshit. He thinks Vincent is being brave. He thinks Vincent is a guy who runs toward danger instead of away. Which must mean Vincent is that guy. And what does Vincent get out of this? A second chance to die for World Brotherhood Watch.

  “Why is he after you?” Danny says.

  “They don’t like people to leave the fold,” Vincent says. “It makes them feel rejected. No one likes anyone to leave. That’s why everything is so much harder to get out of than get into. Marriage, for example. Anything involving another human being. Any kind of organization. It’s like one of those joke Mexican finger traps. You can put your finger in, but you can’t get it out. Like some giant roach motel.”

  “Life’s a roach motel,” says Danny. “Man, how true is that? So what now? Do they still want you in their organization? After you’ve left, and done the stuff you’ve done, I’d think they wouldn’t trust you.”

  “Who said anything about their wanting me back? That’s not how they operate. There was this guy in Wyoming ARM who never really believed it all in the first place, but he needed a place to stay, and he sort of got with the program….” Vincent’s embroidering now. He’s talking about himself. He knows nothing about the Wyoming guy, except the next part, which is true. “Anyway, five, six, guys came after him, and they sat him down and talked to him about how he’d screwed up. It’s what they refer to as putting someone in the hot seat. And then—” He pauses a beat, for emphasis. “Then they cut off three of his toes. Nice, huh?”

  “Gross. But I don’t get it,” Danny says. “If you’ve stopped thinking the way they think, why don’t they cut you loose and forget it?”

  The strangest sensation comes over Vincent, the urge to tell someone, anyone. This kid would be perfect. He’s an innocent. He’s got no power. He wants to hear the truth. It will feel great to say it. Vincent wants that clean five minutes of having everything off his chest. This must be the reason Catholics line up in church every Sunday morning.

  Vincent says, “You know how earlier this afternoon you caught me in your room and we laughed and let it go because I was just borrowing one marijuana bud? Remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember. That was an hour ago.”

/>   “I took some stuff from my cousin. And let’s just say it was a little more than one bud.”

  “Got it,” says Danny. “What did you take?”

  “A truck. Some money.” No need to mention the drugs. It’s not that Vincent feels especially guilty or embarrassed about the medication. He just doesn’t want to be the first person to introduce the kid to the wonderful world of pills, even though half his friends are probably abusing Ritalin.

  Danny thinks for a minute, then says, “What happened to the truck?”

  “Broke down on the way to the city,” says Vincent. “My luck. I had to ditch it and take the bus.” He doesn’t like lying to the kid, but on the other hand, hearing that Vincent is keeping his escape route open might not be the best thing for Danny’s already wobbly sense of security and well-being. How would it look if first the dad and then Vincent just, one day, took a hike? What kind of model would that be of adult male behavior?

  “How much money?” Danny says.

  “What?”

  “How much did you take?”

  “Let’s just say it was more than one bud.” Vincent laughs. “It was a bad move. I see that now. I shouldn’t have done it, okay?”

  Danny considers this for a while. Runs through the implications. But it’s too much for him to process. He doesn’t ask again how much money. The kid’s had a hard day. They both have.

  “Shouldn’t we go home?” Danny says.

  “Definitely,” says Vincent.

  WELCOME. You’re the first to arrive. Would you care to go to your table?”

  Rendered speechless by the beauty of the receptionist, a smoldering gypsy in a pigeon-colored suit, Bonnie nods and is ushered past Scopello’s famous Wall of Fish, a cascading cornucopia of ice lit by the atrium skylight and studded with fat pink snappers, iridescent flounder, lobsters the size of lap dogs. Everyone’s come to eat fish with shiny eyes, and though the cost of lunch will be over the top for Brotherhood Watch, Bonnie’s betting that just being here will make Laura Ticknor feel happy and generous.

  Bonnie stops and stares at the Wall of Fish, as she is meant to. The receptionist is used to it. She pauses a few feet ahead. Calamari will be least likely to break the bank. Bonnie can’t waste the money they should be using to buy vaccines or free prisoners and spend it on sixty-dollar-a-pound wild Patagonian sea bass. But maybe Laura will. The important thing is to focus and not be distracted by the thought of Vincent picking up her van.