Riches & Rags: Things are seldom as they seem.

by Camille Nagasaki

  We grab a bus on Fourth and head east. Margo is thrilled at the chance to ride a bus, and even Rory seems content to take in all the action.

  “So, you haven’t seen Pops in a long time.” I start, unsure how to word things.

  “Is Pops your dad or Daddy’s dad again?” Margo asks, tapping her chin with one finger.

  “My dad.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, Pops is a bit…eccentric, shall we say?”

  “What’s centric?”

  “He’s just different.” I picture my dad, shuffling about, with his unkempt hair and the lost look in his eyes. To say he’s a shadow of his former self is an understatement.

  Margo starts babbling on about how everyone is different, and apparently to confirm this notion, she starts singling people on the bus, pointing out anything from skin color to body shape to weird clothes. I would be mortified, but most riders have ear buds in and seem blissfully oblivious.

  We hop off at our stop, and within a couple minutes’ walk, we arrive at Dad’s building. To think my dad used to be well respected—he had a gorgeous house in Kits and a good life. Then he lost his wife, and consequently his mind; and this spiraled to the loss of his job as an electrical engineer, and finally, to the loss of the house. Now, he rents a modest one-bedroom in a subsidized building. I was always disheartened that Micky refused to support him. Micky dismissed him as a nut job. And maybe he is—but he’s still my dad. The last time I visited, Dad seemed to have trouble managing his daily life—like forgetting to eat, not grocery shopping, and not bothering with house work. I sigh at the sad thought of what he’s become.

  Here we go! I press the buzzer code and wait. No answer. Margo and I turn to each other and shrug. Then we’re buzzed in, just like that, without having to say who it is. How odd. We ride the elevator up and approach his door. I give Margo a firm reminder to keep her hands to herself and behave nicely. I knock and wait. How long has it even been since I’ve seen him? It’s been a couple years at least. We hear footsteps, and then the door opens, and there’s Dad!

  Only he’s not what I had expected. I stagger back in disbelief. The man greeting us is the man my Dad once was, only older.

  “Laney! Unbelievable! I thought it was someone else. How wonderful.” He comes forward and envelopes me with a warm, tender hug. I’m so taken aback, I barely return his embrace.

  “Dad?” I croak in disbelief.

  He appears to not hear me and turns his full attention to the girls. “Margo! My, how big you are. And this must be my precious grandbaby, Rory.” He swings Margo into one of his arms, and I quickly release Rory from her stroller and hand her over. Both girls grin and squeal with delight, and Dad disappears inside with them, leaving me out on the stoop.

  Thanks.

  I come in, close the door behind me, and begin to take inventory. The home looks impeccably clean… I can’t believe this. Countertops are clear, cushions are arranged, and an open window is letting in a soft, fresh breeze. Dad has sunk onto an area rug I don’t recognize, and is tickling the girls and chuckling and playing with them. His color is just right, his hair is clean and styled, and his clothes look pressed. What the hell is going on?

  Don’t get me wrong; I’m overjoyed. Or at least I will be when I have time to properly digest all this. But, I can’t help thinking these changes have come as a result of something. Has he joined a cult? Has he finally mourned my mom all he could and has just naturally moved on?

  “Laney?”

  “Huh?”

  “I said, would you like a drink?” he asks, standing and catching his breath.

  “Oh, uh sure. Whatever you have,” I say and follow Dad into the galley kitchen.

  Margo wanders around contentedly, inspecting everything, and Rory practices some rocking on her hands and knees; it won’t be long before she’s crawling.

  “Tea?”

  “Okay.”

  Dad opens the cupboard and proceeds to set up tea cups with saucers, milk and cream, and even a tray of what looks like freshly baked cookies. What the fuck? This is like a surreal twilight zone.

  “Dad,” I start, wanting to get to the bottom of this.

  “How’s life, Laney?” he asks, turning to me, his face attentive and familiar.

  Oh boy, where do I begin? “Fine, nothing new,” I say, avoiding his eyes. He hesitates, and then nods slowly, as though not totally convinced. “But more importantly,” I say, raising my eyebrow, “you seem to have a lot going on. Dad, I can’t believe how good you look.”

  Margo comes around the corner holding a ’65 Mustang model car. “Pops, this is so cool.”

  Dad abandons the tea and slides into a chair, pulling Margo onto his lap and showing her the car and explaining all the parts and functions. She shrieks with delight as he shows her the doors, trunk, and hood can open. I shake my head in confusion. His behavior with Margo is exactly the same as how it was with me when I was little—I can’t understand where this is coming from. I carry Rory over to see the car, and while the girls are distracted, I go for in for the kill.

  “Dad, what’s going on? You seem so different from the last time I saw you.”

  “That was a long time ago Laney,” he says, but doesn’t look up from the car.

  “Yes. I realize that. Is there…is there someone new in your life?” I ask, dreading the answer. Oh God, why did I even ask that? I don’t want to know the answer.

  Dad’s eyes lock with mine, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

  Holy Shit!

  “As a matter of fact, Laney, I do have someone new in my life.”

  “Oh?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

  “Yes, I’ll introduce you when he wakes up.”

  Did Dad just say he? HE? Dad’s GAY? No way! I feel faint. Did Mom know? Did Dad always know? Wait…does that mean he’s here? After all these years, I can’t believe it. Maybe that’s why he was so depressed, because he couldn’t be his authentic self. Maybe…

  “Don’t look so concerned, Lane. I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet you.”

  I gape at him, not having any clue of what to say or what to do next. “Dad…,” I squeak, “Dad, I didn’t realize…”

  “Realize what, honey?”

  Okay, now he’s playing dumb.

  “That you’re gay.” Duh!

  Dad frowns, and then laughs a whole-hearted chuckle.

  “Honey, I’m not gay.” He rolls his eyes and smiles.

  What? Not gay? “I don’t understand. Why, then, do you have a man sleeping in your bedroom?” I have a feeling we’re heading into uncharted territory.

  “He’s not a man. Lane, I adopted a son. I have a boy!” Dad announces, his voice overflowing with pride.

  I’m gobsmacked and stunned and—Oh My God!—I’m frozen in my seat. I dare not breathe, nor move, nor think.

  “He’s awake!” Dad says with a grin, and hops out of his chair and disappears down the hall at breakneck speed. My heart stops and I hold my breath in anticipation.

  “Who’s Pops’ boy?” Margo asks, coming over to me, wide eyed. I shoo her away; like I need to discuss this with a four—five-year-old!

  Dad rounds the corner, cradling someone covered by a thick blanket in his arms. Dad’s face is like a child’s bursting with some fantastic secret about to be revealed.

  I feel sick.

  “Laney,” Dad booms, “meet your new brother!”

  And with that, Dad pulls the blanket away, revealing…Oh. My God…revealing, a cheeky-looking VENTRILOQUIST PUPPET! My mouth drops open.

  “Yeah!” the dummy yells and does a fist pump in the air.

  “Is…is this some kind of sick joke?” I blurt out. Instantly I regret opening my big, fat mouth. Dad’s face has crumpled. I need to remember how fragile he is.

  “I…I’m sorry, Dad,” I stammer. I turn my attention to the emerald-eyed, wild-haired dummy, just as Margo comes forward with large eyes. She approaches the dummy with such care, and touches its han
d ever so lightly.

  “How’s it going, toots?” the puppet asks, boasting a New York accent of all things.

  I don’t believe this.

  “Wow, he speaks!” Margo says, her voice rising in awe.

  “Of course I speak; do I not have a mouth?” the puppet taunts. Dad kneels down beside Margo so she can get a better look. As for me, I don’t know where to look, so I scoop Rory up and trudge over to the window to take in the dismal view.

  “What’s its name?”

  “I’m not an ‘its,’ toots!” the puppet says. “The name’s Riley—Uncle Riley to you.”

  Now I’ve heard it all.

  “Hi, Uncle Riley,” Margo says, settling herself on the floor.

  “You look a little young to have a baby, toots.” Riley says, pointing to Rory.

  “That’s my sister, Rory,” Margo says.

  “I thought it was a boy,” Riley says, smacking his forehead. Margo shrieks with giggles.

  “And meet your beautiful sister, Lane,” Dad says, beaming as he motions to me.

  “What’s up, Elaine,” Riley calls over.

  “It’s Lane, dumb-ass.”

  “Lame Dumb-ass, pleasure to make your siblinghood!”

  I cringe and shake my head.

  “She don’t like me so much,” Riley says, throwing his head down in a huff.

  “Just give her time, son,” Dad says, patting Riley’s head.

  This wouldn’t be the most bizarre thing in the world if my dad didn’t have to insist the bloody puppet is his son. Goes to show, things may look normal again on the outside, but Dad is still a nut job through and through.

  “Where’s the tea, Pops?” Riley demands. “I wanna cookie too. Chocolate.”

  “Mind your manners, son. Lane, do you mind?”

  Uh, it’s not like I’m holding a baby or anything.

  “Me too, can I have a cookie?” Margo chimes.

  I’ve lost my appetite. I plunk Rory beside Margo and carry the tea to the table. As I’m pouring the cups of steaming, red tea, the buzzer goes and Dad jumps up to answer it. He beeps the visitor in and hurries over to me, looking a bit anxious. I stop mid pour when I see his face.

  “What is it, Dad?”

  “Well…um…listen, Laney, I know this might be hard for you. I mean, you haven’t seen each other in a very long time.”

  “Dad! What’s up?”

  Even Riley has fallen silent at his side.

  “Aunt Louisa…” Dad’s concerned eyes meet my own. Oh my God, just when I thought the day couldn’t get worse.

  “Why the fuck is she here?” I yelp.

  “Lane, language!” Dad speaks sternly, which he doesn’t do often. Margo is watching us, wide eyed.

  “Dad! How could you invite her over when you knew I was here?” I cannot believe this. My late mother’s identical twin! I purposely haven’t seen her since the funeral. How could I? And now, here she is! There’s no escape.

  “Lane, with all due respect, Louisa looks after me and she was invited today, whereas I didn’t know you would be here. She’ll be just as shocked to see you.”

  Bullshit!

  Riley swings into his upright position and throws his arms around Dad. “Suck it up, Princess. Louisa don’t bite.”

  “Shut up before I break your plastic face.”

  “You talkin’ to me?”

  “Do I hear my favorite nephew?”

  I stop in my tracks. Her voice! It’s just like Mom’s voice. I haven’t heard her voice in so many years—my mom’s voice that is. But I can’t even process this, because she’s coming in…and three, two, one…

  “Oh my, Lane!”

  There she is. Blonde, soft waves frame her face, so lovely and bright. She’s staring at me open mouthed, like a scared animal. Her face! Her eyes! This is so cruel. I want to run to her like a child, but she’s just a mirage. With wild eyes, I turn to Margo, scoop up Rory, and make a beeline to the door.

  “Mom, what’s happening? Why are we leaving? We haven’t had cookies!” Margo calls hysterically behind me.

  “Take this for the road, toots,” I hear Riley say.

  Dad can choose to speak as himself or Riley, and he chose Riley. It’s like one colossal joke, and the jokes on me. I jab my finger on the elevator button. Margo is at my heel, still whining about leaving. Tears have welled up in my eyes, where they sit blinding me, refusing to spill over. Why can’t I cry, dammit?

  “Oh, Mommy.” Margo sees my face, and without respecting the barriers I’ve always had in place, she hurls herself into my arms, and suddenly I’m holding my girls, holding on to them for dear life. And nothing else matters.

  11

  On autopilot, I bus home, then feed and bathe the girls, and put them to bed. I’m getting used to using the hot plate, but my cooking is crap at best, and I know it.

  Tonight was gummy mac n’ cheese with over-steamed broccoli that sagged into a putrid mush when I tried lifting it with a fork.

  I can’t get my Mom’s face out of my mind—well Louisa’s face that is. I’ve texted Billy an SOS, to no avail. I also emailed Micky because his phone still goes to voicemail. I gave him our address at George’s, for when he gets back to town. I told him everything is great, which is a massive lie, but I don’t want to scare him away further. Why doesn’t he call? What if something happened to him?

  I pour a tumbler of wine and perch myself on the newly built fire escape. There’s enough space for two adults now to sit quite comfortably—and safely.

  My phone rings and I grab it, hoping against hopes it’s Micky.

  Oh—Juliet! “Wow, you’re back!” I say, unable to contain my excitement.

  “Lane! God, it’s good to be home. I missed you so much. Why don’t we meet for a drink tonight? We have so much to catch-up on.”

  Don’t we ever. “Uh, yeah, I can’t.”

  “Why? Do you have plans?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Great, meet me downtown then!”

  “I can’t, I can’t leave the kids.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Oh this is painful. “Juliet, it’s a long story.”

  I give Juliet a quick rundown of my last month—Micky losing his money, moving into George’s attic, the great quest for a job, and my new puppet brother. I leave out the part about Louisa. Better to discuss that in person. Juliet’s voice is thick with concern, and she promises to come over right away. I don’t even have a buzzer, so I tell her to text when she arrives.

  In the meantime, I nurse my drink, and it nurses me.

  After a short wait my phone pings, and I scramble back inside and down the two flights of stairs. I swing the door open, and there she is—my best childhood girlfriend. Juliet looks just the same as ever—bright auburn hair, shining blue eyes, and a smile that could end a war. Before I can brace myself, she flings herself at me, squeezing me into a massive bear hug and planting a loud smooch on my cheek. This is my third hug of the day, probably a record.

  “Laney! So good to see you! You’re looking…um…”

  Hmm, well at least you’re honest, Juliet. We turn to go inside and almost smack into George. Oh bloody hell, now what?

  “Lane!” he barks in his crispy voice, “where are my shoes?”

  “How the hell should I know?” I ask, rolling my eyes and pushing past him to the stairs.

  “Because,” he yells, throwing his hands up, “you needed them this morning. I’ve been shoe-less all day as a result.”

  I’m about to tell him off, when Juliet pipes up. “Oh no, shoe-less? We have to find your shoes.” She turns to me for help. I shrug. I honestly don’t remember. Unless they’re still in the bottom of the stroller. Or maybe somebody jacked them on the bus. For all I know, Riley took them, the little shit. But anyway I have more to be concerned about than geriatric Seinfeld shoes.

  I try to pull Juliet away, but she’s now engrossed in conversation with George about his stupid cat and the plight of no shoes, yada
yada yada. As I jog upstairs to the attic, I hear her offering to take Piper on this nightly walk since George has no shoes. Juliet was always too kindhearted for her own good. Well anyway I have work to prepare for.

  After choosing an outfit for work tomorrow, all black, appropriate for a funeral—after all, my life as I knew it is officially over—I wash up, change into pajamas, and crawl under the covers between the girls. Margo and Rory both snuggle closer. Their child-like scents are sweet and delicate and surprisingly comforting. It’s been a hell of a day from the job fair, to the Jennifer Fairweather fiasco, to meeting Riley, to seeing Aunt Louisa. And of course, to top it off, I have the new job. It dawns on me that I never had a chance to ask Dad to babysit tomorrow, which defeats the whole purpose of going to see him. I’ll have to call him in the morning. He better be available to watch Rory, because you can take a baby to a job fair, and you can take a baby on a run, but you certainly can’t bring a baby to work in an office. Sigh.

  There’s a faint knock on the door, and Juliet pops her head in.

  “Sorry to take so long, Laney. It was really important to George that his cat be taken out. Anyway, I know you’re really tired, but know I’m here for you. If there’s anything I can do just—”

  “Actually, there is something,” I say, propping myself up on my elbows. “Any chance you can take Margo to school and watch Rory tomorrow?” Please say yes.

  “Of course! I’ll be back at eight’ish, does that work?”

  “Perfect, you’re a lifesaver,” I say, and mean it.

  “Nighty, night.” Juliet retreats, and the door closes softly.

  Well, that’s taken care of. I flop back on the down pillow, thinking of tomorrow. It’s surreal, I have a job!

  As I’m drifting off to sleep, I hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet running behind the walls. Mice!

  Why am I not surprised?

  It’s 8:46, and the office is a block away. I’m standing in front of Starbucks, contemplating getting a coffee. I see through the window the lineup is long—but will it take fifteen minutes? Oh screw it; everyone’s entitled to coffee, especially those who have to bust their ass in collections for a living.