I also bought a leather jacket for Daniel in a fancy men’s boutique in the shopping mall at the Bellagio. It cost more than a week at the Golden Nugget, but I figured, what the heck? It’s fun to spend money on people you love, especially ones who also happen to make you quiver. Tomorrow, I kept thinking. Tomorrow!
:: :: ::
I had started making calls again when Ed Bramlett appeared in front of my desk. I braced myself for the worst, but he just handed me a manila folder. He left without even coughing much. I looked inside and found a few xeroxed pages that all seemed to be about Julia Saxon. But my phone rang, and I still had a meeting with Chris Farr scheduled. The contents of Ed’s folder would have to wait.
It was Heather on the phone, wanting to know what I’d done about Victoria. As if I’d had time to do anything. Damn! I wished I’d never let her talk me into accepting that stupid dress. On the other hand, I couldn’t wait to wear it for Daniel. Heather would just have to be patient. Victoria was dead. She wasn’t an emergency.
I was trying madly to make all my calls before five, but then Heather called me again, worrying now about Victoria’s husband and kid. I agreed they were probably in for a pretty sad Christmas, but what was I supposed to do about it? Once again, Heather out-muscled me. I agreed to meet her on Saturday to talk things over. I kicked myself after I hung up. All I wanted was one measly uninterrupted week with Daniel, but now that was looking like a pipe dream. I wished I had gone to Costa Rica after all. How could I have ever thought that spending New Year’s in Vegas was better than basking on a tropical beach?
I was never going to make it to my brother’s house by six. I hadn’t even bought the booze. I decided to call David and tell him to wait until six thirty to arrive. Somehow, I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to meet Sierra and my parents unless I was there to run interference. David’s volume knob was cranked up a couple notches past reasonable, and I wanted to make sure my mother knew he went to Princeton before she labeled him a boor.
Chapter 15
Actually, the evening didn’t start out too badly, even though David got there before me. I tried my best to reach him, but he didn’t answer any of his phones. When I finally arrived with my bag of liquor at seven or so, he had already engaged my mother in a deep conversation about shrimp farming in the Mojave Desert. She paused long enough to hug me, kiss me, and offer to trim my bangs, but David really had her captivated with stories about a guy who wants to grow seafood in man-made ponds somewhere out near Mesquite.
Sierra didn’t seem to mind at all that I’d added David to the party. In fact, I had the feeling she appreciated the fact that he was keeping Mom out of the kitchen. My dad was in there, though, drinking bourbon and petting the cat formerly known as Sekhmet. He greeted me with his usual bear hug and “Love you, sweetheart.”
“Whoa! A mustache!” I said. He was sporting a neatly groomed brush on his upper lip, and it only had a few gray hairs mixed in with the reddish-blonde ones.
“Looks hip,” I said.
“I needed a change,” Dad said, “and it’s a lot easier to grow facial hair than lose twenty pounds.”
“You’re not fat,” I said, and he wasn’t. He looked fitter than I’d seen him in quite a while, and even kind of tan. “You look great, Dad.”
“So do you, sweetheart,” he said. “Sin City must agree with you.”
I heard Sierra emit a huff when Dad said “Sin City.” She hates the nickname, especially when applied by outsiders.
“It’s just so wrong,” she would always say. “Las Vegas is no more sinful than anywhere else. It’s just more honest.”
“Let me help you,” I said to Sierra. I unloaded my bottles and presented her with the martini makings.
“Wow!” she said. “Thanks!”
A “wow” and a “thanks”! I washed my hands and started cutting up tomatoes, pleased that the evening had begun well.
At dinner I was even happier that David was there. He talked more loudly than the rest of us, but he also had a lot of interesting stuff to say. After crustacean ranching, he told us all about the Las Vegas jewelry business, some scary stuff about how the Stratosphere Tower was built, and the odd tale of an eccentric Norwegian casino owner who used to hold parties to celebrate Hitler’s birthday. If I had told those same stories, my parents would have interjected rude comments about Las Vegas the whole time, but since it was David doing the talking, they just said things like “Really?” and “That’s fascinating!”
By the time we were digging into Sierra’s signature baklava, I was feeling pretty proud of myself for contributing David Nussbaum to the evening. His presence even made my mother compliment Sierra on her Greek coffee. My mother hates Greek coffee, but she hates appearing unsophisticated even more. We had retired to the living room, where Sierra brought us our cute little demitasses. Unfortunately, David left as soon as we had sipped our way down to the sludge.
“I hate to eat and run,” he said, “but I’ve got an early call in the morning. A press conference with the mayor. He’s announcing an endorsement deal he’s doing with Black Opal gin. He’s getting fifty grand to say it’s his favorite kind.”
“That sounds fascinating,” my mother said.
“I think it’s inappropriate,” I couldn’t help saying. “He drinks too much, and he tries to make it seem charming.”
“Oh, Ozzie’s okay,” David said. “He just enjoys ruffling feathers and being colorful. And he’s giving the money to a worthy cause. That’s what we’re supposed to be finding out in the morning.”
“This city is so fascinating,” my mother said again, and I’m not sure I was very subtle about rolling my eyes.
“Copper, he’s very nice,” my mother said as soon as the door closed. “And it’s so nice that you have Princeton in common.”
“He’s just a coworker,” I said. “Not a boyfriend.”
“You’re staying with him, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But he’s married. I invited him tonight because his wife’s out of town.” I felt a little guilty saying that, but it was true. And it seemed to satisfy Mom.
“Copper, show me your apartment,” she said. “I’m so sorry about what happened. Maybe I can help you put it back together.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” I said, but Mom insisted. Together we climbed the stairs, and I unlocked the door.
“Good heavens!” Mom said when I flipped on the light. “I’d better take you shopping.”
The place did look pretty terrible. I’d done some picking up, but it still looked like a crime scene.
“Copper, may I use your computer?” my mom said suddenly.
“What for?” I said. “I mean sure, but—”
“I need to send some email,” Mom said. “Where is it?”
“Oh, it’s back in the house,” I said. “My laptop. It’s in my backpack.”
I looked at Mom. She’s often hard to read, but I had the fleeting impression that she might start to cry.
“Can you get it?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. “But you could use Michael’s in the house—”
“Could you just get it?” Mom said. Now she sounded desperate.
“Okay,” I said, not really wanting to leave her alone in my apartment. But Mom had already shifted some magazines and sat down on the end of my sofa, so I had no choice.
“What are you doing?” Sierra asked when I went into the living room and picked up my backpack. “Where’s Jackie?”
Sierra and Michael always called my parents by their first names. I kind of wanted to do the same, but it felt too weird.
“Michael and I have an announcement to make,” Sierra said.
My dad and my brother were nowhere to be seen.
“An announcement?”
“Yes. An important one.”
“Mom’s having a cow
in my apartment.” I said. “She says she absolutely has to send some email. I tried to get her to come back in here and do it, but she won’t.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder. “You know how she gets. I’ll get her down here as soon as I can.”
“Shit,” I heard Sierra mutter under her breath as I left her standing in an empty living room holding a tray full of dirty coffee cups.
“Shit,” I said myself as I climbed back up my stairs. “Should’ve gone to Costa Rica.”
My mother was sitting in the same spot on the sofa when I opened my door, but the bathroom door was now open, and the light was on. I was right. She’d checked out my medicine cabinet. Did she really think she was fooling anybody? But I didn’t say anything. I just felt relieved that I had transferred my personal lubricant to an unmarked container. I set my laptop on the desk, hooked it up to my cable modem, and turned it on.
“Who’re you writing email to?” I asked.
“Oh—a friend,” Mom said quickly. “Someone in my ceramics class.”
My mother had been exploring her inner artist by learning how to throw pots at an upscale studio in Stamford.
I made sure my Internet connection was live, but Mom didn’t seem to need any help beyond that. I had just finished straightening up my bed when she announced she was finished.
“Thanks, Copper,” she said, all smiles.
“It worked okay?” I said.
“Message sent,” Mom said. She seemed almost giddy. “I don’t know what we did before email.”
:: :: ::
Back in the house, Michael and my dad had reappeared, and a dusty bag of golf clubs was leaning against the wall next to the front door. I had seen those clubs before. They had belonged to my grandfather, and Michael had appropriated them in high school, when he had a brief and unsatisfactory career as the captain of the golf team.
My dad saw me looking at them.
“Las Vegas is a golfer’s heaven, isn’t it, Copper?” he said. “Thought I might hit the links.”
“I had no idea you played golf,” I said.
“Well, I haven’t since before you came along,” he said. “But I was the captain of the golf team in high school.”
“Hey! Just like Michael!” I said, knowing it would bug him. Unlike Michael, my dad is actually coordinated.
“Well—”
“Michael!” Sierra called from the kitchen. He rushed off, and a second later they both emerged, Sierra with a silver tray full of champagne glasses, and Michael with an ice bucket.
“Ooh, must be something big,” my mother said.
“It is, Jackie,” Michael said. He popped the cork on a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and filled the flutes. Sierra passed them around.
“You want to?” Michael said, looking at Sierra. “Or should I?”
“Go ahead,” she said.
“Jackie, Ted, Copper,” Michael said, looking at each of us in turn, “I’d like to propose a toast.”
We all raised our glasses and waited.
“To the newest member of our family, though he’s not quite here yet.”
My parents were still looking stunned when I filled the silence.
“You’re having a baby? That’s great!”
My dad came up with the next line. “Congratulations, son.”
Sierra took a huge gulp of champagne.
“Should you be drinking in your condition, dear?” my mother said.
Sierra looked stricken, and for a second I thought she might start bawling. Instead, she turned and walked into the kitchen.
“Sierra’s not pregnant,” Michael said. “We’re adopting.”
“Oh,” my mother said. “I’m so sorry.”
I couldn’t tell whether she was apologizing for what she had said or was sorry that some kid with alien DNA was going to be calling her Grandma. Either way, I didn’t want to hear any more. I headed for the kitchen, where I found Sierra rinsing dishes while tears streamed down her face.
“That was really terrible,” I said. “I think it’s wonderful news. I can’t wait to be an aunt.”
“Go away,” Sierra said. “Just leave me alone.”
What I really wanted to do was to drive away, but I was still feeling the effects of three glasses of wine and the glass of champagne. The kitchen door provided an inconvenient route to my apartment, especially at night. Even so, a detour through the backyard beat having to talk to my parents again. I navigated the trash cans and managed to unlatch the gate next to the garage by feel.
When I got to my front door, I stepped on something. I looked down, but couldn’t make out what it was until I’d opened my door and flipped on a light.
It was something white. I snagged it with my index finger, and as I lifted it up, I gradually came to the realization that it was a huge pair of men’s knit underpants. Unable to stifle an “Ew!”, I dropped them back onto my doormat. Those things definitely hadn’t been there earlier, which meant that while we were drinking champagne, some fat dude had dropped his trousers and removed his briefs at my front door. David was on the right track, but he had it backward. Instead of stealing my panties, the pervert was leaving his own.
Relying on the vast amount of information I’d gathered from watching TV shows about crime scene investigations, I proceeded to “preserve the evidence.” Rummaging around in the disaster area that used to be my kitchen, I found a large ziplock bag and a pair of spaghetti tongs. After bagging up the briefs, I washed the tongs, but I was still grossed out by what I had used them for. I couldn’t find any bleach, so I rinsed them off in some mouthwash and left them to dry in the sink. Then I boiled some water, found my one intact mug, and made myself a cup of tea.
I sat down at my computer and thought about the scene at the vicarage, wishing David had stuck around long enough to ensure civility when Michael made the announcement about my new nephew. Thank God Daniel was arriving soon. I not only wanted him, I needed him.
My laptop was still set up from when my mom used it, so I decided to log on. I knew I wouldn’t find Daniel online because, unless he missed his plane, he was already on a red-eye to Mexico City. But maybe he’d sent me a message.
My inbox was practically overflowing with messages. Most of them were advertising miracle tonics for insecure men, but near the top was a message with this subject line:
SENDING YOU ALL MY LOVE
Great, I thought. Daniel must really miss me. He’s usually far more reserved in his declarations of love, and he never uses all caps.
I clicked the message open.
I MISS YOU MY DARLING & LOVE YOU. HOPE YOU’RE DOING WELL THERE. XXXXXXXXXOOOOOOOOO & LOVE & MORE LOVE & MORE LOVE & YOU’RE IN MY HEART & MORE LOVE, P
Well, that kind of prose was definitely not Daniel’s style, and I didn’t know anybody named “P” whose heart I inhabited. I was about to delete the message when a thought occurred to me. I clicked over to my “Messages Sent” file.
Damn! I was right! My mother had used my email account! She had seemed so confident on the computer that I assumed she had gone to some Internet site to send her message. I’m sure she had no idea that if she sent an email from my account, any replies would come straight to me. I’m also positive she had no idea that a copy of her original message would be automatically saved on my machine.
Dearest Patrick,
I made it to Las Vegas fine, and everything’s going as well as can be expected. I just wish we could be enjoying “Sin City” together … we’d justify its reputation, don’t you think? I can’t wait until I’m in your arms again. That’s when all’s right with the world. Soon …
I love you, J.
I sat staring at my screen for I don’t know how long. My mother! Having an affair! I really couldn’t get my head around it. I mean, she was my mom! I had a hard time imagining her in the missionary position with my dad, much less
doing acrobatics with a dude named Patrick who didn’t know how to turn off a caps lock. “Someone in my ceramic class,” she had said. I pictured a long-haired guy in torn jeans and a Greenpeace T-shirt. And somehow, in my imagination he was my age! Gross! I shook the image out of my head and turned off my computer without even checking for a message from Daniel.
I just sat there for a while. My head was like Grand Central Station with new thoughts pulling in every few seconds. Does my dad know? Should I tell him? Should I tell Michael? Should I pretend nothing happened? Mom will probably want to use my computer again, and I can find out even more stuff I don’t want to know. Or, hey! Maybe I should write to Patrick. I have his email address, after all.
The one good effect of this fiasco was that I immediately felt stone-cold sober. I could drive, and David Nussbaum’s house was looking pretty damned appealing. I could have left without going back inside the house, but it seemed rude to just sneak away. Anyway, I had to find out what delightful family activities might be planned for the next day. Why in hell I didn’t go to Costa Rica, I’ll never know. Relaxing under a palm tree on a black-sand beach was infinitely more appealing than dodging thoughts of my mother getting naked with a horny potter who called her “DARLING.”
The front door was locked, but I had my key in my pocket. The living room was dark, even the Christmas tree. There was a light on in the kitchen, but when I got there, it was deserted. A half-full glass sitting next to the fancy bourbon bottle suggested somebody was still up, though, so I waited. Pretty soon, I heard the toilet flush in the hall bathroom, and Michael appeared.
“Everybody’s in bed,” he said, sitting down at the table. He looked pretty dejected.
“I think it’s great about the baby,” I said.
“It’s overwhelming,” Michael said. “But most of the time, I think it’s great, too.”
“It’s a boy?” I said.
“Yeah,” Michael said. “Nicholas Edward. Nicholas after Sierra’s father, Edward after ours.”
“Do you think they’ll be okay about it?” I asked. “Our parents, I mean?”
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