“I’m glad you’re alive,” she said.
“How was jail?” his daughter asked, taking a seat next to her mother.
Jay wondered if that was a taunt. “You can imagine,” he said.
Aviva wore her early spring uniform of Chucks, jeans, and a pea coat. Jude asked how Dag was doing and Jay gave the report.
“Must be pretty awkward for you,” Aviva said.
She leaned back in her chair, creating maximum distance between them. Jay tried not to be bothered by this. As an enlightened parent, he was responsible for maintaining a safe environment in which his daughter was able to express whatever it was she needed to communicate.
“That would be putting it mildly,” he said. To make this seem like an average family lunch, Jay opened the menu and observed, “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten in a Vietnamese restaurant before.”
“They aren’t fancy enough,” Aviva said.
“No, but I don’t associate Vietnam with their cuisine,” Jay said.
“Just the imperialist war,” Aviva said.
“Which your father marched against,” Jude informed her.
“I was fourteen,” Jay said.
“Yay for you,” Aviva said to Jay, who was making every effort to not respond to his daughter’s provocations. “Champion of the oppressed.”
“I didn’t want to get drafted,” he said, examining the menu.
The waitress approached. When they had all ordered, Jude placed her elbows on the table, fingers intertwined. The purple ring was genuinely impressive.
She said, “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
“That’s fair,” Jay said. “I am.”
“I didn’t feel safe when we were together the last time,” Aviva said.
Her remark puzzled Jay. “What does that mean?”
“I would have brought Imani today, but I know how much you hate her.”
“I don’t hate Imani. I’m not a hater. I’m not sure she’s the best person for you, but that’s another conversation.”
“You don’t know her,” Aviva said.
“We’re getting off track here,” Jude said to her daughter. Then, to Jay: “She has something to talk to you about.”
“I don’t want you to yell at me,” Aviva told her father.
Jay leaned forward and tried to disarm her with a gentle smile. “I’m such a yeller?”
“You were yelling like a banshee at the Seder.”
Jay tried to laugh it off. “First of all, I would hardly say that’s an accurate description.”
“Aviva told me what happened,” Jude said.
“Did she tell you I was provoked?” he asked, no longer smiling. “Did she tell you how obnoxious her friend was?”
Aviva turned to her mother. “See? He’s attacking.”
Jude held up her hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m not sure that qualifies as an attack. My therapist offered to do a session with the three of us. Maybe that’s the best way to handle this.”
“I’m not going to talk to your therapist,” Jay said.
“I just wanted to put it out there,” Jude said.
Jay tried to plead his case. “Her friend Imani was needlessly provocative. She offended everyone there, Franklin, Marcy, the twins—everyone.”
“She didn’t offend me,” Aviva said.
“Well, I don’t know what it would take to offend you,” Jay said. “Maybe you’d be offended if someone said something bad about Muslims.”
“Imani supports a free Palestine. What’s the big whoop? So do I.”
“It was a Seder,” Jay said. “Not a conference.”
To Aviva, this was deeply unfair. “Franklin and Marcy can make all their right-wing speeches about the Middle East and Imani isn’t allowed to have an opinion?”
Jay asked his ex-wife if she had met their daughter’s girlfriend.
“I have, and I think she’s kind of cool.”
“Everyone’s entitled to their opinion,” Jay said. “Imani is obviously an intelligent young woman.”
“You’re always telling us Passover is about freedom,” Aviva said. “Every year you give that speech, don’t you?”
Jay sat back in his chair, pressed his fingers to his temples, and let his eyelids drop. Yes, he did give that speech because he was trying to inject life into an ancient ceremony. Now his efforts were being thrown in his face. Was the restaurant unusually warm? He could feel his body temperature rising. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, discomfort in his gut. He had taken a painkiller when he woke up, but its effects were starting to dissipate. When he opened his eyes, they were staring at him. Jude asked if he was all right.
“Never better,” he said. “Look, I’m not here to relitigate Passover. I’m sorry I lost my cool, and I apologize to you for that.”
“You should apologize to Imani, too,” Aviva said.
“I’ll write her a note.”
The waitress brought the food out. Jay looked at the bowl of pho, but his appetite was gone. He requested a ginger ale. Perhaps the carbonation would help pacify his churning stomach. He watched Aviva deftly maneuver her chopsticks around the noodles and lift them to her mouth.
“As I was telling you,” Jude said, “Our daughter has something she would like to discuss.”
Aviva held up a finger to indicate she would tell him when she was finished chewing. Jay remembered teaching her to use chopsticks as a ten-year-old at a Chinese restaurant on the Upper West Side after a matinee of The Music Man.
“You can’t speak at my commencement,” she said.
“You mean you don’t want me to.”
“That’s right.”
“This is your daughter,” Jude said.
“I know that. Ordinarily, I would just say ‘fine.’ I’d call the president of the college and bow out. But I’m in an unusual position.”
“So am I. I’m graduating.”
“I’m proud of you,” Jay said.
“I only do it once.”
“I am well aware of that, believe me. But my image is taking a beating right now.”
“You’re worried about your image?” Jude asked.
“I am, and I make no apologies.”
“Of course not,” Aviva said. “Why would Harold Jay Gladstone ever apologize for anything?”
Jay chose to ignore the dig. He didn’t want to steamroll his daughter. In a measured tone, he said, “I’m a public figure, and my ability to do business is affected by how I’m perceived. I got hauled into court yesterday morning after spending the night in jail. You can’t possibly have any idea what that was like, either of you.” He paused to see if his daughter would come at him again, but she held fire. “I’m being accused of a crime that was entirely unintentional. The media is flaying me. To have the chance to make a speech, which the press will cover—”
“You can’t talk about your situation at Aviva’s graduation.”
“Would you let me finish, please?”
“Fine. Finish.” Jude said.
Distant, long-forgotten arguments with Jude burbled up. He would not allow himself to reenact the dynamic that contributed to their schism. The steaming pho reminded him of an outdoor hot tub at a ski resort in the Rockies twenty years earlier where they had frolicked after a day on the slopes, twinned futures assured. The distant scene was nearly unimaginable to him. Then Nicole and Dag detonated in his consciousness, a perversely timed depth charge. As far as he knew, Jude had never betrayed him. He felt a new generosity toward her.
“Of course, I’m not going to discuss my situation. But if I give a talk that resonates with the values of the graduates it might get into the ether, then maybe the potential jury pool has a better opinion of me. If there’s no plea bargain, and I have to go to trial, that’s going to make me appear more sympatheti
c.” He looked toward Jude to see how this was going over. The expression on her face gave nothing away. Since his remarriage, he had often thought that his daughter and ex-wife presented a united front against him that, regardless of what he did—emotionally, financially, it did not matter—was indivisible. “Don’t worry, Aviva. You’ll be proud of me.”
This claim was too much for her. “Are you joking?”
Jay looked into his daughter’s livid eyes and thought of Sonia Trachtenberg, the woman who spat in his face after the Planning Commission hearing. Aviva reminded him of that little ball of self-righteous anger. Jay would never understand how she turned out like this after having been showered with so much love. He assured her he wasn’t joking.
“Do you not get that you’re going to embarrass me if you do that?”
“I understand that you don’t want me to do it,” Jay said. “But I’m trying to have a rational discussion.”
“Please put yourself in my position, okay? How do you think I’m going to feel if my father, the master builder, gets up in front of my classmates and uses their graduation to rehabilitate his image?”
“I know I’m asking a lot.”
“I get that you’re in an uncomfortable position.”
“It’s more than uncomfortable,” he said.
“You’re not faultless or anything,” Aviva continued, “but you’re more or less an ethical person.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate that.”
“So why can’t you understand what I’m telling you? I only graduate one time.” Aviva pushed herself away from the table and crossed her arms. Jay tried to make eye contact, but she would not look at him. Why wouldn’t Jude help mollify her?
“I do understand, Aviva,” Jay said. “I do.”
“You need to listen to your daughter,” Jude said.
Quietly, he said, “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear.”
“You can’t put your own needs first,” Jude said.
“Would you for godsakes let me finish?” That came out less quietly. Aviva stared at her lap. “I know it’s an outlandish request. I get that, yes. But I don’t know what else to do.”
“Why don’t you hold a press conference?” Jude asked.
“I don’t want to take questions.”
“Then just make a statement,” his ex-wife said.
“They want to bury me,” he said. “My lawyer’s trying to get the charges dismissed but I need to move forward assuming that’s not going to happen. There’s a genuine possibility I could go to prison. Do you want that?”
Now Aviva looked directly at him. “Of course not,” she said.
“No one wants that, Jay.”
“They could pack me off to one of those upstate hellholes near the Canadian border where I’d be serving time with rapists and murderers. I’m not the kind of person who would thrive in that environment.”
“It sucks to be in your situation,” Aviva said. “I feel so sorry for you. If I had accidentally run someone over with my car, I can’t even—”
“I’m glad you understand,” Jay said.
“But for you to get up in front of my graduating class to serve your own needs—”
“Your needs can’t be the priority here, Jay,” Jude said to her ex-husband.
Jay nodded in an attempt to convey the depth with which their concerns resonated. He was affected by the ache his daughter expressed and was loath to be the cause. But it was essential to him that the complexity of his predicament be acknowledged.
“I believe myself to be a good person,” he said.
“I basically said that,” Aviva reminded him.
“And you are, too,” he assured her.
“Something the two of you agree on,” Jude said, attempting to lighten the mood.
“I have flaws,” Jay continued, “Lots of them. But if I can speak at Tate, and convey who I am, perhaps then I’ll be understood if not forgiven. I’d like to give it a shot. Please.”
“If you do that,” Aviva said, “they can send me my degree.”
His daughter’s obstinacy was unacceptable. She showed bottomless sympathy for the downtrodden, but there appeared little of it left for her father. It was incomprehensible to him that, given what he was facing, she could not connect with the agony in front of her.
“For someone who has benefitted as clearly as you have from our family’s position, your lack of loyalty baffles me,” Jay said. Aviva turned away. Was she reacting to his perceived obtuseness, or disagreeing with the ungenerous assessment of her fealty? Jay could not tell and, moreover, did not care. He fought to keep the tremor out of his voice. “My father, who came from the streets, who broke his ass working for us, knew a little bit about how tough life on this planet could be. He taught me that family was the most important thing on Earth, the only thing you could depend on when the world was chewing you up. Your family, Aviva. Those words were sacred to him, and they are to me.” Jay awaited a response, but none was forthcoming. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Aviva said. “Everybody’s sorry.”
Jay looked at Jude, who was rubbing her daughter’s back. He had the urge to perform the same act of comfort but sensed it would not be welcome.
“I remember when you put half of the city’s homeless population in winter coats for your bat mitzvah project,” Jay said. “I admire you for that. But it kills me that you’re more interested in helping a bunch of homeless people you don’t know than your father.”
“You still think you’re going to speak at my graduation,” Aviva said.
The sympathy he felt for his daughter mingled with the incipient terror his invocation of prison time had awakened. Jay’s world was spinning. Aviva had ceased to be his daughter and was now a force he needed to subdue to reassert the ability to control his fate.
“Your Aunt Bebe is visiting Newark today to give awards to the Gladstone Scholars. You should go with her. You’ll see kids who haven’t had any of the advantages that you’ve had. We help them.”
“With money,” Aviva said.
“Yes, with money. We give these kids scholarships. What’s wrong with that?”
Aviva stared at her cuticles.
Jay resumed, “I’m trying not to be unreasonable. Right now, I’m scared. I don’t like admitting it. You know the situation. But I’ll tell you what. Even though the president of the college personally asked me to speak at the commencement, I’m willing to turn down the honor. If you think about it, if you’re willing to put yourself in my position and imagine how badly things could go from a legal perspective, and you still don’t want me to do it, then I won’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why?”
“You said my friends were welcome at the Seder. Well, look what happened.”
“Aviva, I told you I would reconsider, and I mean it.”
“Whatever.”
Fear overwhelmed him. He gripped the edge of the table and rose from his chair. He reflexively threw down some bills and walked out. Jude called after him, but he did not turn around. On the sidewalk, Jay tried to remember if he had paid for the lunch. He did not want to stick his daughter and ex-wife with the check, but he certainly wasn’t going back into the restaurant. To reach for his wallet was reflexive behavior for a Gladstone father. Hailing a cab Jay thought of Bingo, all of the restaurant tabs he had picked up, the grabbing of the check as if his father wanted to host the world, and the sense of isolation that came over him was lunar.
The media herd was gone, and Jay entered the hospital unnoticed. There he met with the doctors he had flown in from Switzerland and Canada. Both had extensive experience treating the kind of brain trauma Dag had suffered. They examined the patient, reviewed the charts and X-rays. They consulted with Dr. Bannister and informed Jay that t
hey concurred with the treatment. They would remain available in both diagnostic and advisory capacities and would fly in again if necessary.
Aviva was in a window seat on the evening train to Schuylkill. After the altercation with her father, Jude, to Aviva’s displeasure, assumed a neutral position.
“Your father has every right to be upset,” she said. “He’s in a terrible situation.”
Aviva recognized that she loved her father in some undefinable way that probably had to do with biology. And when the heat of their encounter abated, and a vision of him in prison took shape—the disgrace, confinement, and loneliness, all over a period of years—it was impossible not to feel a degree of sympathetic dread. And yet. She experienced their disagreements as wounds and, on a deeper level, as a denial of her essence, something rooted in Aviva’s psyche, a permanent side effect of being Jay Gladstone’a daughter.
But just because Aviva was born into prosperity and comfort did not mean she had to be a prisoner of her class. She had recently devoured a film about Che Guevara in her Revolutionary Motifs in World Cinema course. He was the son of a well-to-do family who took up arms, led a revolution, and wound up on a million dorm room walls. She wondered what Che would have done if Jay had been his father. Che would not have let his parent speak at a ceremony where he wasn’t wanted, of that she was certain. Aviva thought about Jay’s offer to withdraw but still refused to believe he would do it. She was not going to beg him. If he failed to arrive at the correct decision on his own, she would blow off the ceremony. What was a graduation anyway? Nothing more than a costume party that only served to codify the separation of an educated elite from the rest of society. If her father wanted to spoil it, that was his business.
She reached into her backpack and removed the copy of The Wretched of the Earth that Axel had given her, opened it to where she had left off, and began to read. Ten minutes later she put it down. In her view, Fanon’s thesis could be boiled down to the world was unfair. Aviva already knew that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The blowback from Christine Lupo’s decision to not convene a grand jury when the white Officer Russell Plesko killed the African-American John Eagle was substantial. Eloquent displeasure expressed by religious leaders, vitriolic emails to her office, censorious editorials. Al Sharpton had, in tandem with Imam Ibrahim Muhammad, led a demonstration attended by several hundred people where he called for the DA’s resignation. Her colleague, Vere Olmstead, with whom she had recently shared a furtive cigarette, gave her the stink eye every time they crossed paths. Most unfortunately, the governor of New York publically questioned her decision. He was a Democrat, but that did not soften the blow. The subtext of all of this was that Christine Lupo was at best racially insensitive, at worst, straight-up racist. Now she could reverse the perception that had begun to crystallize and demonstrate that the law treats all citizens equally. She would be doing a great deal of this demonstrating on television. Jay Gladstone was going to be a national story. No, strike national; this story was going to erupt worldwide.
The Hazards of Good Fortune Page 38