Raising Jake Part 4

"Margie."

"You like her?"

"She's all right."

"Do you love her?"

This is amazing. Until now Jake has never, ever asked me a single question about my love life. Now, suddenly, I'm in the middle of an interrogation.

"It's too soon to tell," I say, and he looks at me as if he doesn't quite believe me.

"If you think it's too soon to tell," he says softly, "you're probably not in love with her."

I find this to be a stunning observation. I also know he's right. Why has it been so difficult for me to admit this to myself? Margie annoys me. She's loud and she's silly and she's bossy, or maybe the problem is that I'm somber and dark and stubborn. Either way, we are going nowhere. I'm going to have to deal with it, now that my son has opened my eyes.

Jake downs the rest of his c.o.ke, wipes his mouth with a napkin. "I think you should have someone you can love, Dad. Maybe another wife."

I laugh out loud. It's a h.e.l.l of a thing to say, and a h.e.l.l of a time to say it. "Yeah, I'm a real catch. A guy crowding fifty, with no job."

"Come on."

"Listen, it's hard for people in my line of work. Former Former line of work." line of work."

"Why?"

"We get bored easily. We're sarcastic. We don't have a great outlook on humanity."

"Why not?"

"Why not? not? Look at the way the world is, son!" Look at the way the world is, son!"

"Yeah, but you were probably like that before before you worked at the paper." you worked at the paper."

"Thanks a lot."

"Am I wrong? Tell me if I'm wrong."

I sigh, shrug. "I guess I've never had a great outlook on humanity."

"Why not? Did you have an unhappy childhood?"

"Hey, what the h.e.l.l is this? You You just got kicked out of school, and we're talking about just got kicked out of school, and we're talking about my my childhood? Why are we doing that?" childhood? Why are we doing that?"

"Because I don't know anything about your childhood, Dad. Not one friggin' thing."

"This is hardly the time to discuss it!"

"All right, Dad. Whatever."

"I grew up in Queens. You knew that much, didn't you? I moved to Manhattan. Both my parents are dead. Happy?"

He holds a hand up. "Just forget it, Dad. I didn't mean to pry."

He picks up his c.o.ke and takes a long pull on the straws. I rub my face with my hands, give his shoulder an awkward pat.

"Jake. I didn't mean to get nasty."

"If you don't want to talk about it, we won't talk about it."

"We were talking about newspapermen, and the way they look at the world. Problem is, we're convinced that everybody's everybody's working an angle. In the end we can only date each other, and that always turns out to be the worst thing of all." working an angle. In the end we can only date each other, and that always turns out to be the worst thing of all."

"So who are you supposed to date?"

"A lot of newspapermen date waitresses. I don't know why. Maybe because they eat out a lot."

"Does that ever work out?"

"Not often. The waitresses want to be doing something else. You have to be willing to listen to their hopes and dreams. That gets a little grueling, at my age."

Just then, the waitress comes to clear away the dishes. She's a cute enough girl, closing in on thirty and a little thick at the ankles. When she turns to go I wink at Jake before calling her back.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I just had to ask-are you an actress?"

She blushes. "I'm trying to be one."

"Where'd I see you? Were you in a commercial or something?"

She nods happily. "I did the orange juice commercial. I'm the mother, pouring juice for the kids?"

"That's it, that's it! I knew knew I recognized you!" I recognized you!"

"I'm rehearsing for a play now. The theater's my pa.s.sion."

"Good for you!"

She tells us the wheres and whens of her off-off-off-off Broadway production, balancing our plates and gla.s.ses on her forearm all the while. She's practically floating on air when she walks away, as I've given legitimacy to the distant dream her family has certainly encouraged her to drop.

I turn to Jake. "See what I mean?"

"Did you actually see that commercial?"

"What commercial?"

He pats his hands together in mock applause. "Very good, Dad. You found a waitress who wants to be an actress. How rare."

We both laugh. It's my first real laugh of the day, and it feels good, like a swallow of coffee on a winter morning, or that moment when a hangover finally lets go and the cool, healing sweat breaks out on your forehead and you're ready to go out there and punch a cop. I feel something special coming. I don't know what it is, but it's coming, and I can't stop it, and I don't want want to stop it. to stop it.

And then, suddenly, I know what it is. Nearly eighteen years after his birth, I suspect that I am at long last going to get to know my son. And for better or worse, he is going to get to know me.

"Okay," I begin. "Here's my my plan. Let's dump your sack at the apartment and figure out the weekend from there." plan. Let's dump your sack at the apartment and figure out the weekend from there."

"Sounds good."

"I want to talk to you. I want you to talk to me. Let's talk about everything, and let's not be afraid of anything, all right? All that exists are tonight, Sat.u.r.day, and Sunday."

"What about Monday?"

"For now I say, f.u.c.k Monday."

"Can we talk about your childhood?"

I roll my eyes, try to ignore the fact that my heart is suddenly beating faster than it should. "If you want. Don't expect to be thrilled, though. It was pretty dull, as childhoods go."

"I doubt that very much."

Jake smiles. He's got beautiful teeth, nicely s.p.a.ced and white, teeth that didn't need braces and have cost me little more than cleaning bills all these years. That's one break I did catch. If Jake had needed braces, I probably would have had to hold up a few bodegas to pay the orthodontist.

Still aglow from believing she'd been recognized, the waitress drops off a check for $12.35, with a smiley face under the total and the words "Thank you!" I slap down a twenty and get up to leave.

"h.e.l.l of a tip," Jake says.

"She deserves it. Maybe it'll help her realize her dream. I'm all for dreams, especially the ones that don't come true."

"You're weird, Dad."

"I've heard that before."

The two of us walk out, floating in s.p.a.ce like astronauts whose lifelines to the mother s.h.i.+p have snapped.

And just like that a tall, well-dressed black kid steps in front of Jake on the sidewalk, refusing to let him pa.s.s. "I've got to talk to you, Perez."

Jake calmly sets his bag on the sidewalk. "The name's Perez-Sullivan."

"Well, whatever your name is, we've got things to discuss before you disappear."

The kid speaks beautifully. He's actor-handsome and slightly taller than Jake, lean and muscular, tense as a tuning fork. I make a move toward them, but without even looking at me, Jake holds out a hand to keep me at bay. Then I notice that the black kid is wearing the school tie, and the whole thing becomes clear. He pokes Jake in the chest with his forefinger.

"See, I've got some issues issues with your with your essay. essay. Let me ask you something, man. Do I look Let me ask you something, man. Do I look harmless harmless to you?" to you?"

"Not in the least."

"Then why the h.e.l.l did you say I was harmless?"

"I didn't. I said the school handpicked kids like you for their apparent apparent harmlessness. You've got to pay attention to the adjective, Luther. It's vital to that sentence." harmlessness. You've got to pay attention to the adjective, Luther. It's vital to that sentence."

Luther eases back a step. Jake maintains his stance, as if they are still nose to nose. My son does not seem frightened or surprised in the least. This is disconcerting to Luther, who narrows his eyes.

"So what the h.e.l.l are are you saying?" you saying?"

"I'm saying you fooled them, Luther. You're smarter than they are. Level with me. How do you feel about the people who run the school?"

Luther licks his lips. "I'm grateful for the opportunities I've had."

"Oh, come on, on, man! How do you feel about the people who make sure guys like you are always front and center for photo opportunities, whenever big shots come to visit? How do you feel about being trotted out like a show pony?" man! How do you feel about the people who make sure guys like you are always front and center for photo opportunities, whenever big shots come to visit? How do you feel about being trotted out like a show pony?"

Luther's eyes darken. "I f.u.c.king hate it."

"Well, I can understand that. But I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, Luther. Believe me, they don't know how you feel. You got 'em fooled. And I have a feeling you're going to fool them all the way into whatever college you choose."

"Hey, whoa, man. You listen to me. I work hard. I bust bust my a.s.s." my a.s.s."

"I know you do. You're going to get what you want. You play their game beautifully. I actually admire that, in a way. But I've had enough of the game. I just can't play it anymore."

Luther nods, purses his lips. "I hear you."

Jake extends his hand to Luther. "Good luck to you, man. Sorry you misunderstood what I wrote."

Luther's lips curl into a smile. He hesitates before shaking Jake's hand. "Man," he says, "I was going to punch you in the nose. And here I am now, shaking your hand."

"For what it's worth, Luther, I've always thought of you as an extremely fearsome individual. And for what it's worth, I'm not disappearing, disappearing, I'm getting on with my life." I'm getting on with my life."

Luther laughs out loud, lets go of Jake's hand, and shakes his head. "Be cool, crazy man," he says, and then he's gone, before I can even introduce myself.

Jake picks up his bag, hoists it back onto his shoulder. "That was exciting, huh?"

"Jesus Christ, Jake, he was ready to clobber you!"

"Nah. Luther Johnson's got too much to lose. He's on a full scholars.h.i.+p, and he'd never do anything to jeopardize that. Not now, with Harvard and Princeton and Yale fighting to get him. He's a great student and a great athlete. Last thing his pristine record needs is an arrest on a.s.sault charges."

"Think that actually crossed his mind?"

"Of course it did. Believe me, Luther knows all about consequences. His father is serving fifteen years for manslaughter. Can we go home now, Dad?"

We drift along Broadway, heading north, making one stop at a bank so I can deposit Peter Plymouth's check. Once it clears, the grand total in my checking account will be $7,212.53. It's the most money I've ever had. For the moment, I allow myself to feel like a rich man. The moment will pa.s.s, I know, but not just yet. If nothing else, I'm learning how to appreciate The Moment. Not an easy thing for a fallen Catholic like me, trained as I was to believe that this life is really just a rehearsal for the afterlife.

When I come out of the bank Jake hoists his sack back onto his shoulder. "Hey, Dad," he says, "where's your your stuff?" stuff?"

"What stuff?"

"From your office. You gotta go back and get it?"

"There's nothing to take." I open my jacket to reveal the New York Star New York Star notebook jutting from my inside pocket. "Just this little souvenir to show for twenty-nine years on the job." notebook jutting from my inside pocket. "Just this little souvenir to show for twenty-nine years on the job."

He stares at me and says, "You always knew they were going to fire you, didn't you?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. The one thing I did did know is that in this life, endings come abruptly." know is that in this life, endings come abruptly."

Jake nods. "I learned that one when you and Mom split."