Jackpot! (8 page)

“Hey, want to order a pizza?” I asked Courtney, who was organizing some bras on one of the tables.

“Sure,” she replied, “How about Ranalli’s?”

Yikes! I thought, as I remembered the Rachel factor. “Fine if they’ll deliver.”

“I’m sure they will,” she replied.

When the pizza came, we sat and ate in silence for a few minutes, pretty much because we were both starving. We had worked long and hard, all the time while making small talk, laughing a lot and getting to know each other. I found out Courtney was into kick boxing, loved Jerry Seinfeld, had had her appendix removed a year earlier, had a white chocolate fetish, and the most shocking thing, Courtney, with her majorly non-Jewish name, was Jewish. And surprisingly, I found that a very attractive quality.

After inhaling a couple slices of pizza, I finally spoke. “So, I want to know more about you. Tell me something.”

“Well, let’s see,” Courtney replied, “I’m thirty-six…”

“You cougar!” I joked, “I’m thirty-four.”

“I’m not a cougar unless you and I are on a date.”

“I’d call this a date, wouldn’t you?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she replied. I felt like she was flirting and I was psyched. “I have two questions for you. First, what do you do, and second, why were you in my building the other night?”

“Well, I’m a history teacher at Martin Luther King High School.”

“I love that,” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, it’s cool, but I’m also an actor on the side. My agent lives in your building. Actually, my ex-agent lives in your building. She’s also my ex-girlfriend. We broke up that night I saw you.”

“Which is why you’re here with me, the major cougar,” she said with a giggle.

I smiled, but I didn’t laugh. Instead, I stood up and walked over to her. I had major pizza breath and I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I smelled after cleaning and lugging boxes around for four hours, but something in me didn’t care. I took her face gently in my hands and kissed her lips. She kissed me back, and in my entire life I couldn’t remember a better kiss, and trust me, I’d done my share of kissing.

“So why’d you guys break up?” she asked.

“Want to hear the truth?”

She nodded.

“She wanted me to get her pregnant and I said no.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she’s 37 and she wants a baby.”

“So she’s a cougar, too.”

I chuckled, “Yeah, I guess she is. The thing is, I’ve known her for years. She was my agent. But we’d only been together as a couple for a few weeks. I like her a lot, but I don’t want to have a baby with someone I don’t love.” I gave Courtney a wide grin and said, “I’m holding out.”

“For love?”

All I could do was smile and nod. I didn’t want to speak, because I was afraid three little words would come out. I know it sounds nuts, but I loved her. I mean, not really LOVE since I barely knew her, but for the first time in perhaps my entire life, I understood how a guy could fall. And it was scary as hell, but frighteningly appealing, too.

“Good for you,” she replied with a smile, “Good for you, Danny.”

Chapter 7

“Why are you acting so weird?” I asked Ma over the phone a couple days after the press conference, “You still haven’t explained that strange thing you said about giving your grandchildren the money. Do you have other kids that we don’t know about, Ma?”

“No,” she answered with a laugh.

“Ma, please don’t play games. What’s going on?”

At that moment, Drew appeared at my office door with a
Vanity Fair
in his hands. He was reading an article, waiting for me to get off the phone. I wondered why he was reading
Vanity Fair,
but I was more focused on how his arm muscles looked in the tight white shirt he had on.

“Listen,” said Ma, “Can you come over tonight at 7:00?”

“Um…okay, sure,” I answered, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. We’ll talk about things tonight. Got to run. Mwah!” Then she hung up.

I looked at Drew. “I can’t figure that woman out.”

“That’s funny. You usually have her pegged pretty good,” he said.

“I know. So what’s up with the magazine?”

“I wanted you to see this article about Amy Adams. Did you know she worked at
Hooters
before she became famous?”

“Are you comparing a
Hooters
waitressing job to what I do?”

“No. I just thought you might find it inspirational.” He handed me the magazine.

Right then, I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him how much I appreciated his thoughtfulness. He really was a sweet guy. Hot, too. But as I always did, I kept my feelings to myself. “Thanks,” I said.

“Sure. So, is your mom finally going to explain the grandchildren comment?” he asked.

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“I have a good feeling about this whole thing.”

This time I didn’t hold back. With a wide grin I said, “You always seem to see the bright side of everything.” I was dying to add, “And your biceps rock,” but I didn’t.

A few hours later, I knocked on Ma’s door. For some odd reason I felt really nervous. I’d been knocking on that door for almost 15 years, and every time my mother answered I would hug her tightly. I really did love her. Sure, we had always had our differences, like the time I went to Aspen for the weekend with Kerry Wood (pitcher for the Chicago Cubs at the time) and Frankie had a complete fit, telling me I was going to end up labeled as a groupie-slut. Then there was the time I sat her down and told her I wasn’t sure I loved Max.

Frankie’s reply was, “What’s not to love?”

“Ma, I know he’s a good man. But I’m not sure if he’s right for me. Shouldn’t I feel more?”

“Feel more what?” asked Frankie, “More attraction? More lust?”

“Can I just shoot myself?” I’d replied.

“You see where that got you, right? You don’t need another John. You need someone to take care of you. Max is that someone.”

I knew my mother loved me and wanted to protect me, but we didn’t always agree. In fact, we rarely agreed. Still, we had always been close. Besides seeing Ma every Friday night, the two of us loved to shop together, we liked the same movies, and for special occasions like birthdays or Hanukkah, we loved going to
The Drake
hotel together for tea.

Ma was great company. She was fun. She loved to gossip about Hollywood people, and I had no idea where she heard them, but she always told hilarious jokes. Perhaps my favorite thing to do with my mother, though, was to sit and talk about my dad.

I could listen to her stories for hours. They interested me. They comforted me. And Ma enjoyed telling them. She would describe everything very vividly about her life with my father. Because of her drama and the colorful details she shared, I felt like I was there. Often times, I’d ask to hear some of the stories over and over again. The details of how my dad proposed, or how my parents spent their first New Years Eve together had been shared by Frankie at least fifty times.

Danny had no interest in hearing about my parents past, not because he didn’t feel love for his father, and not because he didn’t miss him. I suspected it was just too painful for him to hear such good things about someone he never really knew.

“Danny feels like he was robbed when I talk about the good times I had with Dad,” Ma would tell me, “and that’s okay. He was.”

I, on the other hand, could tell someone the life story of Seth Jacobson. Furthermore, I knew everything about Frankie Jacobson. At least I thought I did. Now, because of how she’d been acting since she won the lotto, distant and vague, I wasn’t sure.

The instant Ma opened the door, I felt the same weirdness I’d been feeling the past few days. Frankie hugged me hello, but she had this formality about her that I’d never seen before.

“Come in,” she said.

No words were exchanged as I walked behind her into the living area of the condo. The silence was awkward. Then, when I saw Danny and Frankie’s lawyer, Alan, sitting at the dining room table I began to see things more clearly.

“Have a seat please,” Frankie said to me in a tone similar to that of a receptionist in a doctor’s office.

“Hi,” said Danny, who seemed puzzled.

I waved to my brother. “What’s going on, Ma?” I asked softly, as I sat down.

“You know Alan, don’t you?” she asked me.

“Yes.” I gave him a polite smile.

“Hi, Jamie,” said Alan.

Ma sat down at the table. “Alan, shall we begin?” she asked.

“Certainly, Mrs. Jacobson.”

He started shuffling some papers. I looked at Danny and mouthed, “What’s going on?”

Danny just shrugged. Then he turned to our mother.

“Ma, do you mind if I get a beer?”

Frankie was about to reply, but Alan beat her to it.

“Your mother would prefer if you gave up alcoholic beverages,” he said.

Frankie added, “Except wine at Rosh Hashanah.”

Danny stood up and got in Alan’s face. “Hey dude, if my mother has issues with me, I think she can tell me herself.”

“Sit down, Danny,” Ma snapped.

Danny froze.

“Actually,” she continued, “Alan will be speaking on my behalf for the remainder of the evening.”

Danny seemed confused. He sat back down.

“Alan, please begin,” said Frankie.

“Sure,” he said, “As you probably heard at the press conference, your mother stated she will be giving her Illinois Lottery winnings to her grandchildren.”

“Yeah, Ma, I don’t get it,” said Danny.

“Shhh. Just listen,” Ma scolded, “Please continue, Alan.”

Alan proceeded to pull out two copies of a lengthy legal document. He handed one to me and one to my brother.

“This document, signed by your mother, states that if either of you produce a child, you will receive a sum of eight million dollars.”

I glared at the document for a few moments without even reading it. Then I stood up and exploded. “Are you crazy?”

“Nope,” she answered flatly.

“Let me get this straight,” said Danny, “You want us to have babies, and you’re willing to pay us for that?”

“Yup,” said Frankie.

“Why?” I shouted.

“Because all I want before I die…”

Danny interrupted, “Is to make us as miserable as humanly possible.”

Frankie ignored him.

“So what are we supposed to do?” I asked, “Get married? Neither of us are even dating anyone!”

“The document doesn’t state anything about marriage,” Alan said, “just children.”

Now I was fuming. “So, what? If we ever get around to having kids, like years from now, we become wealthy?”

“That’s not it at all,” Ma said, “Alan, tell them the interesting part.”

As Alan nervously shuffled through some papers, something made me peruse the document. And just as I heard Alan clear his throat to speak, a certain paragraph on the page caught my eye.

“Oh my God!” I gasped.

Then Danny saw it too. “Oh shit!” he screamed.

Both of us looked at our mother, who was smiling.

“It says here we have one year to produce a baby!” exclaimed Danny.

“That’s correct,” answered Alan, “One year from today, if either of you have a child, either through a pregnancy or adoption, you will receive your inheritance.”

I giggled bitterly, reading the document further, “It says here that the child will be tested through DNA.”

“Yes,” added Alan, “and if you adopt, we’ll need to see the adoption agreement.”

“So you basically want me to either start the adoption process, which I think we all know takes more than a year, or go out, find some guy, and get myself pregnant in the next three months?”