Only Children (44 page)

“Like the great poet!” happy Daddy said. His cool fingers squeezed Byron’s neck.

Stomach had a little chair, a baby chair.

“Pick him up,” Mommy said to Daddy.

“No! Wanna sit here.”

“Shhh!” Mommy said hard. “It’s a booster seat. To make you taller.”

“No! Don’t want!”

“How are you going to reach the table?” Daddy asked.

Knees are feet. Byron showed them. He could get everything now. “See!” He picked up the salt. “What’s that!”

“Pepper,” Daddy said.

“Okay,” Mommy said to Stomach. “We don’t need it.” Baby chair go away.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” Byron laugh like Skeletor.

“Byron,” Mommy said, angry.

“Okay, okay.” Lean against Daddy. Daddy’s soft hand touched him, cool tips, like water, down the face. “What’s pepper for?”

“Food,” said happy Daddy. “To add flavor when the food is yucchy.”

“Yucchy food!” Byron choked loud. Grown-up laughed over there. “Yucchy food!”

“Peter, don’t encourage him.”

“Hey, Byron,” Daddy said, so happy. “I’m very good at going to restaurants. Did you know that?”

“Good?” Daddy must be good.

“Restaurants love me. Know why?”

“You quiet?”

“Yes, I’m very quiet while I put pepper on my yucchy food.”

Byron laughed. The lights squeezed, Mommy got bright, her mouth wide and white, Daddy’s arms shook with happy bounces, and Byron put his head, shaking and laughing, into Daddy’s chest and let himself be held.

“I love yucchy food,” Byron said.

Mommy looked so bright, her face white under the dancing lights. “You’re so cute, Byron,” she said, and kissed the air. Daddy caught her kiss and placed the cool love on Byron’s happy hot cheek.

H
E’S FINE
, Eric abused himself. Why did I call Nina and tell her to come home? She’s going to think I’m an idiot. Or worse, that I wanted to mess up her work.

He was desperate not to interfere. FIT and this part-time evening job had made Nina happier than Eric could remember. Her short temper with Luke—well, it wasn’t so short—but that buildup of resentment, culminating in a sudden switch from tolerance to shouting, no longer happened. Nina tired more easily, but she seemed to remember her gratitude at having Luke, not to feel as put-upon. Eric knew why. He shared that reaction, even though he was exhausted coming home from work, his body reluctant, his mind fainting at the prospect of an hour’s play the minute he was through the door. But after the roughhousing was over, even though his skin was boned and his muscles unstrung, the fatigue was housed in satisfaction. He knew why he was tired. The happy face he kissed good night told him why. Luke made the reason he worked clear, made everything in life immediate. Important. Aimed.

I am a father, he would catch himself thinking at odd moments, an announcement of worth that nothing could diminish.

He could look at Joe and feel superior to him, despite the gap in their knowledge of the market. My son is loved, his is not.

He could look at Sammy and care less about his insults, because he knew what a terrible thing had been withheld from Sammy.

On every street, in the park, on the television, in the papers, everywhere there were fatherless men or, worse, failed fathers. Everywhere, everywhere, were abandoned sons, neglected sons, misunderstood sons; everywhere there were failures. Not Eric. He loved Luke. And Luke loved him. And they were going to endure.

That’s why the constipation bothered Eric so. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t really help. What was Eric going to do when Luke was sixteen? Run Luke around the apartment so he could take a crap? And the eye. Eric should have called the doctor and gone. Instead, like a baby, he phoned Nina, interrupted her work, and begged her to come home.

And now Luke seemed fine. Sure, he was quiet, sitting in the corner of the couch, holding the blankey to his eye, but he talked and laughed. He even got up and ate his slice of pizza. Luke was very sensitive; that’s why he still worried over his eye. Eric was convinced that by morning it would be forgotten.

Nina came home, dashing in from the hallway. Eric expected resentment, but she stopped at the living room and looked at them with pleasure. “How are my boys?” she said.

“Mommy,” Luke said softly, but the relief was loud in his tone.

Nina kissed Eric quickly and, with her coat still on, went right to Luke. “Put your head back, I won’t touch your eye, I just want to look at it.”

Luke’s eyes watered immediately. “Okay,” he said, almost blubbering the words.

Nina did as she promised. She rolled her eye and told Luke to do the same. He yelped when he tried. “Do you still feel like something’s in there?”

“Nothing!”

“Probably nothing is. But does it feel like something is? Not telling me won’t make the hurt go away, Luke. I spoke to the doctor and he said sometimes sand can scratch an eye, and even though it’s not there, the scratch can hurt. It’ll heal itself. You’ll be fine. But I have to know. Does it feel like there’s still something in it?”

Luke covered his face with his blanket, like a criminal broken down, and he confessed, “Yes! It hurts a lot!” And he bawled with relief, collapsed by pain.

My God, Eric thought. I’ve been here for two hours. He’s been in terrible pain. And I thought it was the constipation. For two hours Luke’s suffered, and I thought he was fine. My God, I’m an idiot. I’m not even a good father.

D
IANE
was amazed by the response. All her enemies were confounded. Stoppard, who had become progressively cooler and irritating since the birth of Byron, increasingly picky and dissatisfied with her work, almost pleaded with her to reconsider.

“Diane, you’re a superb lawyer. Don’t do this. You’ll regret it later. Byron’s going to grow up and leave home to date girls with paisley hair. I can ease your caseload for a while.”

“I’m a superb lawyer?”

Stoppard frowned. “Of course you are.”

“I haven’t had a compliment out of you in a year.”

“Your work hasn’t been good.”

“Then you should be happy I’m leaving.”

She was delighted to see Stoppard squirm, compliments wrung from the sponge he had used to soak up her talent and energy. Give me more, she said, and he twisted and squeezed out praise. “I can guarantee you you’ll make partner this year,” he said with a final squirt, his hands out as if to say: there, I’m dry now.

“Thank you,” she said graciously. She meant it too; the acknowledgment of her abilities was what she had always wanted. She knew now
that
was the important value to her, not the money, or the public prestige. She didn’t like to fail. She liked to be the best. “Partnership would mean even more work. I have a family. I want to take care of them.”

Stoppard then appealed to Diane’s duty to her sex, asserting that her sudden departure because of children would only confirm the chauvinist partners’ worst fears about women. God, that was funny.

Of course, Diane’s mother was delighted. “Oh, that’s so much better for Byron. And for you, dear. I’m so happy!” Yeah, I won’t be topping you anymore, right, Mom? Now you don’t look like such an unaccomplished, spoiled woman. “I’m coming up this weekend to celebrate,” Lily insisted. Diane couldn’t talk her out of it. To celebrate. Diane’s quitting made Lily want to party.

Peter? That surprised her. He got loving. He got passionate. Ran his finger over her body, shaping, dancing, scratching, squeezing, molding. Put his mouth on her, swallowed her sex.

I cut off my balls, so now his are bigger.

But she didn’t feel the bitterness implied by her intellectual observations. She knew she hadn’t failed, even if those closest to her were relieved that she had given up. She could have kept going, made partner, raised Byron, blown them all out, Supermom caped and flying onto the pages of
New York Magazine
. She chose not to. She could have climbed the wall. She had decided to turn away.

There was something secretive in her pride that she had rejected her work, a closely held mirror in which she could peek without being observed and see herself superior, a nun renouncing the pleasures of the world, an artist spurning celebrity, a purist, choosing life over ego, choosing her family over vanity.

When Diane told Didi, at first she wasn’t believed. Then once Diane convinced her, amazingly enough, Didi began to cry. Diane held her. Didi sobbed like a girl. “What is this?” Diane said.

“I feel so alone,” Didi said.

The world is nuts, Diane thought. Nobody knows what they want. She invited Didi to dinner, something she had never done before. “I couldn’t,” Didi said. “I’d go home later and want to slash my wrists.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’d go home and thank God.” I’ve guaranteed her partnership, Diane thought. I’ve changed four lives: mine, Byron’s, Peter’s, and Didi’s.

They had a great time that night, Peter and Byron and Diane. Something terrible had left the house, something that had had them by the throat. That was obvious. Peter was her lover again, Byron obeyed her, got sweet and loving, and she could breathe. All that, all that, all that—just for killing her career.

“W
E’RE GOING
to go see a doctor,” Mommy said.

He cried. His head, heavy and sad, fell forward. Couldn’t stop it. Mommy, her body swishing in her blanket coat, touched his face.

“He’s just going to see if there’s anything there and give you something to feel better. It won’t hurt so much. Now, we’re not seeing your regular doctor—”

Help. His nose ached from the tears. “Why? Why?” The water washed in his throat. Help me. “Daddy!” Help, Daddy. “I don’t want to!” He called to them, he screamed to them to be Mommy and Daddy again. “I’m okay!”

“Are you sure?” Daddy said.

“Eric!” Mommy yelled at Daddy.

Cover up. Hide in her. He pushed against the swish coat. The eye! Don’t yell. They take you if you yell.

“Okay. Where is it?” Daddy said, scared. Why is Daddy scared?

“Fourteenth Street and First.”

“And First!” Daddy worry, Daddy don’t want to go.

“The Eye and Ear Infirmary. At night you go to the Fourteenth Street entrance.”

“Jesus, we might have to walk back, I don’t think there’ll be cabs—”

“Then we’ll walk back, Eric. Get his jacket. Let’s go.”

Don’t look. Stay in, Mommy. Eyes closed, he was nowhere. No doctors, no poking. Nothing in the eye. Go to sleep.

They had his arms. Take my hands off. Take my leg, take me away, I stay here in Mommy.

“Come on, baby,” Daddy said.

No! He pulled for Mommy, swim to her. “I’ll carry him,” Mommy said.

Face on her, press against the eye. Go away. Go away before the doctor.

Mommy pulled, pulled on his head. “Luke, look at me. Look at me, Luke.”

Can’t look. Close on the burning hurt. Be away, away.

Mommy came inside his eyes, a huge doll. “Luke, don’t be so scared. We’re going to a different place than your regular doctor, but they’re nice there. And we’ll be with you the whole time. They just need to look in your eye.”

Don’t want my eye. Don’t want to see. Let me sleep, let me go away.

“Okay? Shhh.” Soft kisses. Daddy, in his coat, turns on the light. The hall glows.

“The elevator’s here.”

Sleep. Sleep. He leaned on Mommy and held the worry in, poking in his chest to get out. In, in. Good-bye, home.

G
ET READY
to be a man.

Eric Gold, Wizard of Wall Street, walks boldly, people moving out of his way at the mere sight of his imposing body
.

In the street, his long arm signaled for a taxi. A couple on the other corner dropped their competing hands when Nina appeared behind Eric, Luke loose in her arms.

“Fourteenth and First,” he said, fully in command. “It’s the Eye and Ear Clinic. The entrance is on Fourteenth.”

Eric reached for Luke’s hand. Luke’s fingers fell into his palm, drooped leaves soaked with fear. Nina kissed Luke on the forehead over and over, a steady patter of love.

The stupid traffic made the ride endless. He could have walked it faster. If anything really serious ever happens, I could carry Luke to the emergency room. Remember that.

This is what it means to be a man. Don’t hesitate, don’t doubt, get it done. You sat with him for three hours doing nothing. Luke’s doctor would have still been available. You’ve made enough mistakes for one night.

“He’s asleep,” Nina said when the clinic was in sight.

“Oh, no” escaped from Eric. Don’t whine, don’t worry. But Luke’s so cranky just after he wakes up. Is Nina angry at me? I should have handled this. Better for him. Better for her.

I should have bought four times the amount of DNA Tech than I did. Either make a bold move or don’t make it at all. What’s the point of a little position?

On Monday, I’ll quadruple Tom’s exposure.

Luke looked so small, his head decapitated on Nina’s shoulder, the big eyelids closed, their tiny veins showing purple through his pale skin.

Eric Gold, discoverer of undiscovered values in the OTC market, a frequent panelist on
Wall Street Week,
rated number two among money managers for the last year, moves past the lingering bums at the clinic’s entrance and holds the door wide for his beautiful wife and wounded son
.

Out of my way, out of my way. An Indian nurse stood beside a security guard at a reception desk. “Yes?”

“My son has something in his eye.”

Luke woke up crying. “Shhh, shhh,” Nina said.

“Oh, the poor baby,” a gigantic black woman said. She was seated in a row of plastic chairs. Around her, sprawled in funny positions, like discarded clothes, were five children.

“Geuss?” the nurse said to Eric.

“Excuse me?”

“It was geuss?”

“No, not gas. Sand.”

The nurse laughed at Eric as though he were a cute child. “Oh, sand. Not geuss. You have to wait. Fill this form out, please.”

Luke wailed. His arms arched into the air, grabbing for what he already had—his mother. He grabbed for Nina as though she were incorporeal. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” he screamed. “It hurts! It hurts!”

“You take the baby first,” the black woman as big as the Stock Exchange said to the nurse.