Pass It On (12 page)

“Hello?” David answered the phone and watched
Jonathan get up and go to the kitchen.

“I just wanted to tell you I didn't fool around with my SAT tutor,” Amanda said. “Even though that feeling was totally in the air. I want you to know it was because I can't take my mind off you.” Then she hung up.

David lay there with the phone on his chest, his eyes closed. That's when it dawned on him: He just needed to do it. He needed to ask Amanda to marry him, get engaged, whatever, if that was what would make her happy. But he'd have to get a ring on the down-low since if his dad knew, he would definitely find a way to sit David down and explain how this decision was actually about his mother and the fact that she'd breast-fed him for too long or some other creepy psychological theory.

When Jonathan came back from the kitchen with some leftover pizza, David sat up and smiled at him. “How much is a diamond ring?”

“Wha?” Jonathan asked with his mouth full. A diamond ring was maybe the one retail item that Jonathan had never personally investigated. “Well, I guess it depends on if you buy it at Tiffany's or if you buy it in one of those kitchy port towns in the Carib—“

“Yeah, yeah!” David shot up off the bed. “That's it! So I need to come with you. On your trip. To buy Amanda a ring in one of those towns.”

I left David at home, where he was lying on his bed drawing ring designs even though I'd forced him to half-admit this was nuts. Outside, I started walking south toward SoHo, then cut east toward Nolita since I just had this feeling like it was time to see Ruth. I was totally relaxed in a laid-back, Patch kind of way. And I was psyched that it appeared like that even to me, though of course it wasn't entirely true, since there was still a lot of stuff going on and I hadn't even attempted to apologize to Mickey or Arno yet. I was a little afraid my vacation apology would come out first and then the “sorry my dad stole your money” thing would spill out right behind it. And I was still holding on to this little sparkly possibility that maybe PISS and all her money was going to make this all go away.

I passed a Korean deli on the way and bought Ruth a bunch of daisies that were the color of
raspberry Kool-Aid—which was almost the color of an Etro shirt I'd been eyeing.

Then I walked with the daisies past Café Gitane which was right on her block and I had sudden deep and intense fantasies of Ruth and me sitting in Gitane on a Sunday morning after we'd just gotten up at her house, and her parents were out of town, and we'd be there reading the
Times
and laughing our heads off at how wrong they get everything in the Styles section. We'd kiss in between gulps of café au lait from big white bowls, which is how they do it there.

So I went up the steps and rang her bell and felt a feeling I hadn't felt since several weeks ago when I stopped by the Floods' house to see Patch and only ended up seeing little Flan Flood, who I was really there to see in the first place.

“Heyyy,” said Ruth.

She stood in the doorway, looking at me. She was in a pink turtleneck sweater and a long blue-jean skirt, and her hair was held together high up on her head with a leather and wood contraption. The house seemed to blow air toward me, air that smelled of an afternoon that had segued into an evening without anyone noticing because everything was so mellow and good.

“Come on up.”

We drifted up the dark wood stairway and passed a big living room with white couches, then a kitchen with lots of cream-colored cabinets, then what must've been bedrooms behind big honey-yellow doors. I'd been in many other people's houses in the last week or so, but this was the first one that made me feel calm.

“It's nice here.”

“Yeah, my parents basically work all the time, so I've kind of decorated it myself.”

“Wow.”

We kept going up, to the top floor, where her bedroom was. She had the new Belle and Sebastian CD on, and there were some candles by her bed.

“I was reading.”

“Oh yeah? What?” I didn't sit. She hadn't asked me to. She stood too, but close to her bed.

“This book by Salinger, you know,
Frannie and Zooey
.”

“For school?”

“Nope, just for me. I'm re-reading all his stuff.” She held out her hand and I took it, because that's what it looked like she wanted.

The next half hour or so was just us on her
bed, fooling around. It was more than good. It was like,
you are my girlfriend.

When we paused for a second, and before I realized what I was doing, I said, “I feel like there's something I have to tell you.”

“You don't have a girlfriend, do you?” I felt her body freeze under me.

“No, nothing like that. But there's this thing I'm dealing with. I need to just like, tell you about it.”

“I'm listening.”

She smiled at me. Her bed felt so warm, and the way we were lying there was so perfect, like no one could reach us in this place. The door was locked and the big bay windows looked out onto the windblown trees in the backyard, and we were inside where it was safe and warm.

I turned to her. She smelled of perfume and wood smoke. We both did. My eyes flickered.

“Okay,” I said. “My father left my mother and moved to London about six years ago. Now he's going to get remarried, to this really, really rich woman. And yeah, I know that's a weird thing to say, but it's important to the story.”

“Okay.” She smiled, pushed my hair back over my forehead. “Go on.”

“Well, my dad, Howard is his name, I guess what happened is he started making investments for all my friends' parents and he blew a whole lot of money for them, but back then everybody was losing money anyway, so it seemed like not such a big thing.”

“So what's the big deal? Everyone's parents are kind of embarrassing. That's the nature of the job.”

“I know, but it's worse with my dad. Now that he's getting married again he wants to come clean with the world or something, so he's admitted that he stole all that money.”

“What money?”

“From my friends, the money that my friends' parents gave him.”

“Oh.” Ruth's eyes were wide now, and round, like marbles. “Wow.”

“So I know that David knows, but I think that's going to be okay, but what's flipping me out is that maybe Mickey knows, because he practically punched me out during football yesterday. So what I mean is, I feel like things are going to get worse for me the more people figure it out. But at the same time, I feel—I don't want to feel distant from you.”

“No, it's okay.” She did the thing that girls do, where she took up the cashmere blanket that we'd kicked to the bottom of the bed and wrapped herself in it. I knew that meant I couldn't touch her now. And I got her point, that she needed to curl up for a moment and think about me.

“I wanted to get it out. You know, because I suspect—I think people will gossip about it. And you know how gossip is. I'm not a thief.”

“No of course not. In fact, it makes you kind of sexy, in a way.”

“How?”

She put her head against my chest and the blanket fell off her shoulder.

“Like you're an outlaw.”

“Naw.” I laughed.

Then we were kissing, and a phone rang. But even though it had the same ring as my phone, which was a nice coincidence, it was hers.

“Hey, Liesel.” She sat up in bed and placed her hand on my chest, just lay it there.

“That's cool. Oh yeah? Sure. I guess we could. I'm with Jonathan here. You remember him. No? Arno's friend. Designer clothes, yeah. Okay, we'll meet you there. Fun!”

Ruth looked over at me and shrugged, in soft-eyed apology. Ringlets of her hair fell forward and she lay against me.

“I said we'd meet Arno and Liesel at Schiller's Liquor Bar.”

“When?”

“Well, now.”

We were quiet for a moment.

“I know we're completely different, but Liesel's my best friend.”

“That's cool. Arno's one of my best friends.”

I turned slightly and saw her books on a low shelf across from the bed, and started to read the titles. More Salinger, Pynchon,
Frankenstein
, tattered copies of
Emma
and
Madame Bovary.
It's always big when you think you know someone and then you see their stuff and your understanding of them adjusts, like a picture shifting into focus. Now I'd told someone, rather than waiting in fear for them to figure it out. That felt a little better, I had to admit.

“So Arno doesn't know, right?”

I'd heard her question, but I didn't turn, not immediately.
The Little Prince,
the new
Our Bodies Ourselves. The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Goodnight Moon
.

“I don't think so—not unless David told him, which I asked him not to. But then again, if Mickey found out, I don't know who told him, either.”

Liesel and Arno sat in Schiller's Liquor Bar in a round leather booth. It was a little past eleven and the place was packed. The restaurant was white tile and red leather, with accents of brass. The waitresses had high eyebrows and were beautiful, and the busboys had spindly tattoos on their arms, thin moustaches, and black, greased-back hair.

“It's Thursday, right?” Arno asked.

Liesel shrugged. She had her phone out and was talking with someone called Dirk, who was living at her parents estate in Southampton.

“
Yes, I believe it is
,” Arno whispered to himself.

“Where are they?” Liesel had her hair twisted up in a gigantic bun, with a pair of gold chopsticks through it. “I need a drink. Don't you?” Liesel waved her arms around. When a waitress came by she ordered Irish coffees for both of them. Great, Arno thought, now I'll be slightly buzzed and very awake. “Don't you love this place? It makes me feel so very soigné!”

“Huh?”

“Like, sophisticated.”

Arno glanced at her. Of course she was trying to be very grown-up. She'd come from an afternoon of “consulting” for Miss Sixty, down on Mulberry Street. She walked around the store and arranged things and got to shop for a discount, not that the discount mattered at all to her. Apparently downtown stores were very into getting her “uptown” touch.

“Sure.”

“Ruth is awesome! Just wait till you meet her. She's extremely retro, and so, so beautiful. It's insane that your friend hooked up with her. What did you say his name was again?”

Before Arno could open his mouth to say Jonathan's name for the tenth time, Jonathan and Ruth parted the red leather curtain that kept the restaurant insulated against the cold breeze from the street and stepped inside.

“Darlings, over here!” Liesel yelled. Then there was much kissing on cheeks and everyone settled in. Liesel ordered more Irish coffees for the newcomers.

Arno pulled Liesel closer to him, and sniffed at her hair.

“Don't yank me!” Liesel picked up a bread knife and pointed it at Arno's throat.

“Down, girl,” Ruth said to her friend. Liesel dropped the knife with a clatter and threw her arms around Ruth.

“I love you!” Liesel made a raspberry noise on Ruth's cheek with her open mouth. “And I hate being yanked!”

“These boys,” Ruth said, trying to wriggle away from Liesel, “are going to find you annoying if you don't stop.”

But clearly, Liesel was long past caring what anyone thought of her.

“So this trip?” Arno asked Jonathan, who was carefully examining a menu.

“Right. I need to talk to you about that.” Jonathan put down his menu and leaned in toward Arno very seriously. “I'm only supposed to bring one person. But I asked all you guys, except Patch, and that's mostly just 'cause I haven't seen him, and now I'm kind of screwed because I can't choose between you all like that.”

“I get that,” Arno said. “I guess you'll just play it by ear and let us know what you decide later?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Neither Jonathan nor Arno looked like they were crazy about that idea.

“Hey—is there something you're not telling me?” Arno asked.

“Can we get some service over here?” Liesel yelled. She grabbed a waiter with a bleached-white mohawk and ordered a bottle of champagne and a lot of tapas, a few pieces of everything.

“Not really,” Jonathan said, to Arno. “Or, well, nothing you've got to know now.”

“Hmm,” Arno said, noticing the way Ruth had just tried to catch Jonathan's eye when he said that.

“Boy, I sure wish I didn't have to go back to David's house tonight,” Jonathan said. But Ruth and Liesel were talking and laughing so loudly that no one could hear him.

“Are you the kind of guy who says no to a friend in need?” Jonathan asked. He'd gone out to the street and called Mickey.

“No, that is not who I am.” Mickey laughed.

“Dude, please. I can't stay at David's house any longer. I think his dad is going to make me sacrifice a goat, and David's totally absorbed with designing engagement rings, which is just too weird.”

“You want to talk about what's going on with you?” Mickey asked.

“Man.” Jonathan hated all this apologizing, even though he knew it was totally necessary. “I fucked up. I invited you and Arno and David on this trip but the problem is, I can only bring one of you.”

“Okay,” Mickey sighed. “Well, at least you finally told me.” He was in his room, listening to some pirate dubs of Moby that one of his dad's assistants had made. “But you still can't stay here till Sunday night, my parents said.”

“But it's Thursday!”

“I know, man. And I'm sorry.” Mickey really was sorry that Jonathan couldn't stay with him, but his mom had gotten totally sketched out when he asked if Jonathan could stay over. What reason could his mom have for dissing Jonathan? Mickey didn't have a clue. “It's not my fault,” Mickey said, into the phone.