Stranger in Dadland (6 page)

“Huh?”

Then Liz said, “
Ooops!
Jet’s here!” and I heard the clunk of the receiver being dropped on the kitchen counter. I pictured Jet. He was so tall, he practically had to bend his shaved head to walk through our door.

“Johnny?” It was Mom again. “Sweetheart? Are you all right?” This was her worried-about-my-happiness voice. She had a range of worry tones.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said, missing everything about home, but letting my voice sound more annoyed than I felt.

We sat around the table and ate the Chinese food with the TV on. I was thinking about Liz, wondering if she felt bad for not coming to California. At least that would explain why she’d said all that junk about Dad wanting to be a good father but not knowing how, or whatever.

Meanwhile Cora was going on and on about a cat she’d had that died. I didn’t listen too closely.

Then Dad said a guy he’d seen that day believed that dogs are reincarnated into good solid trucks. Dad laughed, saying the guy was convinced that his Mitsubishi had the soul of his old boxer, Bub.

So he’d talked about my dog to everyone but me. He knew Bub’s name, but I bet he didn’t know Ditz’s. Liz was way off base thinking Dad couldn’t help being a lousy father. In fact, he was a perfect lesson in exactly how
not
to be a father. Never mind
father
, how about just human being? Wouldn’t a normal person say
something
nice to a kid whose dog had just died? Not Dad—he
laughs
about dead dogs. Ha, ha, ha.

And what would
you
be reincarnated as, I wanted to ask him. A puny, overpriced, yellow convertible?

After dinner, Cora did the dishes while my father paced back and forth, talking on the phone. I grabbed a book off the bookshelf and took it back to the guest room. Day two.

In the morning, Dad banged on my door and yelled, “Hustle, Big Guy! We’ve got a meeting at nine.”

“We?” I mumbled, stumbling out of bed.

Dad must’ve already run and showered. He was fixing my eggs, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. His back was hairy. I wouldn’t mind some body hair—a huge mustache would be fine—but I could do without the hairy back. It probably won’t happen anyway. I take after my mom’s side. Straight brown hair, not curly black like Dad’s.

He plunked my plate down in front of me and whistled off to his room to dress. The eggs looked gloppy, and the idea of slogging through a plate of them every morning made me wish Ditz were there. I’d just slip my plate under the table and the eggs would be gone in one slurp.

Then I remembered about Ditz. My fork froze halfway to
my mouth. It still wasn’t real. It was like a sad movie or book I had read long ago.

I ate. Then I dressed.

Dad came out and looked at me. Something flashed across his face—annoyance? Disappointment? Maybe I imagined it. But then he said, “Got anything a little nicer than that?” So I went back and changed from my T-shirt to a button-down. That was the best I could do.

Beau was just coming out of his apartment as we passed it.

“Where to?” he asked, falling in step with us. “The diner?”

“Work,” Dad said. “I have a presentation to give.”

“Harsh!” Beau said. “Work on such a beautiful morning!” And he waved as we ducked down the stairwell.

Beautiful? The sky was yellowish and the sun was already going full blast, practically sucking the spit out of my mouth. I almost wished I were staying at the apartment to swim. But maybe going to work with Dad would be okay this time. After all, I’d come to California to see
him.

When we drove out of the parking structure, we zipped along in our little yellow convertible, then pulled into another underground parking garage. We had to wind deeper and deeper to find a spot to bury the car.

“What happens to these things in earthquakes?” I asked, eyeing the massive concrete pillars and imagining us squashed like a yellow bug.

“We don’t have time to find out,” Dad said with a laugh. “I’m already four minutes late. And Bill Frederick is not a man who appreciates lateness.”

Dad hopped out of the car and rushed toward the exit sign. I hurried after him, up some stairs, more stairs, more, then through a door, and into a lobby—without ever having stepped outside.

Dad pointed to a chair. “I’ll be down in about…” He looked at his watch. “I don’t know. As soon as I can.” Then he hurried to the elevator, and let it swallow him whole.

I sat on the chair. Men and women tromped in wearing suits, carrying briefcases, not noticing me. I looked around, counted things: doors, squares of marble in the floor, plants. I didn’t even have a book or my watch or
anything
to do.

I wondered if Beau’s brother was beating him up back at the apartment, which then reminded me of Alex. I hadn’t thought of Alex in ages. He was this fifth-grade jerk who bullied me on the bus all through third grade. I don’t know what happened to him; he only went to my school that one horrible year, then disappeared—to destroy some other kid’s life in some other school, I guess.

I remembered the stomachache I got every day at the bus stop. Those rides were misery. Alex grabbing my books and not giving them back, tearing them or dropping them in the mud. Snatching away my homework and reading it out loud to anyone who’d listen. Calling me “Worm.”

My skin crept. All these years later, I still hated him. But maybe it’s different if your tormentor is your own brother. Maybe Eric was okay sometimes. Maybe he and Beau had some sort of pact.

My friend Theo back home fought with his little brother,
Jeremy. Theo called Jeremy names and chased him away when he hung around us too long. But Theo didn’t
hate
Jeremy. He didn’t
hit
him. Well, a shove once in a while, when Jeremy was out of control, but nothing terrible.

Wait, it didn’t seem terrible to
me
, but maybe it did to Jeremy. I didn’t like thinking my buddy Theo was as big a jerk as Eric, though, so I shook all of them out of my head. I concentrated on closing one eye at a time to make the plant in the corner jump back and forth. I wished I’d brought a book or my Game Boy or Walkman or
something.

About nineteen hours later I went over to look at the building directory. There were DDS’s (that’s dentists), and some GP’s and an ob-gyn (all doctors). And two CPA’s (accountants), and lots of JD’s (lawyers). But there were a bunch of other names with initials after them that I didn’t know how to decode.

I looked for Bill Frederick. The only Frederick was a Louis and Frederick Enterprises Inc., A.I.A. in suite 7392. What-could A.I.A. be, I wondered. American Igloo Advocates? American Independent Armies? How about Aggravating Industrial Ailments like Annoying Itchy Armpits?

I went back to my chair. I tried holding my breath to the count of one hundred. I made faces at my reflection in the glass door. Then I had to pee. Then I
really
had to.

I squirmed around in my chair for a while until it was unbearable. Then I went in search of the men’s room. A woman appeared but I couldn’t ask
her.
And anyway, she walked right past and didn’t even
see
me.

Maybe I’d become invisible, in which case I could just
pee right here in the lobby! There was no one around, but even if there were, all they’d see would be a yellow stream coming out of nowhere. Or maybe my pee was invisible too. I turned down a hall and there was the men’s room, but it was locked!

It was getting
really
serious now. I hurried to the elevator and pushed the button eighty times until the door opened.

Suite 7392 would be where? The seven thousandth floor? The seventy-third? I poked seven. The elevator dragged s-l-o-w-l-y upward; the doors s-l-o-w-l-y opened far enough for me to squeeze through. I bolted down the hall, looking for the Bill Frederick who did not appreciate lateness.

There! Big glass doors, gold letters. I shoved the door open onto the largest, fanciest office I’d ever seen outside of the movies. A receptionist behind a very shiny desk looked surprised to see me.

Somehow I got it across that my dad was in that office somewhere and that I needed the bathroom. By then I felt about one and a half seconds from taking a giant leak on the Oriental rug.

The receptionist obviously didn’t believe me. Probably boys who didn’t
really
have dads there rode the elevator up to try to con her all the time. Maybe guarding the executive washroom from intruders was a significant part of her job. Finally, she pushed a button and spoke carefully through her intercom. “Excuse me, sir. But there’s a little boy here who
says
his father is inside.”

She turned back to me. “What’s your name, honey?” she asked with what Liz calls “artificial sweetener.”

“John,” I barked, about to burst.

“He
says
his name is John and he’d like to use the bathroom.”

Did I hear a
laugh
come from that intercom? At least it was followed by a “Sure.”

So the receptionist got up s-l-o-w-l-y from her fat leather chair, walked s-l-o-w-l-y over to another huge door, and opened it onto a room that looked more like a living room than an office. Then she
finally
said, “Second door on the right.”

I ran.

It wasn’t until I was finished that it occurred to me to be embarrassed. Now I had to go back out there and thank the receptionist and have her know I had just peed.

That done, I slunk down to the lobby to count plants again. I had no idea if I’d been there four hours or four years.

When Dad finally stepped off the elevator, I practically lunged at him, like Ditz does when I come home. Like Ditz
did
, not
does
, I reminded myself. That slowed me down, and it’s a good thing, because Dad was with another man and it-would’ve looked very undignified if I’d hurled myself at them with my tongue hanging out all slobbery and my tail wagging.

The other guy said, “So this must be your son.” He was grinning broadly, probably thinking, The son who pees.

Dad introduced us. It wasn’t Frederick, it was some other mister. He and my dad stood around yakking for a while. I was afraid one of them was about to ask the other if he’d like to get some lunch, and the other would say, “Sure!”

I straggled after them, down through the parking pit. But eventually, they shook hands and Dad led me toward his Porsche. The other guy got in a huge black Benz.

I waited for Dad to say something about my coming up to Louis and Frederick Enterprises Inc. But he didn’t, so I didn’t either. Instead, I asked what A.I.A. stood for and he said it was an architectural firm.

Then he told me his presentation had gone longer than anticipated, so now he had to get to his next appointment and there wasn’t time for lunch.
Grrrrrrr!
went my stomach,

Same thing—underground parking garage, down, down. Then rush up another metal-and-concrete stairwell, and hurry into a lobby. I bet it was possible in Los Angeles to live in one place and work in another and not have any idea what either building looked like from the outside.

Dad wasn’t out of breath, but I was. I patted my pocket to make sure my inhaler was still there.

“Do you have to use the toilet?” Dad asked me. Sheesh. Was he gonna ask me that all the time now?

“No,” I said, and Dad sprinted through a door, calling, “Catch ya in a bit.”

“Define
bit!
” I wanted to shout out after him. But he was gone.

This lobby had a little shop in it, at least, so I went in and bought myself a Milky Way, wishing I had more money on me. I poked around and looked at magazines until I got tired of the way the guy behind the counter eyed me like I was going to steal something.

I went back out to the lobby and slumped in a chair,
feeling sorry for myself. Very, very sorry for myself. Bored, lonely, mad. Why had I thought going to work with Dad meant he’d be with me? That he’d pay attention to me. I was so stupid!

If I had any idea where I was, maybe I’d have grabbed a bus and gone back to swim with Beau. Or what if I just walked out the door and disappeared for a while? I’d like to see my dad try to explain
that
to Mom! Ha!

Or why not just get myself to the airport and fly home? Not warn anyone. Just turn up.

I thought of my friends Theo and Brad. Wouldn’t they be surprised to see me back early? They said a week in California sounded so great. But they didn’t imagine me left to rot in the lobby of one stupid office building after another. Leaving me is what Dad does best, I thought. He’s been doing it one way or another my whole life.

There was a clock on the wall, so I knew it took forty-seven minutes for my dad to reappear. This time I didn’t want to run up to him; I wanted to
kick
him!

“Sorry, Big Guy,” he said, not sounding nearly sorry enough. “Hungry?”

Yes yes yes yes yes!
I thought, but all I did was sorta shrug and kinda nod.

“We could pick up a bag of burgers and take it back to the pool,” Dad said.

I did another shrug and nod. “Whatever.”

He didn’t seem to notice the black clouds of fury billowing out of my ears. He just sang along with the oldies on the radio as he drove. Dinosaur rock wasn’t as bad as the garbage Cora listened to, but still. I looked over at him, singing, hair blowing. He’s a happy man, I thought. And that made me even sulkier.

*   *   *

I saw Beau before he saw us. He had his little brother Claude on his hip and was leaning over the railing, pointing things out to him. Claude had pants on this time. When he saw us, Beau galloped up, making Claude’s head bob like a balloon. I was glad to see them, and glad that they followed us home.

Beau and Claude eyed our food until Dad gave them some. Luckily, we’d bought tons. When we were finished, Dad suggested that Beau and I go for a swim. He said he had paperwork to do. Reports to write up. Obviously, I’d been dismissed.

I put on my trunks.

Beau leaped around in the water with Claude hanging on his neck like a baby chimp. Claude squealed and shrieked, not at all bothered by water in his nose, mouth, eyes. He was a brave and
very
noisy little guy, making it almost impossible to talk. But between Claude’s outbursts, Beau asked me if I’d had fun with my dad.