Fate and Ms. Fortune (17 page)

“Which is…”

“Move in with my parents in Florida and spend my entire day going to doctors.”

“Great idea…And Florida is perfect for single guys. You can have your pick of lonely widows, and boy do they love to cook!”

“Eddie Fisher was right.” He laughed. “You are funny.”

“I know. But seriously, I think I can help you. There’s a lot of stuff going on that I need to talk to my dad about. Plus, it turns out I not only have my mom’s car, I have the next four days off.”

“Really? And you’d be willing to do this for me?”

“What are make-believe wives for?”

Let me tell you, it elicits real excitement when your father is a dentist. Oooh. Can he can get us samples of Crest? No, not the same as having a dad who is a titan of business and so well connected, he can score front-row seats to Aerosmith.

But finally Harvey Holtz’s occupation was going to serve me well. It was going to make me a hero to a prospective suitor in need of teeth, and give me uninterrupted quality time with Ken to explore our shared pasts. Maybe even open his eyes to the possibility of a relationship with me instead of an actress who was clearly more interested in finding a pawn than a partner.

But have you ever noticed that daydreams rarely come true? Not that it stops us from fantasizing.

In fact, I would have never survived high school without my vivid imagination. Particularly my senior year when I convinced myself that my psych teacher was honestly and truly in love with me but couldn’t compete with the affections of the class president who was desperate to ask me to the prom but
feared the rejection because I was rumored to be dating a college freshman whose father owned the Jets.

Which is why it wasn’t much of a stretch at all to envision spending a day with Ken…a nice car ride, a lot of laughs, the beginning of something…

So what happens? It turns into a full court nightmare due to an offhand comment made by a guy riding shotgun who wasn’t even supposed to be there…If only I’d hadn’t taken Josh Vogel’s call.

R
IGHT BEFORE TAKING
an eighth grade science test, I remember telling Julia that I had solved the mystery of how she never got caught ditching gym, while if I was two minutes late, I got detention. She was born under a lucky star and I was the Sucky Luck Queen.

She claimed there was no such thing as a lucky star. But I wondered. I studied all night for that stupid exam and got an A. She forgot that there was a test and not only got an A, but the extra credit points and Mr. Wrobleski’s recommendation to speak at our junior high graduation.

In high school, she never so much as stuck a paper carnation in a class float, but got voted on to homecoming court every year. She would get high in the girls’ bathroom and walk out smelling like a daisy. The one time I smoked a cigarette in the school parking lot, it cost me the right to go on the class trip to Williamsburg, Virginia.

Eventually my mother saw the light. After losing a student council election to a kid who got caught stealing projectors from the AV lab, and after not getting a call back for a part in
the musical, even though my mother volunteered to conduct the orchestra, I overheard her tell my dad, “What can we do? The kid has no
mazel.”

Exactly. Luck wasn’t something you bought, borrowed or stole, like twenties from your dad’s wallet while he napped on the hammock (although in deference to that old trick, it sure felt lucky to hit the Bergen mall without having to beg for an advance).

No. Luck, like beauty and brains, was one of those intangible assets they assigned before you were born. You. Good luck. You. Amazing luck. You. Sorry. Outaluck…You. Bing bing bing, we have a winner…Then it was my turn. Robyn Holtz? Oy. Don’t ask.

Funny thing? Even though David was doing time in an upstate prison, he still contended he was one lucky guy. He’d won hundreds of thousands of dollars gambling and had a blast in the process. As for all the money he lost, say nothing of his wife, his home, and his future, he could still point to lady luck and think, maybe tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I sat in a near-empty co-op, wondering when, if ever, a memo would circulate that said, “Robyn’s been through hell. Next victim.” It couldn’t happen soon enough.

Just after I made arrangements to pick up Ken the next morning, Josh called. At first it was empowering to stand over an answering machine and not answer, even though it was sweet to hear him say he had a great time the other night, and would I like to make good on my promise to see him again by having dinner tomorrow?

When I realized I had the perfect out, I picked up and said sorry, I’d love to see him but not tomorrow because I was driving home so my friend Ken could see my dad.

My luck being what it was, however, Josh was thrilled that I was headed to Fair Lawn, as it so happened that his new car
had just come in and the dealer wanted him to take delivery on it before the rebate offer ended.

Fast forward to the next morning when I helped a hobbling Ken downstairs to my mother’s car, Rookie in my one arm, a pillow and their bag of meds in the other.

Did I know Josh would jump out of the front seat and yell, “Kenny? Kenny Danziger?”

Ken removed his sunglasses, squinting in the daylight.

“It’s Josh. Josh Vogel.” Josh hugged him. “From Oceanside…nursery school, Little League, Boy Scouts…”

Oceanside? Wait. What? Him too?

“Oh my God.” Kenny laughed. “Are you serious?” He nearly tripped on his crutches trying to hug him back. “How did you recognize me? It’s been forever.”

“I don’t know, man. You look like hell, but you still look like you.”

“Hold on.” Ken looked at me. “This is the guy who was your terrible first date? How could you not have fun with Josh? Josh, next time you gotta bring the Transformers.”

“I’m a terrible first date?” Josh looked like his ice cream dropped.

“No, of course not,” I said. “Ken is teasing…You’re a dead man.” I whispered as I helped him into the backseat, delighted that his knees would be up to his nose…“So hold on you guys…Is this crazy or what? We’re all from Oceanside, Long Island…”

They didn’t care. It was their personal reunion and my job was to shut up and drive. Until a still miffed Josh turned to current events.

“Yeah, so I thought Robyn and I had a great time the other night. It took her like thirty seconds to jump into bed naked and beg me to—”

“Stop!” I said. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Robyn did that?” Ken laughed. “No way. She’s not the type…”

“Oh yeah. She is. Put on a little Duran Duran and out comes a wild woman.”

My luck, we were sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Cross Bronx Expressway so I couldn’t drive off a bridge.

“She slept in my bed the other night too, but I wasn’t there…Rookie…Was Robyn naked?”

Rookie barked.

“Man…I missed it?”

“I swear I’m pulling over and throwing you two out…good luck catching a cab.”

“Oh come on. It’s funny,” Josh teased. “And it’s not like it’s going to stop you from applying to rabbinical school. We’ll never tell.”

“Exactly. We’re all consenting, horny adults,” Ken piped up. “You know, when you stop short like that, the seatbelt cuts my neck…and by the way, the gas pedal is the one on the right…”

“Really?” I jammed on the brakes again. “’Cause I wasn’t sure…Now let’s see. Who among us is the good soul? I’m playing nursemaid to an ingrate and chauffeur to a big mouth.”

“Takes one to know one.” Josh winked. “You told Ken I was a terrible date…and he’s right. You are the world’s slowest driver…I feel like we left in the winter of ’02.”

“Joke all you want. I’ve never gotten a speeding ticket.”

“No kidding. I’ve been in funeral processions that went faster.”

“Josh, c’mon man. Don’t make her nervous. We want her to pass her road test.”

“Say your good-byes,” I said. “When we cross the GW Bridge, you both must die.”

“We’re just playing with you.” Josh stroked my cheek.

“Yeah, you’ve saved my life. Right Rookie? Robyn’s our hero…Can you roll down the window so he can stick his head out?”

“How about I open the doors and you can all jump out?”

“Uh oh, Josh. I think I lost my ride. You may have to drive me back.”

“Nah…Don’t worry. Robyn’s easy.”

“I never liked you, Josh…As for you, Super Klutz, I’m telling my dad to pull out his biggest drill and that it’s against your religion to use lidocaine.”

So fine. They were having fun at my expense. Do you really think I would have thrown caution and my clothes to the wind, and gotten into bed with a kid who used to drink five milks at lunch, if I thought I’d be outed like Lori Schumacher who everyone knew the Sunday after homecoming had done it under the bleachers with Craig Abernathy?

This is what I’m saying. I have no luck.

“Josh used to have the best birthday parties,” Ken said. Apparently after they’d discussed my small breasts and round ass, I was now allowed back in the conversation. “His mom would make these forts out of Rice Krispies Treats…and I’m not talking the little ones that fit on a plate. She’d build these amazing fortresses with marshmallow moats…Does she still make them?”

“No.”

“Oh come on. Really? You’re never too old for—”

“She, um…she died.” Josh cracked his knuckles.

“Oh my God,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Josh. I didn’t know.” Ken leaned over to pat him.

“Yeah. It was a long time ago now, but…Remember when I moved to Florida?”

“Sure. Your dad took us to Hooters for a good-bye party and we got autographs. That was huge at ten.”

“We had just moved down there…One night she got lost
coming home from the supermarket…went down a one-way street the wrong way…But at least it was quick. They said she probably never realized the other car hit her.”

“I’m in shock,” I said. “I had no idea. I always thought your mom was Helene.”

“No.” He drummed on the dashboard.

“So wait,” I said. “You moved from Oceanside to Florida…How did you get to Fair Lawn?”

“We flew.”

“Funny. I mean what brought you there?”

“I guess it was about a year after my mom died, my dad met Helene at a wedding in Boca. She was from somewhere in Jersey, they started going back and forth…then when they decided to get married, she wanted to be near her sister who lived in Fair Lawn, and that’s where we ended up.”

“You know? I’m starting to remember when you moved in,” I said. “Wait. Were you the one who had the open house bar mitzvah?”

“That was me.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Oh come on. My driving isn’t that bad.”

“Actually it is. Are you aware that even old ladies are giving you the finger?”

“Fine. I’ll go faster, but I’m warning you. The Cross Bronx is a speed trap.”

“I’ve never seen them pull over a car that’s already on the shoulder,” Ken mused.

“Anyway,” Josh continued, “so yeah. The open house was Helene’s idea. We moved in in August and my bar mitzvah was in October. I had no friends, hardly any family, so she said, Let’s just have a big party in the backyard and invite the whole town.”

“You know? I think we went to that…it was a carnival, right? Big tents…a guy on stilts…”

“Yep.” he winced.

“Not a good memory?”

“Nope…not a good memory. I was miserable…I missed my mom so much I spent most of the day in my room crying…I think my sister had more people there than me…”

It wasn’t hard to feel his anguish. Who couldn’t relate to reliving painful childhood memories which played in your head like old home videos. “See? Didn’t we tell you that you pooped in the pool at Phillip’s birthday party?”

But, of course, Josh’s memories were far more devastating. I couldn’t imagine losing my mother as a child, though was there any age at which death did not feel like abandonment?

Frankly, all this recent talk of dying was getting too close for comfort. My mother was stubborn and irascible. But the prospect of her leaving this world was too daunting to consider. Not that it would stop me from strangling her one day.

And ditto for these two why-chromosomes for making fun of me, although it was nice to hear Ken laugh. But when he suddenly changed the subject and brought up his nursery school teacher, I went from annoyed to stunned.

“Did you just say Mrs. Abramowitz?” I looked in my rearview mirror. “I had her too.”

“When?” Ken replied. “What year?”

“I don’t know. I was four, so that would have been…what? 1975?”

“That’s when I went there,” Josh added. “
A.M
. or
P.M
.?”

“Beats me.” I shrugged. “I’d have to ask my mom. Not that she’d remember. She used to forget to bring me altogether.”

“I know I went in the mornings,” Ken said. “Because I remember waiting for Seth to get home from school and it would feel like hours.”

“Me too.” Josh nodded. “I’d come home, have lunch, take a nap, watch cartoons, and then my sister Brittany would finally walk in.”

“Hey. Does anyone remember Jason Horowitz?” I asked. “What a crybaby. He’s probably still crying.”

“Actually he’s a plastic surgeon in Santa Monica,” Ken said. “I think he stopped crying.”

I thought Josh would try to impress Ken with his success, but he resisted. Impressive!

“Yeah, I remember that kid,” Josh said. “That’s how I got chicken pox…he was always stealing my juice and next thing I know I’m covered in spots…so wait. Were we all in the same class?”

“I looked at my watch and what did it say?” I sang.

“Time to put the toys away.” They laughed.

“This is unbelievable,” Josh said. “What are the odds? Three people end up in a car thirty years after they played in a sandbox together…Hey Ken. Are you still in touch with those two other kids? Larry somebody and I can’t remember the other one’s name…”

“No.”

“The three of you were like glue. I remember you’d cry if they tried to separate you.”

I caught Ken’s sad face in my rearview mirror. Was Josh talking about Mo and Larry? Oh God. They were in our class too?

“I guess you never know where your life is going to take you,” Josh said. “I would have thought for sure you guys would still be tight.”

“Yeah, me too.” Ken peered out the window.

“I remember this one time you kicked a soccer ball so far it went into the temple parking lot and the three of you ran like hell to chase it, and the teachers were screaming, ‘Come back here,’ and nobody’s listening…”

“…They’re both gone now.”

“You mean they moved?”

“No…they’re dead.”

“They’re dead?” Josh turned around. “You mean they were still together…Were they gay?”

“No, they weren’t gay. Richie Morris got drunk at a party, then got hit by a car…Larry Gerber was a bond trader for Cantor Fitzgerald…”

“Holy shit. I don’t believe it…I had no idea…But you stayed friends until the end?”

“Yeah. Friends till the end.” He held Rookie to his chest.

Good God. How did the fun of catching up suddenly morph into the pain of looking back? As they retreated to their corners like stunned boxers, now I wished they were dissing me again.

“I gotta tell you,” Josh finally said. “I’m in shock…First I run into a girl I haven’t seen since high school, then a boy who used to come over to play Transformers. Then we find out we all started out together and look how much has happened to us…”

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” Ken said. “But what makes this even more bizarre for me is I hadn’t thought about nursery school since nursery school. I mean I’d occasionally run into some of the kids when my folks still lived in Oceanside, but after they moved to Florida, I never went back.

“But a couple of months ago my mom calls and says she’s sending two boxes. One to me, one to Seth. She doesn’t care what we do with them, she just wants them out of the garage. So Seth gets his, sees all this crap he can’t believe she saved, like report cards and haiku poems and camper awards, and tosses the whole thing…Then he calls me and says it’s all a bunch of a junk, don’t even bother opening it. So I didn’t…It sat on a shelf in my closet. Until last week…”

Oh no. The box in his closet…

“I don’t know. I had this like nagging feeling I should see what was in it. So I go and take it down and I call Seth back and I say, ‘Shmuck! How could you throw this stuff out?’”