Fate and Ms. Fortune (25 page)

“I liked the merchandise.” I kissed him and he answered with passion, pulling me nearer.

Maybe two minutes went by. Maybe ten. All I remember is that we started in neutral and ended in drive, and there was no mistaking his desire as he overpowered me with affection while his hands slowly sought refuge on my body.

“Wow.” I pulled away. “That was amazing.”

He nodded with tears in his eyes.

“I swear you are worse than me.” I wiped his face. “I may have to give you some of my shares in Kimberly-Clark.”

“Sold!…Rookie! Pipe down,” he yelled into the bedroom. “What is with him tonight?”

“Want me to see what he keeps barking at?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably a magazine fell off the bookshelf. It makes him crazy.”

“That’s so weird. I had the same thing happen in my room. I had a stack of these old
Mad
magazines that—”

“Mad
magazines?” Ken sat up so fast we nearly knocked heads.

“Yeah. Remember those?”

“Are you kidding? We lived for those, especially Mo. He was a total
Mad
freak. He had every issue. No, he memorized every issue. He had the lunch box, the board game, he was Alfred E. Neuman every Halloween…”

“Yeah, well I once had a huge collection too, until my
mother decided to throw them all out. Thank God Julia saved the day because she had a bunch of issues she never gave back and—”

“Did you say that’s what was falling off your shelf?”

“Yeah. In fact, I’d forgotten that’s where I put them until—”

“I bet that was Mo.”

“Oh stop. That’s just creepy.”

“Well how would you explain it? All of a sudden
his
favorite magazine starts falling off
your
bookcase?…I gotta go see what’s going on in there. Help me up.”

We hopped to the bedroom to find Rookie sniffing a magazine on the floor beside Ken’s desk.

“Did you leave
Road and Track
on the floor?” I picked it up.

“No, it was definitely on my desk.”

We looked around the room. Did we have company? Then Rookie started barking at the air and our eyes widened.

“Do you remember the other night at my uncle’s house when we were sitting around the dining room?” Ken asked. “And I was staring at you…”

“Uh huh.”

“It was the strangest thing then too. I felt like Mo was there with me and it hit me that I was looking at the girl who took my favorite picture of us…I was in shock.”

“Why?”

“Because it was the last one of us together…Two weeks later, Mo was dead.”

I shivered. “So…do you think…are you feeling…is he here?”

Rookie barked again, and we both knew the answer was yes.

I did not make it home that night. Or the next. In fact, for the first time in all the years I worked for Gretchen, I called in sick when I wasn’t. For in spite of my fear about losing my job, now
there was something that frightened me more…witnessing a nervous breakdown.

This is what happens when someone is haunted by a story that begins with these words:

“At least my dad’s death wasn’t my fault. Not like Mo and Larry’s…If it wasn’t for me, they’d both still be alive.”

O
H, TO BE ABLE
to choose our defining moments, for they would surely be a reflection of our greatest virtues. Grace under pressure and wise resolve in the face of adversity.

But all too often, the experiences that shape us come at an age when we have neither the acumen to make good choices, nor the maturity to accept what lies in the wake of foolishness.

Mostly what defines us are the dates with destiny no one sees coming.

Kenny Danziger, Larry Gerber, and Richie Morris were energetic toddlers drawn to one another at Oceanside Park in the spring of 1974 by a connection their mothers could only describe as instinctual. How else to explain a bond that formed with language intelligible only to them?

If only their mothers found one another as engaging.

Judy Danziger called Larry’s mom, Terry, the queen of show-and-tell. In between broadcasting her latest vacation and home improvement plans, she made sure you took notice of
her jewelry and pocketbooks, the prices of which she was happy to share.

“What does she think? We’re all on the G.I. Plan (generous in-laws)?”

In turn, Terry didn’t appreciate that Richie’s mom, Carol, was so self-absorbed that she would drop off her son for play dates, but rarely reciprocate. And if she did, the play date was short and timed to coincide with her having to leave for other, more important commitments.

Judy thought they were both meshuggenehs, and urged Kenny to broaden his social circle. “Why don’t you play with that nice Joshua Vogel?” she’d say. “He’s got a big pool in the backyard and his mom I like!”

But by kindergarten, the mothers resigned themselves to the fact that their sons were glued to the hip for good, and it made sense for them to try to become friends as well.

In fact, it was over lunch at Twenty-four Hour Bagel that Judy told Terry and Carol about walking into Kenny’s room and discovering the boys had taken every tie from Howie’s closet and were trying to tie them together so they could climb down the side of the house through a window.

“I knew something was up when they were being so quiet,” she said. “I tell you, they’re like the Three Stooges.”

“You know?” Terry laughed. “Even their names are the same. Kenny’s got that big head of ringlets, so he’s Curly. Richie Morris is Moe, and Larry, is, well, Larry.”

And so they became known, and not only by family and friends. Teachers, camp counselors, and coaches were quick to discover that when there were pranks, pratfalls, and anything resembling trouble, one of those boys, if not all, was responsible.

Even Maureen at Dr. Glatt’s office knew if she was making an appointment for one checkup, she’d better make them for all three. Especially if Richie was due for a booster shot, for
without his two best friends holding his hands, it would take half the staff to restrain him.

Holiday dinners, vacations, Hebrew school, Little League games…Where one went, the other two followed, and it was a natural assumption that nothing would keep them apart. Until they reached high school and Richie’s mom, Carol, found proof in her pharmaceutical rep husband’s briefcase that he was cheating on her with a radiologist in Connecticut whose code name was Babycakes.

It was the decisive blow to an already maladjusted, we-know-people-talk family, what with money problems and Mo’s older sister, Jennifer, home from college, pregnant and chain smoking.

The boys were worried. Mo wasn’t one of those resilient kids who bounced back easily, particularly since adolescence. Like his Three Stooges namesake, Moe, he also didn’t need much provocation to become agitated. Or to drink.

At first it was amateur stuff. A few beers behind the garage. Then it was vodka binges. Then alcohol wasn’t his only substance of choice. Then he didn’t wait for the weekends.

Larry and Kenny finally confided in their guidance counselor, but when the school intervened, a now separated Carol and Michael rebuked the administration’s efforts, and at least in this instance, maintained a unified front.

As long as their son’s conduct in school was fine, they had no right to interfere in what was a personal family matter and if the district pursued this, they would be hearing from their lawyer.

Judy and Howie also tried reasoning with them, only to run head on into the blame game. Michael said the only reason Richie couldn’t function was that Carol had coddled him for so damn long, and it was too late to try to make a man out of him. Meanwhile, Carol claimed if Michael had paid enough attention to Richie as a kid, he wouldn’t have a need
to rebel, but she was sure he would eventually straighten himself out.

“His parents sounded like assholes,” I said. “How could they not get him help?”

“I agree,” Ken said. “But in Mo’s case, he really did do it on his own. He got himself into rehab, started college at Nassau Community, and then he met this girl he really liked whose dad gave him a job at the gym he managed…

“Which is why that weekend he and Larry came to see me at school was the best. He was sober the whole time. It was like the old Mo…”

I sighed, knowing that no matter how nice a time they had then, the story ended tragically.

I got up from the kitchen table to pour us coffee and peek at
Daybreak
and did a double take. I had been trying for months to convince Gretchen to let me experiment with her eyes, but she was so resistant to change. Now a sub was in for one day, and boom, suddenly she was open to the more playful violet tones.

Normally, professional jealousy would lead to a slow burn. But how riled could I get, for I was guilty of something far more unthinkable. It was eight o’clock on a Monday morning and there I was playing hooky with Rookie and Ken, devouring rugeleh and reading the
Times.

In an act of faith, but mostly fulfillment, I had spent the night there. And though the most intimate thing Ken and I did was kiss intermittently, we spent hours talking through tears.

Ken, of course, having just buried his father, had reasonable cause. But it was his dance around the divorce question that sprung the big leak. Nina was amazing. Beautiful and brilliant. An accomplished tennis player and skier. A wonderful cook.

She just had this thing about emotional baggage. It had to be either checked at the door or thrown overboard, for why
dwell on the past when you could be having lovely lunches with friends and shopping for country homes in Nantucket?

So when Ken learned on the morning of September 11 that he had lost his only remaining best friend, she was sympathetic, but determined not to let it affect their future happiness. Sadly, counseling did not provide a rapid enough cure for Ken’s depression, and rather than helping row the boat ashore with love and support, she jumped ship.

At first I was flattered, and frankly surprised, that he was being so forthcoming in divulging these painful details, as up until now, he had been as impenetrable as a detective who never removed his bulletproof vest. Piercing questions bounced off him, preventing possible injury to his heart.

But when he began spinning words in a verbal free fall about the night he lost Mo, I realized he wasn’t talking because I was a good listener. He was talking because with the loss of his father came the loss of his resolve. He could simply hold back no longer.

“Things fell apart that first Christmas break from school.” Ken picked up Rookie. “Larry was up at Binghamton and had gotten home a few days before me. I remember because I was still studying for finals when he called to say he thought Mo was back to his old tricks.

“Then when I got home, I took one look at Mo and knew Larry was right because he’d do this thing where he rocked his head like he was listening to music, only there was no music. And I was pissed because I didn’t want to deal with this crap anymore. The babysitting, the puking…I mean I loved Mo like a brother…I just couldn’t watch him self-destruct again…”

“I know where this is going,” I said. “He was driving drunk and he died…”

“No.” Ken looked down. “I wish that’s what happened…”

“What?”

“You know what?” Ken stretched. “Forget it. I don’t need to do this.”

“Are you sure? Sometimes talking—”

“Believe me, I’ve talked my ass off…been in and out of therapy since I’m eighteen.”

“But obviously you’re still in pain.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. Well, at least it solves the mystery of what happened to you. The reason you didn’t come back to school the next semester…Thing about it is, what happened was a terrible tragedy. Beyond awful. But, and I know I sound like Robin Williams in
Good Will Hunting—”

“It wasn’t my fault. Right? That’s your best shot? Let it go, it was God’s will…”

“I don’t mean to sound cliché. I just—”

“Don’t.”

“Wait. I’m just saying, the reality is you weren’t the one who made him drink, you didn’t make him drive…”

“The reality is,” Ken yelled, “I fucking hit him with my car, okay?”

“Oh my God!”

“Yeah. I hit him with my car and he died.”

“I’m sorry.” I took his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hit him with my car and he died.” He rocked back and forth. “I killed my best friend.”

“On purpose?”

“What?”

“I didn’t mean it like that…how…what happened?”

Rookie barked at me for making Ken cry, and I felt so ashamed I wanted to flee. Then he started talking about a party.

“Forget it,” I whispered. “You don’t have to do this.”

“What the hell?” He wiped his eyes on a napkin. “I’ve al
ready told you more than I’ve told ten people and you didn’t leave…It doesn’t even faze you when I cry.”

“Hey. I’m Miss Waterworks…So is my dad. To me it’s not a sign of weakness…In fact when you were talking before, I was thinking about him…I remember he’d be sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper and I could hear him sniffing so I knew he was trying to hide…I was little then, and I’d say, Daddy why do you read the paper if it makes you sad?”

Ken smiled. We were partners in pain. Surely I would not judge him as had Nina.

“Larry’s roommate at Binghamton was this kid from Merrick…lived in this huge house on the water…you had to see it…the Jag in the driveway, the twenty-foot speedboat in the canal…His parents were out of town so he was having this big blowout party…Larry wanted to go but he’d just had his wisdom teeth out and didn’t feel up to driving, so he said to come with him so I could meet his new friends and I was like yeah, great, but let’s not tell Mo…he’ll get totally wasted.

“So what does Larry do? He tells Mo to come after he gets off work so he wouldn’t feel left out…Sure enough, Mo shows up with a joint in one hand and a beer in the other, and I’m like c’mon man, don’t. You were doing so great…So now he’s all pissed at me, so I go fine, then give me your keys and he’s like stop being my fucking mother, and that was it. I walked away…I told Larry to hell with him, you invited him, he’s your problem…But Larry’s mouth was killing him from the surgery and he said he was leaving but not to worry about driving him home because this girl he knew was going to give him a ride and to just keep an eye on Mo…He must have said it six times. Keep an eye on Mo.”

“You didn’t want to leave with Larry?”

“Leave? Not after I’d met this really cute girl…So hot…Jordie Cohen…Legs up to here…amazing body. A sopho
more at Cornell…lived a few blocks from this kid’s house and I’m thinking, this is going to be one hell of a great vacation.”

“I get the picture.” I laughed.

“Anyway, maybe an hour goes by and we’re having a great time getting it on in one of the bedrooms and all of a sudden I remember Mo…”

“So I tell Jordie to hold on, I just have to make sure my friend is okay and I’ll be right back…and I’m so mad because I really didn’t want to have to get up to go look for him…but there’s no way now that I’d thought about him that I could go back to…you know…anyway, I’m searching the whole house and nothing…And it was weird, it was right before Christmas but it wasn’t freezing and a lot of the kids were outside…so I go out and I’m asking everyone have you seen a short little guy, answers to the name of Mo, and they’re all like no, he’s not here, so now I’m scared and I run to the front of the house, praying his car is still there…and I’m trying to keep it together by reminding myself this guy’s been driving drunk since he was sixteen and somehow he always made it home and it’s not that far to Oceanside.

“But you know how you just know when something’s not right? So I get in my car, and Merrick down by the water is all these real narrow streets and a million stop signs every thirty seconds…and I’m thinking I’ll never find him…Mo was one of those guys who’d go down ten different streets to avoid two lights…

“Then all of a sudden I see this guy running…but it’s so dark, and I’d had a few beers myself, and I’m thinking, Wait that can’t be Mo. So I roll down the window and start yelling his name and I’m honking the horn…and the closer I’m getting I’m realizing…I’m realizing—” Ken stopped.

“I’m realizing…son of a bitch. That’s his car rolled over on the sidewalk…a dog is barking…there’s a man just lying there…or what’s left of him…and I’m so blown away look
ing at the most God awful thing I’ve ever seen in my life that I don’t see Mo running in front of my car.”

“Oh my God.”

“And I’m screaming, Stop, what the hell are you doing? But I can’t brake fast enough…”

“Oh my God.”

“And that was it.” Ken muttered. “He threw himself in front of my goddamn car so I could have the honor of killing him…”

“You don’t know that,” I cried. “He was probably just running for help and he was scared.”

“Believe me, he didn’t want help. He wanted to die…he always wanted to die…”

“I can’t even imagine…” I reached for the tissue box. “What a nightmare…”

“Oh, it gets even better.”

“What?”

“Yeah. The man Mo ran over? It turned out to be Jordie’s father…”

I gasped.

“How’s that for bad Karma? A guy goes out to walk his dog, he’s a block from his house, and then gets hit by a drunk driver who was just partying with his daughter, and now it’s all over. Your life is over…