Fortunate Son: A Novel (22 page)

At three in the morning she woke him to say that she had just called her Jim Harris and ended their six-year relationship.

“Why?” Eric asked.

“Because I never knew what being with a real man could be like. When you make love to me I feel like crawling out of my skin. You make me want to get down on my hands and knees. No man has ever made me feel like that.”

Eric had heard words like this before from women and girls, but he was surprised at Constance. She seemed so in control of herself, so in charge. He didn’t mind when she said that she wanted to sleep with him. He thought that it was just sex.

“I told the doorman to call me if you came by,” she’d told him when they closed the door to her bedroom. “I told Jim that something had come up at the office and I had to go have a meeting.”

Just sex, the young man thought to himself.

“But Connie,” Eric said after she professed her love. “I’m just on vacation. I’ll be going back to L.A. soon. I’ve got a girlfriend back there.”

“Stay with me until you have to go,” she said, giving him a coquettish smile. “Maybe I can change your mind.”

“What about my brother?”

“He can stay with us. The girl can stay too if you want.”

Eric stared at her face and saw Christie when the first bullet hit her in the abdomen. She had let out a terrible cry that he had heard even through the thick glass of the revolving door.

ON THAT FIRST
night Thomas and Clea had found Connie’s condoms and used one.

“You come like a woman,” she said to him as they lay there side by side in the unlit room looking through the glass wall out on the lights of New Jersey. “I thought that you were hurting, and your eyes looked scared.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said. “I really am. It’s just, it’s just that I’ve been thinking about that for so long, and I never knew it would feel so, so . . .”

“So what?”

“I don’t know. It was like you were all silk and all I ever knew was rocks. And when you looked at me and nodded I felt so powerful that I was scared that I’d hurt you. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, curling around him. “It was really wonderful what you did. It was like I had your soul in my hands, like I was hurting you but it was okay.”

“I don’t know, Clea,” Thomas said. “I never knew anything like that before. But you know, maybe you shoulda gone away with that other guy.”

“I don’t want to be with him.”

“Yeah, but you see how it is with me. Here I can’t even walk down the street without getting arrested. I don’t even hardly know how to read, and you can read things in four languages.”

“So? We’re not getting married or anything. We’re just havin’ a good time.”

She put her hand on his forehead the way his mother did when he was overtired and couldn’t sleep.

Thomas dozed off and dreamed that he was floating on a pink-and-blue ocean with the sun all around him and fish swimming on top of the water.

THE BOYS MOVED
their things out of the Y and brought them down to Connie’s. Eric felt funny about it, but he had been honest with his mentor. They had a good time together, and she taught him all about Wall Street.

Two weeks went by, and Thomas learned about love from Clea as Connie did from Eric. The boys spent their afternoons together exploring the city.

One cloudy morning Eric brought Thomas to deliver one of Connie’s antique watches to a watchmaker whose office was on the eighty-sixth floor of the Empire State Building. They entered the Russian’s office a little after nine.

“Yes?” the burly man asked. He was frowning at Thomas.

“I brought a watch from Constance Baker,” Eric told him.

This took away the scowl.

“Let me see it.”

It was a tiny pocket watch with gold-filled numbers and a shiny blue lacquered back.

“It’s lovely,” the watchmaker said.

Thomas wandered over to the window at the back of the shop. The sky outside was opaque white, pure and unfathomable.

Eric exchanged the watch for a receipt.

“Let’s go, Tommy,” he said.

“What’s with this window?” the young black man asked.

The watchmaker, Mr. Harry Slatkin, smiled.

“Open it up,” he said.

Tommy pulled the old-fashioned window wide. The dense white mass hovered outside.

“What is it?”

“The clouds,” Slatkin told him. “We are in the clouds.”

Thomas talked about it all the way down in the Art Deco elevator.

“We were actually in a cloud, Eric. I never did anything like that before.”

“You never flew?” Eric asked.

“Where I’ma fly to? The soup kitchen?”

THEN ONE MORNING
Eric got a call on a bright-red cell phone that Raela had given him.

“Hi, Eric,” the raven-haired girl said into the line. Her voice was exultant.

“Hi, honey,” he said.

Connie, who was lying next to him in the bed, sat straight up.

“The governor of California has commuted Thomas’s sentence, and he’s persuaded the district attorney to drop all the other charges,” Raela said. “You can come home. Daddy’s sending a plane tomorrow to pick you up at Stewart Airport.”

“What time?”

“Three in the afternoon.”

“We’ll be there.”

When he disconnected the call, Connie said, “You’re leaving?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow . . . at three.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I told you we were going back.”

“But just one day’s notice?”

“We’ve got to go. That’s where we live. I have a daughter there.”

“You’re married?”

“No. But I told you about my girlfriend.”

“So you take advantage of me and then walk out with hardly a good-bye?”

“Connie.”

“Get out of my house.”

TELLING CLEA WAS
somewhat easier. She cried a little.

“Will we ever see each other again?” she asked Thomas.

“I’d come back if you want me to,” he said. “I could maybe get my GED and a job at the museum. I could stay at the Y.”

“Maybe I could come out to California in the summer,” she said. “Then you’d have time to see your family awhile. I mean, it sounds like you haven’t had a break in years.”

“I love you.” Thomas hadn’t remembered using those words since he was a boy with Branwyn.

“Go back home, Thomas, and call me. If it’s right I’ll come out this summer and we’ll see.”

“I don’t want to leave you, but I want to go home too.”

“Go.”

18

K
RONIN STARK
sent a private jet—his own personal 767, in which he had never flown—for the boys the next afternoon. Connie didn’t even say good-bye to Eric. She just slammed the door after telling him that he had destroyed her life.

“I don’t see how you did that, Eric,” Thomas said as the jet gained altitude. “I mean, you told her that you were going back to California and that you had a girl. She’s twice your age. I mean, damn—what more did she need?”

“I shouldn’t have led her on.”

“You didn’t.”

“What do you know about it, Tommy? Nobody ever threw herself at you and then fell out of a window instead.”

“Maybe not. But so what? You think that means I’m too stupid to know?”

“No. Not that. But I have problems that you wouldn’t understand. I have to be careful how I treat people. You have to be careful how people treat you. She said that I ruined her life.”

“You didn’t do nuthin’ to her, man. All you did was go along for the ride. You don’t know what you did to her. She don’t know either.”

“She knows how she feels.”

“Maybe. But she broke up with that boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah.”

“She probably needed to do that. She needed to leave him, and she told herself that she was in love with you to do it. Of course she’s gonna be mad. But she’s mad at her boyfriend, mad at herself for bein’ with him. It don’t have nuthin’ to do wit’ you.”

Eric was once again amazed by his brother. During the years that they were separated, Eric often thought that he’d idealized Thomas, that the boy really wasn’t so brilliant as he remembered. But time after time when they talked, Eric was forced to admit the rightness in Thomas’s keen insights.

“How do you know that, Tommy?” Eric asked a long while later.

“What?” Thomas was looking out of the window, holding tight to the armrests of his seat. He had never been in a jet, or any other aircraft. He was elated and petrified.

“About Connie. I mean, you never even slept with anybody before Clea.”

“You ever been to the carnival that come down on Fifty-fourth Place sometimes?” Thomas asked. “Down toward South Central?”

“No.”

“But you ever been in a hall of mirrors like?”

“No, but I know what you mean.”

“It’s like a door you go in and you try to get out the other side,” Thomas said, remembering when he went into that maze. “It’s all glass walls and mirrors, an’ you can see your reflection all ovah the place an’ you see other people too. But if you go in it an’ there’s only you, then you see yourself a thousand times all ovah. You see the front and back, the sides. It’s just you. Just you whatever way you look.”

“So?” Eric said.

“That’s kinda like you,” Thomas told his brother. “You always been special, an’ so all you see is you. Like when we was in school. It was you all the time. Teacher’s helper, spelling champion, the only little boy in our class that could hit a home run.”

“But that’s just sports or schoolwork.”

“Yeah, but everybody always knows you and is always thinkin’ about you. And so it’s like they’re the mirrors and you look at them and see you. But I don’t do that because you’re my brother, and that means I don’t have to care about you like they do. I know you’re my friend already, and I know you feel bad. But Connie and Christie and Mr. Stroud in the first grade wanted you to see them, but you couldn’t see nuthin’ but what they saw—like a mirror. You see yourself makin’ this one happy an’ breakin’ the other one’s heart. I don’t know exactly what I mean, but it’s somethin’ like that though.”

“So you think that people make up how they feel about me?” Eric asked.

“Sometimes. But even if they don’t, even if it’s like your girlfriend who got killed. She’s the one who made that man mad enough to kill her. It was what she wanted from you. I mean, if you thought about it, you’d think that everyone you meet should fall dead the minute they saw you. But you know some girls think you cute but they don’t leave their boyfriends or nuthin’. You can’t help it if somebody fool enough to get in trouble over you.”

“But, Tommy,” Eric said, “things happen with me that never happen to other people. I win games, girls fall in love; one time the sky parted just in time for me to win a game of tennis.”

“That ain’t nuthin’ but magic tricks,” Thomas said. The jet had just entered a patch of turbulence, so he clasped his hands together and closed his eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” Eric asked, not heeding his brother’s fear.

“Win a game, kiss some girl,” Thomas said, his heart in his throat. “That ain’t nuthin’. I got better luck than that.”

“You?”

“Yeah, me.”

“Tommy, you could fall down just sitting in a chair.”

“Maybe so, but I was born, an’ you know all those days I was walkin’ on the streets, I kept thinkin’ how special you got to be to get born. Nobody knows what kinda baby they gonna have or if they’ll have the baby they want. Even if you’re just a fly alive for a few minutes and then you run into a spider’s web—even that fly is one’a the most luckiest creatures in the world. We all lucky, Eric. And the luckiest ones are the ones happy about bein’ alive.”

The plane dipped in the sky, and Thomas yelped.

Eric laughed and told him that there were always a few bumps in flying.

KRONIN STARK MET
the brothers at the Bob Hope Airport in Burbank, California. Thomas had never seen anybody so large or powerful. He was reminded of an even larger version of Tremont, the muscle-bound drug dealer.

“Mr. Stark,” Eric said. He held out his hand. “This is my brother, Thomas.”

“Hello,” Stark said to Thomas.

Thomas nodded but did not return the greeting. Silence gripped his throat.

“You’re the reason my daughter took all her money out of the bank.”

“She did it for me, Mr. Stark,” Eric said. “And I plan to pay her back within six months.”

“What about my influence?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“I put pressure on the governor’s office for this reprieve. What will you give me for that?”

“What do you want?” Eric asked.

Stark looked closely at Eric and then at his brother.

“Why don’t you two boys come and work for me?” he said. “Work off the debt you owe.”

“Sure,” Eric said without hesitation. “But I thought that Mikey said that you didn’t even have an office, that you just sit at a table in the Cape Hotel all day having meetings.”

“Things change,” Kronin said with a shrug. “I’ve recently been made the CEO of an investment organization—the Drumm Investment Group.”

“Okay,” Eric said. “But we have to figure out how much work we need to do to pay you back.”

“What about you, son?” Stark asked Thomas.

“I didn’t ask you to help me,” Thomas said. He found himself squinting at Stark as if the huge billionaire was the sun.

“That’s a bit ungrateful, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that. As a matter of fact I don’t know much at all. I sure couldn’t be a businessman or a doctor or nuthin’, so how could I work for you an’ pay off gettin’ the governor to let me free? You think I could sweep enough floors to do sumpin’ like that?”

“I’ll work for you, Mr. Stark,” Eric said. “I’ll do the work for the two of us.”

“I wanted both of you,” Stark said, eyeing the lame Thomas.

“But why?” Thomas asked. “Why’d you do it in the first place?”

“Raela wouldn’t eat until I obtained your clemency.”

“Is she eatin’ now?”

“Yes.”

“Then you been paid,” Thomas stated bluntly.

Eric was perplexed by his brother’s tough attitude.

“Don’t you feel at all indebted to me?” Kronin asked, still addressing Thomas.

“Why should I? I don’t even know you.”

Stark cocked his head like a man who has just heard a threat being issued.

“I was the one who engineered your clemency.”

“I think it was Raela did that,” Thomas said. “You just did what she made you do.”

It was obvious to both young men that Stark expected to get his way easily. The impediment of Thomas’s refusal was beginning to humor Eric.

“Why don’t you let us talk about it?” Eric suggested. “I’ll talk to Tommy alone.”

“Why don’t we discuss it on the ride back?” Stark suggested.

“We didn’t know that you were coming, Mr. Stark,” Eric said. “So we called my dad. He’s coming to get us.”

Stark glared at Thomas, who in turn squinted as if the bright light of an inquisitor was shining into his eyes.

“HOW’D YOU BOYS
like New York?” Minas Nolan asked on the ride back to Beverly Hills.

“I really liked it, Dad,” Eric said. He felt outgoing and effusive with his father for the first time that he could remember. “Tommy spent every day in the museum, and I was down on Wall Street. We’d get together every night for dinner though.”

“How did you like it, Tommy?” Minas asked, turning momentarily toward the backseat.

“It was pretty good,” the smaller boy said. “The museum was great, and we met some nice people. A lotta people talked about the World Trade Center. I think they’re worried about it happening again.”

“That was a terrible event,” Dr. Nolan agreed.

“Yeah. There’s people live in the subways, you know.”

“Really?” Eric asked. “When were you in the subway?”

“Sometimes I took the Lexington line downtown, but I heard it from this homeless guy I met in the park. I guess he could tell by the way I said hi that I lived on the street before. He said that my face an’ hands didn’t go wit’ the clothes I was wearin’. He told me that if you go down on the subway rails under Grand Central that you’d find a whole village where homeless people lived. They got everything down there, even electricity.”

“That sounds like a tall tale to me,” Minas Nolan said in his certain tone.

“Could be though,” Thomas said. And then he told Minas about his alley valley and the apartment-building clubhouse he shared with Pedro.

“It’s like when you look at someplace and say that there’s not nuthin’ there,” Thomas concluded. “But when you look closer you see animals an’ birds an’ things. I met a woman who told me that there’s all kindsa millions and millions’a animals too small to be seen walkin’ all ovah everywhere all the time. Her daddy was a scientist, but she was crazy an’ had to live in the street.”

“That’s terrible,” Minas said.

“Yeah,” Thomas replied. “But nobody know it.”

ERIC AND MONA
and Thomas and Minas Nolan all sat in the living room drinking a citrus punch that Ahn had made. Eric explained everything he’d learned from Constance Baker without talking about the way things ended with her. Mona sat on Thomas’s lap, rubbing her hands over his fingers.

“Your fingers like sandpaper, Uncle Tommy.”

“I used to spend all my time out in a park that I had.”

“You had your own park?” The girl was astonished.

“Yeah. But it was real dirty because people were always throwin’ trash in it. That’s why I got such rough hands—throwin’ all the trash away all the time.”

“Oh.”

Raela and her brother, Michael, came over in the afternoon. Michael was accompanied by a scarred woman named Doris. Doris wore an orange dress and had one light- and one dark-blue eye. Raela was thinner than before but just as beautiful as Thomas had remembered. After a while Eric and his friends and daughter decided to go down to the beach.

“You wanna come, Tommy?” Eric asked.

“Not today. I just wanna stay around here.”

Thomas was thinking that he could go up to his mother’s old room and sink to his knees. It had been a long time since he’d been home.

But Dr. Nolan wanted to talk awhile longer. Thomas didn’t mind. It had been many years since he was alone with his mother’s lover. When he was traveling the streets of L.A. he often thought of the talks he’d had with the doctor.

“I’m very sorry about the things that have happened,” Minas said when they were alone.

“It’s not your fault,” Thomas replied. “The law took me away. It took me from you, then it took me from my real father, and then it put me in jail. I don’t really like the law all that much. It’s like no matter what I do there’s some law to tell me I’m wrong.”

“When you put it like that,” Minas said, “it doesn’t seem fair. You’d think that the law would protect young people.”

“But it don’t, doesn’t,” Thomas said, correcting his street language with the way he’d learned to speak in Minas’s house years before. “All the kids I knew were in trouble or makin’ trouble. And when I was livin’ on the street, the cops was the last people you wanted to see.”

“How did you manage to survive living like that?” Minas asked.

Thomas could see by the way the doctor winced that he was afraid of the answer.

“It was pretty much always the same,” Thomas said. “You needed food and shelter mostly, and money to buy stuff like toothpaste or Band-Aids. You’d stay in one place as long as you could, but you had other places in mind in case the cops or somebody moved you out. But once you had what you needed, then you could read a book or talk to somebody or think. I liked to think.”

“What would you think about?” Minas asked.

“You an’ Ahn an’ Eric,” Thomas said, “and my mother. I used to have a blank book and I’d write in that. I wrote mostly about nice things that people did for me and sometimes about why people was so mean. One man once told me that he thought that people were mean to the homeless because we were so poor. He said that people hate poor people in America . . . Oh, oh, yeah.”

“What?” Minas asked.

“I just remembered what I wanted to tell Eric when I got shot.”

“What’s that?”

“I was lookin’ at a book that had the word
America
written down on it. And I was lookin’ at it, and then I saw that E-R-I-C was right in the middle of it. Eric was in the middle of America.”

Minas put down his drink and lowered his head, pondering the words from his stepson.

“You want to go to the Rib Joint for dinner?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

IN THE PAST
six years Thomas had shambled past the restaurant from time to time. Fontanot had bought the buildings on either side of the original eatery and added a second floor to the primary structure—you could smell barbecue smoking for three blocks in any direction. But Thomas never went in to say hello. The place was too big, and he doubted that his mother’s tall friend would remember him. And even if Fontanot did remember, Thomas knew that no one would let him just walk in. People dressed for street living were blocked from entering any place fancy, like restaurants or department stores.