The Wonder Bread Summer (18 page)

“What happened to your forehead?” Frank said.

“Oh, Dad!” Allie stepped in and tried to hug him. He held her back with one hand, pulled out a napkin that was tucked into his polo shirt, wiped his mouth, and then hugged Allie in a way he never had before. He even kissed the top of her head. And then they pulled apart.

“Did a person do that to you?” Frank pointed at the lump.

“No,” Allie said. “I was on the 405 and—”

“And where in the world have you been?!” he asked in his usual barking voice. “I have been waiting for you for two days!”

“Can my friend come in, Dad?” Allie looked over to Hans, who stood up. Frank nodded at Hans, who nodded back. Frank stepped away from the door so they could enter.

“Let me watch the showcase finale,” Frank said, “and then we’ll talk and you can tell me about that thing growing out of your head.”

T
he TV was on in the living room, and there was a plate of couscous with asparagus sitting on the coffee table. Frank sat, tucked his napkin into his shirt, looked up at
The Price Is Right
, and continued eating. Allie sat beside him. Hans walked to the window and waved at either Jorge or Luis.

“Dad,” Allie said. She felt buoyant, relieved. It seemed that Rosie had told her the truth and they were all fine now. “I’ve got a couple friends in the back. Can they come in, too?”

“Leave them,” Hans said to Allie. “They’ll make sure no one else shows up.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem anymore,” Allie said. She turned to Frank. “Dad, can you just tell me if Vice Versa stopped by?”

“He did.” Frank picked up the pad of paper and pen that sat on the coffee table and started writing down numbers as each item in the final showcase was being shown.

“I love this part of the show,” Hans said, and he stepped into the center of the room so as to better see the TV
.
“Is this the first or the second showcase?”

“Second,” Frank said. “The first was before you got here.”

“I say eighteen thousand,” Hans said.

“Twenty-two thousand, three hundred and nine,” Frank said, and he looked toward Hans.

“Thirty-two thousand,” the egg-shaped woman on TV said, “nine hundred and thirteen dollars and seven cents!” The audience screamed at her. Bob Barker held his microphone and laughed.

“Now, Darlene,” he said. “You told me you’re a fan of the show, so you should know that we don’t do cents here.” The audience howled.

“You’re way over, Darlene,” Frank said.

“Way, way over, Darlene,” Hans said.

They both stared at the TV until it went to a commercial break.

“What did Vice Versa say, Dad?” Allie asked. “Did he have a gun?”

“Allie,” Frank said. “I’m eating my lunch and enjoying my show. When the show is over we can talk.” He forked up more couscous. Allie and Hans both watched him eat.

“Is that Moroccan or Israeli couscous?” Hans asked.

“They only sell one kind at Ralph’s,” Frank said.

“The Israeli takes longer to cook but it’s worth it,” Hans said.

“Are you hungry?” Frank asked, without looking away from the TV.

“I’m not,” Allie said. Consuela’s breakfast was still warm in her belly.

“I’m a little peckish,” Hans said, as he eyed the couscous.

“Pot in the kitchen,” Frank said, and he nudged his shoulder behind him toward the kitchen.

“You cooked at home?” Allie asked.

“Well I haven’t been able to make it into the restaurant,” Frank said, staring at the TV.

Hans returned with a filled plate just as the first showcase’s actual retail value was revealed as $16,982. Frank looked down at his pad and then pumped his fist. “You see that,” he said, pointing at a number on the pad, “I was within twelve hundred dollars.”

Next Darlene’s showcase’s value was revealed at $22,619.

“She’s ten thousand dollars over,” Hans said. He was delicately feeding himself couscous and asparagus as if he were in a candlelit restaurant on a date.

“Yeah, but you’re four thousand dollars under. Look at this.” Frank held up the pad with his estimate. “Only three hundred and ten dollars under. That’s almost unheard of on this show!”

“Do you watch this often, Dad?” Allie couldn’t remember her father ever being home in the middle of the day.

“It’s a terrific show, Allie, and you should watch it, too.” Frank put down his fork, picked up the remote control, and clicked off the big, boxy TV. He pulled out his napkin, turned on the green couch so he was facing Allie and Hans, and crossed his legs. “Are you helping my daughter or holding her prisoner?” he asked Hans.

“He’s helping me, Dad. He’s on my side.”

“And what, pray tell, did you do, Allie, that requires you to show up here with this man
on your side
?”

Allie figured since Vice Versa had already appeared, there was a good chance her father knew exactly why Hans was sitting beside her. It seemed foolish at this point to give anything but the entire truth. Wai Po had often said,
HALF-TRUTH IS LIKE WHOLE LIE.

“I stole a Wonder Bread bag full of cocaine,” Allie confessed, and she started crying. Suddenly she felt like she was ten again.

“Get yourself together, Allie,” Frank said. “If you’re old enough to steal a bag of cocaine then you’re old enough to deal with the consequences.”

Allie sucked in her breath, sat up straight, and started from the beginning. She told Frank the whole story, including the visit with her mother and Jet, the bird, and the lump on her head. She left out any mention of the fact that she lifted her shirt for Jonas (she doubted her father would want to hear that truth) or hung out with Billy Idol. (Frank had no interest in rock stars or celebrities. When they came into his restaurant, he didn’t give them special service and admonished any of the staff who did.)

When she had finished, Frank straightened himself on the couch again. He moved his head from side to side as if he were getting ready to do something physical. “Jonas,” he said.

“Yeah,” Allie said. “That’s the guy’s name.”

“I know his name, Allie. I’ve known him for thirty-three years.”

Allie shook her head. “No, Jonas was the dealer I was working for at the clothing store.”

“Allie, do you think that job just fell in your lap? When I sent out holiday cards last year, I wrote on Jonas’s card that you were in the Bay Area and would be a good employee for him. Then he called one day in June and said that he had met you in a restaurant and had hired you. I didn’t say anything to you because I wanted you to feel like you got that job on your own. I thought it would be a good confidence booster.”

Allie was silent for a moment. She tried to rearrange the events of the past four days in her brain with this added knowledge. The only thing she could think to say was, “Dad, you send out Christmas cards?”

“I send out holiday cards.”

“Why didn’t you send one to me?”

“Because I sign them from me and you, so it would be like you sending yourself a card.”

“I never knew you sent out holiday cards. I didn’t think we were a family who did that sort of thing.”

“I guess you don’t know everything, now, do you.” Frank nodded his head as if to put a period at the end of the sentence.

“Can I see the card you sent?”

“Go to the second drawer in my desk and lift up the bills. The cards are there.”

Hans looked up from his plate and watched as Allie went to the desk pushed against the window in the living room. Frank placed his desk by a window wherever he lived. Allie opened the second drawer, lifted the bills, then pulled out a stack of holiday cards. The one on the top had a picture of Allie and her father standing together at the hostess podium in his restaurant. The photo had been taken last summer by a waitress who had been working for her father for as long as Allie could remember. In the photo, Allie was looking straight at the camera, while her father, upright and enormous beside her, appeared to be staring off toward the kitchen.

A warm flooding snaked through Allie’s arms into her center. Maybe her father did love her more than his restaurant. She shifted through the rest of the cards. All of them were photos taken at the restaurant by the staff. She put the cards back and returned to the couch. Frank was watching Hans eat his couscous.

“So how do you know Jonas?” Allie asked.

“He’s the little brother of my childhood friend Lionel.”

“I remember Lionel!” Allie had always liked Lionel. He smiled and had brought Allie little gifts when he came to visit, things like ladybug pen and pencil sets, or necklaces with perfume lockets on them.

“He lives in San Francisco now,” Frank said. “And I guarantee he’ll be spitting fire when he hears what his brother is really doing over there in that shop.”

“So I guess Jonas recognized me from the Christmas card.” Allie was starting to put it all together.

“I guess he did,” Frank conceded.

“And then he did you a favor and hired me,” Allie said. She had never thought of herself as one of those girls whose fathers could call in favors on their behalf. Beth was one of those girls. She had told Allie that everything in her life was a series of favors paid to her father through her: the car she drove, the clothes she wore, the expensive haircuts she got when she was home in Nevada. Allie often wondered if Beth’s father was in the mob, but she had only asked once, when they were both drunk, and Beth had just laughed at the suggestion.

“And after Jonas hired you he showed you his genitals,” Frank said, very matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Allie said, matching her tone to his.

“And now I’m going to kill him.” Frank looked at Hans. Hans continued eating.

“Dad,” Allie said. “What happened with Vice Versa?”

“First of all, he wasn’t black, so you can readjust your racist thoughts on that.”

“He is, too, black. I talked to him on the phone this morning.”

“How do you know he’s black from his voice?” Hans said.

“You can’t tell a black man’s voice?” Allie asked.

“I’m afraid my daughter has fallen into some very small-minded thinking,” Frank said to Hans.

“Dad, please!
You
sound like a black man.”

“And do you sound like a black girl?”

“No, but that’s because Mom’s Chinese
plus
I was always in schools with white kids.”

“Your mother’s Chinese?” Hans asked.

“Yeah, and her father is Jewish,” Allie said, and suddenly she realized why Jonas seemed to know this about her without her ever having told him.

“Allie, Vice Versa is here,” Frank interrupted.

“He’s here now?” Allie looked around the room. Could she have somehow missed seeing Jonas’s henchman? “When did he show up?”

“Two days ago when you called me from that restaurant.”

“Wait, so is that why you stopped answering the phone?”

“In fact, it is.”

“Have you just been hanging out with Vice Versa for two days?”

“Allie, that man broke into my house at gunpoint. He was holding me hostage until about three hours ago, when I overtook him.”

Hans nodded, as if he were impressed. “How’d you manage that?”

“Swiftly and carefully,” Frank said.

Allie’s insides felt swirly and confused. Had Beth and Rosie deliberately lied to her about Vice Versa being in Berkeley? Or was there more than one Vice Versa? Was it a team, a squad, an underground organization like Mossad? “So where are you hiding him?”

Frank pointed to the ceiling, then stood and headed toward the stairs. Hans followed Frank, carrying his plate of food. Allie hurried behind.

They entered the master bedroom. The only furniture was a king-size bed with white sheets and a green blanket. There was nothing on the walls and no curtains on the windows. The room was sunny and wide.

“This is a great place, Dad,” Allie said.

“Sublet. I’m getting it for half the market price.” Frank went to the double closet and opened the doors. Squatting on the carpeted closet floor was a duct-tape-bound man with straight, choppy black hair. He was batting his eyes and squealing behind his sealed mouth. He smelled of urine and there appeared to be a small puddle of wetness seeping out his blue jeans. Four white button-down shirts and four polo shirts hung above him. Beside the shirts were folded, pressed jeans and two pairs of dress slacks.

“Vice Versa?” Allie asked. The squealing intensified. It sounded like the condor after it crashed into the Prelude.

“That’s him,” Frank said. “And you can see that he’s not black. In fact, he’s Filipino.”

Hans took a bite of couscous, then tipped his head down and inspected the bindings on Vice Versa. “Where’d you learn to do that so efficiently?” he asked.

“ROTC,” Frank said.

“Did he tell you about the stolen cocaine?” Allie asked.

“I suppose he told me something like that,” Frank said. Allie was relieved she had confessed the truth.

Allie, Frank, and Hans examined Vice Versa as if he were a museum artifact. Vice Versa continued squealing.

“Wow, Dad. I can’t believe you have a hostage in your closet,” Allie said. This entire messed-up situation was getting curiouser and curiouser.

“Admirable,” Hans said, and he sat on the bed and continued his meal.

“Allie, take that tape off his mouth,” Frank said. “Let’s give him some air.”

Vice Versa stopped squealing when Allie leaned over and untaped his mouth. He panted for a while, licked his lips, and then dropped his head as if resting. Allie turned to her father and saw that he had a gun out.

“Is that Vice Versa’s gun?” Allie asked.

“I only trust my own weapons,” Frank said.

“Dad! Since when do you carry a gun?” This was even more startling than the Christmas card.

“I have always owned a gun. I am a businessman. Businessmen need to be armed.” Frank’s voice was calm and firm.

“I agree,” Hans said, cutting a piece of asparagus with his fork.

“Allie,” Frank said, “go in your bedroom and get the gun that’s under your mattress.
That’s
Vice Versa’s gun.”

“I have a bedroom?” Allie asked. “I’ve never been here before!”

“Yes, you have a bedroom!” Frank said. “This is your home! Now go get the gun!”