Then We'd Be Happy Read online

  Daddy Issues

  SUNDAY AFTERNOON. CHAN RESIDENCE.

  We’re sitting on the front porch and I’m sharing an

  Almond Joy with Kayla despite Nita’s (feigned)

  disapproval.

  I know, I know, I’m spoiling her, but you should see

  the look on her face: Pure delight. No artificial additives.

  Nothing held back.

  God, it’s beautiful.

  Then I see this guy striding across the lawn.

  “You’re not her father,” he says.

  “No, I’m Luke.”

  “Well, I’m Kayla’s dad.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  He doesn’t shake my hand or tell me his name. Nita

  has to do that.

  “This is Ben,” she says. “Ben, are you high?”

  Ben ignores her.

  “You think you can step into my shoes, is that it?”

  THEN WE’D BE HAPPY

  “Uh, no.”

  Nita tries to tell him to relax, but he continues to

  ignore her.

  “Kayla has a daddy,” he says. “Me.”

  “We’re just, uh, sharing a candy bar.”

  “A little candy bar. See, Daddy?”

  Kayla shows him the remaining half of her half of the

  Almond Joy. Ben gives her a quick (feigned) smile and

  turns back to me.

  “I need to talk to my family,” he says. “Why don’t you

  get lost?”

  “Ben! Don’t be a—”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I was just leaving.”

  “You know,” Nita says, “I can have your visiting rights

  revoked.”

  Ben shuts up and sits down. Kayla is crying quietly. I

  wish I could do something.

  161

  Fantastic

  I STRIP OFF MY sweats, wrap a towel around my waist, and

  head down the hall to the bathroom. Just as I arrive the

  door opens.

  It’s Naomi. Naked.

  Her hair is wet and drops of water roll down her

  shoulders. I want to follow them down farther, but I

  don’t.

  Our eyes lock.

  She smiles, I think, and pretty soon I smile.

  We stand like that, eye to eye and toe to toe, for about

  three hours. Then she reaches for a towel and covers

  herself.

  It takes me a while to realize the towel she has taken is

  mine, so now I’m the one who is naked. She is definitely

  smiling now, but she is no longer looking into my eyes.

  We’re all of about twelve inches apart and without

  moving I am able to cover about half that distance.

  Naomi waits and watches.

  THEN WE’D BE HAPPY

  “You can do it,” she says. “Just a little farther.”

  We’re an inch closer.

  “Here,” she says. “Maybe this will help.”

  She drops the towel.

  Oh, my god, I grow two more inches. Three, I swear.

  We’re almost touching now. Millimeters apart.

  “Close enough,” she says and leaps into my arms, her

  legs wrapping around my hips.

  Spencer comes out of his room with a stopwatch.

  “Go!” he says.

  163

  To Me

  EVEN IN MY FANTASIES things happen to me. The

  difference is they happen just the way I want them to.

  Intentions

  NITA’S MOM WANTS TO know my intentions.

  “We’re going to a club to hear some music, dance…”

  Mrs. Chan, tiny but imposing, folds her arms.

  “That’s not what I mean,” she says.

  I know what she means and she knows I know, but still

  I stall for time.

  “Oh,” I say. “What do you mean?”

  She tilts her head and stares at me. I feel as if I’m

  waiting for my prom date. What the hell is taking Nita so

  long?

  “I’m very fond of your daughter,” I say.

  “And Kayla?”

  Kayla is putting a puzzle together on the kitchen table.

  “Her, too,” I say.

  Mrs. Chan shakes her head.

  “You better think about what you’re getting into,” she

  says.

  “I know.”

  AL RISKE

  “Do you? I don’t think so.”

  Then it hits me. She’s right. I don’t know.

  166

  Overdose

  I’M ALREADY AT WORK when my mobile vibrates in my

  pocket.

  “Dude, you have to get over here.”

  “Why? What happened? What’s wrong?”

  “Just, Dude, please.”

  “What is it? What happened, Marty?”

  “It’s Fredson. I think he…”

  “What?”

  “OD’ed. I think he OD’ed, man.”

  “Call 9-1-1.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to.”

  “What if he wakes up and the police start asking

  questions? He’ll kill me.”

  “Easy, Big Guy, we’re talking about paramedics here,

  not police officers. Check his pulse. Does he have a

  pulse?”

  AL RISKE

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I feel a heartbeat but I think it’s

  mine.”

  “Is he breathing?”

  “This is bad. This is so bad.”

  “Marty, listen, hold a mirror up to his nose, see if he

  fogs the mirror.”

  “What do you think, Luke? You think I’m going to

  reach into my purse and pull out a mirror? The only

  mirror here is on the bathroom wall. Maybe I should just

  hold him up to the medicine cabinet.”

  “You have to call 9-1-1.”

  “He’ll kill me. The paramedics will tell the police and

  Fredson will kill me.”

  “He’s not going to kill you. The police will be there.”

  “Not right away. Later.”

  “They’ll take him to jail, Marty.”

  “He’ll get out. His lawyers will get him out. Or he’ll

  have one of his henchmen kill me.”

  “He has henchmen?”

  “I don’t know. Probably.”

  168

  Funeral for a Friend

  FREDSON’S BODY LIES IN a closed casket in a small church

  in San Jose. It’s a drab place. Nothing ornate about it.

  The minister introduces us to Fredson’s parents,

  Harvey and Bev.

  Marty covers his surprise with a show of delight.

  “Pleased to finally meet you,” he says.

  All this time he has assumed Fredson was living (and

  partying) off a trust fund left to him by wealthy parents,

  but these folks are shy and shabby looking.

  “Freddy was such a fine boy,” his mother says. “I don’t

  know what we’re going to do without him.”

  Marty says he feels the same way. He means it, too.

  If I’m not mistaken there was a tear in Marty’s eye

  when he returned the Q37 to the dealer. Fortunately his

  name was not on the lease.

  Of course, he knew Fredson dabbled in the drug trade

  (as did he), but he thought it was just a rich boy’s thrill-

  seeker hobby.

  AL RISKE

  Aside from Fredson’s parents and the balding, brown-

  suited minister, Marty and I are the only ones at the

  funeral.

  170

  Downhearted

  HERE’S THE PROBLEM: I’ve never really wanted children.

  It’s not that I don
’t like them. My sisters all have kids

  and they’re adorable. Until they’re not.

  Until they cry and shit themselves.

  Until they scream and throw things.

  Until they refuse to go to bed or get dressed or eat their

  vegetables.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love them all. I do. I just don’t

  want to be around them when they’re being obstinate.

  You can’t reason with them and, all kidding aside, you

  can’t really punch them. We’ve established that, right?

  So what am I getting myself into? How involved do I

  really want to be with Nita and her little one?

  I mean, it’s great right now. It’s wonderful, in fact. But

  what happens when it’s not?

  Suspect Arrested

  NOW INVESTIGATORS ARE ASKING questions Marty can’t

  answer and finding things he can’t explain. Like a ledger

  tracking the sale of stocks, bonds, mutual funds, and

  derivatives to investors who are identified only by their

  initials.

  It doesn’t take them long to surmise that the financial

  instruments are code words for drugs of various kinds.

  Marty is shocked. If that’s true, he swears, he had no

  clue.

  Fredson kept the books for Espresso Ecstasy as well.

  “Math was never my strong suit,” Marty says.

  As it turns out, the police can find no evidence linking

  Marty to the heroin trade, but they do arrest one of

  Fredson’s buyers: Ben Stafford, Nita’s former husband.

  His arrest is almost immediate: His fingerprints are all

  over the place, and this is not his first run-in with the

  police.

  THEN WE’D BE HAPPY

  They charge him with robbery, possession, and intent

  to sell.

  They might have added murder—Ben had motive,

  means, and opportunity—except there was no evidence of

  a struggle.

  173

  Hello, Stranger

  I RUN INTO NITA at the grocery. She has Kayla with her,

  riding in her shopping cart.

  “Hello, stranger,” she says. “Where have you been

  keeping yourself?”

  I don’t have a good answer.

  Kayla is smiling and holding out her arms. I pretend

  not to notice.

  “So,” I say, “how about you? Run out of Cheerios?”

  She looks at me for a long time, then wheels her cart

  around and heads down the aisle.

  It hurts like hell, but I let them go.

  Farewell, Naomi

  THE NEXT THING I know Spencer and Naomi are no

  more.

  It takes me a while to catch on, but pretty soon I detect

  a pattern: She doesn’t come in to work, she doesn’t come

  by the house…

  “What gives?” I ask.

  “She’s gone,” he says. “Gone to L.A.”

  “For what?”

  “Forever, I guess.”

  “No way.”

  We’re at Bistro 227, after hours, having a couple of

  beers at the U-shaped bar.

  “I told her to choose,” he says, “and she did.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Not anymore.”

  He sort of laughs, but there’s no mirth.

  “She chose him? That’s insane.”

  We finish our beers and order more.

  Laid Bare

  TWO DAYS LATER, I get home and, almost as soon as I

  close the door, someone knocks.

  It’s Nita.

  “I am so—”

  She reaches out and presses her finger to my lips so I

  can say no more. Then she takes my hand and leads me

  down the hall and into the room I am once again sharing

  with Marty.

  She closes the door and locks it.

  Again I start to speak; again she silences me.

  The next thing I know we’re on the floor. She kisses

  me and peels off my shirt. She kisses me and peels off my

  pants, shoes, socks, everything. She pins me down and

  kisses me some more. Then she slides up and straddles my

  face. She’s not wearing anything under her skirt.

  She comes and fucks me and comes again.

  THEN WE’D BE HAPPY

  Finally she wears herself out and we fall asleep on the

  floor. When I awake, she’s gone. The house is dark and I

  can hear Marty snoring on the sofa.

  177

  Gone

  I GO LOOKING FOR Nita the next day, but she’s nowhere

  to be found.

  I keep looking all week but see no sign of her or Kayla

  or even her battered old Volvo. She doesn’t answer my

  calls, texts, or emails.

  I knock on her door and ask her mother: “Is Nita

  home?”

  Mrs. Chan shakes her head.

  “Do you know where she is?”

  She pretends not to understand, but there’s something

  in her face that reminds me of the ferocity her daughter

  showed when she laid me bare and fucked my brains out.

  Mrs. Chan says something in Chinese and closes the

  door.

  That Night

  I CAN’T STOP THINKING about that night—the last night

  we spent together.

  The locked door.

  Nita’s insistence on silence.

  Then the shattering noises she made.

  The anger I mistook for passion.

  By Accident

  QUITE BY ACCIDENT I run into Ariel on Santana Row. She

  seems offended somehow even before I say hello.

  I still have fond memories of our three-way but it was

  never repeated, by silent consensus. In any case, none of

  us ever spoke of it. So why the cold shoulder?

  “Have you seen Nita?” I ask.

  She would like to go around me but the sidewalk is

  crowded with trendy shoppers, so she simply stares at me

  stone faced.

  Suddenly I know where Nita is. Ariel confirms it.

  “Don’t you dare come around my door,” she says.

  Office Visit

  I FIND THE ADDRESS of the magazine and drive up to the

  city. I don’t want to do this, but it seems like my only

  chance.

  The receptionist asks if she can help me.

  “Um, yeah, I’d like to speak to Nita Chan.”

  She picks up the phone.

  “Is she expecting you?”

  “No, I’m a… a friend.”

  I smile and the receptionist smiles back.

  “Your name?”

  I say the first name that comes to mind. She punches in

  three numbers and waits.

  “Nita? Tom Cruz is here to see you.”

  She hangs up the phone and smiles at me some more.

  “She’ll be right out, Mr. Cruz.”

  A minute later, Nita sees me and spins around. I follow

  her down the corridor.

  “Wait!” I say.

  AL RISKE

  “Go home,” she says, still walking.

  “Look, just let me—”

  She stops, turns.

  “Let you what? Let you explain?” she says. “You think

  I don’t know? You think I don’t get it? You think this

  hasn’t happened to me more times than I care to count?”

  I honestly, stupidly, did not think of that. I say nothing.

  She shakes her head and tells me again to go home.

  182

  How It Feels

  IT’S ALREADY DARK BY the time
Nita emerges from her

  South-of-Market office building, her pleated skirt

  bouncing against her black tights, her high heels clicking

  on the sidewalk. I’m sitting across the street, having a

  drink. I run to catch up with her.

  She won’t stop, so I walk alongside her.

  “I told you to go home,” she says.

  “I miss you.”

  “Get over it.”

  We’re in a parking garage now and she’s unlocking her

  car, tossing her shoulder bag inside. I have to say

  something, but what?

  “You fucked me.”

  This makes her smile, but not in a particularly good

  way. Her smile seems to recall satisfaction of more than

  one kind.

  “You fucked me,” I say, “and then you just… ran.”

  Nita gets in her car.

  AL RISKE

  “Now you know how it feels,” she says.

  A moment later the scent of burning rubber fills my

  nostrils.

  184

  Life, Liberty and the

  Pursuit

  I’M DRIVING AROUND, LISTENING to the radio, reading the

  road signs, billboards, and bumper stickers:

  Bed, Bath & Beyond Now Open. Freeway Entrance.

  “Three-car collision, Willow at Bayfront.” Lane Ends,

  Merge Left. Office Space Available. Mystery Spot. Under

  New Management. No Parking Anytime. Eyewitness

  News at 11. This Bitch Hauls Ass. Right Lane Must Exit.

  I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what to

  do.

  That school in the Central Valley? They want me to

  teach English to tenth-graders.

  Well and Truly

  NITA HAS FUCKED ME well and truly because I can’t stop