“I’ve got it covered, Daddy. I’ll take care of everything, I promise.”
“I missed that last part,” he said.
“I said I’d take care of the paperwork,” I said. “Scout’s honor.”
“Okay. It just puts me in an odd position with Ed. I thought you had already taken care of it. Business is all about first impressions and about follow-through.”
“I’m on it, Dad.”
“If you were on it, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”
There it was. The old two-step we did together. I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say. I wasn’t positive he knew what he wanted out of the conversation. He had plenty of plates in the air, I knew, and at some level—business-wise—I was simply another plate. He had extended himself with Ed Belmont to get me hired, and now, to his mind, I had paid him back by not getting the paperwork in earlier than it needed to be in. I had not been sufficiently bushy-tailed and eager, and that was against the business ethos. If I entered his world, then I had to play by his rules.
At the same time, he had been happy to see me head off to Europe. His attitudes were contradictory and complicated. He probably wasn’t aware of the mixed messages.
“Daddy, I am aware of my obligations and the expectations from Ed Belmont’s team. I am. It’s not your onion.”
“What?”
“It’s a French phrase. It means it’s not your problem.”
Something else made noise beyond his phone. He was in the middle of something and said as much when his voice came back to me.
“It is my problem, Heather! What do I always say? Either one meets his obligation or he doesn’t. There’s no in-between that’s worth anything.”
“I’m meeting it, Dad,” I said, feeling my neck turning red and my blood beginning to percolate. “It’s not your worry. I have an understanding with Ed’s team. It’s all going to be okay.”
“Just call them, would you? Check in?”
“I can do that, Dad.”
“Remember, Ed’s an old bastard like I am. We feel better knowing where the thermostat is set.”
“Dad, you’re not an old bastard. You’re a really old bastard.”
He laughed. Whatever storm clouds had choked his sky seemed to lift a little.
“Sweetheart, I should jump off here. Glad to hear you’re doing okay. How are the other girls?”
“They’re doing fine. We’re having a great time.”
“Good, good. Well, you’re only young once, right? Isn’t that what they say? Okay, sweetie, I’ll see—”
His voice disappeared, cut off by some unexplained transcontinental quirk. I didn’t call him back. You didn’t call my father back. Not when he was in a meeting.
15
“I lost all my shit! Everything! Phone, license, passport, you name it! I am the worst, stupid-ass American tourist who ever lived!” Amy said when she finally got herself under control in the hostel cafeteria. After not showing up for most of the morning, she had finally borrowed a passerby’s cell phone to call and tell us not to meet her at the train station, but to stay where we were. She hadn’t explained much except to say she had been in a situation, a bad one, and that she only had her own idiotic self to blame. Now, sitting in the small hostel breakfast room, she looked like a wild woman—her wolf hair stood up like a British grenadier’s hat—and she was angry enough to kill someone. “It must have dropped out when I put my coat on the couch at this party. I had it all together in that little, like, makeup bag thing, the one with frogs on it—you know the one. But who knows? I think it slid out when I lifted the jacket up, or maybe it was earlier. It’s so fucking dumb it makes me cringe to think about it. Amy, the great and freaking powerful Amy, who can go anywhere, do anything, and here I am like the most dumb-ass tourist who ever left the U.S.”
“Did you have it at the jazz club?” I asked. “The one Raef took us to?”
“Yes, yes, believe me, I’ve gone over it in my head a thousand times. I even went back to the apartment where I took off my coat, but it wasn’t there. The apartment owner was very nice. He said he’d get in touch if anyone found it. He made me give him my information, and I took his.”
“Do you think someone could have stolen it?”
“Possible, but not really. I think I just lost the fucker. What a reckless, stupid ass I am.”
Constance sat beside her and held her hand. I had never seen Amy so shaken, and I couldn’t blame her. The story didn’t make much sense, at least not initially, because she had trouble telling it in sequence. We were all too drunk and too stoned the night before to be clear about any detail. But the basic elements came through.
Bottom line, she had no identification, no money, no phone, and no real way of resupplying herself.
“I am so, so, so, so, so bummed,” she said. “I am such a complete rookie! What an idiot!”
“Okay, lighten up, Amy,” I said. “Things happen. It’s just a thing. We can get it ironed out. It’s just a small setback.”
I didn’t dare glance at Constance, because I was certain she had come to the same conclusion. Amy had just fumbled away her trip. We didn’t have time, I didn’t think, to go through the headache of getting a new passport, new credit cards, and so forth. That’s what made Amy so irate. She knew it, too.
“It’s okay, honey,” Constance said. “It’s a setback. Heather’s right about that.”
“No, it’s not. I almost couldn’t even get back here! I can’t travel without a passport. All my credit cards are gone, too. I have to cancel all those and call Mom and Dad. They are going to freak, I promise you. They warned me about this sort of thing.”
“All our parents did,” I said.
“Yes, but I always lose shit! I hate it about me. Even in second grade, I lost my mittens every day. I swear! My mom got so tired of it she made me wear my brother’s socks on my hands!”
We couldn’t help it; the comment made us laugh. It took her a moment, but Amy eventually saw the humor in the situation. She buried her head in her hands and laughed. It was a frustrated laugh, but at least it was a laugh.
*