He thinks of himself as a telephone that was off the hook till now.
Any couple in any oyster bar could have been Tom and Sheryl, but Jamey never listened to their catamaran stories, never said yes to nightcaps from strangers. The world looks so different today; he catches the eyes of other pedestrians, shopkeepers smoking on the sidewalk, riders of a bus stopped at the light. He sees every window in every building as exceptional, a possibility. He thinks of the way Tom held Sheryl’s limp, manicured, gold-braceleted hand as she stepped into her heels before leaving, and she said Thank you, darling, and Jamey was just bowled over by their bourgeois manners and futuristic ethics. He stops and buys a Twix at a newsstand. Candy for breakfast, and why the hell not.
Jamey and Clark are having petite tender roasts with béarnaise for lunch, the steakhouse lively and loud.
“Clark,” Jamey says. “Don’t you think Edna could use a break? She’s been getting the short straw all summer.”
Clark squints. Jamey’s acting suspiciously earnest.
Then Clark laughs, merry-eyed.
“I’m serious,” Jamey says, freeing the bee in his bonnet.
Taken aback, Clark turns tomato-red. “Oh, you’re…being genuine. Of course. Poor Edna. I’m not sure I know what you mean, but we can always be a little sweeter, I suppose.”
“Fantastic!” Jamey says, which is something Clark always says, and Jamey doesn’t ask permission but orders a second martini for himself with a Hollywood smile.
Cross-legged on the magenta couch, Elise sweats in the afternoon heat. Buck is waiting for drips from Elise’s Klondike Bar, at a polite distance but attentive, when the phone rings.
“Hello?” she says, licking her finger.
“Hope you’re sitting down!”
She cocks her head. “Who’s this?”
“Trent Black from Venture Prizes, and today, miss, is your lucky day.”
Elise puts her ice cream in the sink.
“Is this, let’s see here, Elise?”
Elise furrows her brow. “Yes.”
“And you’re staying with Mr. Jamey Hyde, correct?”
“I never heard of Venture Prizes.”
“We’re a subsidiary of American Express. Surely you’ve heard of American Express.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Well, you and Mr. Hyde have cause to celebrate, because you have won a trip to the Bahamas, and that’s not all!”
“How did we win?”
“Mr. Hyde’s a loyal Amex customer, and his name was in the sweepstakes pool. Truly exciting, don’t you think? We sure think so!”
“What else did we win?” she asks, getting a thrill.
“Two tennis racquets, and, wait, there’s more.”
“What?”
“A magnum of Mo?t Champagne!”
“What’s a magnum?”
“A very large bottle. All I need now is your social security number.”
“Why do you need mine?”
“If you have Mr. Hyde’s handy, that’ll work.”
“I don’t.”
“Why don’t you give me yours, I’ll put these prizes in your name, and you can celebrate the good news this evening, how’s that?”
Elise looks at Buck, who looks at her.
“Okay.” She smiles nervously.
When Jamey gets home, Elise is grinning, arms crossed.
“Guess what,” she says.
“What?” he asks, pulling his necktie loose.
As she gushes out the news, he looks mildly confused but happy.
“Bahamas?” he asks, eating Brie and Ritz crackers standing at the counter.
“Yeah.”
“Nice work,” he tells her.
Alex calls him the very next day. “I’ve got something for you.”
They meet at a Murray Hill bistro where Alex rarely goes, a place with greasy menus and red candles. Alex hands his son stapled pages with Elise’s name and social security number at the top, and his face is self-righteous but also apologetic.
“You’re doing this out of guilt,” Alex suggests as Jamey reads.
“I’m not doing anything out of guilt.”
“The way you immediately deny it—speaks volumes! Look. You’ve always been a sensitive kid.”
Jamey stares at him in his pink Brooks Brothers shirt—his father’s eyes are kinder and softer and sadder than usual. This “problem” has brought Alex closer to his son than anything yet.
“I’m not a kid.”
Alex sighs. “What I’m saying is—no one would hold it against you, what you’ve done so far. But you’re getting damn near making a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“Just get her out of that apartment.”
Jamey won’t answer, looks away.
Alex pats his mouth with his napkin. “You belong to this family. This family loves you. Why would you create problems?”
On the curb, father and son awkwardly scan for cabs, the night fragrant with the incense of New York—taxi fumes, perfume, cinders, bread baking somewhere.
“There’s nothing wrong with this relationship,” Jamey tries one more time.
Alex rocks heel to toe, hands in slacks, looking at the avenue. “Then why do you keep her hidden away like you’re ashamed?”
Jamey walks the long way home, broad shoulders squared and hands in pockets. People, streetlights, headlights, they blur, foggy and dreamlike. One stranger’s eyes trail a milky brightness as he passes Jamey. A dog pisses black onto the stone building, its hind leg raised in a terrible way. Nothing is right. Jamey looks down on his own body from the night sky, and sees a lost boy.
When he opens the door finally, Elise is sitting at the window in her basketball shorts and a bra. She’s eating Lucky Charms from the box, handling a palm full of cereal the way a bored man jingles coins.
“Yo,” she says.
Jamey sits heavily on a couch, his big thighs spread. Stares at her.
Elise widens her eyes. “What?”
“I can’t believe you’ve been arrested and never told me.”
“Arrested for what?”
“Shoplifting, public intoxication, assault.”
She eats the last Lucky Charm, and smirks. “Jamey. Nobody who grew up where I grew up doesn’t have a record. Mine is short.”
“But—assault?”
“I probably pushed some girl at the bus stop.”
“That’s not what it sounded like.”
“Cops have a quota, they hand out tickets for nothing, haul you in if you give them trouble. Of course I’m gonna talk back if I feel like it.” Now she’s mad—her skin almost tinged with green.
Jamey sighs.
She smacks the back of one hand into her palm: “I’ve seen your friends from Yale, high and drunk as shit, falling in the streets, driving into brick walls like retards. No one is ever gonna cuff them.”
“I don’t need a lecture.”
“Who told you anyhow?” Elise asks.
“My dad.”
“How should he know?”
“He had your info printed out. For your whole family, actually. Your mom’s record is like three pages.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jamey sighs. “There is no Venture Prizes.”
They don’t have sex that night.
At one point, he kisses her forehead in the dark bed. “What else don’t I know?” he asks quietly.
She turns on the light, furious.
“Fucking plenty! You don’t know shit!”