Page 69 - Demo

“Shag and I are going to Palm Springs this afternoon.”
“Tell that to the awful Yaegers.”
“On what money?” I was prepared for her to tell me Ruth was giving her money that I wasn’t aware of.
May I say at this point, it was probably unfair to call the Yaegers awful. Douglas was one of the senior partners when I joined the firm as a new associ-
ate. He liked to play the mentor role and, when he found out we were neighbors, especially to me. At his retirement party, I sincerely thanked him for all he had done for me at Raskin Logan Marsh, no longer far from retirement myself. Douglas was a good lawyer and a good citizen. Trustworthy. A family man with two successful children—his son Peter a national Lacrosse champ, his daughter Kris her debate team captain. Now Peter was making it big in Silicon Valley. Kris was a young, thriving dermatologist with a prac- tice nearby on the Upper East Side.
“That’s none of your business, is it?”
“But what will you do there?”
“Eat Ice-ees. Play miniature golf.”
“I’m sure there are places for that a lot closer.”
“It was a joke, Todd.”— hearing her call me by name still furrowed my brows. When she switched from Dad at 17, I considered it merely an adolescent desire to put us on a level playing field. But it had come to feel like a disavowal of my fatherhood that would never go away. I wanted to tell her it had not been a funny joke, but she already signed off.
Their apartment was like a tribute to their offspring with imposing portraits of the two hung above their working penthouse fireplace. Peter’s trophies in a case in the entry way. Kris’s med school graduation cap and gown on display. A den full of family pic- tures on their many vacations. If I’m going to own my jealousy, I admit I had to overcome feelings that they moved some of these things into more prominent view whenever we were there.
“What was he like?” I asked.
“Hungry.”
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“And frail?”
“Not so. About your height and weight. A little bent, but he seemed healthy. A full head of white hair.”
“Sounds like a real Clarke Gable. What’d you talk about?”
“He was quiet.”
“And that was it?”
“What did you want me to do? Show him around? I only brought him up because I didn’t want him sit- ting in the lobby by himself. I can’t imagine this is easy on him.”
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The Yeager’s Mr. Lawson was as old as advertised. He arrived in a small van that carried two other elderly adoptees being dropped off within a 10-block area. It was getting that bad. Ruth witnessed him being helped out by a nursing aid while the driver depos- ited his one large suitcase beside him that Eduardo, the doorman, carried in. At the time, both Yaegers were out. “Where the hell were they? Weren’t they expecting him?” I said.
A few days after he arrived, the Yaegers gave Mr. Law- son a cocktail reception. I refused to go, so Ruth went without me. She was understandably annoyed when I asked her what it was like when she came back. “If you care so much, you should have gone.”
“Yes, but apparently they were running late.” Ruth, thank goodness for her, brought Mr. Lawson to our place and made him tea and an egg salad sandwich.
“So they can make an old man a notch in their social pedigree and put him on display? I want no part of it. I’m sure Douglas made a little speech.”