Truth in Advertising Page 0,111
cell phone number. Everyone hugs everyone else. Flonz’s entourage whisks him away, the clients hop into a waiting van and head to the airport to catch the red-eye. Ian and Pam will do the same. But not before stopping for dinner at Chez Jay in Santa Monica. The plan is to meet at the editor in New York tomorrow.
“It was genius on paper,” I say to Ian.
He smiles and hugs me.
“You good?” he asks.
“I’m good.”
“Call me.”
Keita and I watch as the world that we created is quickly and easily dismantled and put away. Outside, the skies are clearer. Wispy clouds move fast in the high winds.
• • •
Keita and I walk back to the hotel from dinner, an overpriced Italian place on Robertson. He’d asked at dinner when I was going and I told him I was on a morning flight to Honolulu. He asked how I was going to do it and I told him I hadn’t thought that far ahead, that I’d probably just rent a boat. He smiled, as he almost always does, and changed the subject.
We walk through the driveway to the hotel. Instead of walking in, Keita walks over to the life-size statue of Marilyn Monroe, frozen in her famous skirt-billowing moment from The Seven Year Itch. A vintage Aston Martin, a Porsche, and the cleanest Range Rover in the world are waiting for their owners.
Keita says, “Would you take her life and fame for being dead at thirty-seven?”
“No. I like being no one. Plus I wouldn’t date a Kennedy.”
“Can I ask you one question?”
“Sure.”
“Why are you doing it?”
He’s looking at the fake grill that Marilyn is standing on and I’m looking at Marilyn’s breasts.
I say, “Because the others won’t.”
He looks at me and says, “I do not think that’s true. I think you go because it makes you feel better than them.”
I say nothing. But he knows he’s right.
He says, “I hope you are not offended.”
“No. I’m not offended.”
“I think maybe it is not enough, your reason.”
“So why should I go?” I ask.
“Because he is your father. Because this is what we do as sons. Even when they hurt us and ruin us.”
Shame and embarrassment wash over me. Such an obvious thing. I know nothing.
I say, “Yes.”
Keita smiles.
A man and woman walk out of the hotel to the Aston Martin. Both are on their cell phones, the man wearing a headset. He points to Keita, then points to the door of his car. My adrenaline goes nuclear and I’m on the verge of telling him to go fuck himself when Keita opens the car door as the man slides in. Keita closes the door and the man hands Keita a five-dollar bill.
The man says, “Save up. Maybe someday you’ll be able to afford one.” He winks and drives off.
The calm smile still there, Keita says, “Our family actually has two.”
In the lobby we shake hands and Keita bows deeply. We agree to keep in touch. He looks like he wants to say something but then turns and gets in the elevator.
• • •
I’m in bed, having foregone brushing my teeth or doing anything with my clothes except stepping out of them. I’m so tired I can’t sleep. The fan clicks on and off in an attempt to keep the room at a constant temperature.
The little voice is Katie Couric. No. It’s Joan Rivers. No, wait. It’s Barbara Walters.
The voice says, “You thought it would be different by now.”
I say, “Yes.”
She says, “You thought things would be clearer at this point in your life. But you’re just more confused.”
I say, “Yes.”
She says, “You thought with age would come a sense of security, of knowledge about how life works. But you still don’t know anything. You haven’t figured anything out yet.”
“No.”
She says, “You don’t know what you want.”
“No.”
“You live in New York City and yet you almost never go to museums or theater, to hear music. You might as well live in Houston. Do you find that very sad?”
“I find your blouse sad.”
“Are you a happy person?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you happy?”
“My work.”
“Is that a true statement?”
“No.”
“Why don’t you quit, find another job?”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t or you won’t? Are you afraid?
“I choose not to. And no, not out of fear.”
“Are you afraid?”
“No.”
“Are you afraid of what might happen if you quit?”
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“A courageous person.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“What would happen if you quit?”
“I don’t know. I’m not very good at a lot of things.”
“Well, at least we know that’s true.”
“There’s no reason to turn to the camera and wink.”
“Are