CHAPTER TWO
Carver’s heart spasmed and became molten. Through the benevolence of Xanax he managed to not react at all. “Who let you in here?” he said, smiling like eighteen years had absolutely passed so thanks but no thanks, pal.
“Your lovely parents,” Scott said, leaning back in the armchair he was perched in. Carver made his way into the living room and sat beside his sister-in-law Maggie, who smiled at him with warm disinterest.
“The hotels around here are so expensive,” Nora said. “And his parents are down in Florida now.”
“They couldn’t send you some cash for a hotel, Scott?” Carver said.
Scott’s smile widened and woodened. “Don’t worry, Carv, I didn’t take your bedroom.”
“Pool house?”
“Right. So I don’t bother you guys with guitar noise.” Scott always said guitar or motorcycle like he expected underwear to hit the floor the second the sound escaped his lips.
Carver sat back, too, with his wrist on the edge of the armrest so everyone could see his Rolex where his sleeve rode up.
“He’s playing some live music at the wedding,” Nora said, sounding pleased. Carver’s parents got a real kick out of Scott’s music, for some reason. “For no charge, isn’t that kind?”
“I promised her that I’d do this, like, twenty years ago,” Scott said. “And she did not forget.”
“Time passes,” said Carver’s father, Doug.
“Profound,” Conway said.
Something Carver found funny was that Chip and Conway, Doug’s favorite and second-favorite, seemed to lack patience with him these days.
This started around the time Chip’s son was born, for no reason Carver could identify.
He was perpetually out of the loop and had never discussed this with them, but he had kept up his loyal campaign of tepid obedience, which currently made him Doug’s most filial child.
Carver nodded across the room to his father and said, “Dad.”
“Son,” Doug said, lifting his whiskey glass.
One of Chip’s children hurt the other in play and they both ran out of the room crying and shouting. Conway got up to go investigate, and Scott looked concerned. Everyone else ignored it, even Maggie. Those children were terrorists and they all knew it.
“Does anyone mind if we open this wine we bought?” Lillian said to break the silence. “It’s supposed to be pretty good.” She got up, looking at the crowd expectantly. They made noises of assent, and she went to the bar cart in the corner to rummage for an opener.
Scott looked at Carver as he said, “So, Lillian, how long you two been married?”
“Four years,” Lillian called over her shoulder. “Right?”
“Four and a half,” Carver said.
He could tell by the look on Scott’s bisexual face that he was impressed by the caliber of woman Carver had bagged.
When they fought over Carver’s refusal to come out to California, Scott had snapped at him, “So you’re gonna find some poor woman to fake it with?
You actually think you’re a good enough liar that people can’t tell exactly what you are?
” Yet what did it really matter what anyone thought they knew, if the faggot still brought home a ten?
And when had Lillian ever needed anyone’s pity?
Conway returned, and they all started talking about the wedding. Nora wanted to know if anything odd happened at gay weddings which she should know about in advance. Doug assured her that the country club would not agree to host a wedding at which anything odd was expected to happen.
“I just want to be prepared, so I can make sure not to react,” Nora said in perfect WASP.
“They scissor at the end of the ceremony,” Conway said. Lillian let out a loud laugh at this.
“Connie,” Nora scolded half-heartedly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Well, what did you mean, Mom?”
“I just don’t want to be culturally out of my depth.”
“Gay people are the same as straight people,” Conway said.
“I beg to differ,” Doug said. He was now double-fisting red wine and whiskey. This was the kind of thing he only seemed to do when Carver was sharing his air. “I think there’s a significant way in which they’re not. I think gay people would agree.”
“Letty says it’s gonna be a very low-key ceremony,” offered Priscilla. “I don’t know if she mentioned this, but she and Sana are actually already married, they eloped last week. So the ceremony is just for you all, and they mostly care about the reception.”
Nora and Doug looked at each other.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Doug said.
Nora made a noise of agreement. “If it’s for us, then why not have it at the Episcopal church?”
“Mom,” Conway said, laughing.
“I’m not saying that because I’m so religious, you know I’m not. I’m just saying — who wants to get married at a country club? Weddings used to take place at two separate locations, back in our day. Church, then reception hall.”
“It’s more expensive to do that,” Maggie said. “And weddings have gotten so fucking expensive.”
“Well, they’re getting help and a deal on the club from us,” Nora said. “And it’s not like our wedding was cheap, even back in the day.”
“No, we were paying that one off for a while,” Doug agreed.
“Why go into debt over it?” Lillian said.
She was now perched on an ottoman near the unlit fireplace, and wasn’t looking at any of them but was admiring the buck head mounted on the wall over it.
The golden retriever sat in a dog bed in front of the fireplace, and was looking up at Lillian, wagging its tail, but she didn’t take notice of him.
“We already had a hill of law school debt,” Doug said, shrugging. “We just threw it on top. It worked out eventually.”
“Is this a fifteen pointer, Doug?” Lillian said, indicating the buck.
“It is,” Doug said, looking deeply pleased. “I shot him in ‘92. He was in the study for the longest time, but that way, nobody else ever got to appreciate him.”
Lillian stood to examine the head better, looking impressed. “We’ve never gone hunting together, have we?”
“We haven’t,” Doug said. “We should.”
“With Carver, of course,” Lillian added.
Carver ignored this. He’d been hunting before, and he knew a bad time when he heard one.
Up early for a long drive and frigid march into the woods of Finger Lakes National Forest with his armed father and wife, who were both better shots than he.
He had already experienced his father staring at him in confusion and disgust as his nerves caused him to miss deer after deer.
Worse still to have Lillian there cooing, “Baby, it’s easy.
Baby, watch this,” while she dropped dozens of animals, half of them not even fair game.
“Sure,” Doug agreed, and changed the subject back to the wedding and their preparations for it.
There was going to be a big rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, or something.
Carver mostly tuned this conversation out, his mind wandering to work.
He was jarred out of this by a hand on his shoulder; he looked up to see Conway, saying hi on her way back out of the room.
“How you doing?” she said conversationally.
“Uh, good,” Carver said.
“You’re thin,” she noted, sipping her wine as she walked away.
“He’s always thin,” Doug said accusatorily. He gave Carver an intense once-over for several seconds, as if to confirm that he remained the same person, then looked away.
“We’ve been doing Pilates,” Lillian said in an explanatory tone. She was too blinded by Manhattanism to realize this would just make things worse.
“Pilates,” Doug repeated.
“To stay limber,” Carver said.
“Doesn’t your mom do Pilates?” Doug said to Priscilla.
“Mmm-hmm,” Priscilla said. “She says it keeps things tight,” she added, making a face.
“Tight, huh?”
Carver sat in irritated silence. He was muscular. His father and Chip could probably still outbench him, sure, but he ran triathlons. Could either of them run even one leg of a triathlon? No. He did not spend his afternoons napping in a chair. He did not eat donuts.
He had to be some kind of throwback to their immigrant ancestors, the ones who’d staggered over from England and Germany all desperate to make something of themselves.
His head was constantly on a swivel. Sometimes when he was around his family and got that painful lump in his throat, he imagined their ancestors watching them all on a big screen — like sports fans at a bar — and cheering only for Carver.
Come on, Carver! Carver gets it! He knows life is a battle that never ends!
“It’s a client-facing thing,” Carver said to no one in particular. “You’re more trustworthy to them if they know you can control your urges.”
“Right, yeah, must control those urges,” Scott said, despite the fact that nobody was fucking talking to him, were they?
“But don’t they also expect you to go out and party with them, though?” Doug said. “That’s what my buddy Pete always has to do. Lots of dinners and drinks.”
“Who’s Pete, what does he do?”
“Financial advisor at Morgan Stanley.”
“So he’s sell side. Private equity is buy side. It’s a different relationship.”
Doug shrugged. “Either way you’ve got clients trusting you with their money. Investors. I don’t see a huge difference.”
“The difference is I’m an MD and I’m not competing with a bunch of other guys on my floor.”
“No, just competing with the other MDs,” Lillian said, laughing.
Carver ignored her. “Lillian and I oversee transactions, we plan and manage acquisitions.”
“The question from our investors is more, are we outperforming the market or not?” Lillian said. “And we do outperform. But we also do get drinks with them, Carver.”
“We aren’t their dancing monkey intermediaries, was more my point.”
Doug laughed. “I’ll let Pete know you think he’s a dancing monkey. He doesn’t have much regard for private equity.”
Carver knew he was being baited, but couldn’t help taking it. “Not for moral reasons, I’m sure.”
“Oh, no. Well, he thinks you’re not so good for the economy.”