Eleven
I’m trying to finish up this paperwork so I can ready myself for an early dinner with my father. He and I haven’t had alone
time in ages.
I am back at my desk, making some notes on the computer when my office door bursts open, and Paloma and Nico run in, breathless
from running down the corridors.
“Hey, guys!” I give them both big hugs. “What are you two doing here?” I think for a second. “Don’t you have Mandarin classes
on Wednesday nights?”
“Mom said we could skip it tonight and have burgers with Dad.” Paloma picks up my mouse and clicks out of my document, miraculously
finding a game on my computer that I didn’t even know I had.
My heart plummets as I regress to a similar age as Paloma and Nico. This is my night with Marty, I think.
“Is Dad available?” I stammer.
“Mom’s in his office now,” they say. “Let’s go see him.” They each take a hand, pulling me out of my office as I laugh, and
the three of us grab Razor scooters leaning against the wall and make our way to Marty’s office.
Scarlett stands up when she sees me. She is in her usual faded jeans, with a huge Goyard bag and brown suede boots that look like a regular pair of brown suede boots, except I know they cost a fortune.
She gives me a kiss on each cheek, an affectation she picked up when they went to Paris for a vacation. For a while, she was
attempting three kisses, before she realized it was too much, even for her. Everyone presumed she was finished after two kisses,
before the awkward bob and laughter when they realized she was coming in for a third.
“We thought we’d surprise your father and take him out for dinner.”
My face falls. Speak up, I think. Say something.
“Didn’t you have plans?” I turn to my father and make big eyes at him, out of view of Scarlett. My father frowns, then slaps
his forehead as realization dawns.
“Damn. I forgot. But this is even better! We’ll all go! Family dinner!”
Scarlett looks at him. “Forgot what?”
“Nothing. Missy and I had a meeting planned, but we can do it anytime. Let’s all go out!”
I watch Scarlett’s face, wondering if she will reveal that she doesn’t consider me part of their family, that she doesn’t
want me included in this family dinner, but I see nothing.
“Great!” She grabs her bag from the floor. “Let’s go.”
There are people standing in line at Burger Crazy—my father hates Burger Crazy, but his new children love it, and with them,
with Scarlett, he acquiesces in a way he never has for me—but we walk right in. I’m aware of the short silence that descends
as my father passes through, people stopping still, their forks midway to their mouths, agape at my father, in the flesh.
His celebrity has a gravitational pull, and for a few seconds the entire room is pulled toward him.
Entering a restaurant with my father is like dining with the king.
People are awed, trying not to stare at him when all they want to do is stare.
The brave will approach him, tell him how much ipryy changed their lives, thank him for what he has built.
I feel everyone’s eyes upon us, aware that they are looking for any tidbit about us, any bad behavior, or good, that they can pass on to their friends.
We are ushered to the table in the corner, the best table in the house. I have no idea how they do this, but the best table
always magically appears when my father walks into a restaurant. A couple of times I have witnessed people ushered away, unhappily.
I wonder if restaurants have to comp the meal for kicking them off the table.
We sit down and Scarlett pulls two iPads out of her bag, setting them up in front of Paloma and Nico. I am glad my mother
isn’t here to see this. She is horrified at parents using technology to quiet their children in restaurants. “How are they
expected to learn how to converse?” she says, her voice rising. “How are they ever expected to learn table manners?”
My mother’s voice will rise, as I pray no one will hear her, particularly not the parents at the next table.
And here Scarlett is, doing the very thing my mother hates. Worse, Nico’s has no earbuds. He starts playing a game, with tinny
music that the whole restaurant has to listen to. Even I am embarrassed. I look at Scarlett, expecting her to say something,
but she doesn’t notice. How can she not notice? All around us I am aware of people shooting us dirty looks, whispering and
nudging each other, pointing out the perpetrators of the music.
My father looks over, irritated. “Nico, turn the volume down.”
My father orders popcorn shrimp for the table, then chicken teriyaki and french fries for the kids.
“Red meat is the devil,” he says.
“I thought bread was the devil?” says Scarlett.
“It is. Red meat as well.”
“What about sugar?”
Scarlett rolls her eyes at my father and we both laugh.
“That’s the worst!”
I don’t point out that the only dessert my father will eat is ice cream, which is pure sugar.
“You do know that chicken teriyaki is filled with sugar?” Scarlett adds, but my father loses interest. “They’ll be fine,”
he says.
By the time our food is served, Scarlett is scrolling through her phone, oblivious to everything at the table.
“Do you want to run your talk by me before the thing at the Institute for Private Investors?” I decide to bring up work anyway,
because this is the thing that bonds us, this is our shared language.
I have an ulterior motive in joining the Institute. I have flattered my father’s ego by persuading him to give a talk, but
it is not his talk I am interested in. It is the other speakers who will be speaking, revealing the depth of their philanthropy,
the importance of giving back.
“I haven’t even thought about it,” my father says. “Do you want to draft something and send it over for me to look at?”
“Sure.” I am used to this, writing more and more of my father’s talks.
“Guys, keep it down,” he barks as Nico starts needling Paloma who shrieks at him to stop. The sugar from their chicken teriyaki
is hitting. I steel myself, hoping they won’t start misbehaving, but it is in vain.
A minute later Paloma has hit Nico, who bursts into tears. My father has no tolerance for noise, or for his children fighting.
He looks at Scarlett, who looks up from her phone. “What?” she says, not wanting to do anything to break it up.
“Oh for God’s sakes,” snaps my father. “Missy, do something with them. Don’t just sit there like a fucking idiot. Take them outside.”
Heat rises in my body, my face turning a flaming red. I am mortified, embarrassed, ashamed. I stand up, turning my face to
hide the color, hustling Nico and Paloma outside, wishing the floor would open up.
How dare he, I think. How dare he speak to me like that. How dare he treat me like a babysitter. How dare he call me a fucking
idiot. I lift my right hand and see that it is trembling. Bastard, I think, as Nico and Paloma tear around the courtyard outside.
Scarlett comes out, no sign of her phone, and tells Nico and Paloma to get in the car. She walks over to me and lays a hand
on my arm, sympathy on her face. “Are you okay?”
I am surprised, and grateful, for her concern. But I am not okay. I shrug, not trusting myself to speak.
“I told him,” she says. “He must never speak to you like that.”
But he has often spoken to me like that, and I have never said anything. I shake my head, but I can’t talk about it. If I
do, I might cry.
“I’m going to leave,” I manage to say.
“How will you get home? We’ll drop you.”
I shake my head. I would rather die than get into a car with my father right now.
“I’ll Uber.” I walk away, so she doesn’t see me cry.