Daddy Issues
SUNDAY AFTERNOON. CHAN RESIDENCE.
We’re sitting on the front porch and I’m sharing an
Almond Joy with Kayla despite Nita’s (feigned)
disapproval.
I know, I know, I’m spoiling her, but you should see
the look on her face: Pure delight. No artificial additives.
Nothing held back.
God, it’s beautiful.
Then I see this guy striding across the lawn.
“You’re not her father,” he says.
“No, I’m Luke.”
“Well, I’m Kayla’s dad.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
He doesn’t shake my hand or tell me his name. Nita
has to do that.
“This is Ben,” she says. “Ben, are you high?”
Ben ignores her.
“You think you can step into my shoes, is that it?”
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
“Uh, no.”
Nita tries to tell him to relax, but he continues to
ignore her.
“Kayla has a daddy,” he says. “Me.”
“We’re just, uh, sharing a candy bar.”
“A little candy bar. See, Daddy?”
Kayla shows him the remaining half of her half of the
Almond Joy. Ben gives her a quick (feigned) smile and
turns back to me.
“I need to talk to my family,” he says. “Why don’t you
get lost?”
“Ben! Don’t be a—”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I was just leaving.”
“You know,” Nita says, “I can have your visiting rights
revoked.”
Ben shuts up and sits down. Kayla is crying quietly. I
wish I could do something.
161
Fantastic
I STRIP OFF MY sweats, wrap a towel around my waist, and
head down the hall to the bathroom. Just as I arrive the
door opens.
It’s Naomi. Naked.
Her hair is wet and drops of water roll down her
shoulders. I want to follow them down farther, but I
don’t.
Our eyes lock.
She smiles, I think, and pretty soon I smile.
We stand like that, eye to eye and toe to toe, for about
three hours. Then she reaches for a towel and covers
herself.
It takes me a while to realize the towel she has taken is
mine, so now I’m the one who is naked. She is definitely
smiling now, but she is no longer looking into my eyes.
We’re all of about twelve inches apart and without
moving I am able to cover about half that distance.
Naomi waits and watches.
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
“You can do it,” she says. “Just a little farther.”
We’re an inch closer.
“Here,” she says. “Maybe this will help.”
She drops the towel.
Oh, my god, I grow two more inches. Three, I swear.
We’re almost touching now. Millimeters apart.
“Close enough,” she says and leaps into my arms, her
legs wrapping around my hips.
Spencer comes out of his room with a stopwatch.
“Go!” he says.
163
To Me
EVEN IN MY FANTASIES things happen to me. The
difference is they happen just the way I want them to.
Intentions
NITA’S MOM WANTS TO know my intentions.
“We’re going to a club to hear some music, dance…”
Mrs. Chan, tiny but imposing, folds her arms.
“That’s not what I mean,” she says.
I know what she means and she knows I know, but still
I stall for time.
“Oh,” I say. “What do you mean?”
She tilts her head and stares at me. I feel as if I’m
waiting for my prom date. What the hell is taking Nita so
long?
“I’m very fond of your daughter,” I say.
“And Kayla?”
Kayla is putting a puzzle together on the kitchen table.
“Her, too,” I say.
Mrs. Chan shakes her head.
“You better think about what you’re getting into,” she
says.
“I know.”
AL RISKE
“Do you? I don’t think so.”
Then it hits me. She’s right. I don’t know.
166
Overdose
I’M ALREADY AT WORK when my mobile vibrates in my
pocket.
“Dude, you have to get over here.”
“Why? What happened? What’s wrong?”
“Just, Dude, please.”
“What is it? What happened, Marty?”
“It’s Fredson. I think he…”
“What?”
“OD’ed. I think he OD’ed, man.”
“Call 9-1-1.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to.”
“What if he wakes up and the police start asking
questions? He’ll kill me.”
“Easy, Big Guy, we’re talking about paramedics here,
not police officers. Check his pulse. Does he have a
pulse?”
AL RISKE
“I don’t know. Maybe. I feel a heartbeat but I think it’s
mine.”
“Is he breathing?”
“This is bad. This is so bad.”
“Marty, listen, hold a mirror up to his nose, see if he
fogs the mirror.”
“What do you think, Luke? You think I’m going to
reach into my purse and pull out a mirror? The only
mirror here is on the bathroom wall. Maybe I should just
hold him up to the medicine cabinet.”
“You have to call 9-1-1.”
“He’ll kill me. The paramedics will tell the police and
Fredson will kill me.”
“He’s not going to kill you. The police will be there.”
“Not right away. Later.”
“They’ll take him to jail, Marty.”
“He’ll get out. His lawyers will get him out. Or he’ll
have one of his henchmen kill me.”
“He has henchmen?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
168
Funeral for a Friend
FREDSON’S BODY LIES IN a closed casket in a small church
in San Jose. It’s a drab place. Nothing ornate about it.
The minister introduces us to Fredson’s parents,
Harvey and Bev.
Marty covers his surprise with a show of delight.
“Pleased to finally meet you,” he says.
All this time he has assumed Fredson was living (and
partying) off a trust fund left to him by wealthy parents,
but these folks are shy and shabby looking.
“Freddy was such a fine boy,” his mother says. “I don’t
know what we’re going to do without him.”
Marty says he feels the same way. He means it, too.
If I’m not mistaken there was a tear in Marty’s eye
when he returned the Q37 to the dealer. Fortunately his
name was not on the lease.
Of course, he knew Fredson dabbled in the drug trade
(as did he), but he thought it was just a rich boy’s thrill-
seeker hobby.
AL RISKE
Aside from Fredson’s parents and the balding, brown-
suited minister, Marty and I are the only ones at the
funeral.
170
Downhearted
HERE’S THE PROBLEM: I’ve never really wanted children.
It’s not that I don
’t like them. My sisters all have kids
and they’re adorable. Until they’re not.
Until they cry and shit themselves.
Until they scream and throw things.
Until they refuse to go to bed or get dressed or eat their
vegetables.
Don’t get me wrong. I love them all. I do. I just don’t
want to be around them when they’re being obstinate.
You can’t reason with them and, all kidding aside, you
can’t really punch them. We’ve established that, right?
So what am I getting myself into? How involved do I
really want to be with Nita and her little one?
I mean, it’s great right now. It’s wonderful, in fact. But
what happens when it’s not?
Suspect Arrested
NOW INVESTIGATORS ARE ASKING questions Marty can’t
answer and finding things he can’t explain. Like a ledger
tracking the sale of stocks, bonds, mutual funds, and
derivatives to investors who are identified only by their
initials.
It doesn’t take them long to surmise that the financial
instruments are code words for drugs of various kinds.
Marty is shocked. If that’s true, he swears, he had no
clue.
Fredson kept the books for Espresso Ecstasy as well.
“Math was never my strong suit,” Marty says.
As it turns out, the police can find no evidence linking
Marty to the heroin trade, but they do arrest one of
Fredson’s buyers: Ben Stafford, Nita’s former husband.
His arrest is almost immediate: His fingerprints are all
over the place, and this is not his first run-in with the
police.
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
They charge him with robbery, possession, and intent
to sell.
They might have added murder—Ben had motive,
means, and opportunity—except there was no evidence of
a struggle.
173
Hello, Stranger
I RUN INTO NITA at the grocery. She has Kayla with her,
riding in her shopping cart.
“Hello, stranger,” she says. “Where have you been
keeping yourself?”
I don’t have a good answer.
Kayla is smiling and holding out her arms. I pretend
not to notice.
“So,” I say, “how about you? Run out of Cheerios?”
She looks at me for a long time, then wheels her cart
around and heads down the aisle.
It hurts like hell, but I let them go.
Farewell, Naomi
THE NEXT THING I know Spencer and Naomi are no
more.
It takes me a while to catch on, but pretty soon I detect
a pattern: She doesn’t come in to work, she doesn’t come
by the house…
“What gives?” I ask.
“She’s gone,” he says. “Gone to L.A.”
“For what?”
“Forever, I guess.”
“No way.”
We’re at Bistro 227, after hours, having a couple of
beers at the U-shaped bar.
“I told her to choose,” he says, “and she did.”
“Fuck!”
“Not anymore.”
He sort of laughs, but there’s no mirth.
“She chose him? That’s insane.”
We finish our beers and order more.
Laid Bare
TWO DAYS LATER, I get home and, almost as soon as I
close the door, someone knocks.
It’s Nita.
“I am so—”
She reaches out and presses her finger to my lips so I
can say no more. Then she takes my hand and leads me
down the hall and into the room I am once again sharing
with Marty.
She closes the door and locks it.
Again I start to speak; again she silences me.
The next thing I know we’re on the floor. She kisses
me and peels off my shirt. She kisses me and peels off my
pants, shoes, socks, everything. She pins me down and
kisses me some more. Then she slides up and straddles my
face. She’s not wearing anything under her skirt.
She comes and fucks me and comes again.
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
Finally she wears herself out and we fall asleep on the
floor. When I awake, she’s gone. The house is dark and I
can hear Marty snoring on the sofa.
177
Gone
I GO LOOKING FOR Nita the next day, but she’s nowhere
to be found.
I keep looking all week but see no sign of her or Kayla
or even her battered old Volvo. She doesn’t answer my
calls, texts, or emails.
I knock on her door and ask her mother: “Is Nita
home?”
Mrs. Chan shakes her head.
“Do you know where she is?”
She pretends not to understand, but there’s something
in her face that reminds me of the ferocity her daughter
showed when she laid me bare and fucked my brains out.
Mrs. Chan says something in Chinese and closes the
door.
I CAN’T STOP THINKING about that night—the last night
we spent together.
The locked door.
Nita’s insistence on silence.
Then the shattering noises she made.
The anger I mistook for passion.
By Accident
QUITE BY ACCIDENT I run into Ariel on Santana Row. She
seems offended somehow even before I say hello.
I still have fond memories of our three-way but it was
never repeated, by silent consensus. In any case, none of
us ever spoke of it. So why the cold shoulder?
“Have you seen Nita?” I ask.
She would like to go around me but the sidewalk is
crowded with trendy shoppers, so she simply stares at me
stone faced.
Suddenly I know where Nita is. Ariel confirms it.
“Don’t you dare come around my door,” she says.
Office Visit
I FIND THE ADDRESS of the magazine and drive up to the
city. I don’t want to do this, but it seems like my only
chance.
The receptionist asks if she can help me.
“Um, yeah, I’d like to speak to Nita Chan.”
She picks up the phone.
“Is she expecting you?”
“No, I’m a… a friend.”
I smile and the receptionist smiles back.
“Your name?”
I say the first name that comes to mind. She punches in
three numbers and waits.
“Nita? Tom Cruz is here to see you.”
She hangs up the phone and smiles at me some more.
“She’ll be right out, Mr. Cruz.”
A minute later, Nita sees me and spins around. I follow
her down the corridor.
“Wait!” I say.
AL RISKE
“Go home,” she says, still walking.
“Look, just let me—”
She stops, turns.
“Let you what? Let you explain?” she says. “You think
I don’t know? You think I don’t get it? You think this
hasn’t happened to me more times than I care to count?”
I honestly, stupidly, did not think of that. I say nothing.
She shakes her head and tells me again to go home.
182
How It Feels
IT’S ALREADY DARK BY the time
Nita emerges from her
South-of-Market office building, her pleated skirt
bouncing against her black tights, her high heels clicking
on the sidewalk. I’m sitting across the street, having a
drink. I run to catch up with her.
She won’t stop, so I walk alongside her.
“I told you to go home,” she says.
“I miss you.”
“Get over it.”
We’re in a parking garage now and she’s unlocking her
car, tossing her shoulder bag inside. I have to say
something, but what?
“You fucked me.”
This makes her smile, but not in a particularly good
way. Her smile seems to recall satisfaction of more than
one kind.
“You fucked me,” I say, “and then you just… ran.”
Nita gets in her car.
AL RISKE
“Now you know how it feels,” she says.
A moment later the scent of burning rubber fills my
nostrils.
184
Life, Liberty and the
Pursuit
I’M DRIVING AROUND, LISTENING to the radio, reading the
road signs, billboards, and bumper stickers:
Bed, Bath & Beyond Now Open. Freeway Entrance.
“Three-car collision, Willow at Bayfront.” Lane Ends,
Merge Left. Office Space Available. Mystery Spot. Under
New Management. No Parking Anytime. Eyewitness
News at 11. This Bitch Hauls Ass. Right Lane Must Exit.
I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what to
do.
That school in the Central Valley? They want me to
teach English to tenth-graders.
Well and Truly
NITA HAS FUCKED ME well and truly because I can’t stop