The Ups and Downs of Being Dead (8 page)

“What’s wrong?” he’d asked.

“This.” Amanda shoved the book at him. “This is what your
daughter thinks of me.” On one side of the page, Rachel had pasted pictures of
her friends with little captions about their clothes, their hair. Across from
these pictures was a snapshot of Amanda. She had fallen asleep out by the pool,
wearing a massive caftan. The hem of the shapeless dress had ridden up her
thigh, and the caption read: Jabba the Hut. There were also cut-out arrows
pointing to the rolls of fat at her neck, to the pasty white leg spread across
the chair. Each arrow had a single word: Yuck! Gross!

He felt so sorry for Amanda that he pulled the scrapbook out
of her hands and closed it.

“She doesn’t mean that. She’s just being a teenager. Showing
off for her girlfriends.”

“But I am gross,” Amanda wailed as she jumped to her feet.
“I’ve tried, Robert, honestly I have. But I just can’t get the weight off.”

He found himself assuring her that her size did not matter,
even rubbing his hands along the pillowy layer of fat on her back, down to her
humongous hips. Suddenly she was clamoring at his pants, begging him to make
love to her. At first he’d said he was too tired, not in the mood. But she’d
unzipped his fly. “I can get you in the mood.”

Christ, she was ready to go down on him. How long had it
been since she’d done that? Her desperation turned him on. His desperation made
him ashamed. But that didn’t stop him.

“Let me just get the door,” he’d whispered.

And there was that goddamn Robbie, staggering down the
hallway.

“Where the hell have you been?” Robert asked.

When Robbie told him to fuck off, Robert went ballistic,
charging down the hall after him. Robbie backed away, dropping a set of car
keys. Robert picked them up. They were to Amanda’s Jag.

“You took your mother’s car? Jesus Christ, Robbie you don’t
even have a driver’s license anymore. Do you know how much trouble you could
get into…”

“She said I could.” Robbie spat the words at him before he
pushed open his bedroom door and slammed it in Robert’s face.

Amanda came tripping out of the bedroom. When she saw how
angry Robert was she just shrugged her shoulders. “If I hadn’t let him, he’d
have taken it anyway.”

Robert wanted to slap her. “Don’t you understand the
liability here? If he has another accident, and hurts someone, kills someone,
who do you think pays?”

She gave Robert her classic smirk. “Insurance?”

He twisted the keys in his fingers to keep from striking
her. “Must you always play the dumb blond? Geez, Amanda.”

“What?”

“Go see Martin. Maybe he can explain it to you.”

“That’s always your answer,” she’d screamed. “Talk to
Martin.”

Everything seemed to tumble into place then, as he lay
nestled between his wife and his best friend. She
had
gone to Martin. And he had offered her what Robert would not.
Comfort. Acceptance. Love.

All this time, he’d figured it was Rachel’s scrapbook that
had finally goaded her into getting back in shape. But it wasn’t the pictures.
It was Martin.

At first light, Martin woke up. Robert leaped off the bed
before Martin pulled Amanda into a tight squeeze. A sensual moan vibrated in
the back of her throat.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

“Great.” She rolled on top of Martin, the sheets slipping
away from her naked shoulder.

Their intimacy was yet another affront to Robert. Even when
he and Amanda first married, she never stayed to cuddle in bed. She always said
she didn’t want to be seen without makeup, or with her hair mussed. She didn’t
seem to mind this morning.

She lowered her head to kiss Martin, her tangled blond hair
falling into his face. What? No brushed teeth?

“You know what I decided?” she said. “I’m glad we don’t have
to go through all that legal hassle. And we don’t have to hide anymore,
pretending nothing is going on.”

With both hands, Martin combed his fingers into her hair,
pulling it away from her face and tucking it behind her ears. “Me. too.” He
sounded genuinely relieved. “I want everyone to know I love you.”

Amanda’s smile weakened and she rolled off. Her head flopped
onto her pillow. Martin raised up on his elbow, and draped a leg across hers.
“You’re worried about telling the kids, aren’t you?”

“It’s not Rachel so much. But what about Robbie?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about that.” He caressed her cheek
with the back of his hand. How could she stand having him stare so closely with
nothing but thin wisps of eyeliner she’d had tattooed on years ago. “Maybe it’s
time we weaned Robbie off his allowance.”

Sheer panic broke out on her face. “What?”

“It’s time Robbie learned how to take care of himself. He’s
twenty-six, Amanda.”

What he really meant was that because of her leniency,
Robbie was a total waster. From the day those kids were born, they never cried
for more than five seconds before she dropped whatever she was doing to whisk
them into her arms. At night, she kept both kids in bed with them. Called it
the family bed. Well, there was no room for Robert in that bed.

“Your whole financial picture has changed here,” Martin
said. “Robbie was given a specific inheritance, and from now on any monies he
receives will be from that account, not yours.”

“Also…” Robert watched Martin’s leg tighten against her
thighs, locking her down. “I want to send Doug Bailey up to New York
immediately to evaluate Robbie. If he’s as heavy into drugs as we think he is,
Doug can determine the best course of action. If Robbie needs to be
institutionalized—”

“Institutionalized!” Amanda tried to buck Martin’s leg off,
but he held fast.

“Hang on, now,” he said. “Some of the biggest celebrities in
Hollywood have checked into rehab centers at one time or another. You know
that. Robbie might not be able to kick his addictions alone.”

Amanda tried to interrupt again but Martin pressed a finger
to her lips. If Robert had ever tried that, she would have chomped it off and
spit it at him.

“Once we get Robbie clean and sober, I’ll find him a job –
on Doug’s recommendation. It may take him a while to get on his feet, but we’re
not going to provide a free ride anymore. We’ll monitor his progress and when
we think the time is right, we’ll let him fly solo.”

Dear God. Martin even opened his palm like he was letting a
little bird go. What an idiot. Hadn’t he learned anything about Robbie in the
past twenty-six years?

Robert stood in front of the art deco apartment building in
New York City’s Battery Park. A doorman wearing a deep burgundy waistcoat with
gold braided epaulets jerked open the glass door and a woman carrying a
briefcase burst out onto the street. Immediately, the doorman dashed to the
curb, tweeting the whistle around his neck. A cab swooped over, and the woman
was in and gone in seconds.

According to Amanda, the building was filled with young
professionals eager to make their mark in the business world. She actually
thought these up-and-comers would be a good influence on Robbie.

He shook his head as he passed through the brass elevator
doors and drifted up to the twelfth floor. Once inside Robbie’s apartment,
Robert froze to take in the disarray.

Some kid was passed out on the sofa, a beer bottle tilted in
the crook of his arm, the remains of the beer dripping off the boy’s elbow onto
the leather cushions.

The coffee table was piled with empty beer cans; an uncapped
bottle of vodka sat half full. Ashes overflowed a saucer, and some of the
cigarette butts looked like they had been stubbed out right on the glass
tabletop. There were pot stems and seeds scattered amongst the ashes, and pills
strewn about. A candle had been left burning; the wax had drizzled onto the
glass and over the side where it had puddled and dried in the plush carpet.

The kitchen was illuminated by the refrigerator door
standing wide open, dirty dishes were piled in the sink, empty food containers
littered the counter. Robert was certain the garbage overflowing the basket
reeked. The place was prime for infestation. Didn’t the tenants’ association
ever check these units out?

As he passed the bathroom, he glanced in. Towels and dirty
clothes had been pushed to the walls to make a path to the toilet that was
sprinkled with pubic hairs and urine stains.

There was no path in the bedroom, just strewn clothes
everywhere. Robbie and some girl lay sleeping, the sheets a tangled mess. It
was obvious the bed had not been made in weeks. Good Lord, with all the money
Amanda sent, couldn’t Robbie shell out the cost of a cleaning service at least
once a month?

The girl looked like a tramp, her tight blue jeans ripped in
strategic places, her arms swathed in bracelets. She hadn’t even taken the time
to remove her high-heeled ankle boots before collapsing on the bed. Her
camisole was so loose that one of her breasts spilled out; a tattoo of a
snake’s head lay perched on top, with its forked tongue licking at her nipple.
Where her top separated from her low-slung pants, Robert saw the snake’s body
continue down her belly and into her jeans.

He forced his eyes away.

Robbie lay flat on his back, steadily snoring through his
gaping mouth. A sudden reflex caused Robbie to choke and he coughed so hard it
woke him up. He wobbled to sitting. Then with his head between his knees, he
hacked until he produced a blob of mucus that he tried to spit into another
overflowing wastebasket. It hit the floor.

And Martin thought he’d be able to rehabilitate this pig?
Fat chance.

All the coughing woke the girl. She opened bleary eyes
smeared with make-up. “Shut the fuck up,” she croaked.

Staggering to his feet, Robbie shuffled to the bathroom
where he hacked out more phlegm.

Robert wished Amanda could see what all her coddling and
pampering had done. For as far back as Robert could remember, she’d let Robbie
get away with—he almost thought murder, but thank goodness the other kid hadn’t
died.

When was that? Robbie must have been sixteen. Robert knew
his son was drinking because he’d discovered whole bottles of booze missing,
but he didn’t realize how heavily Robbie was into drugs until the ski trip to
Utah. Amanda and Robbie wanted to go to Vail or Aspen, but Robert was thinking
of investing in some condominiums in Park City, Utah. To placate Robbie, he
said both he and Rachel could bring a friend along.

The first day out, Robbie and his buddy Chaz were clowning
around on a black diamond run. Chaz collided with a tree.

What a nightmare. Robert had been in the middle of a meeting
with the lawyers and real estate agents when he was called. Amanda had been off
shopping and couldn’t be found. The ambulance was just screaming in when Robert
arrived at the hospital. Paramedics leaped from the back, juggling contraptions
to keep Chaz alive.

Robert only remembered bits of the doctor’s report: head
injuries – coma – drugs in the boy’s system. All Robert thought about was
lawsuit
.

He instructed the doctor to make Chaz a top priority. He
called Martin and had him arrange to fly Chaz’s parents out. Then Robert and
the rest of his family waited at the hospital.

Robbie lasted maybe two hours. At first he’d just slumped
into a chair and chewed on the yarn strings of his ski hat. But then he’d paced
around the small waiting room mumbling to himself, his face winking in
exaggerated twitches.

He got louder until he finally stopped in front of Amanda.

“Why are we hanging around here? The doctor said he’s in a
coma. There’s nothing we can do. I say we go back and ski.”

Robert jumped to his feet, charging Robbie. “Absolutely not!
We’re going to wait right here until Chaz’s parents arrive.”

“Oh, come on! That won’t be until midnight.”

“That’s right.” Robert’s head bobbed with anger. “So you
might as well get comfortable.”

Robert remembered how Robbie never even looked at him. His
eyes stayed right on Amanda. “I’m burning up in these clothes. Can’t we at
least go back to the condo and change?”

Oh, no. If Robbie got the chance to go back to the condo,
he’d park himself in front of the television and never come back.

“If you’d take that stupid hat off and quit stomping around,
you wouldn’t be so hot,” Robert said.

Still glaring at Amanda, Robbie waited maybe another ten
seconds for her to come to his defense. When she didn’t, he stormed out of the
room. Amanda raced after him.

For about an hour, Robert tried to convince himself that
they had just stepped outside to cool off. But then Rachel stretched her legs
out in front of her and announced to no one in particular, “I guess they’re not
coming back.”

In the back of his mind, Robert had known all along they
would not. Amanda had taken Robbie back to the slopes.

* * *

The slut from Robbie’s bed padded down the hallway, but
before she plopped down on that nasty toilet seat, Robert followed his son to
the living room.

First, Robbie pawed through the debris on the coffee table.
When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he patted down the boy sleeping on
the sofa. Still nothing. He went back down the hallway and stopped at the open
bathroom door, his hands braced on each side of the jam.

“I need a fucking cigarette.”

The girl stood, and as she pulled her jeans back up, Robert
realized that the snake tattoo went all the way down to her waxed mons. It
looked like the snake had slithered out from between her legs.

Robert staggered back at the same time the girl pushed
Robbie out of the doorway and stumbled to the bedroom. She threw a crumpled
pack at him before collapsing on the bed. Once he had a cigarette lit, he
flopped down beside her.