A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (58 page)

Fuck. There are some kids walking out with their parents, but he is nowhere. He is not in the lobby, as other kids awaiting their parents are, and he is not on the steps, as a normal child might be,
and not in the doorway, and not by the elevators or front desk. When I ask, a willowy girl in his class says that no, she hasn
’
t seen him for a while, but that some kids are still upstairs, maybe he
’
s up—

I ride the chrome and mirrored elevator up, assaulted by the garish red carpeting, then the view, it
’
s an outdoor elevator, view of the whole city how nice, and upstairs the room is all glass, there are balloons sadly resting on the floor, a DJ packing up his equipment. Two kids are left, dressed up, one in suspenders. Toph is not among them. I ride the elevator down with one of them, ask him but he doesn
’
t know where Toph is.

Out the front door, the steps, into Union Square, another ridiculous cable car, tourists everywhere, no Toph.

Sari will be gone. My one chance with the sexologist, squandered by this inconsiderate little—

I go to a phone and see if he
’
s called. He has not called. Back to the hotel, scan the lobby, back up the elevator, look at the view so nice, inspect the party room again, which is almost empty now, only a few parents, who look at me quizzically while I look at them desperately—but cannot talk to them because I am not them and do not know what to say—if I explain it will only confirm their low expectations of me, strengthen their fear and pity for little Toph. I ride down again, and in the mirrored elevator I look like a madman and maybe he
’
s dead. He was taken, of course, he was taken like Polly Klaas was taken, and is right now being molested and dismembered. Or first driven to another state. Not possible. Of course possible. It
’
s probable,
all probable!

Sari will not wait. Oh to be able to just fucking once do something, be able to do something simple and normal like shacking with the author of sex manuals, just that one little thing—goddamn can I just have this
one thing
—

Oh wait. That
’
s it. He
’
s gotten a ride from a friend, yes, a ride—the little dickweed, without telling me, he got a ride
irom
someone else. If I find him at home—

No, no, he
’
s still here. Fm sure of it. I look in the hotel
’
s phone room, the restaurant, the bar— Why the bar? Why the bar, dumbass? Think, think! Then up the elevator again, oh ha ha what a nice view, and such a leisurely pace, this elevator, then off and in the party room, no one left. Then down, then outside. Then into the park across the street. Then around the block, and he
’
s definitely gone now, he
’
s as good as dead, been taken, of course, the same age as Polly Klaas, right? Oh God. I will become Marc Klaas. I
’
ll initiate legislation—Toph
’
s Law—I
’
ll start a foundation—

Then back into the lobby, where he is standing by the door, his shirt untucked, his hair matted, looking outside, through the hotel
’
s thick gold glass doors, on his tiptoes.

I grab him and say nothing until we get to the car, and inside the car with the windows rolled up—after he gives me his excuse, involving his thinking that I would be picking him up at the
other
door, a door
other than the door at which I dropped him off,
after I patiently listen, interesting...interesting...without swearing, trying not to yell— I do not want to do these things, these things are not what we
’
re about, no yelling, no swearing, that
’
s verboten, no anger, no outbursts, no threats of doing this or that, hitting him here or there—instead I calmly, slowly, softly, as if reading Chaucer to senior citizens, avail him of my way of seeing things—

“
Goddamn it, Toph! That makes no goddamn sense! The
other door?
Why the other door? Are you
kidding
me?
Goddamn
it!
Goddamn
it!
Goddamn
it! This shit
cannot
happen. Sorry pal. This
cannot
happen. I mean, please, Toph, please, this kind of thing is just ridiculous {raising voice, to his and my surprise]
fucking ridiculous!
I mean, this shit just
cannot
happen, there is no room for this kind of shit. [Pounding steering wheel]
Goddamn
it!
Goddamn
it!
Goddamn
it! I
cannot
be driving endlessly around the city looking for you, wondering when I
’
ll have to call the police, wondering what Dumpster they
’
ll find you in, molested and torn apart and—
Goddamn
it! Jesus fucking Christ, Toph, I had just about written
you off, I went through that hotel ten fucking times, I was picturing you in a million pieces, that Polly Klaas killer guy giving me the finger at the trial, everything. Fuck this, man! There simply is [pounding steering wheel} no margin for error, here, my man. There is no margin for error! [Pounding steering wheel with each syllable} No! Mar-gin! For! Err-or! Listen, you know this, we know this, we
’
ve always known this, that the only way we can do this is with a certain amount of efficiency. We have to be thinking, we have to be on our toes! We have to be on the same page, have to be anticipating, thinking, we have to have presence of mind! Things are pulled taut, Toph, pulled taut! There is no give! No give! Everything is too tight, brother, everything is just right there, like that {clenching fists}, see that? Tight, taut [jerking fists apart, miming the testing of a knot in a short piece of rope}! Everything is pulled taut!
”

“
You just passed our street.
”

I drop him off at Beth
’
s, watch him step into her red foyer, wave to Beth as she waves to me, watch the door close, see them start up the stairs, knowing he
’
ll tell her everything.

I cannot worry now.

Not when there is Sari.

I do not know what, exactly, Sari wants. Maybe she
’
s getting revenge. This could be her getting back at me for having fun with her book, making me come up to the hotel room, which will be empty. Or when I walk in, someone will douse me with something. Whipped cream. Tar. This whole thing is a big setup. It
’
s a trap. I would deserve it, certainly. I deserve anything, everything—no attack would surprise me. But it
’
s worth the risk. To be with a sexologist! She will know everything, full of tricks, tips, explosive things, will pull things out of me that I didn
’
t know were there—

I call from the lobby.

“
I was about to leave. I have to catch a plane in two hours.
”

“
I
’
m here.
”

“
I
’
ll come down.
”

I am waiting to see the sexologist. Sari. Sexologist. Sari. Sexologist. But how bad is this? Friend in a coma, Toph at Beth
’
s, maybe crying, shaken up at least—it
’
s the first time I really exploded—
did I explode?
I exploded, I sounded like them—

And I
’
m waiting for this woman who I have known all of three hours— The elevator splits and she is there, with the suitcase, striding toward me and, when close, smelling so good—

We decide to skip dinner, to go straight to my house. We
’
ll have an hour before her flight leaves. We get in my car and there is rain, and the Tenderloin is gauzy and bright, and on the way home all the green lights are timed, and then we are alone in my room—

I am with the sexologist! All is lush. We are progressing, still clothed but progressing—on a bed with the sexologist, on a bed with the sexologist, on a bed with the sexologist—what does that mean, to be here with the sexologist? There is nothing better, yes? This is it, right? I am not married, and I will die soon, three years, maybe five, and Shalini would be wanting us all to be enjoying ourselves, even with—
especially with
a sexologist in from New York, a one-in-a-million chance here, I know, Shal knows—and thus I
’
ll be adding joy to the world, not depriving. Deprivation does no one any good. I will be adding something to the world, this experience to the world and more so, Sari and I will be further weaving ourselves into its fabric, by doing things, anything, anything at all, one is weaving oneself into the fabric—

It is okay for me to have sex with the sexologist while Shalini is in a coma.
How could we say no?
Our being together means that something is happening, and the happening of things equals a moral good, which equals an irreducible good, which = existing = defiance = pulling = pushing = proof = faith = connection + hand-
holding = affirmation = swimming to the rock and back + holding breath under water all the way from one side to the other = the fighting of fights, tiny fights, big fights, any fights == the proving of points, all the time = denial of the tide = flouting of decay = force — restraint — moderation — nail-biting — no-saying + wall-punching + volume-turning-upping + quick-lane-changing + car passing + light-making + yelling + demanding, insisting, staying, getting = defiance = handprints, footprints, proof = tree-shaking, fence-cutting + taking + grabbing + stealing + running = engorging = no regretting = insomnia = blood = soaking in blood and what Shalini needs is the connection, the pumping of blood, the use of the lattice! She needs her friends not only there by her side, but she needs us being as close as possible, not only to her but to each other, creating friction, noise, and if possible, she needs us having sex, having sex with each other and projecting that energy to her, the bursting and love—it all connects, aha!
Shalini would want us having sex!
And then, with Sari, just mild groping at this point, with our eyes closed, then the thumping of empty shoes on the wooden floor, the thinking of all the things you think about with your eyes closed while feeling and positioning and rubbing like, for example, space travel. Walking on Mars, in a
2001: A Space Odyssey—
style spacesuit, everything dusty, red. Then images from a lavishly illustrated book owned throughout adolescence positing what space travel might look like, three thousand years hence, the moon-sized spacecrafts, the towers miles high on planets heretofore uncharted; then Shalini
’
s eyes, closed and purple; then your lack of a condom, and then your giving AIDS to Sari, and your having to tell Sari, a year hence, when you are diagnosed, and having to wait— No, you
’
ll do it through the mail, being unable to face her, you will have moved to Greenland or Franz Josef Land by then, or else you will still be here, and will tell her in person, and will ask her to marry you, and together you will fight through AIDS, because—no, she won
’
t want anything to do with you, asshole—

The door to the building opens and closes. Then the door to the apartment opens and closes. Then the door to the bedroom opens. Toph.

“
Oop,
”
he says.

I walk out. It
’
s the first time he
’
s caught me. Not that we were all that engage. But still.

He
’
s looking in his closet. Just standing, looking.

“
What are you doing here?
”
I ask.

“
What do you mean?
”

“
You
’
re supposed to be at Beth
’
s.
”

“
She didn
’
t have any food. She sent me home.
”

“
Listen, head back there and eat. Tell her she has to. Tell her to order something. I
’
ll come get you in an hour.
”

He leaves.

I return to Sari. She
’
s standing, to go.

Then to the airport.

Silence. Idle talk.

Outside the car we hug.

She passes through the airport
’
s glass and I watch, blinking stupidly.

It
’
s unclear what we
’
ve done, whether something happened, whether we broke through, whether proof was provided.