“When I got to come home to dinners like this? Perfectly forgivable.”
“There you are,” Dad calls from the kitchen. He can hear us as we come down the hallway—but not, I know from experience, what we’re saying. His hearing’s not what it once was, and the walls of Cooper’s brownstone are thick. You can’t beat that nineteenth-century construction. “Stop bickering, you two, and hurry up. Dinner’s ready. You’re late!”
We rush toward the absurdly large (for Manhattan, anyway) skylit kitchen, to find the butcher block table already set, the candles already lit, and the wine already poured. Dad is standing at the counter tossing a salad, wearing a blue and white apron over a button-down shirt, olive green cords, and a pair of Crocs. He brightens when he sees us, as does Lucy, who thumps her tail against the floor in the contented manner of a dog who has already had her evening walk.
“Hello,” Dad says. “So glad you could make it.”
“Sorry we’re late,” I begin. “We had to take Sarah to the police station. It turns out she… ”
My voice trails off. Because it turns out we’re not alone with Dad and Lucy in the kitchen. There’s someone sitting at the table with a plate of food already in front of him, although he’s politely refrained from digging in yet. The same can’t be said, however, of his wineglass.
“Heather!” Cooper’s brother, Jordan, slurs, drunkenly raising a glass of wine in our direction. “Cooper! Did you hear the news? I’m gonna be a daddy!”
“I really didn’t have any other choice but to let him in,” Dad explains, much later after dinner, when Cooper has left to drive his brother back to his penthouse on the Upper East Side. “He was very insistent that he see you. And he was, as you could probably tell, in a very celebratory mood.”
Jordan’s mood, if you ask me, was more suicidal. But then, that’s what happens when you find out your wife’s pregnant, and you’re not a hundred percent certain you’re ready for fatherhood.
But that was something Jordan had asked me to keep between the two of us, when he’d trapped me in the hall on my way back from the bathroom during dinner.
“I never should have let you go,” Jordan informed me mournfully as he sandwiched me between his body and the wall.
Since we have this conversation approximately every three to four months, I knew the script and have my part down fairly pat. All I had to say was “Jordan. We’ve been through this. You and I never worked. You’re much better off with Tania. You know she loves you.”
This time, however, he veered from his accustomed dialogue by saying, “That’s just it. I don’t think she does. I know this is going to sound crazy, Heather, but I think… I think she just married me because of who I am. Of who my father is… the owner of Cartwright Records. This baby thing… I just don’t know… What if it’s just so she can score better alimony later on?”
I’ll admit, I was shocked.
On the other hand, it was Jordan. And he was drunk. And liquor and Jordan don’t mix.
“Of course that’s not why she wants to have a baby,” I said soothingly. “Tania loves you.”
The truth, of course, is that I have no way of knowing this. But I wasn’t going to stand there and tell him otherwise.
“But a baby,” Jordan said. “How can I be a dad? I don’t know anything about babies. I don’t know anything about anything… ”
This was a shockingly self-aware statement… especially for Jordan. It exhibited an amazing amount of growth and maturity on his part. At least I thought so.
“Just the fact that you realize that, Jordan,” I told him, “shows that you’re more ready for fatherhood now than you’ve ever been. And seriously… as long as you remember that—that you don’t know anything about anything—I think you’re going to be a terrific dad.”
“Really?” Jordan brightened, as if my opinion on this subject actually mattered to him. “Do you mean that, Heather?”
“I really do,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Now what do you say we get back to dinner?”
It was shortly after this that Cooper convinced his brother that he’d done enough celebrating for one night, and ought to let Cooper take him home. Jordan finally acquiesced—on the condition that Cooper let him play his new demo in the car on the way uptown, a condition Cooper agreed to with a visible shudder of distaste—and I convinced Dad to sit and enjoy one of his herbal teas while I did the dinner dishes.
“It’s been quite a day for you,” Dad observes, as I scrub at the caked-on goop that lines the pot he made the short ribs in. “You must be exhausted. Didn’t you go running this morning?”
“If you could call it that,” I grunt. Seriously, the short ribs had been delicious, but did he have to use every single pot in the house to make them?
“Tad must have been very proud of you. That’s quite a feat for you—running. He called the house again, you know, a little while before you came back. I’d have invited him to dinner, but I know he doesn’t eat meat, and I didn’t have another protein prepared… ”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll call him back later.”
“Things are getting pretty serious with him, huh?”
I think about Tad’s odd behavior earlier this morning. Was it only this morning? It seems so long ago.
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess so. I mean… ” He’s going to ask me to marry him. “I don’t know.”
“It’s nice,” Dad says, a little vaguely, “that you have someone. I still worry about you sometimes, Heather. You’ve never been like other girls, you know.”
“Huh?” I’ve found a particularly stubborn piece of baked-on gunk, and am working at it with my thumbnail. I wonder if a scouring pad will scratch Cooper’s enamel cookware, purchased for him by a professional chef girlfriend whose name has long since been lost to history.
“I’m just saying,” Dad goes on. “You’ve always been more like me than like your mother. Not one for the status quo. Never much of a nine-to-fiver. That’s why I’m surprised you seem so devoted to this job of yours.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m devoted to it.” I give up and grab the scouring pad. Maybe if I’m careful, I won’t scratch the enamel. “I mean, I like it… ”
“But your true love is singing,” Dad says. “And songwriting. Wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t know.” The scouring pad isn’t working, either. “I like that, too.”
“What would you say if I told you I knew of an opportunity where you could do both again? Write and perform your own songs? For money. Good money, too. How would you feel about that?”
Success! The gunk has come off! But there is so much gunk to follow.
“I don’t know,” I say. “What are you even talking about? You know, Patty’s husband, Frank, is always trying to get me to go on the road with his band, and I gotta tell you, it’s not exactly my kind of thing anymore… ”
“No, no,” Dad says, leaning forward in his seat. Behind him, I can see the lights of Fischer Hall gleaming in the kitchen windows. The kids are home from dinner, studying or getting ready to go out. It doesn’t matter to them that it’s a weeknight… or that their interim hall director was murdered this morning. Not when there’s beer flowing somewhere. “This is a real opportunity Larry and I would like to offer you. We know how you feel about the record business—once burned and twice shy and all of that. But this is nothing like that. This is something totally different. You’ve heard of the Wiggles, haven’t you?”
I pause in my gunk assault. “That British children’s program? Yeah, Patty’s kid loves them.”
“They’re an Australian children’s band, actually,” Dad corrects me. “But this would be something along similar lines, yes. Larry and I plan to produce and market a line of children’s music videos and DVDs. The production costs versus the amount of money you can take in is actually quite literally staggering. Which is where you would come in. We’d like you to be the star—the hostess and singer/songwriter—for these videos. You’ve always had a strong appeal to children, even when you were a teenager… something about your voice, your manner… maybe it’s all that blond hair—I don’t know. You would be the lead in a cast of characters, all of whom would be animated… you’d be the only human, as a matter of fact. Each episode you would address a different issue… using the potty, going to day care, being afraid of going down the drain in the bathtub, that kind of thing. We’ve crunched the numbers, and feel that we can give the competition—Dora the Explorer, the Wiggles,Blue’s Clues — a run for its money. We’re thinking of calling it Heather’s World. What do you think?”