all blows over. This has to end now, David.”
“What am I supposed to do?” The pain is fading, but the opiates haven’t yet taken hold. Dave’s alert now and upset, unused to having extended conversations with his father about anything.
“Maybe we’ll move. Sell the house. Prices are skyrocketing. I can find a place closer to work. New school, new everything. But you need to do your part. How many scrapes are you going to get into; how much trouble is there going to be? You have to be doing something to make yourself a target. There are two thousand kids in that school, and they’re not
all
coming home looking that they went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. If you spent less time on that damn computer and more time making some friends, you wouldn’t be such a target.” Jeremy sighs again, and slaps his palms against his thighs. “I wasn’t like you in school. I had friends, a girlfriend, excellent grades. Did you know I was three-year varsity on the golf team?”
“We don’t even have a golf team. Where the hell would we practice!? This isn’t Long Island, you know,” Dave says. It hurts to talk so much, so angrily. He knows his father will focus on the word
hell
, and of course Jeremy does.
“Don’t talk to me that way,” Jeremy says. “Respect at all times.
Respect
! You know that the specific example of the golf team isn’t the point. You haven’t gone out for anything. Hell, the chess club would be an improvement. Glee club. Towel manager!”
“Now you’re the one saying hell. And—”
“Father,” Jeremy says, pointing to himself. “Child.” He points to Dave. “That’s the difference, and it’s a
hell
of a difference.”
“And anyway, we don’t have a chess club or a glee club or towel—”
“Oh no, now that’s a lie! I’m sure you have towel managers, because Hamilton has a football team. And a basketball team. Oh boy, don’t try to tell me there isn’t a basketball team at Hamilton,” Jeremy says, voice thick and nasty. “You need to get it together, son. I want to hear a plan from you by the end of the week. Something to improve your situation. Understand?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Good,” Jeremy says. He slides his Blackberry from his pocket and thumbs the keys for a moment. “I have to go. And, uh, find your mother. They’ll probably let you out tomorrow; I’ll be here to pick you up, son. Don’t use or consume anything you don’t have to. Even paper slippers are fourteen dollars, apparently. God knows what’ll happen if you eat a bowl of apple sauce. I bet that’s not covered by insurance.” He stands and, without another word or even a backward glance, pulls the curtain, walks through, and shuts it behind him.
“What an asshole.” Dave thinks that, but it’s Erin who says it, from Dave’s left, behind the other curtain. She pops her head in and smiles. Erin’s smile is always squinty, but it’s warped now because her left eye is sporting a serious shiner. She’s not in her casual school clothes either, but a candy striper outfit. “What do you think?” she says, running her hands down her sides.
“Uhm . . . do you really work here?”
“I started today.”
“When you found that outfit hanging up somewhere, right?”
Erin nods. “You’re pretty smart, eh?”
“Why do you do these crazy things? It’s just nuts. Someone’s going to get in trouble,” Dave says.
“Oleg found me in the hallway while you were being worked over in the locker room. He told me what happened. I pulled the fire alarm. I guess that caused all the fights, eh?” Erin says. She takes a step closer to the bed.
“I guess . . . wait, I wasn’t being ‘worked over.’”
“No? Too bad, it sounded sexy.” She puts her hand on his knee, over the thin cloth sheet. “Say, can I get you anything. Some water? A book? A magazine? Maybe
Penthouse Forum
?” Her palm brushes across his crotch.
“Oh God, stop,” Dave says. “I don’t feel good. How come we didn’t
“What am I supposed to do?” The pain is fading, but the opiates haven’t yet taken hold. Dave’s alert now and upset, unused to having extended conversations with his father about anything.
“Maybe we’ll move. Sell the house. Prices are skyrocketing. I can find a place closer to work. New school, new everything. But you need to do your part. How many scrapes are you going to get into; how much trouble is there going to be? You have to be doing something to make yourself a target. There are two thousand kids in that school, and they’re not
all
coming home looking that they went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. If you spent less time on that damn computer and more time making some friends, you wouldn’t be such a target.” Jeremy sighs again, and slaps his palms against his thighs. “I wasn’t like you in school. I had friends, a girlfriend, excellent grades. Did you know I was three-year varsity on the golf team?”
“We don’t even have a golf team. Where the hell would we practice!? This isn’t Long Island, you know,” Dave says. It hurts to talk so much, so angrily. He knows his father will focus on the word
hell
, and of course Jeremy does.
“Don’t talk to me that way,” Jeremy says. “Respect at all times.
Respect
! You know that the specific example of the golf team isn’t the point. You haven’t gone out for anything. Hell, the chess club would be an improvement. Glee club. Towel manager!”
“Now you’re the one saying hell. And—”
“Father,” Jeremy says, pointing to himself. “Child.” He points to Dave. “That’s the difference, and it’s a
hell
of a difference.”
“And anyway, we don’t have a chess club or a glee club or towel—”
“Oh no, now that’s a lie! I’m sure you have towel managers, because Hamilton has a football team. And a basketball team. Oh boy, don’t try to tell me there isn’t a basketball team at Hamilton,” Jeremy says, voice thick and nasty. “You need to get it together, son. I want to hear a plan from you by the end of the week. Something to improve your situation. Understand?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Good,” Jeremy says. He slides his Blackberry from his pocket and thumbs the keys for a moment. “I have to go. And, uh, find your mother. They’ll probably let you out tomorrow; I’ll be here to pick you up, son. Don’t use or consume anything you don’t have to. Even paper slippers are fourteen dollars, apparently. God knows what’ll happen if you eat a bowl of apple sauce. I bet that’s not covered by insurance.” He stands and, without another word or even a backward glance, pulls the curtain, walks through, and shuts it behind him.
“What an asshole.” Dave thinks that, but it’s Erin who says it, from Dave’s left, behind the other curtain. She pops her head in and smiles. Erin’s smile is always squinty, but it’s warped now because her left eye is sporting a serious shiner. She’s not in her casual school clothes either, but a candy striper outfit. “What do you think?” she says, running her hands down her sides.
“Uhm . . . do you really work here?”
“I started today.”
“When you found that outfit hanging up somewhere, right?”
Erin nods. “You’re pretty smart, eh?”
“Why do you do these crazy things? It’s just nuts. Someone’s going to get in trouble,” Dave says.
“Oleg found me in the hallway while you were being worked over in the locker room. He told me what happened. I pulled the fire alarm. I guess that caused all the fights, eh?” Erin says. She takes a step closer to the bed.
“I guess . . . wait, I wasn’t being ‘worked over.’”
“No? Too bad, it sounded sexy.” She puts her hand on his knee, over the thin cloth sheet. “Say, can I get you anything. Some water? A book? A magazine? Maybe
Penthouse Forum
?” Her palm brushes across his crotch.
“Oh God, stop,” Dave says. “I don’t feel good. How come we didn’t
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