The Right Thing to Do by Jonathan Kellerman Page A

just the two of them hanging out, God knew it had been a while.
    Not quite accurate, in truth, they’d never hung out, Malcolm only in third grade by the time Steve left for L.A. During the scant time they’d lived at home together, the brothers had never fought. But the age difference put them in two different worlds.
    When Steve invited him, Malcolm couldn’t believe his luck. California was something he’d imagined from photos in
Life
magazine and the movies and, more important, Steve was viewing him as worthy. He was ready to pack a bag and walk from Brooklyn if he had to.
    But first he’d need to convince Mama and Papa, not exactly the most adventurous people around. Taking the train from Flatbush to the city made them nervous, let alone having “The Baby” fly clear across the country by himself on a ten-hour plane ride that threatened to cramp his long legs, who knew what would happen, he could even end up crippled by a parentally imagined permanent paralysis.
    “I’ll be fine,” he assured them.
    “That’s the problem,” said Papa. “You think you know, but you don’t. Because you’re large, but you’re still
small
. Also, you look older than you really are, people take advantage.”
    “Exactly,” said Mama. “Just a big baby, at heart.”
    On the phone, Steve said, “So, okay with the bosses?”
    Malcolm said, “You talk to them.”
    He left the room, hearing Papa say, “So what? That’s no solution, Siggy.”
    But in the end, Steve convinced them. He always did.
    —
    A year into puberty, Malcolm was already six three and a half and still growing, Dr. Rosetti reassuring Mama and Papa there was nothing to worry about, no need to do hormone tests. For the umpteenth time.
    “He’s just a healthy boy, you people aren’t exactly peewees.”
    “But not like him,” said Mama.
    “Tall is not a problem, Mrs. Bluestone. Stop worrying.”
    As if that were even worth repeating. Nothing stopped Willy and Sabina Bluestone from worrying; from what Malcolm had seen, anxiety was their shared hobby. But this trip to L.A. went beyond that. They had
questions
.
    In the first place, how safe was flying?
    What if you get lost? Eat something bad?
    What if someone kidnaps you?
    And if by some miracle he arrived intact, there was The Real Problem.
    Both of them shuddering, as they wondered how being alone for a week with The Handsome One would impact The Smart One.
    “Steve’s great,” Malcolm reassured them.
    Mama said, “We love him but you know what he’s like.”
    Papa said, “The life out there.”
    “Meaning?”
    “It’s barbaric. What he does.”
    “Girls,” said Mama.
    Papa said, “What do you know about girls, there could be…experiences.”
    “Oh, c’mon—”
    “Mallie,” Mama said, “put on your thinking cap and come to the smart conclusion: You’re too
young
for girls, no matter
what
he tells you.”
    Papa said, “That’s not an insult, you’re normal. But there’s no hurry. One day, you’ll have a girl, everyone has a girl. Meanwhile, don’t listen if he tries to get you in any sort…ach, just be careful.”
    Meaning they’d resigned themselves to shipping The Baby off to the barbarous coast. In the meantime, though, why miss the opportunity to drive him nuts.
    For the next few weeks, he was subjected to speeches, pronouncements, long grave looks. Malcolm not even bothering to respond. It went on like that even in the TWA lounge at Idlewild, until, thank God, the boarding announcement sounded.
    They stuck with him until the gate attendant said, “Passengers only.” Stood there, huddled and downcast, as if they were shipping him off to Sing Sing.
    Malcolm used his long legs to get the hell on the plane.
    —
    For much of the flight, his parents’ not-so-subtle warnings about sexual adventure filled him with fantasies. But turned out they had nothing to fear, the trip ending up a sedate and conventional experience.
    Steve, on hiatus between films, acted the gracious host