It was a warm Sunday afternoon, and rather than sit around his apartment waiting for the dreaded call, Perry chose to get it over with.
“I figured it was my turn to pick up dinner,” he said to his mother. “What’s your pleasure? Koo Koo Roo? El Pollo Loco?” If only there were more chicken outlets, he wished. Or better yet, if only there was steak to go and Ann would allow beef on the table.
“I’m feeling adventurous,” confided Ann. “Margaret took me to lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen on Ventura Boulevard the other day, and you know what? It was delicious. I had forgotten how good their Oriental chicken salad is. Except for the cilantro, of course. But I think everyone hates cilantro.”
“You phone it in and I’ll pick it up,” said Perry.
“And your father will pay,” added Ann.
Now that dinner was settled, Perry could ponder lunch. Usually, on a Sunday like this, he’d head over to the gym, but basketball was out of the question—one more sharp blow to the Newman nose and he’d look like an apple doll. Besides, the accident had taken the fun out of 24-Hour Fitness. That left him with limited options, which, as far as he could tell, meant either buying shoes at the Beverly Center and eating a poisonous food-court meal or wandering around Farmer’s Market, where the food was better and he’d be outdoors.
Farmer’s Market turned out to be a mistake. He had forgotten that wandering around the various food stalls on a Sunday was something that couples did. Tourist couples, local couples, young couples, old couples, pregnant couples, couples with kids, gay couples, couples who would stay together forever and never, ever fire each other. Real couples, in other words. Could there be anything more depressing than that?
He ordered ribs. Why not? Ann had convinced her family that beef was lethal, and suicide by baby backs seemed as good a way to go as any.
Later, when he was picking up dinner, he realized that killing himself wasn’t going to be so easy, not as long as his mother was in charge of the menu. Four big salads and four pizzas—cheeseless, of course—were waiting.
“How many will be eating?” asked the cashier.
Perry held up four fingers and the cashier packed four sturdy disposable black plastic plates, four sets of shiny black utensils, and enough napkins and bread for a small party.
“Now this is dinner,” said Ann as he did the unpacking. “Syd, look at this. I don’t have to do anything—everything we need for a nice dinner is right here. We’re going to have to use CPK more often. They know how to do this right.”
Syd was usually very much in favor of anything that saved Ann additional labor—or anylabor, for that matter. But he was lost in his own thoughts and barely acknowledged his wife’s unadulterated joy.
Ann placed the pizza in the oven as they sat around the den and watched 60 Minutes while they waited for Tim.
“Can I ask you a question?” Ann inquired earnestly.
“Sure,” said Perry with a certain trepidation. There was always the risk that Mom would ask something absurdly personal and embarrass everyone in the room, including herself.
“Do you ever go downtown?” she asked, her voice full of mystery.
At first, Perry was mystified. Was that a sex term? She had once asked him, unexpectedly, what “around the world” meant, and he’d earnestly given her a travel-based answer. “You’d think my own son would be hipper than that,” she’d said in disgust. Perry hardly wanted a repeat performance. Or did she mean downtown as in black clothing, cigarettes, and lots of attitude? What in the hell was she talking about?
“You know,” she explained. “Downtown L.A, where City Hall is.”
Of course! Once again, there was less than meets the eye to one of Ann’s questions.
“Not much,” said Perry. “Nancy and I went to an Emmy party at Cicada. That was fun. I saw the Lakers once at the Staples Center, but they lost.”
Ann adopted a slightly pained expression. Clearly, she wasn’t getting through.
“I mean, is it safe? Did you feel as if you were in danger?”
“At the Staples Center?” He laughed. “It’s not Watts, Mom. They don’t shoot you on the street, if that’s what you mean.”
“Your mother’s secession group is going to City Hall,” explained Syd, speaking for first time that evening. “She’s
frightened. She hasn’t been downtown since Sweeney Todd played at the Music Center and she insisted we go to a matinee because it would be safer.”
Tim arrived, carrying a small stack of newspapers.
“Mom’s afraid to go downtown,” Perry told him.
“Lots of minorities there, Mom,” mocked Tim. “All of them armed. A nice white woman like yourself won’t stand a chance.” He paused. “Can I have your car when you’re gone?”
“That’s not funny,” complained Ann.
“Besides, the car goes back to the dealership,” added Syd.
Attention shifted quickly to the newspapers. Tim had just picked them up at the newsstand at Van Nuys and Ventura, which had a solid selection of out-of-state papers. Each one had his first column.
Everyone oohed and aahed, even Perry, who felt a strong twinge of resentment. Tim seemed to sense his discomfort. “Okay, you’ve seen them. Now I’m hungry. Where’s the Koo Koo Roo?”
“I have a surprise for you,” said Ann. And she unveiled the special California Pizza Kitchen feast.
“Whoa, they even give you plates,” said Tim.
“They know how to serve,” agreed Ann.
As they sat down, Perry spoke, using a smaller voice than he might have usually. “I have a surprise, too,” he said. “I got a job.”
Everyone lowered their plastic forks to the table.
“Starting tomorrow, I’m teaching English at Crosswinds. It’s a sort of progressive, sort of elitist private high school in Westwood.”
“What happened to TV?” asked Tim.
“I decided I needed a break,” answered Perry. “Teaching’s not a long-term gig.”
“I didn’t know you could teach,” said Ann.
“It’s an emergency situation. I’m replacing a teacher who was sent off to rehab. And private schools have different rules. You don’t need credentials or anything. Basically, you just need to know someone, and I did.”
“Crosswinds?” said a distracted Syd, shaking his head. “Crosswinds? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Get with it, Dad,” said Tim. “It’s been in Vanity Fair. It’s where stars send their kids. Right, Perry?”
“A lot of stars,” agreed Perry. “A lot of money. As I understand it, I’ll be surrounded by a bunch of well-to-do, spoiled Jewish kids.”
“That’s what we were,” pointed out Tim. “You’ll fit in just fine.”
Tim left almost immediately after dinner. Perry lingered, watching Who Wants to Be a Millionaire with his parents.
When it was time to head home, Syd got out his wallet. “How much was dinner?” he asked.
“Forty bucks, give or take,” said Perry.
“You’ve never really had to dress up for work, have you?” asked Syd, seeming to focus on the conversation for the first time since Perry arrived. “You’ve always been able to dress casually. I suppose you’ll be buying some nicer clothes for your new job.” He peeled off several bills, well beyond the forty he owed Perry.
“Not at this school, Dad. It’s a jeans and sneakers kind of place. I already have the perfect wardrobe.”
“Are you sure?”
Perry took two twenties. “Thanks, Dad. If the money situation goes south, you’ll be the first to know.”