CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“SHE’S TERRIFIED,” JESS SAID AS SHE TUGGED TOBY’S HAT OVER his ears and then pulled her own jacket tight.
“She should be terrified,” Sean said. “She should still talk to Nina Goldsmith.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Toby asked from under many layers as they walked west along Twenty-third Street.
“Nothing Tobe,” he said. “You warm enough?”
“When are we going to be there?”
“A few more blocks,” he said. “Hang in there.”
“I love when it snows,” Toby said, running his hand over the hood of a parked car and packing another snowball. “There’s ammo everywhere.” He hurled it against the façade of a brownstone and smiled.
“I’ll talk to the lawyer,” Jess said. “I want to.”
They’d had this conversation already. A few times. “Wait until we get more parents. Be patient.”
“It’s not my best thing.”
He watched her trying to be patient.
“There must be someone else who’ll talk.”
“But why would they? I mean, if their kid is okay.”
“Ethics? The desire to do the right thing?” She slumped her shoulders. “You’re right. No one’s going to do it.”
Then he remembered there was someone who owed him a favor. He didn’t know if Shineman had pushed Billy Horn to dope up his son, but if she had … “I have an idea,” he said, and put his arms around Jess and Toby. “It’s the only one I have, so it better work.”
Toby pointed at the Burdot sign. “Is that it, Dad?”
“That’s it. Let’s go up.”
Toby took the steps two at a time, and when he got into the space he froze. “It’s so empty,” he said. “There’s nothing here.”
“On the walls,” Sean said. “Look at the art.”
“Oh,” he said, realizing what was surrounding him. “Cool.”
“Sean!” Camille appeared as if out of nowhere and kissed him on both cheeks. “Parfait!” She took in Jess and Toby with a glance. “And who do we have here?”
“This is my friend Jess Harper and my son Toby.” He patted Toby on the back. “Say hi.”
“Hi,” he said, shyly.
“You have a beautiful gallery,” Jess said, even though Camille was still staring at Toby. She looked vaguely repelled, or at least worried he might touch something.
“Thank you,” she said with a practiced smile, then turned her attention back on him. “Did you bring the headshots?”
Zee ed-shots.
He handed her the envelope, which she opened eagerly. She studied all three, settling on his favorite, a full-on shot that captured something he’d never seen before in his own eyes. “Very handsome. Excellent. We’ll need a photo credit for these. You can send it over tomorrow.”
“The photographer is right here.”
Jess smiled uncomfortably. “I can write my name on the envelope.”
“Oh.” Camille seemed flustered, but handed her a pen. “Yes, good. Wonderful.”
“Where’s your artwork going to be, Dad?” Toby was asking from across the room.
“They will be the first pieces you see upon entering. They will set the tone for the entire show.” Camille winked at him. “I’m already getting calls from my regulars about you. I think you’re going to be very happy …”
“I’m starving, Dad.”
Camille eyed Toby suspiciously, apparently unused to children’s needs or filling them.
“I’m already happy,” he said, shaking Camille’s hand. “Thanks again … for everything.”
“See you next week,” she called after them as they descended the stairs.
HE DECIDED NOT TO LEAVE THE REASON FOR HIS CALL ON BILLY’S voice mail, only that he needed to talk to him as soon as possible. The return message from the Knicks’ publicist said there would be two tickets waiting at the Garden box office that night and that he should stop by the team locker room at halftime.
THAT NIGHT, WALKING THROUGH THE CROWDS AT THE GARDEN, he reveled in the feeling of taking his son to a game. “This is great. You having fun?”
Toby nodded and eyed stand after stand. “Can we get a hot dog?”
He looked at the prices and tried to think of all the cash he’d have after his show. “Why not?” He shelled out twenty bucks for two hotdogs and a soda.
Toby followed him into prime third-row seats. “We should do this all the time,” Toby said.
“Deal.” He wondered how people could afford tickets like this all the time. “Hey, how are you feeling? Are you tired? Because if you get tired, we can go.”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“Because you didn’t take a nap today.”
He rolled his eyes. “Only little kids take naps.”
“Okay. But let me know if you get tired.”
The game started and they watched for a while in silence.
“Why doesn’t Zack’s dad start?”
“He used to. The younger guys start now.”
He watched for a while. “You and Mommy were mad at each other about my school. Is that why she left?”
The question came out of nowhere, but that’s how it always was. When you least expect it … “No,” he assured Toby. “It had nothing to do with that.” He imagined Toby listening to him and Ellie fighting and his heart broke.
“So are you mad at my school?”
“I’m trying to make sure your school is going to be safe for all your friends, for everyone who goes there.”
Toby nodded. “Okay.”
“Mommy loves you. The reason she left had nothing to do with you.”
“I know,” he said, and went back to watching the game.
He wondered if Toby really knew it or if he was just saying it.
At halftime, the Knicks were miraculously up 50-46. He and Toby made their way to the team locker room. “Not a lot of people get to do this, you know,” he said. “Isn’t it cool?”
“I guess,” Toby said, twisting back to watch the girls in midriff-baring outfits prance and thrust around the court. “But I kind of wanted to watch the show.”
The locker room was damp and stunk like a dozen sweating men.
“Come in!” Horn extended his extra-long arm in greeting. “Toby, my man,” he said, giving him a high-five. “Good to see you. Zack’s been missing you.”
Toby looked around hopefully. “Is he here?” Toby was stronger now, of course he was missing his friends.
“Not tonight, sport. But let’s get you two together.” Billy grabbed a ball, signed it and handed it to Toby. “You can go around and ask all the players to write their names on it, if you want.”
Toby’s eyes lit up. “Cool. Thanks.” He took the ball and started around the room.
“So what’s up?” Billy wiped a towel across his forehead. The sweat resurfaced instantly but he didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve only got a few minutes.”
Sean gave him a fast but uncut version of what had happened to Toby, what he knew about the school and the drugs. He told him about Calvin.
Billy shook his head and watched Toby across the room. “You are one lucky son of a bitch,” he said. “The school shrink pushed me, too. Pushed and pushed.” He wiped his forehead with his bicep. “She threatened to kick out Zack if he couldn’t ‘keep up,’ like he’s slow or something. Like he isn’t up to the schoolwork. And that’s bullshit. Zack is fine. He’s fine. I told them no way in hell was I putting Zack on that shit. Bottom line, they could show me a million tests that proved it was safe.” He mimicked Shineman when he said the word safe. “That stuff stunts kids’ growth, man. I told her I wasn’t risking a millimeter. Zack goes pro, he’s gonna need all the height he can get.” He grimaced. “If I wasn’t who I am, I don’t know if I could’ve gotten away with it. She finally left me alone, but that woman’s a pain in the ass.”
He knew he’d always liked Billy Horn. “There’s a lawyer who’s trying to open an investigation, but she needs parents to come forward.”
Billy nodded at whatever internal dialogue he was having. “Have her call me tomorrow. And anyway,” he winked, “I owe you one.”
He suppressed the urge to reach out and hug the basketball legend. “Thanks man,” he said.
Toby ran back with the ball, which was covered in signatures. “Look dad!”
He tried to calculate how much Toby could get for it on eBay. “Nice, Tobe. That’s going to be worth a lot someday.”
Toby smiled and shrugged like it was just a ball his friend’s dad had signed. “Can I dribble it?”
“Go for it.” Billy winked at Toby and slapped Sean on the back. “Tell her to call me … about that thing.”
Toby dribbled out of the locker room. By the time they’d gotten back to their seats, he was exhausted. He rested his head on Sean’s arm. “Dad,” he said, yawning, “can we go home?”