And then at the bottom of the emotional ninth inning, Prentice dropped the ball. He had an affair with Nina Spaulding, a rather pretentiously arty and very full-figured young dancer, and Amy found out. Maybe on purpose, Nina left an indiscreet message on the answering machine. Amy's fragile self esteem couldn't
take it. She went off her meds and back on the wrong kind of drugs. Three months later, three months of near constant argument with Prentice, and she left him: and left New York for L.A. . . .
The ballgame on Jeff's TV was winding up. The Dodgers were doomed. With the fickleness of the L.A. sports fan, Jeff swore at them, gave the screen the finger, threw Doritios at a shot of the Dodger's pensive manager. "The hell with you lamebrains! You had the playoffs and you let the Padres, my God, the Padres take it from you, do you know what kind of average those guys have got? It's fucking humiliating."
Prentice got up to pee. All that beer. He called out from the bathroom, "You don't have to watch the game to the bitter end, you know. Maybe there's some basketball on. Or, I don't know, backwards speed-skating or something. Check ESPN."
"No, I got to see how bad the humiliation is. Whether or not I should go so far as to wear a bag on my head for being a known Dodger fan."
Prentice came back into the living room and did a couple of kneebends. He'd been sitting down too long. Outside, twilight was whispering into evening. The noise from the pool was almost gone. There were other television sets faintly audible through the walls, mumbling softly to themselves in news anchor cadences.
Another beer commercial came on. Jeff stood up and went to the French doors, stared out at the frayed ends of the tangerine ribbon of sunset, visible above the opposite roof. It was a clay-tile roof, on the imitation-Spanish-style apartment building beyond the pool. Identical to his own building. "Goddamn that kid, too".
Prentice sighed. Okay, maybe if he listened to the latest on Mitch, it'd distract him from thinking about
Amy. "When was the last time you saw him, you say?"
"Six or seven weeks. I mean, I could've called the cops, do a missing persons thing, but he's not really missing, exactly, because he said he wanted to go off on his own, make his fortune, like, and he had a chance to sing in some rock band that was going to get a record deal . . ." He shrugged.
"He's too young to 'make his fortune, like', Jeff."
Jeff was a silhouette against the windows now, his back to Prentice. But Prentice could see his shoulders stiffen. "You telling me I shirked my responsibility?"
"I'm not really qualified to be selfrighteous about responsibility to people," Prentice said. Seeing a mummy in a file drawer.
"No, you're not. But maybe I did blow it, I don't know. You know what? I think I liked the kid looking up to me. I was mad when he thought he could do without me. So he moves out and - I just wanted him to come home on his own."
"With his tail between his legs."
"Sort of. It was stupid. I did call around, yesterday, to find him. Asked some people I knew he used to see. They hadn't seen him in a while. He's got this black girlfriend, Eurydice, I'd like to date her myself. Foxy. She claims she hasn't seen him. Kid could be dead in a culvert somewhere."
"He was doing drugs?" Prentice looked for a light switch. The room was getting darker and darker.
"Sometimes. Mostly not, around here. I don't tolerate it. But without me around . . ."
"He could be in jail, then. They've been doing a sweep for crack users".
Prentice switched on the light. Jeff turned to face him. Moving in slow motion, he brushed corn-chip
crumbs from his small, neatly trimmed black beard, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "I'm gonna call the cops, the hospitals. See what I can find out." He went to the touch-tone phone on the end table beside the futon, put his hand on it - and froze. "I just thought of
take it. She went off her meds and back on the wrong kind of drugs. Three months later, three months of near constant argument with Prentice, and she left him: and left New York for L.A. . . .
The ballgame on Jeff's TV was winding up. The Dodgers were doomed. With the fickleness of the L.A. sports fan, Jeff swore at them, gave the screen the finger, threw Doritios at a shot of the Dodger's pensive manager. "The hell with you lamebrains! You had the playoffs and you let the Padres, my God, the Padres take it from you, do you know what kind of average those guys have got? It's fucking humiliating."
Prentice got up to pee. All that beer. He called out from the bathroom, "You don't have to watch the game to the bitter end, you know. Maybe there's some basketball on. Or, I don't know, backwards speed-skating or something. Check ESPN."
"No, I got to see how bad the humiliation is. Whether or not I should go so far as to wear a bag on my head for being a known Dodger fan."
Prentice came back into the living room and did a couple of kneebends. He'd been sitting down too long. Outside, twilight was whispering into evening. The noise from the pool was almost gone. There were other television sets faintly audible through the walls, mumbling softly to themselves in news anchor cadences.
Another beer commercial came on. Jeff stood up and went to the French doors, stared out at the frayed ends of the tangerine ribbon of sunset, visible above the opposite roof. It was a clay-tile roof, on the imitation-Spanish-style apartment building beyond the pool. Identical to his own building. "Goddamn that kid, too".
Prentice sighed. Okay, maybe if he listened to the latest on Mitch, it'd distract him from thinking about
Amy. "When was the last time you saw him, you say?"
"Six or seven weeks. I mean, I could've called the cops, do a missing persons thing, but he's not really missing, exactly, because he said he wanted to go off on his own, make his fortune, like, and he had a chance to sing in some rock band that was going to get a record deal . . ." He shrugged.
"He's too young to 'make his fortune, like', Jeff."
Jeff was a silhouette against the windows now, his back to Prentice. But Prentice could see his shoulders stiffen. "You telling me I shirked my responsibility?"
"I'm not really qualified to be selfrighteous about responsibility to people," Prentice said. Seeing a mummy in a file drawer.
"No, you're not. But maybe I did blow it, I don't know. You know what? I think I liked the kid looking up to me. I was mad when he thought he could do without me. So he moves out and - I just wanted him to come home on his own."
"With his tail between his legs."
"Sort of. It was stupid. I did call around, yesterday, to find him. Asked some people I knew he used to see. They hadn't seen him in a while. He's got this black girlfriend, Eurydice, I'd like to date her myself. Foxy. She claims she hasn't seen him. Kid could be dead in a culvert somewhere."
"He was doing drugs?" Prentice looked for a light switch. The room was getting darker and darker.
"Sometimes. Mostly not, around here. I don't tolerate it. But without me around . . ."
"He could be in jail, then. They've been doing a sweep for crack users".
Prentice switched on the light. Jeff turned to face him. Moving in slow motion, he brushed corn-chip
crumbs from his small, neatly trimmed black beard, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "I'm gonna call the cops, the hospitals. See what I can find out." He went to the touch-tone phone on the end table beside the futon, put his hand on it - and froze. "I just thought of
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