Free Fall

48

Ceepak flips backward to a page he’s already scribbled on in his notebook.

“We spent some time today with Revae Dunn,” Ceepak tells Michael. “At the Garden State Reproductive Science Center over in Avondale.”

“And?”

“Why were you so generous to Ms. Dunn and her sister Monae?”

“I helped Monae because Revae was helping me.”

“How?”

Michael reaches into the mini bar and grabs the little blue bottle of Bombay sapphire gin. He twists open the cap and takes a bracing chug.

“You’ve met Judith’s sister, Shona, correct?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Do you remember the color of her hair?”

I think for a second. “Black?”

“Correct. Black as a raven’s belly. And Judith?”

“Blonde,” says Ceepak.

“From a bottle,” says Michael, taking another swig on his Bombay. “Little Arnie, of course, also has blonde hair, but, unlike his pudgy mother, his roots are not jet black. And the lazy sow always forgets to do her eyebrows. They’re darker than her roots.”

Ceepak closes up his notebook. Leans in.

“Go on.”

“Item two. Athletics. Little Arnie is very good at sports. Football, basketball, baseball-making him the first Rosen in recorded history who has ever excelled at athletic endeavors. Item three. Intelligence. Little Arnie is very smart. Straight A’s. Honor roll. His poppa? Not so much. In fact, ages ago, Dad-ums had grand visions of David going to dental school. U Penn, just like he did.”

“And?”

“And you don’t get into U Penn or any top tier college with SAT scores in the low 400’s. You go to a Community College outside Atlantic City and pick up a two-year associate degree in Hospitality Management.” Michael shakes his head. “Hospitality Management. What on earth did David study? ‘Reservation Taking 101’? ‘Comparative Buffets’? Item four: Little Arnie has perfect teeth.”

Okay. I think that’s the gin talking. He’s totally lost me.

“Gentlemen,” says Michael, “there hasn’t been a Rosen who didn’t need extensive orthodontia for generations. Item five: Little Arnie’s cute button nose.”

Ceepak has heard enough. “Exactly what are you suggesting, Mr. Rosen?”

“Well, detective, with Revae’s able assistance, I have, over the past year, been doing a little detective work of my own.”

“And?”

“There is no doubt in my mind that Judith is the young Aryan lad’s mother because, as she often says to Little Arnie, giving birth to him is what ruined her bikini body. That and her fondness for Mallomars, noodle kugel, and mayonnaise.”

“But,” says Ceepak, “you doubt the boy’s paternity? You suspect that David is not Little Arnie’s father?”

“All that crap about my father’s ‘living legacy,’ the heir to the royal ‘Rosen bloodline’? What if, gentlemen, at the fertility clinic, one of Judith’s treatments-which of course Dad-ums paid for because he wanted a grandson so desperately-what if it was what they call Therapeutic Donor Insemination?”

“Ms. Dunn mentioned that as an option her clinic offers.”

“And I suspect it’s the option Judith chose.”

“What is it?” I ask, because my SAT’s weren’t so great either.

“Artificial insemination,” says David. “Using the sperm of an anonymous donor.”

“And Revae has been helping you prove your hypothesis?” asks Ceepak.

“Diligently and tirelessly.”

“She has been searching through confidential records, violating her patients’ right to privacy?”

“Perhaps. But you’d have a very hard time proving it. The girl is good. Takes her time. Covers her tracks. She has earned every penny I have ever spent on her or her sister. You boys would get nowhere if you attempt to punish Revae Dunn for violating the sacred trust of a fat cow like Judith and some boy who jerked off in a cup fifteen years ago for seventy-five bucks a pop. The county prosecutor would laugh in your face.”

“But you just told us that Ms. Dunn has been violating her fertility clinic’s ethics for a fee.”

“Ask me again in court and I’ll deny everything.”

“You’d perjure yourself to protect Ms. Dunn?”

“Yes, because you couldn’t prove perjury either. It’d just be your word against mine, and I have very excellent lawyers who know how to waste time with motions and procedural maneuvering. You’d never even get me on the stand.”

Ceepak is busy seething.

So I jump in.

“Did you and Revae find Little Arnie’s real father?”

“As I told my brother Friday night after that god-awful family dinner: We are close. Very, very close.”

“Why didn’t you just run one of those Maury Povich show paternity tests?” I ask.

Michael shakes his head. “David would never consent to the DNA cheek swab. Besides, it’s not dramatic enough. I wanted Dad-ums to meet his grandson’s real father. Live and in person.”

“And how did David react when you told him that you were close to identifying the sperm donor?” asks Ceepak, who’s back in the game.

“He said I was just jealous because all I can do is adopt. And as you have heard from my brother and sister-in-law, adopted children, such as Kyle, don’t count. They do not qualify as blood heirs. They can never be considered legitimate grandchildren.”