The Rules of Attraction

PAUL My mother called from Chicago and told me that her Cadillac had been stolen while it was in the parking lot of Neiman Marcus. She mentioned that she was flying to Boston on Friday, which was the next day, and would be there for the weekend. She also mentioned that she wanted me to be there with her.

“Wait. That’s tomorrow. I have classes all day,” I lied.

“Darling, you can miss one class to meet your mother and the Jareds.”

“The Jareds are coming?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Mrs. Jared is coming and so is Richard. He’s taking the weekend off from Sarah Lawrence,” she said.

“Richard?” Hmmm, that ought to be interesting, I was thinking, but tomorrow was The Dressed To Get Screwed party and there was no way I was going to leave Sean here unguarded. “You have got to be kidding,” I told her. “Is this a joke?”

I was leaning against a wall in the phone booth of Welling. I had been in town all day, most of it spent in an arcade with Sean who was trying to get the high score on Joust and was failing miserably. We smoked pot and had three beers each at lunch and I was tired. There was a cartoon someone had drawn next to the phone: in a cage was a hot dog that had sad eyes and a mean, pursed mouth and spindly arms grabbing at the bars. The hot dog was asking “Where’s me muddah?” and beneath that someone had written: “A term for the wurst.”

“Now, can you take the bus down Friday into Boston, or the train?” she asked, knowing damn well that Friday meant tomorrow. “How much does that cost? From Camden to Boston?”

“I have money. That’s not a problem. But this weekend?” I asked.

“Darling,” she managed to sound serious, even long-distance, “I want to talk.”

“What about Dad?”

There was a pause, then, “What about him?”

“Is he coming too?” I asked, then added, “I haven’t spoken to him in a month.”

“Do you want him to come?” she asked.

“No. I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it. I will see you at The Ritz-Carlton on Friday. Right, dear?” she hurriedly asked.

“Mom,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I was relenting. Suddenly she depressed me so badly that there wouldn’t have been any way to say No under any circumstance.

“Darling, yes. Now don’t worry. I will see you Friday, right?” She paused and then said, “I want to talk. There’s things we have to talk about.”

Like what? “Fine,” I sighed.

“Call me if there are any problems?”

“Yes.”

“Goodbye. Love,” she said.

“Yeah, you too,” I said.

She hung up first and I stood there for a minute and then slammed my fist against the wall and stormed out of the booth. My mother’s timing had never been worse.