Haskell himself, p.2
Haskell Himself, page 2
“And what is the truth?”
“You’re going on a long journey, one in which you will encounter great adventures.” She folded her hands on the table, leaned slightly forward, and smiled. “Turn over the last card, why don’t you?”
I turned it over and felt numb with fear. The card featured a man lying face-down with ten swords in his back. I wouldn’t panic. I’d wait to hear the next nonsense she’d make up. A minute from now I’d be on my way.
“This card—the Ten of Swords. It may not mean something bad will happen. It may mean something bad has already happened.”
“Like what?”
“Well, it makes perfect sense. The card could mean that the past is behind you and now is the time to forge ahead. It could mean your mother forced you into a situation that you feel is unfair. But the important thing? You’ll make the best of it. The Universe is now inviting you to take that big leap into the unknown.”
“I’m not a leaper, and I prefer the known over the unknown any day!”
“I’m not sure that’s always possible. What these cards ultimately suggest, Haskell, is that you’re heading somewhere, and you will hit snags and suffer some disappointments, suffer death-defying hardships or maybe even face enemies. Though this situation may at times grow bleak, you must resolutely carry on and never give up, keeping your chin up and your head high because ultimately you will discover your destiny.”
Madame Scheherazade sat back, folded her hands on the table, and nodded her head. She looked thoroughly satisfied, as if she had just completed a marathon or, after years of archeological digging, had discovered the missing island of Atlantis.
“Sounds pretty good, no?” she asked.
I didn’t even know how to respond. It seemed as if she was just making all this shit up as she went along, and I was too tired, and maybe too frustrated, to question her. I mean, why bother? She was obviously trying to make me feel better, but I wasn’t convinced she knew what she was talking about.
“I should get going. Thank you for the reading.”
Madame Scheherazade leaned forward. “Before you go, Haskell, give me your hands.”
She placed both my hands inside hers, squeezed them gently as she closed her eyes. “If I may give you a word of advice, dear. I’ve known you your whole life. That piano recital you gave where you dressed up as Liberace? I was there. And when you landed that Sugar Flakes ad campaign, I bought a dozen of those cereal boxes with you on it, dancing with that animated tiger. I still have them in the closet. And when your mother dragged you into the office on Saturdays because you had no friends to play with, you often helped me with my crossword puzzles. I was so surprised at all the words you knew. You’re a real darling, very different from the other boys your age. I’ve never met anyone quite like you. I know it hasn’t always been easy for you, and sometimes kids can be cruel, but you know why, don’t you?”
“They’re idiots?”
She shook her head. “No, they’re jealous of you. You are smart, talented, and unique. I have a strong sense that whatever you do, wherever you go, your only obligation in your lifetime is to be true to yourself. That’s all that matters.” She let go of my hands and pinched my cheek. “I hope that makes sense.” Though she had a big smile on her face, her eyes became watery and she wiped a tear off her cheek. “You can go now, Haskell. May you have a safe and wondrous journey.”
I can’t say this reading gave me any relief. In fact, if anything, it made me more fearful and angry.
After I arrived home that afternoon, I sat for hours in the den forming the words in my head I would use when I confronted my mother. I was afraid I’d lose it and start yelling, which would make things worse. Eventually, I stretched out across the couch and shut my eyes. As much as I appreciated Madame Scheherazade’s efforts to console me, I felt sick to my stomach, as if I had swallowed a stone.
What was to become of me? Would Mom let me finish my senior year at Bonvadine Academy and live in the apartment, alone, even if it’s for a whole year? I didn’t see her agreeing to that at all.
I hit the back of the sofa with my fists, hoping I could relieve my wrath before she arrived home.
K__2__L
UNEXPECTED ADVENTURES
Three minutes after midnight, I heard the door unbolt.
“Haskell, you up?” Mom found me sitting straight up in a chair in the den, my feet resting on an ottoman. “Oh, Haskell! Sweetheart, why are you sitting in the dark?”
I did not mince words.
“Did the offer go through? Are you going to Antwerp with Old Bob? ”
“I hate it when you refer to Bobby that way. He’s not old.”
“Well, answer me.”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! I’m upset. This is terrible. Why would you do this to me? Where will I live?”
“Haskell, we discussed this briefly. I told you if Bob won this contract, I might go with him.”
“You never said you’d go with him for twelve months. You said you might make it a vacation for a few weeks.”
“Well, I changed my mind.”
I buried my head in my hands. My mother was being so selfish, unreasonable, insensitive, and cruel.
“Let me use the bathroom, grab a glass of wine, and we’ll talk. All right? I’ve been closing escrows and finalizing contracts all night. I could use a libation.”
She let out a big sigh as she moved into the bathroom. I heard the toilet flush and the faucet turn on and off. Mom sauntered out, grabbed a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and poured herself a glass.
“Do you want some, darling?”
I threw my arms in the air. She’s asking me if I want alcohol? At twelve-thirty in the morning? What is the matter with this woman?
“No, Mom. I do not want a drink.”
She pulled up a chair and sat across from me.
“I don’t think there are any particular rules regarding when someone can enjoy a libation. You know how hard I’ve been working, and I know Dot spoke to you a bit. She said she read your Tarot. How did that go?”
“Not very well.”
“You could have stopped by my table to say hello.”
“I was too pissed off, and I was afraid I’d scream at you.”
She sipped her chardonnay. “Just so you know, it’s not been easy for me these last few months. I’m spent. Cancelled my date with Bob tonight because I had so much paperwork and so many loose ends. After selling homes and leasing apartments for fifteen years, you’d think I’d be a whiz at catching errors in contracts and knowing what to say and when to say it.” She shook her head and put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I told off a client. I’ve never done that before. Lost a huge contract I had been working on since January. Worried for the first time in years we wouldn’t have the cash to cover all our expenses, so when Bob called me late last night and told me he’d won the contract and asked if I’d join him, believe me, I rolled it around in my head for hours. I knew this would have a big impact on both you and me.”
She leaned forward and patted me on the knee.
“Wipe the frown off your face. It’s not so bad. I know change is difficult for you. I wouldn’t have even considered this, except my doctor’s been encouraging me to take some time off. He says my blood pressure is high. My anxiety level has skyrocketed. I’ve been under such enormous stress.”
“Well, reality can be crushing,” I said, suddenly weary.
“And I am about to be crushed like a roach, so I’ve decided I’ll take Bob up on his offer before I die of a heart attack.” She pulled a cigarette out of her purse, slightly flattened, and lit it. “And this is a win-win situation. It really is, for you and for me.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You, my dear, will spend your senior year in Southern California. I know this comes as a surprise, but you’re going to love it. It’s so exciting, I can’t tell you how happy I am to get you out of New York.”
“I love living here.”
“Yes, but it’s not the New York I remember. You can’t walk through the park at night, and I’m always worrying that something will happen to you. Your Uncle Ted and Aunt Sheila invited you. You’re in for the time of your life. You’ll learn to play baseball, see shows at the Hollywood Bowl, and visit the brand-new, beautiful music center. And of course, Disneyland. Didn’t you just tell me they opened up a train ride featuring dinosaurs?”
“I’m not ten years old.”
Not just any dinosaurs. This train ride takes you across a volcanic mountain where you see the 100-million-year-old battle between Tyrannosaurus and Stegosaurus, the latter of which compensates for his smaller size with two brains, armor plates, and a death-dealing tail. As much as I wanted to see it firsthand, I could wait until after I graduated from the Class of 1967 at Bonvadine Academy.
“You know, Mom, you can travel as far as you want. Go on a moon landing for all I care, but let me stay here in New York and finish school.”
“Sometimes in life, Haskell, adventures appear unexpectedly. You have so many surprises ahead of you. You will have the time of your life. My sister’s house has its own swimming pool!”
“I don’t know how to swim.”
“Your uncle will teach you. In fact, he’s so excited about having you join their family, he’s already arranging a ski weekend.”
I don’t ski. I don’t swim. I could watch baseball, though I had never played the game.
I felt a churning in my stomach. “I really want to stay here. I’m old enough to live by myself.”
“I can’t afford rent on top of my living expenses in Belgium. And I hate to break it to you, but I can’t afford your private school if I’m not working.”
I stared at her for a long minute before I ran into the bathroom. I had eaten some pizza earlier and thought I might throw it all up. I could manage a good dry heave, but my stomach still hurt, as if the dough had been laced with pebbles instead of pepperoni. I drifted into my bedroom, curled up on the bed, and buried my head in my hands. I took some deep breaths. Even with the coolness from my window air conditioner blowing directly on me, I felt as if my skin was on fire.
Mom trudged into my room and sat on the edge of the bed.
I lifted my head from my pillow and wailed. “This is one big bag of awful. Kill me now! I will not move to California. I won’t know anybody. I’m so happy here. Miss Hogan gave us an exercise today where I had to play a psychopath from the 1840s. She said I did a terrific job. I can’t stop my acting lessons when I’m having a major breakthrough. What if I moved in with Mary?”
“Your old babysitter? I don’t think so.”
“Well, why not? We could work out some financial arrangement. I’m sure she’d love the company, and we could rent a room from her.”
The only downside of living with Mary? She collected tiny, delicate crystal figurines, and every time I stayed with her, I broke one. The first time, I snapped the fishing pole held by a little Dutch boy, and the second time, the ear of a dainty Victorian lady came clean off. Truly, my six-foot-two-inch frame made me like a bull in a crystal shop. I’d be extra careful. I’d take my shoes off before I entered her dining room. I’d keep my hands in my pockets and my elbows pointing inward at all times.
“I don’t think that is an option. I already told your aunt and uncle you’ll be moving in, and they’re setting up a room for you.”
“You did all this without discussing it with me first?”
“How many times do we have to go over this? I didn’t know if Bob’s job was one hundred percent approved until one in the morning. Frankly, I thought you’d be excited. In the winter, you won’t be lacing up your galoshes or putting on layers of clothes, and in the summer, you can wear shorts all the time. Remember, I lived in L.A., so I know you’ll have a wonderful time. You’re only a couple of bus stops from the studios! You want to act in movies? Los Angeles is where you should live, not New York. You’ll thank me for this some day. You really will.”
She bent down and kissed me on my forehead, then inexplicably tiptoed out of the room. I wasn’t asleep. Who was she afraid of waking up? Her conscience?
K__3__L
GO WEST, YOUNG MAN!
My mother seemed especially self-centered, even heartless. This just wasn’t like her. The stress at work had caused internal damage, maybe eroded parts of her brain causing irrational decision making. I had no choice. I should take my fate into my own hands. Move near Hollywood? I’m sure there are worse places, I told myself. Still, I felt I’d be better off finishing my senior year at Bonvadine Academy.
Change could come later.
On Monday, I decided I’d visit my favorite teacher and probably my best friend, Mr. Varnish. We had finally connected via phone. I told him all about my mother’s move to Antwerp and her determination to move me out west, where I’d live with the Teitlebaums. I even mentioned my encounter with Madame Scheherazade and her insistence that I jump into a new life, and he suggested I stop by the school around ten that morning for a chat.
I entered the hundred-year-old brick building on 58th Street and took the stairs until I reached the third floor. It was only one week before my senior year would begin, and I figured he was setting up his classroom, Room 301A. Sure enough, I caught him hanging posters. Upon seeing me, he shouted, his voice bellowing across the hallway with such unbridled enthusiasm it nearly made me dizzy: “Go west, young man!”
What a dumb joke! I thought.
“I’m not going west. I’m staying here. Any chance I could live with you and your wife?” I asked. “Rent a room? I wouldn’t be any trouble. And what are the possibilities of applying for a scholarship? My mom can no longer afford my tuition.”
Mr. Varnish wore a Yankee’s baseball cap over his bald head, dirty jeans, and an old T-shirt, appearing as if he hadn’t shaved in days. This was a bit of an adjustment. I was used to seeing him clean-cut and dapper, his socks almost always matching his colorful bow ties. I’d often sneak into his office after school, wondering if he’d be wearing the purple or the green ones. Boots or loafers? Suspenders? No suspenders? And always demanding ten minutes of his time so we could discuss challenging books.
He was, in many ways, my best friend, and perhaps my greatest fan. When I was thirteen, Varnish attended the student body talent show. I dressed up as Liberace—one of the most popular entertainers of our day and a real showman in flamboyant rhinestone jackets and elaborate boas and feathered hats. He was famous for his candelabras. In my parody of him, I wore a sequined jacket decorated with little candles, tux pants, and a bit of glitter on my face. Instead of playing a classical piece of music, I sat down, stretched my fingers as if I were about to conquer a concerto, and whipped out “How Much is that Doggie in the Window,” boogie-woogie style. It was a sensation. Everyone in the audience clapped and cheered afterwards. I surprisingly did not get flak from any of my schoolmates—maybe because everybody loved Liberace, and there was a strict no bullying policy in our school.
My Social Studies teacher, an ex-war hero with a steel leg, had taken me aside and whispered, “Next time, you might want to imitate someone not so effeminate. Liberace is a closeted homosexual. There are better male pianists you can impersonate.”
“Like who?” I asked. “What other famous pianists are there?” I made a big deal of it because Liberace was, as I said, hugely popular. He starred in his own movie. Even had his own TV show. His latest concerts at Radio City Musical Hall sold out every seat. What pianist was bigger than him?
I immediately sought solace from Mr. Varnish, and he said, “Don’t give it another thought. Just be you.”
“But being me,” I told him, “doesn’t always feel good.”
“Get used to it, kiddo,” he said. “Life is not easy for any of us. We must have perseverance and, above all, confidence in ourselves.”
I don’t know who he was quoting, but it made sense. I felt misunderstood, sometimes thoroughly ignored, but I always had Mr. Varnish as a sort of back up. And now I would not even have that. I’d live with a family I barely knew. No friends. No allies. No teachers familiar with my quirks.
Terrible things could happen out West. Mom thought New York City was dangerous? I heard about this area of the Valley where waste and toxic chemicals from a former nuclear and rocket-testing facility seeped into the soil, possibly affecting crops and all the food we would eat. After devouring a number of salads, I might become radioactive and turn into one of those green, hairy creatures I read about in my comic books.
And the beaches wouldn’t be much safer. I heard about these shark attacks at Zuma Beach in Malibu. I might wade into the Pacific Ocean, and next thing you know, my aunt and uncle would be searching for me and all they’d find is my torso. No legs. No arms. No neck or head. I’d be shark bait for sure.
“Any chance I could get a scholarship?” I asked Varnish.
Mr. Varnish stroked his chin. “If anyone deserves a scholarship, it’s you, Haskell. You’re a straight-A student, right?”
“True.”
“You study all the time.”
“I do.”
“Your papers are well-written and well-researched.”
Yeah. Yeah. I know all that.
“I could write a letter of recommendation.”
Yes!
“Would you?” I asked.
My heart beat faster.
“One essential problem remains. Where would you live? You can’t stay with us.”
“Why not? I could get a job on the weekends and pay some rent.”
Varnish shook his head slightly as he continued sticking pushpins into the poster, a large portrait of Ernest Hemingway.
“First of all, we live in New Jersey. It’s an hour commute each way into the city, and my wife’s mother might be moving in with us in a few months. Also, sometimes Mrs. Varnish and I sleep in separate bedrooms because I snore, and we have this wolfhound who sheds hair all over the place.”
