Page 88 of Be Your Anything
And there it is. He needs money.
“You know I don’t get involved with businesses unless I get approval from the family lawyers,” I reply, repeating the phrase that’s been hammered into my head on how to handle people asking for money.
Because that’s what happens when you’re rich.
Everyone wants some of it.
Everyone thinks you should invest in them.
And I hate to say it, but most ideas are horrible.
So the phrase my mother taught me is designed to not only protect the family’s wealth, but also make me sound like I’m not a total asshole, which I obviously appreciate.
“Oh, you don’t need to get those fancy Harvard types involved,” he says, waving a hand in front of his face. “It doesn’t need to be complicated.”
He jumps in from there, telling me all about the sports agency he wants to begin, how he wants to be an agent who represents big names in the NBA and how if I can just give him a little bit of help, I’ll get my money back really quickly.
“Don’t you see what a great opportunity this is?” he asks, that smile still on his face. “An awesome chance for us to spend more time together, too.”
I just watch him as he tries to sell himself, tries to sellme.He tries to use my desire for him to actually be a fucking dad against me, and my Grinchy heart wraps itself in barbed wire, just waiting for the right moment to say how I feel.
“It could be something really great for us, Lenny Bear,” he says.
It’s the use of my childhood nickname, something I haven’t heard him use in at least a decade, that has me ready to unleash.
“I haven’t heard from you in four months,” I say just as the waitress sets our food down in front of us.
She scampers off quickly.
“I haven’tseenyou since I was a sophomore in college. That’syearsthat have gone by without you feeling like I’m important enough to visit.”
I can see my dad’s face shift. The repentant look, the guilt, the imminent yet insincere apology—it’s all in full view, and normally, I let him say what he wants. Today, though, I’m not in the right frame of mind.
Today, he’s going to listen to whatIhave to say.
“You didn’t come here to see me because you care about me, or because you wanted to spend time with me. You came because you had no other options.” I grit my teeth. “You’re out of money and need someone to finance your next big mistake.”
I push my plate forward, irritated that I’m wasting a perfectly good veggie nacho plate.
“You wanna know what I did when I found out you called? I went to dinner with Paige to talk to her about what it is you want from methis time. I mean, it’s usually money, but I wondered if there might be even the smallest chance that I was wrong, thought you might have been coming here out of an actual interest in seeing me and wanting to know aboutmylife.”
My face flushes with blood, my anger no longer able to be contained, my mask falling to pieces and getting lost on the busy restaurant floor.
“You wanna know what’s going on with me? I graduated from college. I lived in Paris. I worked with people in the French Parliament and celebrities. I have a job that lets me plan events. That’s what I do, by the way. I don’t deal with ‘finance stuff’. I plan events, something I’ve told you half a dozen times and yet you still can’t manage to remember.”
Mortified, I realize my eyes are welling with tears.
“So now that I’ve updated you on my life, now that you’ve pretended you care about meat all, let’s move back to what you need from me. Money, right? You need money?”
I dig into my purse and pull out my checkbook, slamming it down onto the table and whipping out my pen.
“How much?”
I start scribbling on the check, putting a date at the top that I’m pretty sure is right, but I can’t be certain because my mind is a fucking mess.
Once it’s all ready to go, just waiting for an amount, I look up at him, at the flabbergasted look on his face.
“How. Much?”
