“Was that Spanish? ’Cause I didn’t understand a word of it. I wanna argue with you, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I can see why you and my father get along.”
“I think you do know.”
The double-take guy had now doubled back to them and was peering very closely at Ted, pointing his finger at him as if trying to remember something. He started to smile and nod emphatically. “Señor Peanut!”
Ted was mortified all over again. “No, no, oh no.” But the guy wouldn’t take no for an answer, he started calling out loudly to whoever’s around, “¡Hola! ¡Señor Cacahuete aqui! Señor Peanut from Jankee!”
A couple of people smiled and walked over, a little crowd started to gather, bigger than you’d think. Ted was a character at the stadium, beloved in his own special way. Something he never quite knew till this awkward moment. He was actually surprised to feel a little swell of brotherhood and love in his chest, even pride, mixed with the sharp-edged feeling of being known for something utterly insignificant in front of a woman you’d like to impress. Ted covered all that in humor, as was his wont, and stage-whispered to Mariana, “My public. What are you gonna do? The hazards of celebrity. Goes with the territory for me, but you never asked for this. Lo siento. Anybody have a pen?”
Nobody was asking for his autograph, which made Mariana laugh even harder. Mariana had one of those heartbreaking laughs of someone to whom life has dealt many unfunny blows. It looked like it was painful for her to laugh, like the laughter itself had to navigate a maze of knives to get out alive, which made Ted fall all the more for her on the spot. Some laughs were contagious, and some were moving. She laughed sincerely, but in her eyes there was the sense that she felt in danger when laughing, that she knew life likes to kick you in the ass just when you let your guard down. There was a lot of backslapping going on between Ted and his “adoring” public, but Ted was wondering what hurt this beautiful woman to make her laugh so heartrending and uneasy and pure.
As if she heard Ted’s thoughts, Mariana stopped laughing abruptly. Walking down the street near the staked-out tenement came a Spanish woman in her sixties. This was easily the best lead they’d had. Mariana elbowed Ted and pointed her out. “I don’t know her,” Mariana said, “never seen her.”
They followed a discreet distance behind her. “Nancy Drew,” Ted said sotto voce. The abuela shopped for fruit and vegetables. People in the neighborhood knew her; she’d been here awhile. Ted and Mariana closed the gap, and as the woman was sniffing at a melon, she turned and made eye contact with them. Mariana immediately grabbed Ted for a kiss, to throw the mystery woman off the scent with the charade that she and Ted were lovers. When the woman moved on, Mariana disengaged. Ted was paralyzed, stuck in the previous moment, where he wouldn’t mind staying for the rest of his natural days; he wasn’t sure what the fuck just happened, but he was sure he liked it. “That was close,” Mariana said.
Ted managed to stutter out a “Yeah, Nancy…” and ran out of words after two.
“Drew?” Mariana asked helpfully.
“Drew, yeah, Drew,” Ted said in his daze, bringing his word total to three.
The older woman disappeared into a corner bodega. They followed in half-ironic amateur sleuth mode. Inside the bodega, they could see her buying lottery tickets, paying in crumpled bills and spare change. They walked in, Ted averting his face, hoping to catch her by surprise. He managed to get right up next to her without her sensing, as she concentrated on her lucky numbers.
She felt his presence and looked up. Ted was right there. She stopped breathing, like she’d seen a ghost. Ted was quiet, just presenting himself to her. She reached out her hand to touch him, making sure he was real. She put her hand on his cheek, seemed about to cry, and said, “Tus ojos…”
Ted glanced at Mariana for the translation, which she provided. “Your eyes.”
The old woman continued, “Tus ojos… your eye, like a man. Marty. El Spleenter?”
49.
“Fuck that!” exploded through the door of Marty’s bathroom. “And fuck you!”
Ted stood on this side of the bathroom, locked out, Mariana beside him. “What have you got to lose, Dad? She wants to see you.”
“You got a lot of fucking nerve, I’ll tell you that!”
“I just thought maybe you’d like some-”
“Some what, you creep?”
Ted turned to ask Mariana, “What did you call that thing again?”
Mariana supplied the magic word. “Closure.”
“Closure!” Ted repeated at volume.
From the other side of the door came the perhaps irrefutable retort: “Closure is for pussies!”
“I gotta say, Dad, she was looking pretty good.”
“Shut up!”
“You can’t hide in there all night.”
“It’s my house, I’ll hide anywhere I damn well please!”
The bathroom door swung open suddenly and there Marty stood in a jacket and tie, cleaned up, hair combed, freshly shaven, a big, scowling smile on his face. Ted and Mariana were struck dumb.
Ted gave the old man a little payback: “Shavin’ for his lady…”
“Shut up. I look ridiculous. Like a fucking pterodactyl. Like Al fucking Lewis. Like a vertical corpse.”
“No, Marty, you look spiffy. I would be proud to be on your arm.”
Mariana offered her arm to Marty, who gave Ted a fuck-you smile, whispered in his ear, “You, sir, can suck my dick,” and took Mariana’s arm.
Off they went, leaving Ted to follow in their wake.
50.
The Corolla, that grumpy old Japanese man, refused to start. So they walked to the subway. This made Ted uncomfortable because he had kept his father in that newsless bubble, pretty much sealed off from the world, for the past few weeks. Marty had not ventured beyond the inside of the house, the inside of the car, and a daily visit to Benny’s kiosk, where the old men had helped keep the Sox bubble sealed quite expertly. Ted had managed the VCR charade extremely well and had even convinced Marty that the “A-maz-in’” Bill Mazer was on vacation, so they had stopped watching the sports recap at night. The subway and the walk to Maria’s apartment was a haphazard free-for-all in comparison. Ted was on high alert. He felt like the secret service. The Marty perimeter must not be compromised.
It reminded Ted of when Marty would take him to the park for pickup football. Football wasn’t like softball to Marty, he didn’t bet on it, didn’t take it at all seriously. So he’d allow unathletic Ted to be a part of it. Ted would have been about ten, and Marty would make sure that he got picked among the men. Ted was the only kid there and he wasn’t there because he was good. He was there because Marty was the best quarterback in the neighborhood, and if he wanted his kid to play, his kid would play. Marty would give Ted a route to run on every play-down and out, down and in, stop and go-and Ted would dutifully run them. Nobody guarded Ted. He didn’t know, but he was playing in a game of his own. If it was five on five, Ted would be the sixth man on his father’s team. Marty would call plays in their huddle for the men and, as they’d break, he’d whisper a route in Ted’s ear. The words were magical and sometimes military, like macho spy talk-buttonhook, down and in, slant, bomb. Ted couldn’t remember if he ever got the ball thrown to him, but Marty would always look him in the eye and say, “We’re saving you for a critical moment. They’re gonna forget about you and that’s when I’ll hit you. Get open, buddy boy. You’re my secret weapon.” It never mattered that he didn’t get the ball; it was the nicest thing his father ever said to him. He was his father’s “secret weapon,” and that was more than enough. The weapon had never been deployed on the asphalt. But tonight it was. Ted was going long and really was, after all, Marty’s secret weapon.