<Believe it or not, I like the way you are.>
<I know,> she wrote with a wan smile. <I know it. In fact, I brought you out tonight because I was in a fairly desperate need to be around someone who appreciated me.>
<I’m in short supply of those myself.>
<See, I don’t understand that either. It truly baffles me.>
<You’re only getting a fraction of me.>
She wasn’t buying it. <Right. This is the part where you once again allude to the fact that you’re secretly an asshole.>
<It’s not a secret.>
<You’re not an asshole,> she typed. <If anything, you’re feeling-impaired.>
She stood up and leaned over her keyboard. <I’m going to freshen up. Then we’ll skedaddle. They should be back soon anyway.>
I watched her walk away. She looked good from behind, too. I couldn’t seem to escape my lower functions, but I was afraid to go back upstairs. I was afraid to look into my very own mind and see how much of it she’d already conquered.
Serves me right for letting her in. I should have kept her in my laptop, just like I kept Harmony trapped inside my big red cellular. Complicated gadgetry standing in for people. Are we embracing the future, Ira? Or are we both in need of a serious intervention?
As I sat there alone, the comedian’s silent jokes flying miles above my head, I thought about everything Jean had said. Then I realized I didn’t have to think about it. I had an electronic transcript right here in front of me. Technology at work again.
I scrolled through our conversation until I reached the part where I cut her off. I’d noticed she had typed a few more words after I slammed my laptop shut. I was curious — deeply afraid but curious — to see how she finished her thought.
Scott, I’m looking at your face. And I can see you’re lonely. That’s okay. We’re lonely, too. And we’re inviting you in.
18. “HARMONY THIS AND THAT”
There was no escaping irony. I returned home from my Deaf club excursion at half past eleven, only to remove the red phone from my pocket and discover that it had been switched off. I had six messages waiting for me, all from Alonso. Apparently there was a new crisis brewing at the Fairmont Miramar.
“Finally!” Alonso yelled. “Where were you?”
“Sorry. My phone was off. I didn’t realize.”
“Well, we’ve got an urgent matter.”
“You said that. Now can you please elaborate?”
In his message, Alonso had only stated that Harmony had…a visitor. He’d said it with such delicate discretion that for a moment I thought he was referring to her period. If only. Harmony was indeed dealing with her very own blood, but it was all in the form of a fifty-eight-year-old man whose arrival I probably should have anticipated.
At ten o’clock he approached the main entrance to the hotel, only to be stopped by doormen. From his stained army jacket, torn jeans and duct-taped shoes, it was obvious he wasn’t a distinguished guest of the Miramar. And yet despite his pauperlike appearance, the man insisted he was a Prince.
“You show her this photo,” he demanded. “You show her my ID. She’ll know me.”
Sadly, he wasn’t the first one to try to ride his way in on the long lost-relative ticket. He wasn’t even the first one who proclaimed to be Harmony’s father. But he was the first to offer evidence. In addition to a long-expired driver’s license, he bore a photograph from 1981, the only known picture of Harmony’s two natural parents.
I suppose I couldn’t blame her for wanting to meet her biological father, if even just to confront him. Nobody could blame me for assuming the worst in Franklin Prince. At thirty-eight, he’d knocked up his adolescent foster daughter and then abandoned his family to live with her in Modesto. Shortly after Harmony was born, he discarded both lover and child for a new teenage squeeze. He wasn’t the villain of Harmony’s life (that would be her stepfather), but he wasn’t a beacon of virtue either.
I was dying to know how she was doing. The phone rang six times before she answered. She sounded tranquilized.
“Hello.”
“Harmony. It’s me. I heard. Jesus. How are you?”
“I can’t talk now.”
“Is he still there?”
Pause. “Yeah.”
“Listen, I want you to call me the minute he leaves, okay? Don’t worry about the time. I’ll be up.”
“Okay.”
“You promise to call me?”
“Yeah,” she said after another discomforting silence. “I gotta go.”
I put the phone down, then stretched out on the couch. It was hard to think, especially with Jean still running loose in my head. I watched Saturday Night Live until my eyes fell shut. When I opened them again, it was two-thirty in the morning. My red phone was ringing.
“Harmony?”
She didn’t respond, but I could hear her soft sniffles. I sat up.
“Okay, are those good tears or bad tears?”
She sniffed again. “I don’t know.”
“Well, how did he seem?”
“Terrible. He was missing teeth. He had these sores on his hands. And he smelled awful. I felt so bad for him.”
He must have been a pathetic sight indeed. I couldn’t imagine anyone, even Harmony, being anything less than furious.
“So was he all apologies?”
“Yeah. He said he’s a different man now, that he’s been living in shame over what he did. He said he’s been trying to find me for a while. Then he saw me on the news.”
I resolved not to say anything. No misgivings. No theories. I was just going to follow Maxina’s cue and be supportive.
Unfortunately, Harmony read my silence far too well. “Okay, what?”
“Nothing. I’m just listening.”
“No, you ain’t. You thinking shit.”
“I’m always thinking shit. But right now I’m just here to listen and be your friend.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
“Scott, just say what you wanna say.”
“Look, I don’t know this man. I can’t judge his motives.” Wincing, I rubbed my temple. “All I’ll say is that it took me one afternoon to find you.”
“Well, he ain’t as smart as you.”
“You didn’t change your name. You didn’t even leave the area.”
“So maybe he just ain’t smart, okay? He’s still my father.”
“I know that. I know. I can’t even pretend to relate to what you’re going through right now. But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m very protective of you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
She unleashed a jaded laugh that was unique for her. And worrisome to me.
“It’s not that I think he’s out to hurt you,” I stressed. “I just think he’s…” Damn it. Shut up. Shut up. “Can I ask you a question?”
She let out an acrid sigh. “What?”
“Did he ask you for money?”
Her lack of answer was answer enough. I threw my head back, mouthing a curse.
“Did you give him money?”
Still nothing.
“You gave him all the money I gave you.”
After another lull, her crying gasps started up again. Son of a bitch. He was better off staying out of her life. Franklin Prince was not a nice man, nor was he a subtle man. And Harmony wasn’t stupid. She could tell from the start that her father was looking at her through dollar-sign eyes. All I was doing was confronting her with her own worst suspicions.
“Look, sweetheart, I’m sorry I—”
“Stop calling me that.”