A complaint could trigger a correction, I thought, or worse.
“Maybe one of his men. You know, fixing something.” As she talked, describing small repairs, she picked up things off her kitchen counters and opened drawers. I’d completely lost track of her story, when all at once, she gasped “Oh.” She’d lifted up a small cutting board behind a statue of Joseph and the Doves and under it she had her money order, Bank of America, for one hundred thousand dollars.
“Mom, what is this? Where did you get it?”
“That’s my retirement. Everything.”
“Why do you have this here? It should be in a bank! Where it can’t be stolen.”
“I know.” She held it to her chest.
“Why don’t you call Tom tomorrow and he’ll take you to the bank?”
“Well, not Tom maybe.”
I gave her a warning look. “Why not Tom?”
“I don’t know if I trust him always.”
“You can trust him,” I said, remembering Paul calling Tom the most boring man in the world.
“Don’t bother with it.”
“Why are you crying now? You still have everything.”
“I know,” she whispered, as I went to leave. “I know.”
When I got home, Paul stood eating a cold chicken leg. When I came to the part about her pulling out the money order, he started laughing. “Your mother. You should go with her tomorrow, make sure she gets that into a bank.” My mother was an old story.
I woke up to the sound of Paul and Will growling engine noise. I heard the windup mouse scuttle across the floor, then the clomp of
Will’s feet.
Do it again , he said.
Paul left scribbed notes on the backs of envelopes by the door of our bedroom. I stepped over:
TO BRADY
CALL JENNY MEACHER’S SON
CLAIRE’S MOM—BANK
Later that morning, I asked my mother if she’d called Tom. She said she had.
“He’s coming to get me.”
“To go to the bank?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. I didn’t believe her, and we never talked about it again.
For a long time, I thought I’d gotten away with something. I wasn’t behind the upper-middle-class kids who, from college on, moved everywhere around me, wearing their advantages lightly, like expensive clothes, only a tiny bit different from what the rest of us had. The trouble their parents had taken: lessons, tutors, AYSO. It seemed incredible that it hardly made a difference at all. Still, I’d understood that when I had children, they would resemble those kids more than me. I’d wondered if I could love them.
Now I had my answer.
Lola
HOW I CAME TO HOLLYWOOD
“So how did you find your way to Hollywood?”
That is the story people tell at the house of Ruth.
I came to America because of a flyer. I had heard already about the money from relatives of Lita. The daughter went to university with my eldest. Then I saw the flyer. JOBS IN AMERICA! MOTHERS, NURSES, COOKS! SEND MONEY HOME. RETIRE RICH IN FIVE YEARS! I folded the flyer and put it in my purse. At that time, Issa was writing her examinations for medicine.
My port of entry was San Francisco, because Bong Bong had a cousin in Petaluma. When Luz arrived at the lobby of my Chinatown hotel that was a little rancid, she smelled like a mint. All in white, in her red car, she looked like the American Red Cross. I sank into the seat and she drove. They live far outside. You cannot see other houses from that place—they are really alone. The movies we saw in Tagaytay—the Westerns! It is really like that.
Luz and the husband, they have monkeys, parrots, all different birds and snakes. Monkeys I really do not like, very dirty animals, and they made noise all night. There was a taste at the top of my mouth like an infection that did not go away. The guy bumped over the ground in a wheelchair; everything was built for him with wooden ramps. He was very good to the animals. One bird just sat on his shoulder.
I asked our relative, “Was he the same since you know him?”
She nodded.
“That is hard for you.”
“No,” she said. “He is so kind. More
“Maybe one of his men. You know, fixing something.” As she talked, describing small repairs, she picked up things off her kitchen counters and opened drawers. I’d completely lost track of her story, when all at once, she gasped “Oh.” She’d lifted up a small cutting board behind a statue of Joseph and the Doves and under it she had her money order, Bank of America, for one hundred thousand dollars.
“Mom, what is this? Where did you get it?”
“That’s my retirement. Everything.”
“Why do you have this here? It should be in a bank! Where it can’t be stolen.”
“I know.” She held it to her chest.
“Why don’t you call Tom tomorrow and he’ll take you to the bank?”
“Well, not Tom maybe.”
I gave her a warning look. “Why not Tom?”
“I don’t know if I trust him always.”
“You can trust him,” I said, remembering Paul calling Tom the most boring man in the world.
“Don’t bother with it.”
“Why are you crying now? You still have everything.”
“I know,” she whispered, as I went to leave. “I know.”
When I got home, Paul stood eating a cold chicken leg. When I came to the part about her pulling out the money order, he started laughing. “Your mother. You should go with her tomorrow, make sure she gets that into a bank.” My mother was an old story.
I woke up to the sound of Paul and Will growling engine noise. I heard the windup mouse scuttle across the floor, then the clomp of
Will’s feet.
Do it again , he said.
Paul left scribbed notes on the backs of envelopes by the door of our bedroom. I stepped over:
TO BRADY
CALL JENNY MEACHER’S SON
CLAIRE’S MOM—BANK
Later that morning, I asked my mother if she’d called Tom. She said she had.
“He’s coming to get me.”
“To go to the bank?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. I didn’t believe her, and we never talked about it again.
For a long time, I thought I’d gotten away with something. I wasn’t behind the upper-middle-class kids who, from college on, moved everywhere around me, wearing their advantages lightly, like expensive clothes, only a tiny bit different from what the rest of us had. The trouble their parents had taken: lessons, tutors, AYSO. It seemed incredible that it hardly made a difference at all. Still, I’d understood that when I had children, they would resemble those kids more than me. I’d wondered if I could love them.
Now I had my answer.
Lola
HOW I CAME TO HOLLYWOOD
“So how did you find your way to Hollywood?”
That is the story people tell at the house of Ruth.
I came to America because of a flyer. I had heard already about the money from relatives of Lita. The daughter went to university with my eldest. Then I saw the flyer. JOBS IN AMERICA! MOTHERS, NURSES, COOKS! SEND MONEY HOME. RETIRE RICH IN FIVE YEARS! I folded the flyer and put it in my purse. At that time, Issa was writing her examinations for medicine.
My port of entry was San Francisco, because Bong Bong had a cousin in Petaluma. When Luz arrived at the lobby of my Chinatown hotel that was a little rancid, she smelled like a mint. All in white, in her red car, she looked like the American Red Cross. I sank into the seat and she drove. They live far outside. You cannot see other houses from that place—they are really alone. The movies we saw in Tagaytay—the Westerns! It is really like that.
Luz and the husband, they have monkeys, parrots, all different birds and snakes. Monkeys I really do not like, very dirty animals, and they made noise all night. There was a taste at the top of my mouth like an infection that did not go away. The guy bumped over the ground in a wheelchair; everything was built for him with wooden ramps. He was very good to the animals. One bird just sat on his shoulder.
I asked our relative, “Was he the same since you know him?”
She nodded.
“That is hard for you.”
“No,” she said. “He is so kind. More
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