Daddy looked taken aback. “Well, I didn’t mean it in any pejorative sense. Just that . . . I don’t think he knows what he wants from women.”
“Men never do,” Abigail said dismissively.
Daddy laughed. “Never?”
She shook her head. “No, they just follow whatever fantasy appeals to them and depending on their degree of gullibility, it lasts till the smoke clears.”
“I can’t allow my sex to be so maligned,” Daddy said. “I have no such illusions about women. I look at them with total clarity.”
Abigail smiled. “Sure.”
“What do you mean, ‘sure’?” Daddy said.
“Hey, let’s look at the show, what do you say?” Abigail said. To Daddy she said, “Your illusion is that you have no illusions. That’s the most dangerous illusion of all.”
I think Abigail likes Daddy, even though she teases him. The show was sort of interesting. It was big color photos of naked men. In some of them you couldn’t tell they were naked men; they were such close-ups they could have been of anything. Like one just showed a nipple as big as a sunflower, practically. And in some, the man’s body was all bent to one side so you couldn’t see his head.
“That’s a penis,” Kerim said, pointing. Daddy was carrying him on his shoulders because he got tired.
“Is it?” Daddy said. “Yes, I guess it is.”
“It’s big,” Kerim said, impressed.
“That’s because it’s a close-up, honey,” Abigail said. “You know, I like her wild ponies better.”
“I know what you mean,” Daddy said. “She used to go to this island and photograph wild ponies,” he explained to me.
“She says Willie has such an incredible body, it made her see the possibilities in male nudes. She said she could stare at him all day.”
“Now so can a lot of other people.”
“Who’s Willie?” I asked. “Her boyfriend?”
“Kind of.” She looked pensive. “He’s only eighteen. Well, I guess she was mainly interested in great sex.”
“Great sex with an eighteen-year-old?” Daddy said disdainfully.
“Aren’t men at their peak then?” Abigail said. “That’s what they say.”
“Well, maybe biologically,” Daddy said, “but in terms of finesse—”
Abigail looked thoughtful. “Oh, finesse . . . well I don’t know. Maybe.”
“I’m hungry,” Kerim said.
“Let’s go to the cafeteria,” Abigail said. “I’m getting a little tired of penises. I think I’ve seen enough for one morning.”
We had soup and sandwiches and Kerim had yogurt with fruit. Mostly, he just mushed it around his plate. He ate the fruit, though. When we went outside again, the sun had come out. Abigail took out her camera. She usually carries it with her. It’s a Pentax.
“Be mad,” she said to Kerim.
He jumped up on a park bench and started scowling and stamping his foot.
“Be happy.”
He started waving, with a big grin on his face.
I jumped up beside him and started waving too.
“Be sad,” Abigail said.
Kerim and I looked at each other. He sniffed. I let a tear roll down my face. I can do that.
“Oh, do that again, Tat,” Abigail said.
She took a bunch more pictures of both of us. She wanted to take Daddy too, but he said he was too self-conscious.
“That hair,” she said to me. “Wow.”
“It’s because of my grandma,” I said.
“Kerim is great, though,” Daddy said. “You should try to get him in something.”
Abigail made a face. “The thing is, someone wants him for a commercial for some dumb toy, but I . . . I just hate commercials! I feel like it would be going against all my principles.”
“I know what you mean,” Daddy said.
“Mom does commercials,” I said. “She says it’s okay because it’s real acting. She says it’s what you bring to it that counts.”
“But how about the whole exploitive aspect of it?” Abigail asked. “How does one justify that?”
“I don’t think Amanda loses a lot of sleep over issues like that,” Daddy said.
If Mom had been there, she’d have gotten mad at that remark. She always does when Daddy says things like that.
Abigail lives way down in the Village on Broome Street, or something, so Daddy and I didn’t go home with her and Kerim. She said she thought he was tired and needed a nap.
“No, I don’t,” he said loudly. But his eyes were kind of drooping shut.
“I do,” Abigail said. “Naps are one of the world’s great inventions . . . whoever invented them deserves a medal.”
She and Daddy kissed each other good-bye, and Daddy and I took a cab home. Usually Daddy doesn’t believe in cabs, at least as much as Mom does. Mom says she’s addicted to cabs. If it’s farther than three blocks away, she takes a cab to it. Daddy says that’s one bad habit he doesn’t want me to pick up from her. He says public transportation is a wonderful thing, and we should be glad we have it. But still, at the end of the day, when you’re tired, it’s nice to take a cab.
Daddy likes to talk to cab drivers. He likes to just start talking to people he doesn’t know, sort of joking around. When we got into the cab, the cab driver (his name was Juan Martinez) said, “You know, I was about to go off duty, but the little lady looked so cold and tired, I decided what the heck. That’s my trouble—I’m too good-hearted.”
“Oh, you can’t be too good-hearted,” Daddy said. “That’s not possible.”
“No, it is possible,” Juan Martinez said. “Let me tell you. You’re good-hearted and what good does it do you? Does anyone notice? Does anyone care?”
“I’m glad you stopped,” I said shyly. “I was tired.”
“It’s October,” Juan Martinez said. “October does it to me.”
“What does it do?” Daddy said. “Why October?”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” he said. He was looking at us in his rearview mirror. “You really want to know?”
“I do,” Daddy said. “I’m on the edge of my seat. Aren’t you, Tat?”
Sometimes I think Daddy teases people a little, but they don’t always seem to notice.
“Well, you may not believe this,” Juan Martinez said, “but I used to be the soccer champion of Brazil.”
“And then what happened?” Daddy asked.
“Then what happened? Then I had a family; then I had kids to support; then I came to this country and got a job driving a cab . . . and there you are.”
“What is it about October, though?” I asked.
“Well, that’s