“Daddy, how come you don’t even remember?” Deel said.
“Well, I . . . What were the circumstances?” Daddy said. “Refresh my memory.”
Mom was smiling. “I was interviewing you . . . for the school paper.”
“Oh God, yes . . . of course.”
“Why’d you want to interview him?” Charlie asked.
“Oh, I didn’t . . . but I thought it would be a good ploy, you know, drawing him out, asking breathy questions.”
“It worked, of course?” Charlie said, glancing at Daddy.
“Like a charm.”
“Wait a minute,” Daddy said. “My memory of this is totally different.”
“What do you remember, Daddy?” Deel asked.
“Well, I remember Amanda in my class . . . she was an excellent student,” he said to Charlie.
“I can imagine,” Charlie said, smiling at Mom.
“She was quiet, slightly demure, even . . . asked provocative, intelligent questions, wrote excellent papers. You got an A, didn’t you?”
“B,” Mom said. “You were afraid if you gave me an A, people would think it was because we were—”
“You deserved an A,” Daddy said. To Charlie he said, “She definitely deserved an A.”
“I’m sure she did . . . A plus, if it were up to me.”
“I thought you were married to Dora then, Daddy,” Deel said.
Daddy looked uncomfortable. “Well, it was unraveling . . .”
“What was Dora like?” Deel persisted.
Daddy gazed off in the distance. “Beautiful . . . in the beginning.” He looked at Charlie. “Didn’t you think?”
Charlie cleared his throat. “Beautiful? No,” he said flatly.
Daddy squinted. “Fragile, dreamy, delicate . . . a porcelain figurine.”
“Maybe,” Charlie said. “I see what you’re getting at. A few cracks by the time I met her.”
“Lionel idealizes women,” Mom said.
“He does, doesn’t he?” Charlie said. “Bless his heart.”
“So, did Mom, like, seduce you when you were married to Dora?” Deel said. I could tell she was getting all excited, hearing all these details of their private life.
“Well, kind of, I guess,” Mom said.
“I always thought I seduced you,” Daddy said.
Mom smiled. “Men like to think that.”
“When really,” Charlie said, “they’re just leading us docilely along, tugging gently at the rings in our noses.”
“I love that image,” Daddy said, wryly.
“Did Dora mind?” Deel persisted. “I mean was it like in The Way We Are Now with Dr. Morrison and Myra?”
Daddy choked on his punch. “Well, I’d hate to think of my life being like a third-rate soap opera,” he said.
“Lionel!” Mom stared at him.
“What?”
“A third-rate soap opera?” Mom’s cheeks were all pink. She really looked mad.
Daddy looked like he knew he’d said something dumb. “No, third-rate was . . . I just meant—”
Mom wheeled away. “We know what you mean. Just like you think Domestic Arrangements is a third-rate film. Everything is third-rate to you.”
“Darling, no.” He tried to sound soothing.
“Well, tell Charlie,” Mom said, still mad. “Tell him all you were saying about how Tat is going to be exploited. Tell him!”
“Exploited?” Charlie said, looking at Daddy. “In what sense?”
Daddy really looked embarrassed. “No, it’s just . . . that scene, you know, the hair-dryer scene. I just thought—”
“Lionel,” Charlie said. “That scene is devoid of even the vaguest trace of sensationalism. I’d bring my Aunt Minnie in from Iowa City to see it. That scene will make people weep.”
“Weep?” Daddy said.
“Yes, weep,” said Charlie. “That expression with which Tatiana looks up at Winston, that wide-eyed, soft, radiant expression . . . there’s no dirt there. Anyone who can find anything salacious in that scene is a dirty old man.”
“See!” Mom said triumphantly to Daddy. To Charlie she said, “He just thinks if it’s not Chekhov, it’s third-rate.”
“Look, you have two choices in life,” Charlie said. “You can spend a vast amount of time and energy inveighing against the way things are, or you can learn to live in the real world and make the best of it. I’m of the latter school.”
“Me too,” Mom said. “Sure, I could have spent the last decade auditioning for wretched little earnest off-off-Broadway plays which would run three seconds, and get wonderful reviews in the Voice, but so what? What would that prove?”
“Of course,” Charlie said. “Instead you’ve used your skills, you’ve kept them alive.”
“Exactly,” Mom said.
Daddy looked sheepish. “People, please! I am being falsely maligned. Of course one compromises, I’m not saying that. I’m only saying it’s important to keep the flame burning.”
“What flame?” Mom said.
“The flame of idealism, of art, of something wonderful.” He gestured vaguely.
“Listen,” Charlie said. “This movie is wonderful. This is a wonderful movie, and your daughter is a wonderful actress. Okay? This is fact. I don’t say it because I made it, I don’t say it because Tatiana is your daughter. I say that because I came out of that screening shaking.”
“Okay,” Daddy said. “No, we’re eager to see it, Charlie.”
“I am,” Mom said. “I’m eager.”
I looked around the room. Deel wasn’t there anymore. I went to look for her. The front bell had started to ring and a whole lot of people poured in. Deel was in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed, smoking a joint.
“How come you’re in here?” I asked.
“You want me to get stoned in front of Daddy?”
“No, I just meant . . . how come for the party?”
“I hate parties!” Deel said. “I hate all their phony, dumb friends.”
“Simon’s coming,” I said. “You like him.” Simon always plays Scrabble with Deel. They’re both very good. They play in French, even.
“He’ll be busy. He won’t want to talk to me if he can talk to someone his own age. Anyway, Mom’ll probably be flirting with him like a maniac all afternoon.” She handed me the joint. “Want some?”
“Okay.” I inhaled a little. I’m very suggestible when it comes to pot. A few puffs and I’m off.
“That is so sick about Mom and Daddy,” Deel said.
“What?”
“She took him away from his wife. What a seedy thing to do!”
“Well, but he