Faking It(51)

“No, no, Janie’s fine. I’m sorry, it’s just...oh honey, I don’t want to distract you right now. I’m really proud of you. Let’s not talk about it now.” She exhaled loudly and slowly.

“Mom, come on. You know I’ll think about this all night. Just tell me.” I read once that waiting was a skill like anything else. It was a skill I had not cultivated.

Her voice was choked with emotion when she spoke. “It’s been awhile since I’ve heard from your brothers. I’m sure it’s nothing, but...I get anxious. Sean and Ryan were supposed to check in yesterday, and then again today. Haven’t heard a peep and can’t get anyone on the line. You know how it is.”

I sure did. My brothers, when we did talk on the phone or on Skype on those rare occasions that they weren’t on duty, said they were always on pins and needles when I had a fight. Knowing they were always on the verge of combat was that multiplied by about a million. They were always one bullet or explosion away from oblivion, leaving the rest of us behind.

“I’m sure they’re fine, mom.” They have to be. “Probably just out of contact or on maneuvers.”

“Yes. I’m sure you’re right.” She could not have sounded less convinced. “Hey, let me put Janie on.”

Before I could say anything, Janie was there, jabbering a mile a minute about a book she was reading. Normally it’s easy for me to get excited when someone is talking about his or her passion, but Janie’s book mania had never really sunk in. The book was about a Jewish man who had made it through one of the death camps. It was about how he had survived by keeping a good attitude, a fact that sounded like it could not possibly be true. But it was also about how, once he made it out, he devoted the rest of his life to helping people through a type of therapy he came up with.

Now, for the first time, I said, “I’m going to read that. What’s the title and author again?” I really did want to read it. It also registered that maybe me wanting to read about someone selfless coincided with the fact that I was teetering on the edge of doing something selfish that very night.

“Man’s Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl. It’s short, don’t worry,” she said, laughing. “And don’t get fussy, I was just kidding. I know you could read a lot book, but I know you don’t really have time.”

I laughed too. “Love you, sis. Good night.”

When I hung up the phone it was only five o’clock. No word from Alyssa yet. The party was starting at six. I still hadn’t told James I’d be there or not. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the world in that evening glow that symbolizes the start of party time for a select few. Like myself, in the past.

Decision time. I honestly considered flipping a coin, but I couldn’t find one. Maybe Nike could give me a quarter so I could start using it to make my choices.

Before I knew it I had showered, shaved, and was putting on a suit. It was like an out of body experience. Just getting dressed, nothing has happened yet. Just walking out to my car, haven’t gone anywhere yet. Just pulling out of the driveway, just driving. Just pulling into the hotel where the Nike party is, it’s not like I’m going up there or anything. Just getting in the elevator, just smiling at the stunning hostess who greeted me by name and said everyone is waiting for me. No, she said dying to meet me. Could you actually be excited enough to meet someone that you would die of it? That would make for the most terrible, lamest tombstone.

Then I was stepping onto the rooftop, which had apparently been reserved for my shindig. The city spread out below us in all directions. James glided over with a drink in his hand and shouted for everyone to be quiet. And by everyone, I mean the biggest group of the most gorgeous-looking people I had ever seen. It was like walking into a jewelry shop that sold sparkling, expensive human beings instead of gemstones. And they were all looking at me like I was some mythical creature they had heard about, and now, to their vast delight, I had turned out to be real.

They immediately stopped and applauded. A standing ovation for doing nothing but showing up. Braden Dean, difference maker! Suddenly I was surrounded by well-wishers. James took my arm and introduced me to CEOs and one Prime Minister and a bunch of majority shareholders in this and that and the heads of various boards and philanthropic organizations. I don’t even remember when the drink appeared in my hand, but there it was and I was sipping it. I wasn’t even sure it was my first one. The familiar, boozy heaviness set in. I was starting to feel funny and wise, never a good combination when I was drinking. Braden Dean, genius, the last word on everything.

Everyone wanted to talk to me.

Touch me.

Know everything about me.

Give me anything I asked for.

I was in the fight of my life, trying not to indulge any of them in anything. I just wanted to be a gracious superstar and model center of attention. Things didn’t have to get weird or crazy.

Before long the room was spinning and nothing I did helped. I was trying so hard to keep from passing out or puking that I didn’t even recognize the woman who was suddenly sitting on my lap. I pushed her off, gently, I hope, and checked my phone. Still nothing from Alyssa.

I’m not sure when the party moved to the lobby, but we were downstairs and everything was a noisy kaleidoscope of neon and haze. That’s when I heard it.

“If they went over there to be butchers just so America can be an even bigger warmonger and imperialist, they deserved to die!”