She didn't respond. Myron glanced at the wall behind her. The sparse Client Wall again reminded him of a hair transplant that hadn't taken. Maybe he should paint on a couple of coats of Rogaine.
'You remember Emily's call?' he said.
'It was yesterday, Myron. My memory can sometimes go back a whole week.'
He explained it all. Some men — men Myron grudgingly admired — keep it all inside, bury their secrets, hide the pain, the whole cliche. Myron rarely did. He was not one to walk down the mean streets alone — he liked Win to be his backup. He didn't grab a bottle of whiskey and drown his sorrows — he discussed them with Esperanza. Not very macho, but there you have it.
Esperanza stayed silent as he spoke. When he got to the part about being Jeremy's father, she let out a small groan and closed her eyes and kept them shut for a very long time. When she finally opened them, she asked, 'So what are you going to do?'
'I'm going to find the donor.'
'That's not what I meant.'
He knew that. 'I don't know,' he said.
She thought about it, shook her head in disbelief. 'You have a son.'
'Seems so.'
'And you don't know what you're going to do about it?'
'That's right.'
'But you're leaning,' she said.
'Win made a pretty good case for not saying anything.'
She made a sound. 'Win would.'
'Actually he claims to be using his heart.'
'If only he had one.'
'You don't agree?'
'No,' she said. 'I don't agree.'
'You think I should tell Jeremy?'
'I think first and foremost you should put aside your Batman complex,' she said.
'What the hell does that mean?'
'It means you always try a little too hard to be heroic.'
'And that's bad?'
'Sometimes it clouds your thinking,' she said. 'The heroic thing is not always the right thing.'
'Jeremy already has a family. He has a mother and a father—'
'He has,' Esperanza interrupted, 'a lie.'
They sat there and stared at each other. The phone, usually so active, was silent, as it had been for too long now. Myron wondered how he could explain it so that she would understand. She stayed still, waiting.
'We were both lucky when it came to parents,' Myron said.
'Mine are dead, Myron.'
'That's not what I mean,' he said. He took a deep breath. 'How many days pass that you don't still miss them?'
'None,' she said without hesitation.
He nodded. 'We were both loved unconditionally and we both loved our parents the same way.'
Esperanza's eyes started misting. 'So?'
'So — and this was what Win said — isn't that what makes a mother or father? Isn't it about who raised us and loved us and not simply an accident of biology?'
Esperanza leaned back. 'Win said that?'
Myron smiled. 'He has his moments.'
'That he does,' she said.
'And think about your father — the one who raised and loved you. What happens to him?'
Her eyes were still misty. 'My love for him is strong enough to survive the truth. Isn't yours?'
He tilted back as though the words were jabs at his chin. 'Sure,' he said. 'But it would still hurt him.'
'Your father would be hurt?'
'Of course.'
'I see,' Esperanza said. 'So now you're worried about poor Greg Downing?'
'Hardly. You want to hear something awful?'
'Love to.'
'When Greg constantly refers to Jeremy as 'my son,' I want to yell out the truth. Right in his smug face. Just to see his reaction. Just to watch his world crumble.'
'So much for your Batman complex,' Esperanza said.
Myron held out his hands. 'I have my moments too,' he said.
Esperanza stood and headed for the door.
'Where you going?'
'I don't want to talk about this anymore,' she said.
He sat back.
'You're blocking,' she said. 'You know that?'
He nodded slowly.
'When you move past it — and you will — we'll talk about it again. Otherwise, we're wasting our time here, okay?'
'Okay.'
'Just don't be stupid.'
' 'Don't be stupid,'' he repeated. 'Check.'
Her departing smile was brief.
Chapter 12
Myron spent the rest of the day working the phones. He strapped on his Ultra Slim headset and paced the office. He talked up college coaches, mining for potential free agents. He touched base with his clients and listened to their problems, both real and imagined, therapist-style, which was a large part of his job. He sifted through his Rolodex of companies, trying to conjure up a few endorsement deals.
One serious lead came a-knocking on its own: 'Mr. Bolitar? I'm Ronny Angle from Rack Enterprises. Are you familiar with us?'
'You run a bunch of topless bars, right?' 'We prefer they be called upscale exotic nightclubs.' 'And I prefer to be called a well-endowed stallion,' Myron said. 'What can I do for you, Mr. Angle?' 'Ronny please. Can I call you Myron?' 'Myron please.'
'Great, Myron. Rack Enterprises is entering a new venture.'
'Uh-huh.'
'You've probably read about it. A chain of coffeehouses called La, La, Latte.'
'For real?'
'Pardon?'
'Well, I think I did see something about this, but I figured it was a joke.'
'It's no joke, Mr. Bolitar.'
'So you guys are really going to open up topless coffee bars?'
'We prefer they be called upscale erotic coffee experiences.'
'I see. But you're, uh,
'Correct.'
Myron thought about it. 'Makes asking for milk something of a double entendre, don't you think?'
'That's very funny, Myron.'
'Thanks, Ronny.'
