“Fletcher.”
“Come on.”
“He invented polyester. Mom said so.”
Dadio rolled the wine label into a ball. “That’s what he tells people in Boston, like your mother’s friends. But I’m sure Fletcher played a very small part in its invention. He’s one of these scientists who makes about twenty thousand a year, bent over a Bunsen burner all day long.”
“Twenty thousand? That’s it?”
“If he’s lucky.”
“Why’d you choose Mom?”
“June was a wholesome girl.” He leaned over and whispered, “She was a virgin.”
“Oh.”
My father stuffed the balled-up label in the bottle’s mouth. “You don’t want someone who’s been with lotsa men.” He gazed out the window. Co-eds in tight jeans and Kappa Delta sweatshirts walked by. “Cheesus,” he said, “everywhere I look, beautiful girls, one after another. Take them to good restaurants, Kirby. They won’t forget if you take them nice places and they know you’re from Hawaii.”
I wasn’t sure how I was going to finance dinner dates with only ninety bucks in my account.
Mandy delivered the bill. “Sure I can’t tempt you?” she asked my father. “We have scrumptious apple pie.”
“I’m too full, Mandy. Say, when’s your first snow?”
“Near Halloween.” She waved over at the white turtleneck guy. His buddies were trying to bounce quarters into their mugs by slamming them against the table.
The turtleneck guy winked. “I’m in lust.”
Mandy giggled and headed over. He scooted out his chair out, and she sat on his lap. She stroked his hair. He nibbled her neck.
“Exercise vigorously,” Dadio advised. “That’ll help you concentrate on your studies. No exercise makes you fat, lazy, and lethargic.”
“I’ll hit the bag and jog.”
“Watch personal hygiene. Girls don’t like stinky men.”
“I don’t stink.”
“Your brother’s got horrible halitosis and disgusting BO. No wonder the wahines run.”
Whenever my father was alone with Troy, he’d rake me over the coals. My brother had always been eager to share Dadio’s laundry list of complaints against me to take me down a few notches. Funny how courageous my father was through the war and Harvard yet talked bad about us behind our backs.
“Even stinky guys get dates,” I said. “Troy’s main problem is insecurity, from you never praising him.”
My father’s cheeks turned ruddy. “You’re one of these kids who blames his parents for everything. That’s your way of dodging responsibility.”
“We’re discussing Troy, not me.”
“I had neither a mother nor a father, and look how well I turned out.”
“You did?”
“Don’t get smart, wise guy. I had nothing compared to you boys, but I pulled myself up by the bootstraps.”
“You weren’t an easy father.”
“At least you had one.”
Dadio paid and we left. We wandered the dim streets of The Hill district, passing closed clothing stores, art galleries, and a dojo. The moon lit up the oaks lining Broadway and helped us find the car. My father unlocked the door and I stood beside him as a truck groaned up the incline.
My father checked his Timex. “Cheesus,” he said, “late already. Can you find the way back to Baker Hall?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, good-bye.” He extended his hand, and we shook like businessmen.
I didn’t want to end it like that. I didn’t want him to leave without telling me something valuable about himself, something I could carry into my first semester. “What are you made of, Daddy?”
“What’s that?”
“What are you made of?”
“Iron. I’m made of iron. And what are you made of, Kirby?”
“Steel,” I replied. “I’ve always been made of steel.” I grabbed his shoulder. He let me hug him before dropping down into the driver’s seat.
He powered down his window. “End that wise guy routine. Promise me?”
“I promise.”
“Good boy.” He pulled away from the curb, and I stood on the crest of The Hill watching his Buick cruise south on Broadway. Jazz came from Tulagi’s Pizza. The Buick veered left off Broadway and vanished behind a Dairy Queen.
I eased between two oaks and decided to wipe the slate clean. I crossed Broadway knowing I could be anyone I wanted to be. I skirted an outdoor amphitheater and crossed paths with a flock of co-eds.
“Howzit,” I waved half-heartedly.
A redhead smiled. “Hey, you.”