Road Show

So here’s the story. I’m cleaning out my mom’s house, she died a few weeks back, and don’t be sad, she was old, like 97, natural causes no Hollywood sad ending here, she had a good life. But she, how do we say, collected things, hoarded, was a pack rat? You know the type, nice person and all, but jeez, find a trash can once in a while.

There are figurines, the kind they sell on the TV shopping channels, nice I suppose, but worthless, stuff only old ladies like. I think I’ll toss them, but maybe Goodwill, who knows. Plates, and forks and spoons and knives, enough for forty people, but she lived alone. None of it matches, of course, so yeah, Goodwill.

The furniture is old and shredded, and confidentially, smells of urine, so that’s dumpster bound. Same for the bedding, the towels, all the mundane day to day stuff. I mean, maybe it was nice when it was new, but not even a homeless guy would want this stuff.

And this is how it goes for a few days. The landlord is an ok fellow, he wants to get in to paint and pull the carpet, but she’s paid through the month, so I got a few weeks, and I have other things to do, but the clock is ticking.

I find a few things I remember, like the pen she always used, one of those Cross gold ones, she must have had it since the 70’s. There’s a few pictures on the wall, relatives, dead pets and all, and I put those in a box.

When I am taking apart the bed, I notice a bunch of shoeboxes underneath, some filled with photos, some with shoes (go figure), some with bits of jewelry, and then there was this little black book. It’s like an address book, well, it is an address book, so I start rifling through the pages, see if anything jumps out at me. And boom, right there, this guy. I’m thinking, he’s a famous guy, he did that thing, died way too early. You know who I’m talking about, right?

Yes, Mr. Jenkins, I do know, and we’re so glad you brought it here to the show today so we can examine it all. As you know, this man was a highly respected artist, well, until his infidelity, and then the plane crash. You see, he was at the top of his game, his work in all the prominent galleries, he was a darling of the social scene, and he was engaged to the socialite, you know her, until, well, he strayed, apparently had an affair, it was found out, a bit of ugliness ensued, and it was a short time later while travelling the plane he was in crashed, and end of story. Since then, the values of his works have steadily increased, and he has become quite the historical figure, although not much is known about his dalliance.

It seems your mother, at least at some point, knew him well enough to put him in her address book. Did she ever mention him to you?

Nah, not to me that I can remember, but what do I know?

Have you looked at the rest of the items in the shoebox?

I was going to, but I got distracted, phone call, whatever, had to run, then I heard your show was coming to town, and I didn’t want to muck up anything, so no.

May we look inside?

By all means, go ahead.

Let’s see, here’s a napkin and a matchbook from the club by the shore, very popular back in the day. All the celebrities went there, it was quite the place to be seen.

Here’s what looks like a folded piece of paper, and when we open it we see, a figure drawing of a shapely young woman. Was your mother a model, do you know?

Yeah, I think she did some while she was in college, a little bit, to help pay for it all you know, but she never finished college, you know, since I showed up.

Excuse me for asking, but she had you she was in school?

Yeah, and it’s ok for asking, I mean, I’m here. Never knew who the dad was though, she never did talk about him, me being a kid, I just figured that was normal, you know, single mom.

And how old are you sir, if you don’t mind me asking?

36, why? Hey you don’t think, I mean?

Well let’s see, he died in 1975, and its 2012 today, so . . .

That’s crazy. I mean, crazy. You think I could be the son of a, nah, my mom and him, no way

I don’t mean to suggest anything sir, only to point out the possibility

Wait, wait, wait, a second here. This is insane.

Let’s see what else is in the box, shall we?

Yeah, sure.

So we see underneath the book there is some memorabilia, matchbooks, coasters, swizzle sticks and the like. Was your mom a waitress or did she go out a lot?

I don’t know, I mean, I’m not sure.

Here’s a menu, and another, and a cigarette lighter in silver. Are these her initials?

Yeah, mhmm, that’s her.

And here’s an envelope, possibly pictures?

This is crazy.

So we see some photos, shots from a pool, and yes, this man right here looks like the artist. This woman in the sunglasses?

Ma, that’s her.

Well hard to say she definitely knew him, but if I had to wager a bet I’d say yes. I know this must be a bit of a shock to you, and I am surprised as well. Not much is known about his latter days, who he ran about with apart from his wife, there were rumors of Hollywood women, NY Benefactors, quite the rumor mill, but before the internet, well, information just wasn’t as readily available. Now what’s this here?

And this is where the story gets weird. The guy from the antique show, he pulls out this wad with a rubber band around it, and for a second I have no idea what it is. Then I see his eyes go big like manhole covers, and it’s a clump of cash, a brick. He passes it over to me and I take it in my hands like a puppy. Then he pulls a letter out, asks me if its’ ok to read, and starts reading.

She starts off by saying she’s sorry, he looks at me, that if you’re holding this in your hands, I’ve probably been dead for some time now, and don’t be sad, it happens to everybody. He continues, now about the money. You may or may not recognize the artist in the photos, but back in the day we had a whirlwind romance, it all started out so innocently, but then his wife found out, and things got ugly, and we had to break it off, and then there was you. Yes, your father is the dead artist. I never told you because, well, better to know nothing at all than to have a dead father who was famous. I regret not telling you, but again, I did what I thought was best. And I know I have made some stupid mistakes in my life, doesn’t everyone? But you weren’t a mistake, and I loved you more than anything.

He paused for a second to see how I was holding up, then went ahead.

So the money. Hear me sighing in your head right now. I was paid to get rid of the problem, and to keep quiet, and to live off for a while. And I wrestled with it for some time, I knew I would have to take off from school for a while, that my life would change, that a child is responsibility, and then on the news, the plane crash, and he was gone, and, well, you’re here.

And so I quit school, went home, had you, and you know the rest. I never could bring myself to touch the money, oh sure, the temptation was there, but it’s hard to explain, like time stopped and continued at the same moment, and I thought, well, I can’t spend that money, maybe you don’t understand, it was a different time, but the money represented in part getting rid of you, and so it stayed under my bed, until I died, and you found it, and probably have a million questions that will go unanswered. So listen, take the money, buy yourself something, give it away, give it to a charity, whatever, it’s yours to play with, since, well, I’m gone. Maybe you can hear me laugh a little at this point.

And then it just says, love, mom, he says, and hands me the note. You ok, he adds, and I must have looked a little shell shocked, I could feel my eyes tearing up a bit, but I told him, yeah, no, I’m fine.

Quite a good chunk of change he says eyeing the wad of cash, and I say, yeah, dinner should be good tonight.

As for the box, he adds, just a few trinkets, nothing much in the way of value. It’s a shame too, because if you had any artwork, it would probably be worth a good amount, and we could have put you in the spotlight on the television show, but for now, nothing much of value, well, to be auctioned that is, you understand.

And I look at him, and it took a second, but I mumbled something like, yeah, sure, thanks a lot for your help, and put everything back in the box and I walked out of the building where they were holding the evaluations. And I see people on the way out, holding onto paintings, books, furniture, guns, all sorts of stuff, looking to cash in on the past, make a buck off their relatives. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s bad or nothing, but I’ve just been blindsided and am trying to get my head around the whole thing. I mean, pick any celebrity, sports star, whatever, and then one day that’s your dad – what do you do with that? Do you tell people, do they believe you when you do?

Anyway, until the dust settles in my head, I figure I’ll just put the shoebox under my bead (seems fitting), and try to understand the universe and what it just told me. Do I believe it? Does it matter? And all I know at the moment is the sun is warm on my face as I walk to my car, and it’s going to be a good day.