Thomas just turned toward the window.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. In any case, I don’t know what your superego was thinking, but I’m quite sure your ego was hitting on her. And what’s worse, it sounds like he did a terrible job.”
The car dropped them off on Green Street, where they found the hood of the Saab wide open and Arthur studying the engine. Thomas walked over to him.
“Did it break down?”
“No, but it backfires every time I accelerate. I can’t figure out why.”
“I’d love to help you, but—”
“It’s the fuel pump,” Raymond whispered.
“Maybe the spark plugs are bad,” Arthur theorized as he stood up. “I’ll take it to the garage. Such bad timing. We’re going out tonight, and I’d rather not use the Triumph. What were you saying?”
“Take out the fuel line, clean it by blowing through it, and put it back in,” Raymond explained confidently. “Don’t look at me like that, all suspicious-like. I drove a Saab nine hundred for years, though it goes without saying that mine was in better shape.”
Thomas repeated what his father had suggested.
“The fuel line? Why not. Any idea where to find it?” asked Arthur.
“Here,” Raymond replied as he pointed. “My God, if I could just do it myself, he’d already be on the highway.”
“It’s right here,” Thomas explained impassively.
Arthur got his tools from his workbench, loosened the bolts, did as Raymond had advised, and put the line back in. Then he sat down behind the wheel.
“He needs to pump the gas, or it won’t start,” Raymond cut in again.
“Make sure you pump the gas,” Thomas advised.
Arthur turned the key in the ignition, and the engine purred, then roared as he revved the engine.
“Fantastic! You just saved my whole night.”
“It was no big deal,” Thomas replied.
“No, really! You saved my night and my day tomorrow, too, which I would have spent going from garage to garage, getting estimates. Right now, we’re going out to dinner with friends. Would you like to come along?”
Thomas hesitated. Jet lag was taking its toll, but Arthur insisted.
“Go have some fun with people your age,” Raymond urged. “I’ll take advantage of the quiet to think about how to fix your little blunder. But don’t come home too late. We have to be ready in the morning by nine. Suit and tie, freshly shaven, hair combed!”
Thomas was itching to tell his father he wasn’t ten years old anymore, but he decided to hold his tongue in front of Arthur.
Raymond turned toward the house and walked straight through the closed door.
Arthur opened the passenger door so Thomas could climb in.
“I have to pick up Lauren from the hospital, then we’ll go directly to the restaurant. You’ll like our friends. Paul was my business partner once upon a time, but he’s a writer now. And you might know his girlfriend—the English actress Mia Barrow. Plus, they just so happened to meet in Paris. Paul lived there for several years. You’ll have plenty to talk about.”
Raymond watched as the Saab started down Green Street, his face pressed to the window. Once the car was out of view, he made his way back to the Columbarium.
11
The table brought together longtime friends and a new guest.
Though the Californian accent is fairly neutral, the conversations jumped around so quickly that Thomas had a hard time following all of them. He didn’t mind, though; he was used to spending time with people whose languages he didn’t speak. For the sake of appearances, he smiled every now and again, nodded, or opened his eyes wide with interest.
