Free The Sunset Gang by Warren Adler

boring."
    The implication was clear and he did not pursue it. It
occurred to him then why he could not frame the central question, the fulcrum
on which both ends of the presumed advice might teeter. They simply had never
transmitted meaningful things between them through words. What could he say?
Hey, Pop, Janice is going to kill your grandchild on Friday. Or: I knocked up
this girl, but don't worry, there'll be no fallout on me.
    "Let me ask you a question, Pop," he finally
said, stopping and digging the toe of his shoe in the carpet of trimmed grass.
"You worry a lot about me?"
    "Do I worry about you?" The older man smiled.
    "Why do you always answer a question with a
question?"
    "Why not?"
    "Seriously, Pop." Perhaps his father had expected
a smile and a chuckle, but he knew his face appeared anxious and that his
father saw it.
    "What else have I got to worry about?"
    "A question again?" He paused. "Now you've
got me doing it."
    "I worry about you, Harold. I also worry about my
health. You see such terrible things here. I worry about being alone. I worry
about your Mama, wherever she is, she should only be happy. But, most of all, I
worry about you."
    "Why?" It was, he knew, the central question,
boiled down into a single word and he knew before it had come what the answer
would be.
    "Because you're my child."
    They resumed their walk in silence, passing a group of
chunky women sitting on a bench, their legs crossed at the ankles.
    "The yentas are inspecting," the older man said.
"You should wear a sign saying this is the son of Morris Weintraub."
    "But that would take the fun out of it."
    "Who cares?" the older man said. Beads of sweat
had formed on his upper lip. "Let's go back."
    As they walked, Harold pondered why he had come, why the
idea of Janice's abortion had shook him up. Why? That had been, in the end, the
question. And he had received the answer. He felt the elation of resolution. It
was as if his soul had been let out of its cage. The sky had cleared; the sun,
brightening and relentless, washed over them. He felt a burning on the back of
his neck.
    In the apartment, his father cleared the coffee cups and
put them in the sink.
    "Ida is very neat."
    He remembered his mother, a blowzy woman, who always seemed
to wear clothes that were stained. The dishes were always chipped, the
silverware mismatched. She had been an abominable housekeeper although neither
he nor his father had noticed it then. He reached for his jacket and threw it
over his arm. His father was agitated by the sudden movement.
    "So soon?"
    "I told you I wast just passing through. I wanted to
see you is all."
    The older man wiped his hands on his pants and came toward
the son, who reached down and kissed his cheek, feeling the bristles against
his lips. The father gripped his son's forearm and squeezed it.
    "You're okay, Pop," Harold said. He felt his eyes
moisten again.
    "Be a good boy, Harold."
    He started for the door and turned.
    "And give Ida my love. If she's okay by you, she's
okay by me."
    "And next time, bring your girl friend. Let's really
give the yentas a megillah."
    In the car he felt lightheaded, joyous, and drove over the
slow-down bumps too swiftly. His head bounced against the car roof and he
laughed at himself and let out an Indian yell. No way they're goin' to do in my
kid, he assured himself, trying to frame the way he would put it to Janice:
Let's make it all legal, babe. Do the happy-ever-after bit. Jesus, he thought
what a lousy way to put it.
    On the way home, he treated himself to a first-class ticket
and let the stewardess splash away with the champagne until he felt the warm
inner glow that he imagined enhanced his feeling of celebration. He munched
ravenously on the filet mignon.
    "More champagne?" the stewardess asked.
    "Why shouldn't I?" he said, and giggled.
Questions with questions. The stewardess smiled, exuding plastic joy.
    It was already dark and the champagne buzz had dissipated
as he reached their East Side