Too Much and Never Enough, стр. 36
“I have no idea. Something that goes with these, I guess,” I said, holding up the box of crackers.
“Probably caviar,” he said, laughing. I shrugged, having no idea what caviar was.
I grabbed the basket handle and walked toward the pile of presents I’d stacked next to the stairs. I passed Ivana and my grandmother on the way, lifted the basket, said, “Thanks, Ivana,” and put it on the floor.
“Is that yours?”
At first I thought she was talking about the gift basket, but she was referring to the copy of Omni magazine that was sitting on top of the stack of gifts I’d already opened. Omni, a magazine of science and science fiction that had launched in October of that year, was my new obsession. I had just picked up the December issue and brought it with me to the House in the hope that between shrimp cocktail and dinner I’d have a chance to finish reading it.
“Oh, yeah.”
“Bob, the publisher, is a friend of mine.”
“No way! I love this magazine.”
“I’ll introduce you. You’ll come into the city and meet him.”
It wasn’t quite as seismic as being told I was going to meet Isaac Asimov, but it was pretty close. “Wow. Thanks.”
I filled a plate and went upstairs to my dad’s room, where he’d been all day, too sick to join us. He was sitting up, listening to his portable radio. I handed the plate to him, but he put it on the small bedside table, not interested. I told him about Ivana’s generous offer.
“Wait a second; who does she want to introduce you to?”
I would never forget the name. I’d looked at the magazine’s masthead right after speaking to Ivana, and there he was: Bob Guccione, Publisher.
“You’re going to meet the guy who publishes Penthouse?” Even at thirteen I knew what Penthouse was. There was no way we could be talking about the same person. Dad chuckled and said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” And all of a sudden, neither did I.
It was impossible to laugh about the presents my mother received. Why she was still expected to attend family holidays years after her divorce from my father was a mystery, but why she went was an even bigger mystery. Clearly, the Trumps didn’t want her there any more than she wanted to be there. Some of the presents they gave her were nice enough, but they always came from lesser stores than the gifts for Ivana and Robert’s wife, Blaine. Worse, many of them had clearly been regifted. A handbag she got from Ivana one year bore a luxury brand but contained a used Kleenex.
After dinner and the opening of presents, we split up—some of us went to the kitchen, some to the backyard, and the rest of us to the library, where I sat on the floor near the door with my legs crossed. From a distance I watched whatever Godzilla movie or football game Donald and Rob happened to have on. After a while, I noticed my mother wasn’t around. I didn’t worry at first, but when she didn’t return, I went to look for her. I checked the kitchen but found only my grandmother and aunts. I went out to the backyard, where my brother and David were throwing a football around. When I asked Fritz where she was, he said, “I have no idea,” clearly not interested. With time, I would know where to find her without needing to ask, but the first few times I felt panic.
Mom was in the dining room, sitting alone at the table. By then the sideboard had been cleared, and the only evidence of the meal was a few stray cloth napkins on the floor. I stood in the doorway, hoping she would notice me and that my presence would set her back into motion. I was afraid to say anything, not wanting to disturb her. While the clatter of dishes and talk about leftovers and ice cream cake filtered out from the kitchen, I approached the mahogany table in the fading afternoon light. The chandelier had been extinguished, but I wished it had been even darker so that I didn’t have to see my mother’s face, how stricken she looked.
Careful not to touch her, I sat in the chair next to her. There was no comfort I could give or take except in solidarity.
Eight months before the gift of underwear, Donald and Ivana were married at Marble Collegiate Church and held their reception at the 21 Club. Mom, Fritz, and I were relegated to the cousins’ table, and Dad wasn’t there. The lie the family told was that Dad had been asked to be Donald’s best man and his MC at the reception (a role Joey Bishop actually filled) but the family had decided he needed to stay in Florida in order to take care of Uncle Vic, Gam’s brother-in-law. The truth was, my grandfather simply didn’t want him at the wedding and he had been told not to come.
While Donald was cruising Manhattan looking for foreclosures, I was losing tens of thousands of dollars almost every week. On Fridays after school, I went to a friend’s house and we played our version of Monopoly: double houses and hotels, double the money. Our sessions were marathons spanning the entire weekend. One game could last anywhere from thirty minutes to several hours. The only constant in all of that gaming was my performance: I lost every single time I played.
In order to give me