“Looks like they’re moving in for the duration,” Clyde had said to me then, as we stood in the café watching them run cords around the dryers in the next room. He’d just given Benji the pie menu, which he was studying with such focus it was like he expected to be quizzed on it later.
“They didn’t say how long it would take,” I’d told him. “I think, though, they’ll talk to you as long as you’re willing.”
“Huh,” he said in response, cryptic as always.
“Seriously, though,” I said. “Thanks for doing this. You pretty much made Theo’s life when you agreed to it.”
“Theo?”
I leaned my head towards the dryers. “My friend, from the Big Club this morning. Ivy’s not, um, the easiest boss to impress.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “Right.”
“Razzleberry,” Benji had said, putting down the menu. “Although it was not an easy choice.”
“Good pick,” Clyde told him. “Made it fresh last night.”
As Clyde reached into the glass case behind him, I looked back at Theo, who was now adjusting a large light he’d set up behind a folding station. After a second, he glanced up and, seeing me, smiled. Behind him, Ivy, clad in black jeans and a black fitted T-shirt, was flipping through some notes on a clipboard. She looked at him, then at me, her eyes narrowing. I turned back around.
Now, I heard gravel crunching and looked up, expecting to see my father pulling into the lot. Instead, it was my dad. He parked beside my car, then opened the truck door and eased himself out with a familiar end-of-a-long-workday groan.
“Hey,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he replied. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the office?”
“Got an early reprieve.”
“Really.” I nodded. “From what I heard, sounds like you might have earned it, though.”
“Mom told you about Margo being on the warpath about the towel thing?” I shook my head. “I swear, you have no idea how hard she is to work for. Or even with. It’s craziness.”
“Margo?” he repeated.
“Yeah. Isn’t that what you meant?”
Before he could answer, Clyde stuck his head out the door of the Laundromat. “Rob,” he called out squinting at us. “Give me a sec and I’ll show you that ceiling.”
My dad nodded, waving at him, and Clyde disappeared back inside. Just beyond him, I could see Ivy and Theo huddled together. She was talking quickly, gesturing with one hand, while he just nodded. I saw my dad take them in, too, as well as the cords, lights, and equipment.
“They’re shooting a documentary,” I explained.
“Who is?”
I nodded at them. “My friend Theo and his boss, Ivy. It’s about Clyde. They just started interviewing him today.”
“They’re making a movie about Clyde?”
“And his art career. Did you know he was a big deal in New York at one time?”
He looked back inside. “I vaguely remember hearing something about it. Long time ago, though.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess it was.”
A car was pulling in behind us now, slowly navigating the small and somewhat crowded lot. Sure enough, it was the Subaru. When my father saw me, he lifted a hand in greeting.
“Is that Joel?” my dad asked.
“Yeah. I’ve been hanging out with Benji. He’s here to pick him up.”
There was a definite awkwardness, standing there with him as my father got out of the car and approached us. It was the same feeling I remembered from those childhood lunches at Shrimpboats, years ago, with me and my mom and dad on one side of a booth and my father, Leah, and Benji on the other. Us and Them, again.
“Robert,” my father said as he walked up. He stuck out his hand. “Good to see you.”
“You too,” my dad said, shaking it. “How’s Leah?”
“Good,” my father replied, then glanced at me. “What’d you do with your brother?”
“He’s eating pie inside.”
“Pie?” He glanced at his watch. “For dinner?”
Whoops. “It’s berry pie,” I said, like that made a difference.
“Sorry about that.” Clyde came walking up, joining the confab. “Your daughter got me into this documentary thing. Did she tell you?”
They both looked at him, then back at me. And here I thought this couldn’t get more awkward. “She did not,” my father said finally. “Is this the Ivy Mendelson project?”
Clyde, clearly confused, looked at my dad, who explained, “This is Joel. Emaline’s father. Joel, Clyde Conaway.”
“Oh,” Clyde said. “Sorry. I didn’t—”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “It’s kind of confusing, all of us together.”
“Clyde?” Ivy stuck her head out the door, squinting in the sunlight. “Can I get an idea of when you’ll be able to start up again? We’ve got quite a bit we’d like to cover.”
“Not too long. Gotta talk to a man about some drywall.” She looked confused, as if not sure if this was a euphemism for something. “Fifteen minutes.”
She nodded, not exactly looking pleased, and went back inside. Clyde said to me, “She’s really something, huh?”