The Swinger by Michael Bamberger

Author:Michael Bamberger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

Belinda decided to come home. For some reason, she called me first.

“Enough is enough,” she said. “He needs his wife. Tell him I am returning.”

I asked if she thought she should tell him herself.

“No, I will know what to say when I see him. It is his birthday. I want to wish him happy birthday.”

I knew it was his birthday. Tree said he’d fire anybody who mentioned it, including his father. The only thing he said he wanted to do for his thirtieth was hit balls alone at night, on the sod farm, by the light of his high beams, the exact way he spent the night of his eighteenth birthday. I was relieved to hear him say he wanted to do something involving a golf club.

On the Sports Animal, an announcer said, “Celebrating birthdays on this twenty-fourth day of July are Zelda Fitzgerald, wife of author F. Scott, who did a lot of drinking at the Don Cesar bar; Jennifer Lopez and her fabulous booty; disgraced slugger Barry Bonds, who hit nine tainted home runs in the Sunshine State; and the even more disgraced golfer, our own Tree Tremont, who turns thirty. Happy birthday, Tree.”

Tree was convinced Belinda would not return to the house on his birthday or any time soon. “Her lawyers will never let her,” he said. But around three P.M. the walkie-talkie from the security team crackled: “Mrs. Tremont and the children have arrived. Permission requested to grant entrance?”

Tree froze at the news. Big Herb snatched the walkie-talkie from the coffee table, pressed a button, and said, “Permission granted.” He patted Tree gently on the back. “Go on, Bo. Open the door. Let ’em back in.”

The twins bolted from the car with squeals of “Daddy!” They grabbed his legs, and Tree bent over so they couldn’t see him sobbing. Rocco raised a hand to his father’s cheek and said, “Daddy’s got a beard!” Isabella reached for it and said, “It’s Rip Van Winkle!”

Tree gave them gentle noogies through their soft hair. They giggled, squirmed away, and ran to their grandfather. Tree stood to face Belinda. When he began to say something, she pressed two perfectly manicured fingers to his lips.

“For better or for worse,” she said. “That is what I told the priest, so I am here. I would never let you be away from your family on your birthday.”

She looked ravishing. The matronly role of holding the family together suited her.

Belinda turned to Finkelman and me and said, “Thank you for watching over my Tree. Now we need some alone time. Go home. I’m sure your families miss you. Bring them tonight at eight for a birthday supper. We all need some wine and some laughs, no?”

• • •

Leaving Tree House on Tree’s birthday, I drove at exactly the speed limit, used my turn signal, wore my seat belt, talked on a hands-free phone. I could not afford to get pulled over for anything. I arrived at Lily’s apartment and told her about the birthday invitation.

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