February 2010
Because the station wagon blew up in the fire, Frank and I took the bus to the hospital When I told him we'd'get there in less than half the time in a taxi, Frank said, "I only ride in taxis with my mother. You are not my mother, Alice." This was a fact. Once the kid latched onto a fact there was no point in trying to talk him around to practicalities. "Fine," I said, "We'll take the bus." We hadn't been on the bus very long when Frank said, "People are staring at me."
No, what got people staring was Frank's look. Before we left the house that morning he'd shellacked his hair like a mini Rudolph Valentino, put on a wing-collared shirt, white tie and vest, a cutaway coat, morning pants, and spats.
