Episode 23.3

-AND? What have they said? Is it all over? —Charlie machine-gunned me the moment he entered his room.

"Guess what," he replied.

Charlie nods as he sits up in bed and adjusts the bandage covering the wound on his shoulder. He knew what would happen. If they didn't fire us they would have been real idiots.

"They didn't say anything about me?" - He asks.

He dropped at the foot of the bed

toys he had on his desk on his infant comforter.

"They wanted to make you a partner in the bank, but only if they could keep your Silly Putty. Naturally I told them that this was non-negotiable, but I think we can fight back with some Matchbox cars. The good ones, of course, not that bullshit stuff.

As he finished the sentence, he looks completely taken aback. He expected that result. But not my reaction.

'It's not a joke, Ollie. What will we do now? Mom can't keep two apartments.

-Totally agree. I leave the room and return two seconds later dragging a huge military green canvas duffel bag. With a grunt, I lift him up onto the bed, letting him bounce next to him. That is the reason why we have narrowed them down to one. Charlie unzips it and looks at my clothes, neatly folded inside the bag.

"So you've really done it?" Are you really living here again? "I hope so, I just spent twenty-three bucks on my last race."

Cab. Those things will cost you a fortune. Narrowing his eyes, Charlie watches me intently.

"Okay, how does the joke end?" -I do not know what you're talking about. "No, no, no," he insists. No play that game on me, Monty. I was there when you found that apartment and moved in. I remember how proud you were that day. In college, all your friends lived in the dorms, and you had to live at home and catch the train every day. But once you graduated…once you signed that lease and took your first step down the yellow brick road to success…I know what it meant to you, Ollie. So now that you're moving back home, don't tell me you're not broken. -But I am not.

"But you're not," he repeats, still studying my expression. It may be a temporary move, but it's a good one.

"Do you think this room can still sleep two?" I ask, pointing to the speaker pyramid where my old bed was.

"Two is fine…I'm glad it's not three," he says suspiciously.

"And what exactly does that mean?"

"Well, your girlfriend Beth called a while ago. She said your phone was disconnected.

-AND...

"And she wants to talk to you." She said that you have broken up.

This time she didn't answer.

"Who broke up with who?" Charlie asks.

-Does it matter?

"Actually, yes," she says, touching the thin, still-undisturbed scab on his neck.

"Since when are you so creepy?"

"Just answer the question, Ollie.

He won't say, but it's clear what my brother is looking for. Life is always a test.

"If he makes you feel better, I was the one who broke up with her...

"Thank you, Lord, I am cured...!" Charlie yells, raising his shoulder. My arm... works! My heart beats!

I put my eye white.

"Mmmmm, honey, can I sing a hallelujah?"

"Yeah, yeah, she'll miss you too," I say. Now how about you help me put away the rest of my things?

Charlie looks down and puts her hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, my arm…I can't breathe.

"Come on, phony, he's moving his ass off the bed." The doctors say you're fine now. I pull back the covers and find that Charlie is wearing jeans and socks. You're really depressing, you know that? -say.

"No, it would be depressing if I had my slippers on."

He jumps out of bed, follows me into the living room, and sees my other duffel bag, two huge boxes, and some milk cartons full of CDs, videos, and old photos. That's all I have left. The only piece of furniture is the one I brought in last night: my chest of drawers from when I moved into the apartment. It belongs to this place.

"Where's your Calvin Klein bed?" Charlie asks.

"Mom said she keeps my old bed in the basement. I'm sure everything will work out.

-Good? He shakes his head, unable to accept it. Ollie, this is all stupid. I don't care how good an actor you are, I can hear the pain in your voice. If you want we can pawn one of my speakers. That will at least give you at least another month to...

"We'll be fine," he interrupted as I picked up the other duffel bag. I'm sure.

But if you don't have a job...

—Trust me, there are a lot of good ideas out there. It only takes one.

"What, are you going back to selling T-shirts?" You won't get a penny doing that.

He dropped the duffel again, rested his hand on his good shoulder, and looked directly into his eyes.

"One good idea, Charlie. And I will find her.

Charlie watches the way I'm rocking on my heels.

"Okay, so we're over College Ollie, and Banker Ollie, and the easily forgettable I'm Dying To Impress Ollie With His Mobile Soul. Who is this? Ollie the Businessman? The Gut with Initiative Ollie? Working at Foot Locker in an Ollie Month?

'What about the real Ollie?' -asked.

He likes that.

As I head to the dining room I can already feel the energy rumbling in my stomach.

"I tell you what, Charlie, now that I have time, there's nothing to...

He cut me off when he saw the open envelope on the edge of the table.

The sender says Coney Island Hospital. I know the billing cycle.

"Have they sent us another bill yet?" -asked.

"Sort of," Charlie says, trying to ignore it.

That's... something's happened. I'm going straight to get the envelope. When I get the bill, it's all the same. Total balance is still $81,000, month-end dues are still $420, and payment status is still "On Time." But at the top of the bill, instead of saying "Maggie," the name above our address now says "Charles Caruso."

"What is it...?" what have you done -asked.

"It's not hers," Charlie says. It shouldn't be his responsibility.

Standing in the center of the room, hands in the pockets of his jeans, there is a calm in his voice that he hasn't heard in years. That said, talking about hospital bills is easily one of the most thoughtless, unnecessary, and inopportune things my brother has ever done. That's why I tell you the truth.

"Good for you, Charlie.

-Good for you? That's all? You're not going to subject me to the third degree to give you all the details: Why did I make the switch? How will this end? How will I be able to deal with the payments?

I shake my head.

"Mom has already explained to me about the job."

"Did Mom explain it to you?" What has she told you?

"What's there to say?" It is an illustration work at Behnke Editorial. Ten hours a day drawing pictures for a line of technical manuals, as boring as watching shoe polish dry, but they pay sixteen bucks an hour. Like I told you, good for...

Before I can finish my sentence, the apartment door slams shut behind us.

"I see some very handsome boys!" Mom says when we both turn. She is carrying two brown bags with groceries; she holds them in a double wrestling lock. Charlie runs to get one bag and I do the same with the other. The instant she is freed from the weight, his smile widens and his thick arms close around our necks.

"Mom, be careful with my points...

Charlie says.

She lets go of him and looks into her eyes. "You say no to a hug from your mother?"

Knowing that it's useless to argue, Charlie lets me kiss him on the cheek. "Charlie told me that she hates your hugs," I say. She has told me that she hopes you will never hug her again in her entire life.

"Don't start…you're next," she warns me. She kisses me and effortlessly removes her heavy coat. Seeing the boxes and the bag on the floor, she can't help herself. Oh, my boys are home," she exclaims, following us into the kitchen.

Charlie begins to sort the groceries in the cabinets. I keep my eyes fixed on the Charlie Brown cookie jar. I'm already biting the inside of my lip. For almost five years it has been my most regular habit. I'm dying to open it. But for once, I don't.

Charlie watches me closely. "Okay," he tells me with a look.

"We all need a day off. Including you."

"And guess who I have a gift for?" Mom asks, catching my attention. From one of the shopping bags she pulls out a blue plastic bag. I've seen it in the thread shop and I couldn't resist...

"Mom, I told you not to buy me anything," she complained.

But she doesn't care; she is too excited. She reaches into the bag and pulls out a needlepoint embroidered canvas and holds it up in the air. In red, stenciled letters it reads: "Flower where you have been planted."

-How about? Mom asks. It's just a little housewarming gift. I can put it in a frame or on a cushion, whatever you want.

Like most mom embroideries, the slogan is overly sentimental.

"I love it," I say.

"Me too," Charlie agrees. He takes out his notebook and writes at full speed. "Flower where you have been planted." As he plays the words, she looks good with a pen in her hands.

"By the way, I saw Randy Boxer's mom at the thread shop," my mom adds, turning to Charlie. She was so happy you called her...you made her day.

"Randy Baxter's mother?" - asked-. What have you called her for?

"She was actually trying to get Randy's phone number," Charlie explains to me, like it's something that happens every day.

-Really? —She asked, noticing the speed of her response. But she is not fooling anyone. She hasn't seen Randy in at least four years. What is this sudden high school reunion about?

She goes back to ordering the groceries without answering my question.

"Not yet," she explains without looking at me. Not until everything is in place.

"Charlie..."

She thinks it over again. Whatever it is, she makes him nervous. But after a lifetime of telling me to eat my dandelions, he knows it's time for him to take his first bite.

"We were…we were thinking maybe we could start a little band…"

I can barely contain myself.

"A band, huh?" I ask with a grin from ear to ear.

"Nothing major, you know, just something garish but tasteful. We think we can meet

after work... start at Richie Rubin's club in New Brunswick... then maybe work our way into the city.

"No, that sounds great," I say, trying to keep the conversation casual. Of course, you will have to look for a name.

"Please... how do you think we spent our first three hours of rehearsal?"

—So you already have a name for the band?

"Come on man, do we look like newbies?" Performing at Shea Stadium early next summer, ladies and gentlemen... please, I want you to give a warm welcome to... The millionaires!

I start laughing. Mom too.

"Are you really planning to use that name?" -asked.

"Hey, if I'm going to have to be fighting to clear tall buildings in one jump, I might as well wear a nice cloak. Start low, aim high.

—That is very Power of Positive Thought of you.

—Well, I'm a very Power of Positive Thinking guy. Ask anyone. Besides, who wants to see a band called Pluto's severed head? If we do, we lose the entire children's market.

Mom is in the sink. She opens the faucets and washes her hands. She wears bandages on four of her fingers. Behind her, I see Charlie staring at Charlie Brown's boat. The paint on his nose has peeled off. She reaches out and strokes the round ceramic ears.

"Now it doesn't seem as big as it used to," Charlie whispers in my direction. No matter how many drawings he has to do, this sucker will be empty within a year.

"So you're ready?" Mom interrupts, looking at Charlie.

-Sorry? he asks. At first, she takes it as just another typical mom question. But when she takes in the look on her face, we both know it's not a question. "So you're ready." It is an affirmation.

"Yeah," Charlie says. I think so.

"Can I come see the rehearsal?" Mom adds.

"Forget looking, we need star power like you on stage. What do you say, mom, are you ready to play a tambourine?

We'll do the first aptitude tests tomorrow night.

"Oh, I can't tomorrow night," she says. I have an appointment.

-An appointment? With who?

"Who do you think, man?"

I move forward, placing myself between

both, and slip the hug around Mom's waist.

"Do you think you're the only one who knows how to dance the cha-cha-cha?" Dance lessons wait for no man. Come on, mom: and one, and two, now the right foot first...

I spin my mother around and her bulky body hits the metal stove. I laugh and sway to my imaginary rhythm.

"Who taught you to move in such a pathetically clumsy way?" Charlie jokes. You dance like a fifty-year-old guy in a conga line at a neighborhood wedding.

He is right. But I dont care.

After years of having worked my ass off at the most prestigious private bank in the country, I —right now— have no job, no income, no savings, no girlfriend, no visible future, and no safety net to can save me if I fall off the trapeze. But as I walk my mother around the kitchen of our apartment and watch her gray hair blow through the air, I finally know where I'm going and who I want to be. And when my brother takes position for the next dance, he does too.

—And one, and two... now right foot first...

With a slight twist of the oval Victorian brass knob, Henry Lapidus strode into his office, closed the door behind him, and went to his desk. He picked up the phone receiver and glanced at the Red Sheet on his desk, but didn't bother to open it. It was a lesson he had learned many years ago; Like a magician who protects the tricks from him, you should not put all the numbers on the sheet, especially those you know by heart.

As he dialed the number and waited for someone to answer the call, he glanced at the recommendation letter he had written for Oliver that he still held in his left hand.

"Hello, I'd like to speak to Mr. Ryan Isaac, please." I'm one of the clients of the private group," he explained.

Lapidus couldn't help but find the situation amusing. Yes, his priority had always been to get the money back. In fact, he had been the one who had personally called the bank in Antigua to make sure they returned every penny. It had certainly been the right thing to do.

But that didn't mean he had to tell them about the Antiguan bank robbery, or the Duckworth worm, or the fact that the money wasn't real.

"Mr. Isaac, it's me," Lapidus said the moment Isaac came on the phone. He just wanted to make sure everything got there smoothly.

"That's right," Isaac replied. It has arrived this morning.

Three weeks ago, the Antigua bank was surprised to receive a deposit of three hundred and thirteen million

Dollars. For four days, that money remained deposited in one of the largest individual accounts in the world. For four days he had more cash than he had ever seen. And for four days, in Lapidus's opinion, Oliver had done at least one thing right. It was one of the first lessons Lapidus had taught him: Never open an account unless you earn interest. Lapidus nodded to himself, thoroughly enjoying the moment.

Four days of interest. Three hundred and thirteen million dollars.

"One hundred thirty-seven thousand dollars."

Isaac clarified from the other end of the line. Do you want me to deposit the money in your regular account?

"That would be perfect," Lapidus replied as he swiveled in his chair and gazed at the New York sky line through the wide office window.

He hung up the receiver and knew that once the principal had been paid back, the government would be too busy tracking the worm and trying to figure out how it had worked. And now that they were up to their eyebrows in it, well…thanks to a timely payment to the bank manager in Antigua, all records of the interest were long gone. As if they never existed.

Still looking at the skyline of the city, Lapidus balled up Oliver's letter of recommendation and tossed it into the eighteenth-century Chinese porcelain vase he used as a garbage can. One hundred thirty-seven thousand dollars, he thought to himself as he leaned back in his comfortable leather chair. Not bad for a day's work.

As he gazed into the early afternoon shadows, a ray of sunlight reflected off the Kamakura samurai helmet that he hung on the wall behind him. Lapidus did not see it. If he had noticed, he would have seen the flicker of light just below the brow of the helmet, where a silver object peeked into the office. To the untrained eye it was simply a nail holding the mask in place... or the tip of a very fine silver feather. But nothing else.

Except for the occasional glimmer of twilight, the tiny video camera was well hidden. And wherever Joey was at that moment, he was sure to be smiling.