“You’re the best,” Ray said.

“Wait, w-what?” Bunny stammered.

“It’s a simple surgery. In, out, bing, bang,” he said. I noticed there was something wrong with his speech, some thickness to his consonants that I assumed was from the head bandage or the drugs.

“What surgery?”

“Just a little stuff,” he said.

As I examined him more closely, I began to understand that his eyelids were scored with crescents of black stitches in their swollen folds. I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand. “He’s had his eyes done!”

“It was a forehead lift,” Ray said, “but it really only makes sense to do the eyes at the same time.”

Bunny, beside me on the sofa, got up into a half crouch and was shaking with rage. Everything she said came out in a half yell. “You got plastic surgery? We’re about to lose our house and you got plastic surgery? What is wrong with you? And who is that girl? Is she the hostess from La Trattoria? Because she looks like the hostess from La Trattoria!”

La Trattoria was the fanciest Italian restaurant in town.

“Charity is a friend,” Ray said. “Who was kind enough to drive me to the doctor.”

He said this as though Bunny had failed to be kind enough to drive him to the doctor. She sputtered for a moment, then cried, “I mean, how much did this even cost?”

“It’s fine,” Ray said. I was beginning to understand what was wrong with his lips as well. He’d had them pumped full of collagen.

“Really, because I found a bunch of letters from the IRS saying they are going to take the house, and it doesn’t seem like it’s fine!”

“My lawyers are on it. Don’t worry. I’m sorry you were scared, but really everything is fine, Bunny Rabbit!” He looked at her through his squinty swollen eyes. Bunny was frozen on the couch, trying to decide whether or not to believe him. “You know me, Bunny. You know I’m the king of this kind of stuff.”

“Then why haven’t you paid them?”

“Because I don’t owe that money! The only way you can contest disagreements is by refusing to pay—if I pay but then say I didn’t owe that, I’ll never see the money again. They nickel-and-dime you every step of the way, you have to fight to get a fair shake!”

Bunny visibly softened, and I was astonished his pants didn’t burst into flame. I felt sick as I watched, even though, or perhaps because, I understood. She wanted everything he said to be true so badly that she would ignore all evidence to the contrary. “Jesus, Daddy,” she said, “you should tell me about these things!”

“I didn’t want to worry you with a bunch of bullshit.”

“And this surgery? Why would you have plastic surgery?”

“It’s an investment,” he said. “For the business. You have to look young, look good, you know, plus with the forehead lift, it’s interesting, they basically cut away a strip of your forehead at the hairline, so it hides that you’re balding. It’s like a two for one!”

“But couldn’t you have told me you were getting it?” she asked.

“Honestly, I didn’t understand it would be this big a deal. I mean, look at me. I look like shit! I thought I could turn in early and you’d never notice. Wear some makeup, what’s it called, concealer, for a couple days!” He smiled, shook his head to show what an idiot he’d been about it.

“You do look really horrible,” she said.

“I look like they messed up a Raggedy Ann doll!” he said, and they both laughed. “Let’s order a pizza!”

And they ordered a pizza. And I stayed, and I ate it with them. Somehow, the night was weirdly fun. Pizza grease and red wine got on the IRS letters. Ray convinced us that he could have just one glass of red wine with his pills, and Bunny said we should get to have a glass if he did, and for some reason I drank it with them. I held the glass in my hand, and I couldn’t believe I would really drink it, because not crossing this line had been a deep part of my self-identity. I took a sip. It tasted exactly like it smelled. I was ready for a whole new world. I was ready to be a different person. A terrible person.

After the first glass, I understood why every, or almost every, adult I knew did this. I felt amazing. My body was like rippling water, full of energy, nothing hurt, and everything was funny, even me, especially me. I couldn’t stop the things that came out of my mouth, and at one point I made Ray laugh so hard his eyelid suture tore a little and he started bleeding.

“Stop,” he moaned, holding a Domino’s napkin to his bleeding eyelid. “Stop!”

“Mr. Lampert,” I said, holding out an imaginary microphone, “why did you feel the need to do this terrible thing to your face?”

“I don’t know,” he gasped, still dabbing at his eyes.

“Was it a fear of death?”

“Eh, death. I mean—I don’t love the idea of dying, but no, I don’t think it was death.”

“Then was it fear you would no longer be able to attract the pussy?”

“Jesus!”

“Answer the question, sir.”

Bunny was clapping, laughing, delighted with this game.

“Honestly, yes. I mean, it was terrible. I mentioned to Charity about maybe getting work done, and I’m expecting her to say, no, no, you don’t need it, but right away she chimes in with ‘That’s a great idea!’ ”

“Do you love Charity?”

“No, but she’s a freak in bed,” he said.

“Well, you know what they say about a woman who’ll eat ass—don’t marry her, but keep her in your phone.”

Ray laughed at this like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. “You are too much, Michael,” he said.

“Next question, marriage equality: Were you for or against?”

“For!” he cried.

“Hallelloo, hunty!” I said.

“Gay people should be able to do whatever they want. Except maybe teach little kids.”

“Wh-what, now?” I said.

“Well, I don’t know, I just—teaching preschool or something. Or even elementary school teachers. That doesn’t seem right to me.”

Bunny’s mouth was literally hanging open and her eyes were bulging out of her head. She couldn’t believe her dad was saying this. But I could.

“Yeah, you think gay teachers can turn little kids gay? How do they do it? Pheromones, or like pixie dust, or do you actually think that we’re all pederasts who want to fuck little boys?” I was still pretending to speak into the imaginary microphone for some reason.