Dustin thought about the Hot Pocket situation. His own mother would notice, but that’s because she was obsessed with having a spotless kitchen and would have found the forgotten Hot Pockets immediately. She also wasn’t the type of mom to get head from men with back tattoos. These were key differences. “No way your mom saw them. Don’t you guys have a cook? A chef, or whatever you rich people call your staff?”

Steven stared at Dustin in awe. “Duuuuuuuude. Why didn’t I think of that? I could have asked Marta last week and then I wouldn’t be brickin’ it nonstop. This is why I’m friends with you, you smart son of a … really nice lady.”

“I got you man,” Dustin said. “And besides, even if your mom did find out you knew, she’s not gonna ever bring it up.” The relief was now apparent in Steven’s face and Dustin was pleased that he could be somewhat helpful.

“One problem down, one to go,” Steven said. “How do I un-remember this shit? It’s like burned into my brain.”

“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” Dustin said.

“The what of the what now?”

“It’s this Charlie Kaufman movie with Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet and there’s this company that can erase your memories if you really want to forget something.”

“Holy shit,” Steven said. “That’s not a documentary, is it? Can they do that?”

“Please, if they did I’d have already been there,” Dustin said. “You’ll just have to forget the old-fashioned way. Booze and drugs, or GoT for the third time in my case.”

Steven laughed. “You’re a good friend, Dustin,” he said, clapping his hands on his friend’s shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. “Thank you. I feel better.”

“Better enough to do homework?” Dustin asked.

“Nah, but better enough to play a three-way FIFA tournament with your bro?”

“Let’s do it,” Dustin said. It was obvious his friend was in no condition to study, and Dustin was nervous about his mom-brother reunion dinner so he was all in for the distraction, plus he knew Steven would still pay him for the tutoring.

When the two friends walked into the hallway, the smell of Hot Pockets wafted from the kitchen but neither one of them said a word about it.

XIX

Every weekend, all over the country, teenagers are having house parties.

But what is typical for 99 percent of teens was quite different from a Beatrice D. shindig. Her parties started out as ragers and always went well into the wee hours of the morning. The cops were never called, the reason being that her favorite house-party location was a fifteen-thousand-square-foot country home on sixty acres, just over the New York border. It was probably misleading to call it a house party, but an estate party didn’t exactly have the same ring to it.