A Changed Man by Francine Prose Read Free Book Online Page A

blessing in this five-year-old van, the heat, the traffic. Meyer walks home from work.
    Well, one blessing of being stuck on the road is that it’s delaying the moment when Bonnie has to introduce her kids to their new roommate. Another is that Vincent’s presence forces Bonnie to maintain some dignity instead of pounding the steering wheel and moaning, as she might if she were alone. Vincent might know what to do if the blinking dashboard light turns out to be serious. He’s a guy. He works in a tire shop.
    Which would mean that her life was some cornball O. Henry short story scripted by Meyer. Our heroine does the right thing, her car breaks down, and—surprise!—the homeless skinhead is on board to help.
    Vincent says, “I really appreciate your giving me a place to crash—”
    “You should thank Meyer,” says Bonnie. “Not me.” That’s not what she meant to say. This wasn’t my idea. The boss made me do it. But isn’t that partly true? She’d begged Meyer to let her call a hotel and book Vincent a room. Meyer was sure that Vincent would be gone before morning. Bonnie reminded Meyer: She’s divorced. She lives in the suburbs with two teenage sons. Did he think a Nazi houseguest was really a good idea?
    Meyer said, “What do I know? I’m just someone whose life was saved by men and women who acted without asking themselves if it was a good idea.”
    “It’s not the same,” Bonnie pointed out. “Hiding you was the opposite of hiding a neo-Nazi.” It had only been a few minutes since Meyer said that to Vincent.
    “A former Nazi.” Meyer waved his hand. “A human being asking for help.” Once more Meyer had made Bonnie see that she was being narrow and small-minded, caring only for her soft bed, her house, her kids, her privacy, when, if Meyer’s instinct about Vincent turned out to be true, the good he could do might outweigh all that put together. Here was a person who could talk to—who could reach —the kind of bigots that the Anti-Defamation League and the Southern Poverty Law Center can only monitor from afar. And what if Vincent doesn’t pan out? He doesn’t have to make converts. All he has to do is scare one middle-school kid out of turning into him.
    “He’s quite a guy,” says Vincent. “That thing he did with the tattoos blew me away.”
    “Me, too,” says Bonnie. “Wasn’t that incredible?” So it’s not just their concern for the rain forest that she and her new friend have in common. They shared an experience back in the office.
    Bonnie had been deeply moved. Meyer’s thin arm, Vincent’s muscular one, the difference in their ages, their colors. Every human body born into this world as a blank slate on which a life will be inscribed. Another vision she would never have had if not for Meyer Maslow.
    But the really incredible part, the part that gives her the chills, started an hour or so before Meyer and Vincent got around to comparing tattoos.
    Bonnie’s day had begun with a string of disturbing phone calls; first the PR firm, then the events planner, then the accountant, all wanting to discuss the disappointing ticket sales for the Brotherhood Watch Annual Gala Benefit Dinner coming up in June. Nobody knew what the problem was. The economy? Everyone holding tight to see what happens with the estate tax? Their inability, so far, to find a big-draw celebrity speaker? The Middle East? That disastrous interview in which Meyer told the Times reporter that the Palestinians and the Israelis could both do more toward practicing forgiveness without forgetting? She’d thought enough time had lapsed since the article ran, but maybe she’d been wrong.
    Everyone wanted Bonnie to know what she already knew: they’re looking at the Temple of Dendur, the most popular party venue at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, rented for the evening with half the tables unsold, which will translate not only into a major morale problem but a black hole in the annual budget. She’d waited to