Page 17 of Meant to Be

Filled with my usual mixed feelings, I took a sip of my beer. On the one hand, I wanted to make her happy. On the other hand, I wanted to makemyselfhappy. It was frustrating that both things didn’t seem possible at once, and I went out on a limb and told her as much.

“Of course I want you to be happy, Joseph,” she said, as if it were a complete given.

I stared at her, thinking of what had happened my sophomore year when I caught the acting bug and landed the starring role inThe Tempest. My mother had come to see me on opening night, praising my performance and going on and on about how I’d become a real Renaissance man like my father, rounding out my sportier side. But when I raised the idea of pursuing theater as a major, maybe even a career, she quickly shut it down. In no uncertain terms, she informed me that acting was not a suitable profession for a Kingsley man.

“Well, acting made me happy,” I said on the porch that day, unable to resist the comment.

“Joseph, please,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. “You aren’t considering that again, are you?”

I shook my head—because I wasn’t. I also had to admit to myself, with hindsight, that my theater days probably had less to do with a passion for acting and more to do with Olivia Healey, who had played Miranda alongside me.

My mother blinked, then said, “So whatareyou thinking?”

“Well, we know medical school is out,” I said.

“Because of your grades?”

“Yes,” I said. “And also because I don’t want to be a doctor.”

“Right,” she said. “And you don’t care for math….”

“Correct. So no career in finance or engineering for me.”

My mother nodded. “So what does that leave?”

I looked at her, thinking that it left a whole lot of shit, but I knew what she was getting at, and what she wanted me to say. I also knew that it lined up with what my grandmother wanted for me, albeit for different reasons, so I played along, humoring her.

“I could always go to law school,” I said, running my thumb along the condensation on the side of my beer can.

My mother sat up straighter, her whole face coming to life, as if the thought had never occurred to her—and it wasn’t the automatic default of privileged kids across America. “That’s a great idea!” she said. “Shall I get you an LSAT tutor?”

“Sure, Mom,” I said. “That’d be super.”

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And so Iwent along on my path of least resistance, studying for the LSAT, then taking the exam, getting a mediocre score to go along with my mediocre grades. I think my mother realized that even with the Kingsley name, I didn’t have the credentials for Harvard, Yale, or Columbia, but when I squeaked my way into NYU, she was happy enough. Meanwhile, I was pretty happy, too, if only because I was returning to Manhattan. Four years in Cambridge had been a pleasant diversion, but I missed the action and nightlife of the best city in the world.

After graduation, Margaret and I broke up, both reluctantly and on good terms. The decision had more to do with distance and logistics, as she had joined the Peace Corps and was going to teach English in Malawi. In other words, my mother couldn’t blame me for once.

For the next few years, I played the field, much to the delight of the tabloid press. There were a few law school girlfriends alongthe way, but none of them measured up to Margaret in my mother’s eyes—or mine for that matter—so I migrated to the other extreme, hanging out with a bevy of actress and model types, most notably Phoebe Mills. Other than going on a couple of dates with Brooke Shields during college (a buddy of mine at Harvard knew her roommate at Princeton), I’d never been with a woman famous in her own right. My mother preferred the terminfamouswhen it came to Phoebe and highly disapproved of her most recent film with Michael Douglas, in which she’d appeared topless.

Phoebe’s most controversial moment, however, was her drunken appearance on David Letterman, in which she talked about our relationship in unfiltered terms, suggesting that I was good in bed. It didn’t help that she also had a wardrobe malfunction during the segment, which Dave milked for all it was worth. My mother was appalled with the entire spectacle. Berry piled on, calling her trashy and phony and accusing her of using me to amplify her celebrity. I defended her on the margins, pointing out that Berry’s pretentious banker boyfriend was a bigger phony than Phoebe. Besides, I said, Phoebe had plenty of her own press and didn’t need me for added exposure.

Over time, though, I had to admit that itwaspretty suspect the way the paparazzi always seemed to know exactly where Phoebe and I would be, at times showing up before we even got there. It was also true that drama followed her everywhere. It became exhausting. To my mother’s relief, I finally ended things.

Shortly after that breakup, I graduated from law school (with a 2.9!) and Margaret returned from Africa, taking a teaching job in Brooklyn. That summer, and much to my mother’s delight, we began to spend time together again, agreeing to take things slowly as I focused on studying for the bar. That was the plan anyway, but more often, I did other stuff. Like going to Yankees games. And playing poker. And surfing and sailing. And rollerblading inthe park. And going to nightclubs where I metmoremodels and actresses and enjoyed an occasional one-night stand, all within the rules of our current relationship status.

The predictable result, of course, was that I failed the bar.Twice.The tabloid headlines were brutal—the worst they’d ever been.The Hunk FlunksandTwo-Time Loser. My mother was mortified, and I was pretty embarrassed, too, though I played it off, cracking jokes about three times being the charm.

Thank goodness itwas,and in a Hail Mary, I finally passed. From there, I was sworn in to the New York bar and took a job as an assistant district attorney in Manhattan. I was only going to be making forty thousand dollars a year, but my mother and grandmother were pleased, likely because everyone knows that the DA’s office is a great path to running for public office. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the idea but figured I could cross that bridge later. In the meantime, I basked in their approval, however fleeting it might be.

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