My adopted sister, Patty, and I were never close.” Mona likewise developed a deep affection for
him, and at times could be very protective, although she would later write an edgy novel about
him,
A Regular Guy
, that described his quirks with discomforting accuracy.
One of the few things they would argue about was her clothes. She
dressed like a struggling
novelist, and he would berate her for not wearing clothes that were “fetching enough.” At one
point his comments
so annoyed her that she wrote him a letter: “I am a young writer, and this is my life, and I’m not
trying to be a model anyway.” He didn’t answer. But shortly after, a box arrived from the store of
Issey Miyake, the Japanese fashion designer whose stark and technology-influenced style made
him one of Jobs’s favorites. “He’d gone shopping for me,” she later said, “and he’d
picked out
great things, exactly my size, in flattering colors.” There was one pantsuit that he had particularly
liked, and the shipment included three of them, all identical. “I still remember those first suits I
sent Mona,” he said. “They were linen pants and tops in a pale grayish green that looked beautiful
with her reddish hair.”
The Lost Father
In the meantime, Mona Simpson had been trying to track down their father, who had wandered off
when she was five. Through
Ken Auletta and Nick Pileggi, prominent Manhattan writers, she was
introduced to a retired New York cop who had formed his own detective agency. “I paid him what
little money I had,” Simpson recalled, but the search was unsuccessful. Then she met another
private eye in California, who was able to find an address for Abdulfattah Jandali in Sacramento
through a Department of Motor Vehicles search. Simpson told her brother
and flew out from New
York to see the man who was apparently their father.
Jobs had no interest in meeting him. “He didn’t treat me well,” he later explained. “I don’t hold
anything against him—I’m happy to be alive. But what bothers me most is that he didn’t treat
Mona well. He abandoned her.” Jobs himself had abandoned his own illegitimate daughter, Lisa,
and now was trying to restore their relationship, but that complexity did not soften his feelings
toward Jandali. Simpson went to Sacramento alone.
“It was very intense,” Simpson recalled. She found her father working in a small restaurant. He
seemed happy to see her, yet oddly passive about the entire situation. They talked for a few hours,
and
he recounted that, after he left Wisconsin, he had drifted away from teaching and gotten into
the restaurant business.
Jobs had asked Simpson not to mention him, so she didn’t. But at one point her father casually
remarked that he and her mother had had another baby, a boy, before she had been born. “What
happened to him?” she asked. He replied, “We’ll never see that baby again. That baby’s gone.”
Simpson recoiled but said nothing.
An even more astonishing revelation occurred when Jandali was describing the previous
restaurants that he had run. There had been some nice ones,
he insisted, fancier than the
Sacramento joint they were then sitting in. He told her, somewhat emotionally, that he wished she
could have seen him when he was managing a Mediterranean restaurant north of San Jose. “That
was a wonderful place,” he said. “All of the successful technology people used to come there.
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