21
During
the so-called daylight-saving part of the year, the time difference between
Hawaii and California is the same as between California and New York: three
hours. The standard time difference is only two hours. But on my trips to the
East Coast I always managed to internalize the difference in the course of the
flight and arrive at Newark or JFK like one living on Eastern time, with no jet
lag. This time, on the other hand, on the morning after my return from Hawaii I
was fast asleep when my phone rang. The clock read eight-ten and my immediate
thought was Im going miss the hike before I picked up the handset.
Hi,
Gary, its Libby. Welcome back!
Uh
Thanks! Hi, Libby.
Did
I wake you up?
Yes,
but thanks again. I needed waking up. Can I call you back?
Sure,
but listen to the news if you get a chance.
I
bounded out of bed, turned on the radio and quickly began to gather my hiking
clothes in order to put them on as quickly as possible. I had showered before
going to bed and the night had been cool cool even by San Francisco summer
standards, and a good twenty-five degrees cooler than the Kona nights so that
I felt no need to shower again.
Someone
was taking Daniel Schorrs place in reviewing the weeks news with Scott Simon.
I thought I heard a reference to Hurricane Katrina old news by this time, it
seemed to me when I realized that they were not saying Katrina but Rita,
and that that a hurricane by that name had made landfall during the night on
the Gulf Coast, this time including Texas in its path, and one of the places in
Louisiana that Rita had hit was Lake Charles, the home of Andys maternal
family.
I
immediately guessed what Libby had to tell me: Andy was back in Louisiana,
helping people in need, and this time probably his own kinfolk among them.
By
eight-thirty I was dressed, had eaten some rice cakes with dried fruit and
nuts, had brushed my teeth and was starting my drive toward the Golden Gate
Bridge. There was no delay on the bridge approaches, and I made it to Rock
Spring with time to spare. Before getting out of the car I called Libby.
So
Andys back in Louisiana, I said.
No,
hes in Houston, but you get the idea. She laughed. He helped a bunch of
people, including his family, evacuate from Lake Charles. How was Hawaii?
Wonderful.
I completely lost track of the news. I made a point of not getting an Internet
connection, and I never watched any news on television. Ill check my personal
e-mail tomorrow, and I wont bother with anything related to work until
Monday.
Good.
Id like to come in and see you Monday afternoon.
Itll
be great to see you. Have a good weekend!
Thanks.
Ill try, she said with a sigh and hung up. Did that sigh mean, I wondered,
that in the two weeks since her reunion with Andy she had become so attached to
him that having a good weekend without him would be an effort? And then, as I
was getting out of the car and walking to join the already-formed hiking group,
an ineluctable certainty began to form in my mind: Libby Schlemmer and Andy
Stone will be married.
I
looked for Rose in order to tell her my thought, but she was not there. The
group was relatively small on this Saturday, and all present greeted me like a
prodigal son, though I had missed only the previous hike. I was besieged with
questions about hiking on the Big Island, and I had to explain that, because I
had met a Japanese friend named Haruko, my hikes were little more than strolls.
Was he too old to hike? Ray Bedrosian asked.
Not
he, Robin James rejoined, Haruko is a womans name.
What
about her, then?
She
didnt bring any shoes for hiking, I said. Shes a refined city woman from
Kyoto, and her idea of a walk is a stroll on something called the Philosophers
Path.
Ive
been there, Robin said. Its beautiful with the cherry blossoms. Lets get
started. She was evidently the days leader.
As
the hike began, Chris came into my mind again. I had seen her only in high
heels. What other kind of shoes did she wear? Would she enjoy hiking?
I
looked around at the women in the group. I had never seen any of them in high
heels. Only one, Frances Kelly, was wearing shorts, of the Bermuda variety. Her
legs were shapely, and it was easy enough to imagine her in heels, with a skirt
replacing the shorts.
I
then reversed the mental process, and imagined Chris in shorts and boots. She
would look good, I thought.
On the way home I took a detour by way of Van Ness Avenue.
But as I drove past Fina Estampa I decided against stopping there. I wasnt
hungry for dinner yet. But I was decidedly so by the time I got home. After
noticing that there were four messages on my answering machine, I walked to the
Jalisco place for some enchiladas. This time I washed them down with beer, not
tequila.
The
messages were all of the welcome-back variety, and only the one from Greg
explicitly asked for a return call, not specifying whether it was to his home
phone or his cell phone. I called the latter.
Hi,
Dad, thanks for calling back.
Hi,
son. Where are you?
In
Arcata. He said nothing further.
I
asked because, this being the weekend, I thought you might be in Sebastopol.
Well,
thats the point. Rebecca and I are finished.
What
happened?
Greg
laughed. The fact that Im in Arcata. She thinks that I ought to be with her
every weekend. It doesnt matter to her that I have a life here, friends,
activities, projects. To her its not a relationship if were not together at
least every weekend, and its already a sacrifice that shes alone during
the week.
She
sounds rather needy, I said.
Needy
yeah. He laughed again. She needs sex, thats what she says.
So
who called it off?
She
did. Oh well, didnt Shakespeare say that its better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all?
As
a matter of fact, no, he didnt. It was Tennyson.
Another laugh. Dad the lit major, Greg
said, echoing one of Margos sayings. I suspected that he might have recently
spoken with her and heard the misattributed quotation from his mom the poli-sci
major. But it couldve been Shakespeare, he added.
No,
it couldnt, I wanted to scream. The meter was wrong tetrameter, not
pentameter and the sentiment was not Shakespearean and true, it was
Tennysonian and phony.
Theres
an older quote that I like better, I said, from Congreve, and its closer to
what Shakespeare might have written: tis better to be left than never to have been
loved.
I
see your point, Greg said after some reflection. I guess she loved me, in her
needy way, and it felt good. Id never known a girl who wanted sex so much. But
I think Id be better off with someone not so needy, maybe more mature.
Like
you, I said, and we both laughed.
After
hanging up I watched the television news for the first time in over a week. The
size of the anti-war protest in Washington was an encouraging spark of light
amid the gloom of Hurricane Rita and the Senate Judiciary Committees
overwhelming approval of John Roberts.
There
had been no message from Rose, but I wanted to tell her my conjecture about
Andy and Libby, so I called her cell phone. To my surprise, she answered.
Hi,
Gary. I would say welcome home if I were home, but Im not. Guess where I
am.
I
hesitated for a moment. Not Vancouver! I said.
Rose
laughed. Yes Vancouver. The Afro-Latin party is still on! Actually, Andy was
supposed to come, and Thomas took time off for the occasion, but another
hurricane got in the way, so Im here instead.
Yes,
I heard about Andy and his new girlfriend Rita. I heard about it from the
girlfriend named Libby, and from the way she spoke it sounded like theyre very
much a couple, maybe on the road to marriage.
Well,
Thomas tells me that he heard it the same way from Andy. In fact, once Andys
back and settled, he and Libby will visit Thomas together. Anyway, how was your
vacation?
Fabulous,
I said, but its good to be back.
When
you get back to the office on Monday, my bill should be there. Dont be shocked
by its size!
Nothing
shocks me any more, and what youve done is priceless, Rose.
Sunday morning I slept only an hour longer than my usual
time. After breakfast I checked my personal e-mail. There were only a few
messages, but one of them from my cousin Brad in New York had a Web link,
which I followed, and as a result got distracted into an hour of Web surfing.
I then took a bike ride.
The day had been predicted to be warmer than usual, though it felt pleasantly
cool not much above sixty when I stepped outside. It did warm up rather
quickly, though, and so I rode out to the beach and enjoyed the southwesterly
ocean breeze could it be coming from Hawaii? while pedaling along the Great
Highway.
On the way home I
stopped at a Chinese produce market, and bought as much as I could fit into the
pannier: tomatoes, onions, garlic, mushrooms I was planning on making myself
pasta with a freshly made sauce for dinner and some salad greens, the first
pears of the fall and the last peaches of the summer. For it was, on the
calendar, the end of summer and the beginning of fall. And then an odd thought
struck me: the preceding night, from the twenty-fourth to the twenty-fifth of
September, had been, thirty-three years before, the night of Libby Schlemmers
conception.
The shopping done, I ate
lunch in a Chinese restaurant next to the market, and rode home. I showered
again, and spent the rest of the day in splendid solitude, cooking, reading
the New Yorker and the Sunday Chronicle and listening to music.
Monday
morning I was back on schedule. Hurricane Rita had been downgraded to a
tropical depression. Diane, Barbara, Nina and Jerry were all gathered around
Dianes desk to greet me when I entered. I checked my office e-mail, opened my
paper mail Roses bill was for a little over three thousand dollars and
checked my voicemail. There was no message from Margo, and I decided to let sleeping
dogs lie. Afterwards all five of us went out to the Coffeehouse. While we were
out, Libby called and left a message that she would be coming in at two. I went
back to work, and didnt stop until well past one oclock. I dashed out for a
hurried lunch a calzone at the Coffeehouse in order to be back at the
office in time for Libbys visit.
She came in at two,
almost on the dot. What struck me first when she walked through my office door
was her dress. It was unlike anything I had seen her wear before. It seemed
designed to call attention to itself, not the woman wearing it. It could be
called conservative in that, while not exactly hiding Libbys corporeal
attributes, did nothing to emphasize them, except for the sash around her
waist. The hem, as she stood on the high heels of her dark-green pointy-toed
shoes, was just below the knee. The high V-neck did not show any part of her
breasts, though their fullness could not be denied. Only the shapeliness of her
calves and her arms were unconcealed. What was most striking was the rich
draping of the silky bright-green fabric, and the delicate lace trim of the
collar and the short sleeves. A green beaded necklace was around her neck.
How
do you like my dress? she asked as she shut the door behind her and moved
toward the armchair.
I
was just admiring it.
Its
an Oscar de la Renta , and the shoes are Kate Spade. She pointed her right
foot at me while standing on one leg. Theyre the first expensive clothes Ive
ever bought. Im not quite comfortable in them yet. Im working on getting used
to being rich. I just put a hundred grand in my checking account, and I went to
Neiman Marcus for the first time in my life. And so here I am, modeling
designer clothes. She turned around, model-like, with the skirt of her dress
swirling gracefully about her, before she sat down, crossed her legs and let
her lovely knees come into view. It was only then that I noticed that her hair
had been cut and styled.
Did
you ever think of being a model?
Of
course, like every girl whos tall and whos told that shes pretty. But do you
see these? With her right index finger she pointed at her left upper arm and
then at her calves. Too athletic, they said. Fuck them, I said. I was
noticing a definite change in Libbys manner from what it had been at our
previous meetings. Or perhaps it was in my response to her. I no longer sensed
that compelling goddess-like aura.
Who?
The
modeling agency. But thats not what Im here to talk about.
It
isnt? Then what else could it be? Libby smiled, but kept her seriousness.
For
one thing, that Ive decided not to sell the house.
Youre
keeping it? With Andy as your tenant?
Not
exactly. Im moving in with him. Hes coming back tonight, by the way. And Id
like you to be the first to know, though youve probably already guessed it.
Andy and I will be getting married.
Yes,
I was expecting it. Im very happy for both of you. It felt good to say it, as
though I were confirming, nay, blessing the exorcism of my infatuation. My
great-grandfathers might have called a brokhe.
Theres
something else. Andy and I decided to put half of the estate, the half that he
would have gotten if he and Peter had registered as domestic partners, into the
Peter Hart Foundation. Its purpose will be to help poor people, especially poor
young people, with problems of a sexual nature. AIDS and other STDs, sexual
identity, genital mutilation, rape you get the picture.
It
sounds great. And, you know, that part probably wouldnt be subject to the
estate tax.
I
know. Paul explained it to me. Now I dont have to sell quite so much of the
real estate. He also said that, because the after-tax estate would be quite a
bit more, so would your fee. The foundation would pay the difference.
Well,
I would like that difference to be my contribution to the foundation.
Wow,
Gary, thats fantastic. And we would like you to be on the board, and also the
general counsel.
Id
be honored.
All
this wouldnt have happened if wed gotten involved. So it was for the best.
What
was she talking about? If whod gotten involved?
You
and me, she said, seeming surprised at my question.
Involved
how?
What
do you mean, how? The way men and women get involved. Do you mean to tell me
that you dont know that I had a major crush on you?
You
did?
What
do you think I was doing, dressing like a floozy, flashing my boobs and thighs
at you, hinting at things we could do together?
If
there were such hints, I didnt get them. As for the way you dressed, I thought
that thats who you were. I couldnt imagine that it was directed at me. Or,
rather, imagine, yes I did plenty of imagining but not believe.
You
thought that thats who I was? You told me yourself that you didnt even notice
me at the memorial service. I sure noticed you.
What
did you notice about me? I still had a hard time processing what I was
hearing.
You
were so different from everyone else there. So solid and grounded. Especially
in contrast to Andy, who had chosen to put on the flamboyant queen act, which
he thought was expected of him, as he told me. I was feeling such mixed
emotions, so much confusion about Andy. Everybody there seemed to be posturing,
trying to project just the right image. And you were just there, yourself, like
a rock. Or maybe more like a tree, because you were alive.
Not
an ash tree, I hope.
No,
more like an oak. But rock or tree, either way, something solid that a person
could lean on. You seem to have no idea how attractive that is.
I
guess I dont, I said weakly.
Youre
something else, Gary Einhorn. Libby laughed. Doesnt Einhorn mean
unicorn in German?
Yes.
Do
you know the tapestries of the Lady and the Unicorn?
Yes.
La dame à la licorne. I speak French quite well, and I dont mind
showing it off.
Well,
Im feeling like the lady in the one where she puts her jewelry away in front
of the unicorn. Giving up. Here I am, thirty-two years old, and it finally
happened to me: not getting a guy that I had the hots for. My mind began to
reel. She had the hots for me? Well, she went on, it was an
experience, and Im a woman who likes experiences. In retrospect, maybe it was
a signal that it was time to get married.
My
mind was still reeling. I had accepted the premise common enough to be a
stereotype of a younger womans attraction to a (putatively) mature, wise,
experienced older man. But the hots? You
I stammered, had the
hots
for me? A
a middling fifty-year-old pettifogger with
thinning hair and a scraggly beard and blotchy skin and
I couldnt, for the
moment, think of any more self-deprecatory things to say. Fortunately she
interrupted me.
Stop
it, Gary. I dont know if youre aware of it, but you really insult me when you
imply that, just because Im young and attractive, Im some sort of shallow bimbo
who cant appreciate a persons true quality. Her face came the closest to a
scowl that I had ever seen, except for the time in the restaurant with Andy.
I
wanted to counter that it was she who had been appealing to my shallow
instincts. But of course it was appropriate for her to use all the weapons in
her arsenal, and her superb sensuous beauty was one of them. Forgive me,
Libby, I began, I didnt mean it that way. I was just expressing my own low
self-esteem. And this is the second time in just a few weeks that Ive managed
to offend a woman that I care for.
Libbys
face suddenly brightened. And to think that this amazing beauty had been mine
for the taking, if I had only known! But then I would not have met Chris. Then
again, where was Chris now?
Who
was the other one? Margo? She pronounced the name with a mocking emphasis, as
if to remind me that she was not saying your ex-wife.
I
laughed. Oh, her too, I said, but that wasnt whom I meant. And I told her
about Chris, from beginning to end.
Go
back to Chris, Libby said after hearing me out. She wants you. I know she
does. Shes right for you. More than I could ever be.
But
Ive hurt her
Youve
hurt me too. You didnt mean to, but you did, the same as with her. And I would
still want you if I hadnt found myself in love again with the first man that I
ever loved.
I
could think of nothing to say. Do go back to Chris, Libby repeated. But
before you do, and before I give myself completely to Andy, theres something
Id like to propose.
Yes?
As
I said, Im a woman who doesnt like to pass up experiences. So for one night
Id like to experience what it might have been for us.
In a
corner of my mind, I had been toying with a little hopeful fantasy that she
might say something like that. You mean, in real life? I asked, just to make
sure that I had heard right.
Yes.
In the flesh.
But
what came out of me next came from an altogether different sector of my mind.
I
dont think that would be right, Libby. Im too scared of what it would do to
me in the future. Id rather keep it as a fantasy, like A Midsummer Nights
Dream.
Libby
reached across the desk and stroked my ears. Youre not exactly Bottom, you
know.
I
know. But if, baby, Im the bottom, youre the top, I sang. And youre
going to marry the king of the fairies. We both began to laugh. You could
change your name to Titania. Forget Elizabeth Schlemmer. Titania Perino Hart
Stone. That would be a mouthful of a name! We were now laughing helplessly.
You could still be Libby to your friends, the way Lauren Bacall is Betty, I
managed to say before collapsing on my chair. I had not felt such relief in
ages.
Im
afraid Ive run out of tricks, Libby said, still laughing. I proposition you
verbally and still get rejected. Can I at least get a hug before we say
good-bye?
That
would be wonderful, I said. I stood up and walked to her side of the desk,
where she was waiting for me.
We
hugged for a long time. I felt very conscious of her height. On her high heels
she was quite a bit taller than me. I felt her chin touching my cheek, and her
breasts almost at the level of my shoulders. And what came into my mind was the
memory of how comfortable it felt to hold Chris in my arms when I was dancing
boleros with her. I could barely believe myself: I was imagining Chris while
holding Libby!
The
Chris conundrum was solved in one fell swoop. I knew that I
love Chris. I would call her
that evening, ask her forgiveness, and let her take all the time she needed to
resolve her own dilemma with regard to me. And if she wouldnt take my call, I
would write her a letter. I just wanted to hold her, not Libby, in my arms.
And
if she let me, I would court her. I would kiss her hand and any other part of
her that she would allow. I would call her Chrissie, or Tina, or Titina. I
would bring her flowers. I would bring her, if I could find it, the flower of
the cinnamon tree, la flor de la canela, symbol with jasmine and roses
of the Peruvian womans beauty in that most beautiful of songs. More than
that, I would learn the song and sing it to her: Déjame que te diga, morena,
mi pensamiento
Let me tell you, dark one, my thought