It was Halloween. “Please,” Sari said into the phone. “Please release me from my promise. You have to. It's worse than I remembered. It's like my boobs are being served up on a platter.”
“That's very poetic,” Lucy said.
“Seriously.”
“You have to wear it. You promised.”
“I was drunk when I promised. That doesn't count.”
“You swore on your grandmother's grave. And you weren't drunk anymore.”
“Please, Lucy. If I wear this tonight-”
“Stop being such a coward. If not now, when?”
After Sari hung up, she looked at herself in the mirror again. The skirt seemed much shorter with the boots on, and the tight bodice shoved her breasts up so high they looked like refugees from an Edwardian brothel. The only good news was that the kids wouldn't notice-sometimes the fact that kids with autism could be oblivious to so much came in handy.
She rubbed some hair gel between her palms-she had bought it a couple of years ago when the woman who cut her hair had insisted but usually was in too much of a rush out the door to bother with it-and raked her fingers through her hair so it fell into choppy pieces, like Kathleen had told her to. She had to admit it did suit the warrior princess look. And, having committed herself that far, she felt obliged to search through the makeup she almost never wore for a dark pencil to outline her eyes and a bronzer, which she put on her eyelids and cheeks. She looked… defined. Her large blue eyes had become exotic and mysterious with the kohl around them.
She flexed her arm muscles in front of the mirror. “I am Xena,” she said out loud. Didn't Xena have a sound she made? Like a “ki-ki-ki-ki-ki” kind of thing? Sari said, “Ki-ki-ki-ki” and stopped, because she felt like an idiot.
“I’m not Xena,” she told the mirror. “Not even close.”
“Whoa, baby,” Christopher said when she came walking into the clinic's reception area. He was wearing a UCLA football uniform. “Wish you'd wear that around here more often.” He nudged Shayda, who was sitting next to him, sorting candy bars into big bowls, wearing a black pirate's hat. “Hey, Shade-look at Sari.”
“No, don't look at Sari,” Sari said. She hugged her arms over her chest. “Sari's hideously embarrassed. My friends made me wear this.”
Shayda glanced indifferently at Sari, then turned to Christopher. “’Whoa, baby?” she repeated. “That sounded really sexual harassment-y.”
“Sari knew I was joking.”
“I’m just saying you should be more careful. People get sued over stuff like that.”
Christopher rolled his eyes at Sari and tore open a package of M &M’s, which he poured straight into his mouth.
As they all prepared the rooms for the imminent onslaught of kids and families, Sari continued to tell anyone who commented on her costume that she had been forced to wear it and that she found it embarrassing.
When she said that to Ellen, Ellen waved her hand dismissively and said, “You look great. I don't see what the problem is.”
“Don't you think it's inappropriate?” Sari said. “Come on, Ellen, you're the boss here. Don't you think you should send me home to change? Because I could be there and back in ten minutes. Please tell me to go home and change.”
“Actually, I think you should dress like this more often.”
“Why?” Sari said. “You planning to turn this place into a clinic-slash-whorehouse?”
“Hmm,” Ellen said. “That's not a bad idea. We could use the extra money.” She grinned. “Come on, Sari, lighten up. The outfit's really not that bad, you know. I mean, look at Liza-” She pointed. Liza was walking down the hallway in a body-hugging black unitard. She wore a headband with black velvet ears sticking up. “Her outfit's a lot racier than yours, and you don't hear her worrying about it.”
“She's a black cat,” Sari said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can't believe she went with the obvious choice.”
“The point is, relax. And worry about the kids, not about how you look.” Ellen walked away.
Sari made a face at her retreating back. Of course Ellen would see nothing wrong with Sari's costume-Ellen herself was dressed as a belly dancer with a fringy top that revealed a large expanse of soft white belly and an even larger expanse of mountainous décolletage.
As the kids started arriving, the clinicians all took up their prearranged positions. Every office and playroom in the clinic was set up like its own little “house”-the kids would knock on the room door, the therapist would open it, and whoever was with the kid would prompt him to say, “Trick-or-Treat,” and then the therapist would compliment the kid and give him candy.
Ellen stayed in the main reception area, where she could greet all the families and invite them to come back and socialize when they were done trick-or-treating.
Sari stationed herself in one of the larger playrooms with a big bowl of Snickers bars. The party officially started at six, and, by six-fifteen, she was jumping up every few seconds to open the door and hand out the candy.
Sari was always surprised to see how many families used their clinic. A lot of “graduates” showed up that night, as well as dozens of kids who were currently patients. And many of them came with siblings, friends, and cousins. All of the kids wore costumes, but none of the parents did, except for one mother who had on a long black dress-which, Sari thought, was either meant to be a witch costume or was just a really goth choice.
There were, as always, more moms than dads present, and every one of the moms who came to Sari's door told her how fabulous she looked in her warrior costume. One mother actually screamed in delight when she saw her. “Oh, my God! I didn't even recognize you, Sari! Smile!” And, before Sari knew what was happening, the mom had snapped her photo.
Sari knew any embarrassing shots would be circulating at the clinic for years, and she silently cursed Kathleen and Lucy for all the future ridicule she would have to endure. She had hoped to be remembered as the clinic's most brilliant therapist-not as its resident goofball. Or sexpot. Hard to decide which was worse. Or more likely.
The few dads who came didn't compliment her as much. But they looked. Man, did they look. Lucy and Kathleen would be pleased, Sari thought, as one dad's mouth fell open in surprise when he saw her. He shut it again quickly, but she was careful not to bend over too much when she dropped a Snickers into his kid's plastic pumpkin-the dad was on the older side, and she didn't want to give him a heart attack.
For over an hour, the corridor was alive with kids running and laughing and screaming with excitement and sugar highs, but as time passed, the flood of kids slowed to a trickle. Around seven-thirty, Sari wondered if she should head toward the main room-she could hear voices and music and general party sounds coming from there whenever she stuck her head out the hallway.
She hadn't had a kid knock on the door for over five minutes, and she was getting bored. The whole thing ended at eight anyway.
She thought she should really go join the others.
Instead, she sat back down at the big table in the middle of the room and wondered what she was waiting for.
She knew perfectly well what she was waiting for.
And, at seven-thirty-seven, he came.
When she heard the knock, she just assumed it was another kid trick-or-treating, and opened the door with a big smile on her face to find Jason Smith standing there.
“Hi,” he said. And then took in her costume. “Hi,” he said again, but his eyes widened and he took a step back. “What are you?”
“Some kind of warrior princess-at least according to the woman at the costume store.”
“It's great. One of the all-time great Halloween costumes, I’d say.”
They had turned off half of the hallway lights so it would feel a little more like nighttime in the clinic, and Sari hoped that the dim lighting meant Jason couldn't see her blush. “My friends made me wear it.”
“I like your friends. You make a good warrior goddess, Sari.”
“Warrior princess” she said. “Haven't you forgotten something?”
“Sorry. I’m not the costume type.”
“No, not that. I meant your kid. Where's Zack?”
“Isn't he here?”
“I haven't seen him.”
“Oh, shit,” he said, and looked up and down the empty hallway like he expected Zack suddenly to appear. “Denise was bringing him. They were supposed to have been here a while ago.”
“Maybe they're in the main office,” Sari said. “Not everyone makes it down this way. The real party's back there.”
“I checked,” Jason said. “They're not there.”
“You think you should try calling them?”
“Yeah.” He pulled out a cell phone and pressed a couple of buttons, then made a face. “Battery's dead.” He shook his head in self-disgust. “I forgot to recharge it. That would explain why they haven't called. Do you have a phone I can use?”
“In here.”
He followed her inside the room. “Door open or closed?”
“Closed, I guess. In case some other kids want to come trick-or-treating. We like them to have to knock. So it feels more like the real thing. If we left the door open, it wouldn't feel the same, you know?” She realized she was blithering on, over-explaining because she didn't want him to think she was closing the door to be alone with him. She made herself stop talking and pointed to the desk in the corner of the room. “There's a phone over there. Dial nine to get out.”
“Thanks.” He went over and dialed and said, “Hi. It's Jason. Denise isn't there, is she? You're kidding. Put her on, will you?” He waited a little while, tapping one foot impatiently on the floor. Then, “Yeah, hi. It's me. What the hell are you doing still there? I’m at the Halloween thing at the clinic. Where you were supposed to be an hour ago.” He listened for a moment. “So why didn't you call? I’ve been-” Another moment. “Yeah, the battery's out, but you could have left a message here or something.” More listening. “So who's with Zack?” Then, “Do you really trust her to watch him?” After a response: “All I know is that you were supposed to have him for two hours. Just two little hours, which were supposed to include bringing him here to trick-or-treat. And you couldn't even manage that. And you better not be expecting me to go get him over there, because I’m not about to make that trip again. Do you know what the traffic is like on Halloween night? It took me over an hour to get back to this side of the hill.” He looked at his watch as he listened to something else. “Since six? He'll be up all night now.” He grimaced. “Fine, then. Bring him home whenever you want. It's not like he'll be asleep before midnight, anyway.” He listened for a moment. “Shit, Denise, can't you even spend half an hour in a car with him? So who is going to be driving him?” A pause. “Terrific. What is she, sixteen? Does she even have a license?” Then, “Yeah, I know, I know. You really went out of your way to give him a fun time tonight, didn't you? Way to help your son celebrate Halloween.” He slammed the phone back down into its base.
Sari had been studying the table as if the fake wood grain fascinated her, but now she looked up. “Everything okay?”
He shook his head. “She was supposed to take him out to dinner. For once. She said she wanted to, because it was Halloween and she hadn't seen him for days. And then she was supposed to bring him here and trick-or-treat with him and then I was going to meet them and take him home. She wouldn't even have had to spend the night with him.” He exhaled sharply. “I dropped him off at her office at five. They never left, haven't even had dinner. He's just been sitting there watching TV with some intern – or at least he was until he fell asleep an hour ago. She made him miss Halloween.”
“Maybe it's not too late,” Sari said. “I mean, it is for trick-or-treating here, but maybe they could still go to some houses-”
“There's no way-now she's claiming that there's an emergency at work she has to deal with. Which just means some actor's throwing a hissy fit or something. I’d run over and grab him, but he's all the way out in Burbank, and by the time I got there, it would be too late to take him anywhere. Anyway, I wanted him to do this.” He waved his hand at the room. “It would have been perfect. He got scared last year when I tried to take him out for some real trick-or-treating. I wanted him to do something for Halloween that would make him see it can be fun. And this would have been-” He stopped. “Perfect,” he said again. “That's all. And she ruined it.”
“I’m sorry,” Sari said. And realized she really was. For Zack, mostly, and a little bit for Jason. “Is there anything I can do to help? I could send some candy home.”
He looked at her and his face suddenly relaxed into a smile. “I don't suppose you'd be willing to kick Denise's ass? I mean, you look like you could, with those boots and all.”
Sari laughed. “I doubt it-you said she was a real athlete in college and I’m kind of out of shape.”
“She's got some height on you, too. In the interest of full disclosure. But you've got that whole tough leather thing going on. And you don't look like you're out of shape.” He leaned back, resting his hip against the desk. “I’m so bummed about this. Poor Zack. I should never have let her have him on a holiday.”
“Do you guys have a custody arrangement worked out?”
“Not really. But it's never been a problem. We both assume I’ll have him, except for those one-in-a-billion moments when she actually feels some kind of maternal pull. Like tonight. And we both saw how well that worked out.”
“So what happened last Halloween?” Sari said. “You said Zack got scared. Did you go around your neighborhood?”
He sat down with a thump on a chair. “We drove over to my parents’ house, actually. I thought I was being so smart-I figured he'd feel safe because he goes over there all the time.”
“So what happened?” Sari sat down, too, across the table from him.
“Well, he started off already a little freaked out just because it was dark out and he didn't like the jack-o’-lanterns on the front porch. But it would have probably been fine, except my father decided it would be hilarious to open the door wearing a gorilla mask.” He grimaced. “It was unbelievable. I mean, I had called ahead just to warn them not to pull any surprises on Zack and then he goes and does that.”
“Why?” Sari said. “If you specifically asked him not to?”
“I don't know. Maybe he thought it was funny. Or maybe just because I told him not to. He's a sick old bastard.”
Sari tried to remember Jason Smith's father from high school events. She had a vague sense of someone tall with thick gray hair but she wasn't sure she was thinking of the right guy. “That's kind of harsh, isn't, it?”
He shrugged and tipped his chair back. “We've never gotten along very well. I’m this huge disappointment to him. Which he manages to remind me of every chance he gets.” He let the chair fall back into place with a thud. “Actually, now that I think about it, I bet he scared Zack just so he could make him scream and then use that as an example of what a bad parent I am and how I can't control my own kid.”
“He knows Zack has autism, right?”
“I’ve told him, but he doesn't believe it.”
“You're kidding.”
He shook his head. “He thinks all of Zack's problems come from having a mother who's the wage-earner. It screws a kid up if his dad doesn't wear the pants in the family, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “If that's really the way he sees things-”
He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m used to it. I’ve been a disappointment to the guy since I was born. Why should that change now that I really am the biggest loser in town?”
“What makes you such a big loser?”
“Don't make me give you a list, Sari, please,” he said. “It's bad enough having to live with myself, but if you make me tell the one person I-” He stopped. “Not that you won't figure it out soon enough.”
She didn't say anything. She heard a door slam down the hall and thought, I should get up and say good night and leave this room. But she didn't move.
“I’m sorry,” he said when a moment had gone by and she still hadn't spoken. “I probably sound like a whiny brat. My father doesn't love me and all that. I’m sorry.”
“No, it's okay,” she said. “I wasn't thinking that. It's just… I’m a little confused. You were so different in high school. You were kind of on top of the world back then.”
He gave a short unpleasant laugh. “I so wasn't. Maybe it looked that way from a distance, but all I remember about those days was how my parents were always screaming at me because I had done badly on a test or the coach hadn't played me or I had forgotten to take out the garbage or something like that. I was always being grounded and threatened with military school.”
“But when you were actually at school-” Sari said. “I mean, you owned the place.”
“Hardly.”
There was the sound of a child either laughing or crying coming from another part of the clinic. Sari looked toward the door and said, “I should probably go help Ellen.”
“Don't go yet,” Jason said. “Please.”
“There's always a big mess to clean up.”
“I bet. How'd you end up working here anyway?”
“I went to college here and then graduate school and it just made sense-”
“But I mean, why an autism clinic? Do you have a relative with autism or something?”
He really didn't know? “My brother,” she said.
“You're kidding.”
She just shook her head.
“I didn't know you had an autistic brother.”
“He went to school with us,” she said. “He was there the whole time you were.”
“Really?” Jason said. “You'd think I’d have remembered that. What class was he in?”
“He wasn't exactly in a class. There was this special needs program-”
“Oh, wait, I remember,” he said. “The Resource Room, right?”
“Yeah. Popularly referred to as the Retard Room.”
“Oh, man,” he said. “I remember that, too, now. God, kids can be mean. It scares me for Zack.”
“He'll be okay.”
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, and Sari's stomach clenched. But then he said, “It must have been rough for your family to have to deal with the whole autism thing back then. Everything I read says it was like the Middle Ages, just a generation ago. No behavioral interventions, no real understanding, mothers being blamed… It couldn't have been easy.”She didn't say anything. He was one of the reasons it hadn't been easy.
“What's he like now?” Jason asked. “Your brother? Does he live at home? Does he talk? I’m so insanely curious about adults with autism. I’m desperate to know what Zack will be like when he's all grown up.”
“Zack won't be anything like my brother. He's getting the right kind of help. It makes all the difference.” Zack wouldn't be like Charlie because of her, she thought. It was so unfair it took her breath away.
“Is he in an institution?”
“No. He lives with my parents.”
“Does he talk?”
“Yeah. Mostly demands for food and dialogue from movies.”
Jason reached across the table and she was looking around to see what it was he was reaching for, when he put his hand on hers. “Sounds like it's been tough,” he said.
She pulled her hand away with a movement so fast it was almost violent
“I’m sorry,” he said, quickly withdrawing his hand. “Please don't take offense.”
“I’m not offended.” She pushed her chair back. “But I should go help clean up.”
“Don't go.” He scrambled to his feet as she stood up. “Please, Sari. Please don't go. That was stupid of me. I just felt bad for you. That's all. I’m not some guy making moves. You have to know that.”
“I don't know what you are,” she said and meant it.
“I wish you were willing to find out. We could go have a drink-”
“I can't. I have to go help the others now.” She felt all roughed up on the inside-like someone had done to her guts what she had done to her hair earlier that evening.
“After?”
“I can't.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not,” she said dully. “Everything's fine. I just really have to go.” She went to the door. He was closer and got there before she did. He put his hand on the doorknob, and she had to stop and wait.
“Sari,” he said.
“What?”
“Thanks for talking to me.”
She didn't say anything.
He drew nearer. “I’m a pretty lucky guy. Getting some one-on-one time with the cutest warrior goddess in town.”
“Princess,” she said. “I’m supposed to be a princess, not a goddess.”
“I beg to differ,” Jason Smith said, and, leaning forward, kissed her lightly on the lips before she had a chance to stop him. And then he opened the door and gestured her through.
James joined Lucy and David in the lab the day after Halloween to go over the results of the rat kidneys they had removed, dissected, stained, and examined that day.
After they'd finished discussing their findings, he sat back and peered at Lucy. “You okay?” he said. “You've been awfully quiet. Not like you.”
“It's been a lousy day.”
“What happened?”
She didn't answer, so David said, “One of the rats didn't die easily. The guillotine jammed halfway through its neck and it was squirming around, screaming, blood spraying all over the place… It took a while to get the blade out.” He looked at Lucy, but she didn't say anything. He said, “It was a lot to clean up.”
“I’ll bet,” James said. “You guys want to go get a beer?”
“Sounds good to me,” David said.
“Lucy?”
“Yeah, all right.” She stood up. “Let me go wash my hands. For the next ten minutes.”
“Out, damned spot?” David said.
“Something like that.”
At the bar, she ordered her usual scotch, while the guys got beer. She and James sat side by side in the booth. His leg was warm against hers, and he rested his left hand on her thigh when he wasn't using it to gesticulate. He was in an ebullient mood-he had just found out that day that an article of his had been accepted for publication.
“A byline in Science” David said. “Pretty impressive, James.”
“There's always someone doing better,” he said. “You guys know Ron Johnson, right?”
“I met him once or twice around the department,” David said.
“Yeah, well, he's getting a book published-and I mean mass market, not some university press.”
“What is it?”
“I can't remember what it's called, but it's some kind of simplified overview of genetics-a real science lite book, with everything dumbed down so idiots can feel like they've mastered a subject they don't actually understand at all and wouldn't be able to in a million years. He'll probably make a fortune on it. Nothing people like more than to buy books that make them think they're not as stupid as they are.” He curled his lip. “Not that Ron's exactly genius material himself.”
“Really?” David said. “I’ve mostly heard good things about him.”
“He's an idiot,” James said. “He's done some decent research in the past, but last year he married this woman who's a religious nut and now he goes to church all the time, sings in the choir, recites his little prayers-the whole thing.”
Lucy said, “Going to church doesn't automatically make you an idiot.”
“It does in my book. A scientist should know better.”
“So long as he's not going around teaching creationism, I don't see what difference it makes.”
“How about the Tooth Fairy?” James said. “What if he were going around saying he believes in the Tooth Fairy? Would you still call him a good scientist?”
“So long as he was still a good scientist, sure. There are plenty of intelligent people who believe in God, James.”
“Nope,” James said. “People who believe in God are de facto idiots. Unless they're just claiming to believe in God to promote themselves with the stupid people who really do. In that case, they're politicians.”
David laughed. “Good one,” he said, and he and James high-fived each other.
Lucy just shook her head. “Everyone who disagrees with you is an idiot. Have you noticed that?”
“Actually, I have,” James said. “Sad but true.”
“Isn't it possible-I realize this may blow your mind as a concept-but isn't it possible that not everything is as obvious as you think it is? That maybe there are other ways of thinking than yours, and that some of those other ways might not be entirely idiotic?”
James furrowed his brow exaggeratedly. Then he shook his head. “Nope. I’m right, they're wrong. Case closed.”
“I don't always agree with you.”
“That's okay.” He patted her leg. “Everyone makes mistakes, sweetheart.”
She knocked his hand off. “You're an asshole, you know that?”
“Come on, Luce, you hate religion as much as I do. Why are you defending this guy?”
“I don't know,” she said. “Maybe Ron gets something out of his religion that we don't understand. It's possible. People's brains work differently. And if it doesn't interfere with his work, then let him have it and don't call him an idiot for it.”
“Even though he is one?”
She thumped her scotch glass down. “What about Dickens? What about Einstein? There are lots of wildly brilliant people who've believed in God.”
“They probably just pretended to so they wouldn't piss off the mass population of idiots. We all do what we have to to survive.” He tilted his throat back and drank some beer. “I’m bored with this subject,” he said as he set the bottle back down. “So, David, Lucy tells me you have a girlfriend. Who is she and why aren't you calling her right now and telling her to come join us?”
David shrugged. “We're just dating. It's not a girlfriend thing yet.
“She at UCLA?”
“Yeah.”
“Postdoc?”
“Actually,” David said, “she's an undergraduate.”
James hooted at that. “You're kidding me.”
“A junior.”
“Come on, dude, you can't go fishing in that pond. You start with undergrads, you'll get a taste for them and you won't be able to stop. There are tons of guys like that in the department, dirty old men who like little girls. You don't want to go there.”
“I wasn't planning to,” David said. “This just… you know, happened.” He poked at a drop of beer on the outside of his mug. “Anyway, like I said, it's not all that serious-we've just had dinner a couple of times.”
“What does she want to do when she graduates?” James asked.
“Well, she's premed-”
“A doctor, then,” James said. “And, since she's a girl, I’m guessing either a pediatrician or an OB. That's what they all want to be.”
“Why do you always have to generalize about people?” Lucy said. “I was premed and I didn't want to be a pediatrician or an OB.”
“What did you want to be?” James asked.
“A veterinarian.”
He groaned. “The only medical career that's actually more girly than being a pediatrician or an OB. Why'd you have to tell me that? I just lost any respect I ever had for you.”
“In case you hadn't noticed, I didn't actually become one,” Lucy said. “At some point I decided it would be a lot more fun to kill animals than take care of them.”
“Oh, please,” James said. “Would you really rather be spending your days telling old ladies to stop overfeeding their fat little pugs? Killing rats is much more fun than that.”
“I like rats,” said Lucy, who was starting to feel the effect of the scotch she had downed.
“No one likes rats.”
“I do. I had a pet rat once. And a dog. And two cats. And a turtle.”
“That's excessive,” James said.
“Not all at once.”
James stood up abruptly. “I’ve got to hit the John. Be right back.” He left. There was a moment of silence.
“I hate sac'ing rats,” Lucy said.
“Me, too,” said David.
“Let's set them all free,” she said. “Let's go back to the lab and set them all free to live a happy carefree life eating trash and having casual rat sex.”
“You know we can't,” he said. “They'd die within days. And the research we're doing is worth sac'ing a few rats for.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I know that.”
“So we're trapped,” he said.
“Like rats in a cage.”
Knitting circle was at Kathleen's place that Sunday. (At Sari's the week before, Lucy had protested. “There are no chairs in her apartment. It'll kill our backs.” “Oh, stop being such a princess,” Kathleen had said, and Sari said, “It's her turn, Lucy.”)
When Lucy walked in the open apartment door, Kathleen called out, “Hey, Luce, come quick! Sari just told me she kissed Jason Smith!”
“No fucking way!” Lucy said, dropping her bag and running over. Kathleen and Sari were cross-legged and side by side on an airbed-the only furniture in the whole room-already knitting. Lucy kicked off her shoes and sank down on the floor in front of them.
“I didn't kiss him,” Sari said. “He kissed me before I could stop him.”
“Why would you want to stop him?” Kathleen said.
“Come on,” Sari said. “You guys know why this is weird for me. And it's just getting weirder. I mean, I see him with Zack almost every day, but I can't even look at him. I feel like he's waiting for me to say something. I think he thinks I’m screwing with his mind, but I’m not, I’m really not-”
“You should be,” Lucy said.
“I told him about Charlie. He said he hadn't remembered that I had a brother.”
“You think he's lying?” Lucy asked.
“No-he probably doesn't remember him. Which only shows how little he-” Sari waved her hand in the air. “You know. That even when he was mean to Charlie, he barely noticed him. Like squashing a bug or something.”
“Is he really that big a jerk?” Kathleen asked. “He seemed kind of nice.”
“I don't know,” Sari said. “He says all the right things. But don't forget-since high school, he's had a kid with autism. It changes people.”
“So maybe he's changed,” Kathleen said.
“Yeah, but does that count?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know…” Sari thought a moment, putting her knitting down on the floor next to her and hugging her knees to her chest. “Here's a guy who treated people badly when things were going well for him, and then this thing happened with his kid. So now he's more sensitive about other people and maybe even kinder… But, the truth is, if he'd been given the choice, he probably would have rather gone on having a perfect life and being a total jerk.” She looked up. “Can you really give a guy credit for that? If he's only a decent human being because it was forced on him?”
“I don't think you can ever really trust someone like that,” Lucy said. “I mean, if a guy goes around killing people and then his own mother gets killed, it's a little late for him to decide that murder is wrong-”
“Well, murder? Kathleen said. “Let's just compare him to Saddam Hussein and be done with it. Come on, Lucy-being a schoolyard bully isn't the same as being a murderer.” She stabbed her needles at each other, frowning in concentration. “Anyway, you can't really judge people on who they might have been if things had been different, can you? All you can do is take them the way they are and like them or not for that.”
“Right,” Lucy said, “and Attila the Hun was probably a great guy when he was on vacation.”
“Meaning-?”
“That if you know someone's done some shitty things, you can't just take them the way they are at any given moment. You have to use the information you've got, remember the history. Sari shouldn't forget what she knows about Jason-I bet she couldn't, even if she wanted to.”
“She could give him another chance, though,” Kathleen said. “I mean, I did some lousy things in high school-I was this jock and I had a lot of jock friends and we all hung out and we were kind of the cool kids, and I don't think we were all that nice to some of the other kids. I wouldn't want to be judged by all that.”
“But maybe you should be,” Lucy said.
“When did you get so rigid?” Kathleen said. “Haven't you ever wanted someone to give you the benefit of the doubt?”
“I’m not rigid,” Lucy said. “I can see both sides of a lot of issues. I mean, James is rigid. Compared to him, I’m the most tolerant person in the world.”
Kathleen raised her eyebrows. “First Saddam Hussein, then James. You keep going to extremes.”
“Are you saying my boyfriend is like Saddam Hussein?”
“No,” Kathleen said. “He's better-looking. But I want to go back to talking about Cute Asshole Guy. Sari, be honest-do you want to sleep with him?”
“Yes,” Sari said with a sigh. “So much. Physically he's everything I’d want in a guy. He has the most incredible body…”
“So…?” Kathleen said.
“You know why I can't.”
“What happened to the plan?” Lucy said, looking up from her knitting.
“What plan?”
“The go-out-with-him-and-ruin-his-life plan.”
“Oooo,” Kathleen said. “I like that plan.”
“Take it-it's yours,” Sari said. “I don't want a plan.”
“She can't have it,” Lucy said. “I made that one especially for you. Kathleen has her own plan. The marry-him-and-take-his-money-and-then-divorce-him plan.”
“I never said I was going to divorce him.” Kathleen took a swig of coffee. “That would be wrong. I intend to stay married to Kevin forever. Assuming, you know, we get married in the first place.”
“What was that?” Lucy said with a jump and a startled look around. “I just heard a noise in your kitchen. You don't have a cat, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then-”
They all turned toward the kitchen door in time to see Sam Kaplan emerge. “Oh, sorry,” he said, halting at the doorway. “Didn't realize you had company.”
“It's okay.” Kathleen dropped her knitting and scrambled to her feet. “Sari, Lucy-my upstairs neighbor. Sam.”
“The guy who owns the building?” Lucy said. “Does that mean you're allowed to come sneaking into people's apartments without knocking?”
“Actually, I did knock,” Sam said. He was dressed neatly in a pair of khakis and a blue polo shirt. “I always knock, but Kathleen never hears me. She usually has that iPod thing coming out of her ears. And, believe me, she has no great respect for my privacy.” He turned to Kathleen. “I was on my way to pick up the newspaper and get some coffee. You want anything?”
“We have coffee,” Sari said. “One of those big cardboard Starbucks thingies that hold like twelve cups. Please have some.
Or we'll be shaking all day.”
“There are donuts, too,” Kathleen said.
“I haven't eaten a donut in thirty years,” he said. “So what do you girls think of what Kathleen's done to the apartment?”
“Minimalist,” Lucy said and he laughed.
“This used to be a nice apartment, believe it or not.” He looked back and forth among them. “I thought Kathleen was the only woman under the age of sixty who liked to knit, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Shows how much you know,” Kathleen said. “Tons of girls our age knit. It's very hip.”
“Really?” Sam said. “Why? Sweaters are cheap these days- you can't possibly save any money knitting your own. And it takes forever, doesn't it?”
“You don't do it to save money,” Lucy said. “This yarn cost me more than five sweaters at the Gap. But that's not the point. It's therapy.”
Sam shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I don't get it. It would drive me nuts to do something like that-just sitting there, playing with yarn for hours.”
“It keeps our hands busy while we talk,” Kathleen said. “We talk a lot.”
“Then I really can't stay,” Sam said. “I can only imagine what three pretty young women talk about while they knit. No, actually I can't. And don't want to. Goodbye, girls.”
“I’ll be up later to read the paper,” Kathleen said.
“Of course you will,” he said and left, cutting through the living room to the front door.
“So that's the famous Sam Kaplan,” Lucy said once the door had closed behind him.
“Is he famous?” Kathleen resumed her place on the airbed.
“I had no idea.”
“You know what I mean. Strange guy.”
“No shit.”
“So you two just run in and out of each other's apartments, huh?”
“Sometimes.”
Lucy looked at Sari. “That's sort of an unusual arrangement, don't you think? Do you run in and out of your neighbors’ apartments, Sari?”
“Hardly. Sometimes we run into each other at the trash chute.”
“I’ve never even met my neighbors,” Lucy said. “Kathleen, what's going on here?”
“Nothing,” Kathleen said. “Absolutely nothing.”
“I don't believe you.”
“Why not?” Kathleen said. “When have you ever known me to be coy about my love life?”
“She makes an excellent point,” Sari said.
“Well, good,” Lucy said. “He looks old enough to be your father.”
“So?” Kathleen said. “I’ve gone out with guys that much older than me before.”
“I’m sure you have,” Lucy said. “Is there any age you haven't covered?”
“I try to stay away from the under-five crowd. They have this whole breast fixation thing I find very disturbing.”
“Plus they never pick up a check,” Lucy said.
Sari laughed. “Speaking of babies-” She held up the blanket. “I’m just about done with this. Where do you guys stand on fringe? For or against?”
“It would be pretty,” Kathleen said, but Lucy shook her head. “You can't put fringe on a baby blanket. They could choke on it.”
“No, they couldn't,” Kathleen said. “That's impossible.”
“How would you know?”
“How would you?
“Let's face it,” Sari said. “None of us knows anything about babies. But I’ll skip the fringe, just to be safe. Do you-” She was interrupted by a loud ring tone of the first few bars of Gwen Stefani's “Rich Girl.” Kathleen shifted over and peered down at her cell phone, which was lying face-up on the floor.
“One of my sisters,” she said, settling back. “I’ll let it go to voice mail.”
“What's going on with them, anyway?” Sari said. “Are they still mad at you for moving out?”
“Not really,” Kathleen said. “I mean, how mad can you be that someone has stopped freeloading on you?”
“They didn't seem to want you to go, though.”
“I know. And they want me to come back. Especially my mom-Christa and Kelly don't get along when I’m not around.”
“Why not?”
“I don't know. It's a triplet thing.”
“You have the weirdest family dynamic of anyone I know,” Lucy said.
Sari raised her right hand. “Uh… excuse me?” she said. “I’m at least in the running on that one.”
“Actually,” Lucy said, “you're in a league of your own.”
When Kevin arrived at Kathleen's apartment to pick her up for dinner that night, he told her that he had run into Sam Kaplan in the lobby, and they had agreed it would be fun to all have dinner together. Kathleen wasn't sure who the “all” referred to but soon discovered that it meant that Sam's ex-wife, Patricia, was with him.
It had never occurred to Kathleen before how much of the time she'd previously spent with Sam Kaplan had been one-on-one, just the two of them alone in his apartment. Tonight they were with other people, and she almost didn't recognize her sharp-tongued and occasionally brutal upstairs neighbor in the sociable and relaxed guy who sat across the table from her, his arm casually resting across the back of his ex-wife's chair. If it hadn't been for the way he rubbed all his flatware clean with his napkin and occasionally rolled his eyes at things she said, she might have suspected that he, like her sisters, had an identical twin.
The wine was good, and the waiter and Sam and Kevin all kept refilling Kathleen's glass as soon as it was half empty, so she had probably had a lot more than she even realized by the time the conversation turned to Jackson Porter.
“It was wonderful seeing him and your mother at the benefit,” Sam said to Kevin. “It's been a while.”
“They just don't go out as much as they used to,” Kevin said. “Much as I hate to admit it, they're getting older and starting to slow down.”
“They may not go out together as much,” Kathleen said, “but your father certainly manages to get around.”
“Excuse me?” Kevin said.
“Oh, you know,” she said with a slightly inebriated wink.
“Those daily lunches with attractive young women in private hotel rooms.”
“Ah,” he said. “You've been listening to gossip.” He turned to Sam and Patricia with a smile. “Every once in a while, the office rumor mill comes up with an exciting double life for my father. I guess it's one of the ways people keep themselves entertained during a long day at work.”
“Offices can get boring,” Sam said. His eyes moved quickly back and forth between Kevin and Kathleen, assessing the situation without giving any of his own thoughts away. “And everyone enjoys a good scandal, even a fictional one.”
“But in this case it's true,” Kathleen said. She didn't really care that Jackson cheated on his wife, but she found it incredibly annoying that Kevin was making it sound like she was some kind of gullible stooge. “Half the office could tell you which hotel he uses. Which room.”
Kevin looked at her, his brows drawn together. He drew his breath in.
“Kevin,” Patricia said suddenly, “do your parents still have that house on the beach in Santa Barbara? Or was it Montecito? We went out there once and it was just lovely.”
Kevin answered in the affirmative, and the talk shifted to beach houses and whether the Southern California real estate bubble was likely to burst anytime in the near future.
They all walked back to the apartment building together. Kevin stuck with Sam, talking shop with him, while the two women strolled ahead. He hadn't really looked at Kathleen since she had said that stuff about his father, and now she wondered if he was furious with her. The thought intrigued her. She had never seen him angry.
Patricia said, “It's a beautiful night, isn't it? I love the fall. I loved it more on the East Coast, but even here there's something special about a cool autumn night.”
“Are you from the East Coast originally?” Kathleen asked.
They were walking in rhythm together, their high heels clicking in sync on the paved sidewalk.
Patricia nodded. “I grew up on Long Island and met Sam in college. I never thought I’d end up a Californian, but we came here after we were married and never left. And as long as Joanna's at UCLA, I suppose I’ll stay. But if she settles down somewhere else, I’ll probably move. Even after all these years, it still doesn't feel like home to me.”
Kathleen nodded but she wasn't really listening. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“What's that?”
“I’ve never seen a divorced couple spend so much time together before. I thought once people divorced, they usually stayed away from each other.”
In the light of a street lamp, she could see Patricia smile.
“That's not a question.”
“Sorry,” Kathleen said. “I guess my question would be: why?”
“That is a question,” Patricia said, “but it's a vague one. Why what?”
“Why get divorced in the first place if you like being together?”
“Now that's a real question,” Patricia said. “But I’ll have to think about the answer.” They walked in silence for a moment, the men's voices suddenly audible behind them. Kevin was talking about a development he was overseeing that Sam seemed to have some concerns about-the land, he was saying, was known to have geological problems and several previous companies had tried building there and given up.
Then Patricia spoke again. “Sam is a wonderful man and I love him dearly,” she said. “But I find him absolutely intolerable in many ways. I wake up every morning delighted I don't have to live with him anymore.”
“Is it-” Kathleen searched for a delicate way to say it. “Do you consider yourselves still a couple?”
“Oh, we stopped being a couple when we got divorced,” Patricia said. “We have dinner together once in a while and that's enough for both of us. We always enjoy it but we're ready to say goodbye at the end of the evening. At least, I know I am.”
“Sam seemed happy tonight,” Kathleen said.
Patricia shrugged. “As I said, we enjoy each other's company.”
“It's unusual.”
“So you've already pointed out.” They had reached their destination. They stopped and waited for the men.
“What now?” Kathleen said to Kevin as he joined her.
“Let's go up to your place.”
She nodded, but wondered-without any real preference-if he wanted to come up to yell at her or to have sex. Or both. There was no way he could not be pissed off at her, not after what she'd said about Jackson.
He surprised her. As soon as they were inside her apartment, he went running for a soccer ball and dribbled it over to her. “Whoever makes the first goal has to do whatever the other says,” he said, smiling. “And I do mean whatever. Nothing off limits.”
“You're on,” Kathleen said, dropping her purse and kicking off her shoes.
She was a good athlete, but he was determined, and she wanted to give him the win. She suspected (and was proved right) that he had something in mind they'd both enjoy.
The air mattress wasn't comfortable for two, so, after all the games had been played, Kevin went back to his house to sleep.
The next morning, Kathleen put on her sweats and ran across Wilshire and then wove her way around the back streets until she'd run for a solid hour, finishing in Westwood Village, where she picked up some coffee. A cup in each hand, she walked back to her building, then took the elevator straight up to the penthouse. She kicked at the door and Sam answered it dressed for work.
“You have time for a cup of coffee?” she asked.
“A quick one.” He took one of the cups from her. “Come into the kitchen. Last time I let you drink coffee in here, you spilled some on the rug.”
“How'd you know that?” she said. He hadn't been in the room when it happened.
“I saw you wiping at it later, when you thought I wasn't looking. It left a stain.”
“Jeez,” she said. “You can't get away with anything around here.”
“No,” he said. “You can't.” A point further proven when they were sitting down at the kitchen table and he said, “That was a lovely choice you made-to publicly rub Kevin's nose in the fact his father's cheating on his mother. What son wouldn't enjoy that?”
“Shut up,” Kathleen said. She had insisted on keeping her coffee in its takeout cup for no reason other than because Sam preferred her to put it in a mug. She played now with the cardboard sleeve, pushing it up and down the bottom half of the cup. “I wouldn't be so obnoxious about it if he would just for once admit what everyone knows.”
“Jackson's been cheating on Caro since the day they got married,” Sam said. “Literally. He invited his girlfriend at the time to the wedding. So he wouldn't get bored if dinner went on too long, I assume.”
“You're kidding.”
“The person who told me that is usually reliable, and I don't see any reason not to believe it, all things considered.” He shrugged. “That's just the way it is with Jackson. He's a short ugly man with a lot of money and power who still can't believe that attractive women are willing to sleep with him. Caro must have made her peace with it years ago.”
“Or is just so stoned she doesn't care anymore.”
“I first met Caro twenty years ago,” Sam said. “She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
“Prettier than Patricia?”
“Yes, Kathleen, prettier than Patricia. And there aren't many women I’d say that about.” He took a careful sip from his pristine white coffee mug. “But she made her deal with the devil. She knew what she was getting herself into.”
“Then maybe she should let her sons in on the secret.”
He studied her from under his dark eyebrows. “You really think Kevin doesn't know?”
“No,” she said. “I totally think he knows. That's why it drives me so crazy that he won't admit it.”
“How angry was he last night?” Sam asked.
“He wasn't mad at all,” Kathleen said, jerking her chin up. “He didn't say a single word about it.”
“Well, that must have been frustrating for you,” Sam said. “Working so hard to get a reaction out of him and then not getting it.”
“I didn't want to make him angry,” she said. “I just wanted him to admit the truth for once. For his own mental health.”
“Oh, come on,” Sam said. “You don't point out to a guy that one of his parents is unfaithful and a liar unless your goal is to infuriate him.”
She opened her mouth to argue but had to close it again. He was right, of course. She had known that what she was saying to Kevin would make anyone furious-anyone except, apparently, Kevin. The truth was she had found his lack of a reaction anticlimactic. “Well, why won't he just admit it?” she said. “If I know it and he knows it and the whole world knows it. Why not just admit it's true?”
“If the Porters started acknowledging everything that's sick or wrong with their lives…” Sam didn't bother to finish the sentence. “They've found some kind of status quo in just ignoring everything. That's what works for them, I guess. And if you're going to marry into that family, Kathleen, you're going to have to learn to be as blind as the rest of them.”
“I don't think I could,” she said. “I mean, to sit around all the time pretending you don't know things you know-”
“It probably just takes a little practice, that's all.”
“I guess.” She twisted her mouth sideways, thinking. “So what else do you know about them?”
“Who? The Porters?”
“You said there's lots of dirt there.”
“There is,” he said. “But you're not going to hear it from me. Ask your husband-to-be.”
“He won't tell me anything.”
“No,” Sam said. “He probably won't.”
During the weeks following Halloween, Sari felt like she had a devil sitting on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil looked and sounded a lot like Lucy, and it said, “Keep things going with the guy, have some fun, make him fall in love with you, and then shatter his heart and his life into a million pieces.” And the angel, who looked a little like Ellen, but was dressed for some reason in Kathleen's responsible clothes, said, “Don't do it, Sari. For your own sake.”
She knew the angel was right, but it was the devil who intrigued her. Sometimes, when she said goodbye to Jason at the end of a session, she'd meet his eyes and see the pleading there and wonder what it would be like to give in to it and go out with him and follow the whole tangle through to the end-and then crush him. And sometimes she'd wonder what it would be like to follow it through to the end and not crush him. And that's when she would give herself a good mental shake and listen to the angel and keep herself well out of it.
There was one day when Jason was wearing a blue shirt that lightened the color of his eyes until you just wanted to stare at them forever. At the end of the session, he asked Sari if she had time to have a drink with him, and she had to struggle to say no.
That night, she ran home and got down her high school yearbook and made herself study it.
The page devoted to the Resource Room, a page on which Charlie appeared three times-once with a chef's hat on and a big smile, because they had been making cookies in class that day and Charlie loved cookies more than anything else in the world-left her throat and eyes aching with tears that wouldn't come all the way out.
After that, the pictures-page after page after page-of Jason Smith on every sports team, a smirk of athletic superiority and social dominance always on his face, successfully rekindled her anger and her determination not to be swayed by a pair of blue eyes.
Back at the clinic, it was once again easy to tell him no when he asked her out and it stayed easy-no, she didn't want to have coffee, no, she wasn't interested in seeing a movie, no, she was rushing off after this session, no, she was busy, no, she had work to do, no, she had other plans…
At some point, he'd have to give up, she figured. But she also knew that the one blue-eyed day she had hesitated before saying no had given Jason Smith reason to think that maybe there was hope. He took her reluctance as a challenge, and, instead of giving up, he tried harder.
She couldn't have strung him along any better if she'd been trying.
She could guess what he thought-that it was their professional relationship that made her pull back, that she was worried she was breaking some kind of unwritten (or maybe even written) clinic law. He probably assumed things would have been different if they'd met at a party instead of as client and professional. He probably told himself stories of people who overcame an awkward business situation to find love and romance together. The thrill of the chase probably made it all the more interesting to him. He was that kind of guy.
And meanwhile there was Zack, who was improving almost daily; Zack with the crooked grin who would one day stare at Sari uncomprehendingly when she tried to teach him to say, “I want a cookie,” and who would two days later come walking up to her and point to the cookie jar and say, “Want cookie,” as if he had always said it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to utter a two-word sentence; Zack, who now crawled into her lap the second she picked out a book to show him, who grabbed her hand when she arrived at his house and pulled her outside where he would say, “Ball?” and then walk her over to the basketball court; Zack, who was calm almost all the time now, who hardly ever screamed anymore, who learned by leaps and bounds and with whom she found herself more in love every day.
With him, at least, her relationship was uncomplicated and satisfying.