When I’d cooled down a few hours later, I turned the TV on and memorized the seven postulates (the second half of Scrimmage), which took me about an hour. I went back to the CWP campus. I needed to see Mike. I’d come all this way for that reason, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it.
Louise was still on duty.
“No, Janet,” Louise said as she refused to look at me. “You’ve upset us, you’ve annoyed us, and you’ve angered us. You will not see Mike today. You may try again tomorrow morning, and by then, you must have learned all of Scrimmage, or you will be banned from our campus and our facilities for seven months.”
“I’m so sorry—”
“Apologies and excuses mean nothing, not a thing, Janet,” Louise said, still avoiding my eyes. “Actions are everything. You have twenty-four hours, a whole day, to complete your request, or you will be banned.”
I didn’t sleep that night. I was so mad that I wanted to go back home to San Diego. I called the airline and tried to get an earlier flight home; they were fully booked. I thought of renting a car and driving back to San Diego early the next morning; roughly eight hours driving was going to be too much.
I had a fun thought.
I could call Dad and ask him to charter a private jet for me. The charter would cost anywhere between four thousand dollars and eight thousand dollars per flight hour—if I remembered the ads in the travel magazines well. But, then, Mom would say—. I abandoned the thought of calling Dad.
I breakfasted the next morning, surrounded by many CWP people. I don’t remember what I ate. My memory of the meal was tainted by my experience of Louise, which means that the food had notes of outrage, anger, and bitterness.
I called Maria.
At first, Maria asked, “What are you doing up there, Janet?”
I paused. After a period of silence, I told Maria about Mike and me.
“Are you crazy!” she yelled.
“It was stupid,” I explained, “the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“You are crazy, Janet!”
I pleaded with Maria to calm down. She was the only person I’d told, and I was on my own. I needed a friend, not a judge.
Maria, trying to be understanding now, asked about Mike, about how I’d met him, and about what I felt for him.
“I think I love him,” I confessed.
Maria was quiet. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice.
“You cannot love a man you do not know, Janet. How can he love you when he has a wife?”
“He’s sent me gifts—“
“Janet, please don’t be so naive. Men buy gifts for women they want all the time, but it doesn’t mean they love them. If he really loved you, he would drop everyone else for you, Janet. That’s what you do when you love someone. If he’s still married, he’s telling you that you’re not a priority for him. You have a choice between the Janet that’s obsessed with novelty and the Janet who knows what she must do because she has a loving family.”
“I have to see him. I can’t explain it. I need to see him.”
“If you decide to continue with this fantasy relationship you’ve built up in your mind, your conscience will destroy whatever you build because the whole relationship is built on a lie. The best way to deal with this situation is to make a clean, hard break, Janet. Cut off all contact.”
“When we spent the night together, Mike told me I felt familiar. I guess he kind of felt familiar, too.”
“Just because something is familiar does not make it good for you.” Maria paused and sighed. She was probably shaking her head, which she did when Sacha, her daughter, was being stubborn. “Let me tell you something, Janet. Just hear me out. As a nurse, I’ve seen an increase in rattlesnake bites as the desert expands here in San Diego County. I can even tell you the names of the four kids of rattlesnakes you get in the county—the Red Diamond Rattlesnake, the Sidewinder, the Speckled Rattlesnake, and the Western Rattlesnake. I’m familiar with them, Janet. I can even recognize them on sight. That does not make them good for me, Janet. Familiarity does not mean friendship.”
“You sound like Mandible Harquebus and Stefana Frontispiece.”
“Well, they are smart people. At least they know who their enemies are.”
More silence. Maria sighed again and raised her voice. “I can’t believe you’ve done this stupid, dangerous thing, Janet. Do I need to take the next flight—you will have to pay me back—and bring your home? Are you crazy! They are our enemies!”
Maria was quiet again.
Then, dropping her voice, she said, “Please tell me what you are doing at the enemy’s hotel, Janet, asking to see a man who works for the enemy. Do you like suffering? Is that what is most familiar to you, so you go in search of it? Is that why you allowed Louise to humiliate you yesterday?”
I denied that I had been humiliated by Louise. After all, I had willingly gone to Menlo Park to see Mike.
“Of course, she humiliated you, Janet. She required you to learn their crazy prayer. That’s what you just told me.”
“Maybe I just want some closure. Or maybe I want to see the Center for Water-Related Illnesses, just in case my sons get sick. It’s very famous, you know. They’re the only ones with the resources and expertise to deal with the hatred. I’m a loving and very caring mother, Maria.”
“¡Mentiras, Janet! You are lying, Janet. You didn’t go there to see the hospital just in case your sons get sick. ¡Mentirosa! You are there to see a married man whose own people have imprisoned him! You obviously don’t listen to reason, so tell me why you called me if you won’t listen to reason?”
“I’m not lying. I think I love him. I sense that he’s close. We have a bond.”
“You can’t have a bond with a man you don’t know.”
“I’ve known him for a long time—“
“OK, Janet. OK. This discussion is going nowhere. Do whatever you want. Nothing good will come of this.”
“We don’t know that. Life is full of surprises.”
“Bad ones, in cases like this.”
I told Maria I’d talk to her later, and I returned to the CWP campus, where Louise and the others heard me repeat all of the California Water Party’s statement of their core principles—Scrimmage—to their satisfaction.
“We believe in the Constitution of the United States of America, in our right to liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We believe in private property and in our constitutional right to defend it. We believe in the state of California, in its people, and in its need for strong moral leadership. We believe in one Right Path, one republic, indivisible, out of many, one. We believe in the seven moral postulates, delivered to put us back on the Right Path. We believe that without these moral postulates, we are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past and destroy our planet and ourselves. We believe that only the California Water Party has the vision to bring these postulates into being. These are our seven beliefs, and these are our seven moral postulates. We live and die by them:
1. Good morals and good water are the foundation of a healthy people.
2. When morals and water become polluted, we die.
3. We must avoid death at all costs.
4. We live by facing our moral and water issues.
5. These are life and death issues.
6. The Right Path wants us to thrive.
7. If we fail, destruction awaits.”
“That wasn’t too hard, tough, or difficult, Janet.” Louise smiled. “Your request to see Mike is approved. Mike will welcome, greet, and say hello to you in sixty minutes, one hour. Please take a seat, sit down, and someone will serve and offer you some of our signature lemonade. Enjoy the view. The California Water Party needs your advice and help. Please join us.”
“Thank you for the California Water Party,” those at the reception said.
An hour later, Louise asked me to follow her. She scanned her fingerprint and iris and was granted access to a corridor. She to
ok me into a room in which I underwent security screening and was required to surrender everything except what I was wearing.
We walked for about ten minutes, passing closed doors and more closed doors, and we entered a room overlooking the lake. Louise told me that Mike would be with me in about an hour.
I paced about the room, wondering what I’d say to Mike. Would he ask me to leave? What if he was now fully committed to his wife and his party? What if he told me that he could never see me again? What if—.
The door opened, and Mike entered the room. The armed female CWP guards accompanying him closed the door and stood outside.
I ran to him and hugged him. We held each other for what felt like an eternity. We inhaled each other, and we kissed.
We sat down.
I wiped my eyes and stared at him.
He was in a white jumpsuit with the letters “CWP” stamped on his left chest in bright green ink. He had three stripes on his shoulder board.
He smiled as he sat across from me. He sobbed.
We hugged and kissed again.
We sat down and spent a while just staring at each other, interrupted only by sniffles.
He’d had sutures below his left eye. He’d lost weight. His dimples seemed thinner, elastic. His hands trembled as he placed them on the table one above the other. I reached for his hands.
“Is your family OK—” He asked.
“Can we talk freely?”
“Yes. Louise has chosen a safe space for us to meet.”
“She’s terrible.”
“She’s a friend. She’s good to me, Janet.”
He stared into the distance, and I tried to see what had transfixed him.
“My family is OK, Mike,” I said in response to his question. I thought I might distract him. “Jon had his snacks stolen from him at school, and Nate got really mad, so he went to the school and threatened to punch the boy who’d stolen Jon’s sandwiches. I was so proud. So proud. And Nate starts school in a few months, and he’s so smart. I don’t know where he gets it from. Mauru thinks it’s from his side, and I think it’s from mine. Mom said something the other day that I could never repeat to Mauru or anyone else. She said that swingers like Mauru’s parents never produced a genius, so Nate’s brilliance can’t come from Mauru’s family.”
Mike laughed. It might have been the first time I’d ever seen him laugh. It was the laughter of a boy who’d done something naughty, and he was now running around the family home as a parent ran after him, saying that he’d be caught soon, but with no intention of catching him at all.
“I mean,” I said, “Mom really loves Mauru, but she was tempted to call his high school in Sacramento and ask for appointments with his teachers to see if he was a good student because, she says, smart kids can only come from religious families. When I told her that it was a terrible idea to call Mauru’s school—embarrassing in fact—she said she might ask her private investigator to dig around. You know, she’s about to have a vote of no confidence tabled regarding her pastor, Pastor Jim Beira of Living Heavens Fellowship.”
Mike smiled and shook his head. “How are the twins?”
“Growing. Nathalie and Nathaniel are stringing along more words now. They’re curious, too. They touch, tear, and they still babble. Oh, they babble. The other day, Nate asked when they’ll speak English.”
He smiled again, and he rubbed my hands. We sat in the silence, and I thought of my kids. Would they accept Mike?
“I’ve dreamed of this moment since I’ve been here,” he said. “Hoping I’d see you. Wondering what I’d say. It’s terrific to see you, Janet.”
He hugged me again.
I wondered if he wanted kids.
The suture was prominent. What had happened?
He put his hands beneath the table.
“I’m OK,” he said. “It’s just so good to see you.” He put his hands back on the table, and he reached for my hands.
“What happened, Mike?”
He stared into the distance, and I wondered where he went in his silences. Who was there? What did they discuss?
He took a deep breath, and a lone tear fell from his left eye. He sniffled.
“Anton. Anton and a few others. I’ll get over it. It’s over now. They made their point. Jeremiah’s point.”
His face tensed up.
More silence. I studied him. He reminded me of a disconsolate character in a movie that you want to comfort, but you don’t know how—and you can’t. His face softened into a smile. “Do you like music?” He asked.
“Music?”
“I really miss music. Here, there’s none.” He paused and caressed my hands. “I played the trombone at high school and college. I was in a marching band, and we learned all sorts of fun stuff. I got to travel quite a bit, too. I haven’t heard a song since I’ve been here.”
“Do you want to hear a joke?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Sure.” He sat up in his seat.
“Well, the joke, Mike, is that I think I can sing. So, I’m going to sing Almond Leather’s ‘Momma is King.’”
He was laughing, and he said he’d love to hear it.
I cleared my throat and quickly butchered the song. The guards opened the door to see if everything was OK. Noticing that I was only singing, they closed it.
“That’s, like, the cheesiest song,” Mike said. “It’s filled with so much cheese that it’s only redeeming quality is that you decided to sing it, which elevates it to something worth listening to.”
“Cheesy? It’s famous, Mike. Everyone likes it.”
“Cheese, popcorn, and bubblegum always sell. You need something with a little more depth, a little more edge—“
“Like what?”
“Some country and western music—“
“Edgy country and western music, Mike? Are you pulling my leg?”
“No. There’s some really great country and western music. And some of it is really edgy and controversial. Give me that any day over cheese, popcorn, and bubblegum.”
I rolled my eyes. “Here’s another question for you, Mike: who’s the best living writer? Probably the best writer ever?”
“Only one writer?”
“Yeah.”
“I can think of a few who’ve changed me just by reading them.”
“Ambrosia Skiffles,” I said. “No one writes like she does.”
He was laughing again. The laughter made his suture appear like it was laughing, too; it was trembling.
“What’s funny?”
“You,” he said. “You crack me up. Ambrosia Skiffles!”
“She’s a bestselling author. Millions of copies sold.”
“‘Bestselling’ and ‘best’ aren’t always the same thing. ‘Bestselling’ is about popularity, which means marketing. Trust me. The CWP knows marketing, which is why they got 71 percent of the vote. ‘Best’ is about quality.”
Did he realize that he’d just referred to the CWP as “they”? The Mike I knew was a card-carrying, rule-enforcing member of the CWP.
“Well, who is the best writer, then, if Ambrosia isn’t the best?”
“Ambrosia’s mom. Patricia Skiffles. She’s the United States Poet Laureate. I’ve been reading her poem, In the hinterlands of my yearning, which is about thwarted desire and about hope.”
“Snob,” I said. “Who even reads poetry anymore?”
We held each other’s hands. I realized that I’d only ever seen him play a role. In that role, he had represented the CWP, and he’d come across as assertive, self-absorbed, and powerful. He’d always worn his CWP uniform with pride. Now, here he was in a jumpsuit, and he had a scar and bruises on his arm.
“Why country music, Mike?”
“My parents listened to it, growing up. I don’t mean to lay it on thick, but there’s this one song in which the guy is into this girl, but she’s promised to someone else, and he thinks that by composing this song for her, she’ll at least see how much he cares. He write
s his song, and he tells her that it breaks his heart that she’s taken, but he’s willing to wait for her, and he’ll do whatever it takes.”
“What if the guy himself is taken?”
“I guess they just figure things out—if they want it to work.”
I withdrew my hands from his. What would figuring things out mean? How long might it take? What might the consequences be?
“I want us to always be honest with each other, Janet. Would that be OK with you?”
I paused. I nodded. “Where is this going?” I asked. “What comes next?”
“I don’t know. I can’t leave Greta, and I can’t leave the CWP, for reasons I hope are now obvious. My first month here, I expected my feelings for you to dissipate. Being here has a way of killing everything good inside you.” He paused. “I’ve had lots of time on my own to think, and I’ve wondered what you were doing. I worried I might never see you again. When I first came to your home, about five years ago now, I wondered if someone like you could ever like someone like me—“
“Someone like you? What do you mean?”
“I guess, insecure, a little sad.”
“You seemed confident, happy.”
“We’re trained to put our best foot forward. Jeremiah says that the first time you meet someone, you’re meeting their ambassador. The ambassador must be confident, assertive, attractive—“
“And you were.”
He smiled. In the ensuing silence, he looked out at the swans in the lake. They weren’t moving.
“Could I ask if you were the one who sent the roses and the water?”
“I asked Louise to take care of it.”
“Thank you. It meant a lot to me.”
We stared at each other. I took a deep breath. I was here. He was here.
I thought of him, of me, of Mauru and the kids.
What would Mom say?
“Two bucks for your thoughts, Janet? Well, I don’t have access to my money. But do you take IOUs?”
“I always made fun of women who slept with other women’s husbands. I thought they were stupid. Then you end up in their shoes, and you realize that you don’t wake up one day and decide to turn your life upside down. Your life has always been upside down.”
Fire Sweeping: The California Ballot Killings Book II Page 19
