by Stella Duffy
“Only Jake’s not in just yet. I’m Milly.”
“Oh … well. I’ll just look around if you don’t mind. A … ah … friend of mine – in London – told me to come in while I was here …”
“Right. Must have been Jasmine?”
Saz thought it was as likely as not, so she readily accepted the proffered name, glad of even a tenuous hook on which to carry the source of her travels.
“Yeah. Jasmine. She said I should come and … so …”
“Well Jake’ll be really disappointed not to hear how she is. I know they were really close before she went. I don’t really know her that well myself, I mean I wouldn’t. You know we only knew each other as little babies, so I don’t really remember, and then recently I only met her a couple of times with Jake and she wanted him all to herself, you know – talking, talking, talking. I’m not real interested in all that past stuff myself.”
“Oh. I don’t know, that is, she and I aren’t really close either. She just wanted me to … give her regards … to Jake. Do you know what time he’ll be here?”
“Usually comes in around three.”
“Fine.”
Saz looked at her watch and wondered what to do with her next five hours. She needn’t have bothered, Milly was already coming at her with rampant enthusiasm.
“You know, I can’t leave the shop, but here – I’ll make a list for you.”
“A list?”
“Sure. All the places to see. Round here. In a few hours. Unless you already know San Francisco?”
“No, not at all, I only got in last night. First time.”
“Good. There’s a bunch of things you could do. Shop – that could easily take a couple hours. Or you could go and get one of the boats. Around the bay, or maybe over to Alcatraz? Take a look and then come back for Jake.”
Milly was scribbling on a sheet of paper which she gave to Saz.
“You got a map?”
Saz handed it over and watched Milly number the seven places she insisted were “just the best places to see, if you don’t mind being with tourists”, marking her map with corresponding numbers.
“I see you’ve got Jake’s place marked out already.”
“Sorry?”
“Jake’s place. In North Beach. Did you go there to find him?”
“No. Um … Jasmine did that for me. She gave me the map. In case he wasn’t here.”
“She sure is thorough. Not like me. I think Jake thinks I’m a kinda … goofy … you know? I mean I’m not really, it’s just most of the time I’d rather think about college than all this stuff.”
“What are you studying?”
“Law. I mean I will be. I start in the fall. I’ve spent a few years playing around, but I figure I’m ready to get serious now.”
Milly looked earnestly at Saz, hair falling over her face, standing there in a pink and orange thigh-length halter-neck dress and what looked like an original pair of platform shoes. Saz suppressed a smile.
“Well Milly, this looks pretty organized to me, maybe he was just more used to Jasmine?”
“Could be, but he’s known me all my life and he only met her again a couple of years ago!”
“Yeah. Jasmine said,” Saz lied, wondering how much information she could fish without becoming too obvious.
“Well hey, sorry but I’ve gotta get on – there’s boxes of these really cool Indian rugs to unpack, you wanna look?”
Saz retrieved her map and Milly’s list.
“Maybe later. I’ve got a lot of sightseeing to do. I’m only here for a week.”
“OK, I’ll tell Jake to expect you. Oh hey … what’s your name?”
“Sarah … ah, Sarah Hannon.”
“OK Sarah, I’ll be sure and tell him. Cool! See you later!”
Saz smiled at the cuteness disappearing behind the velvet curtain and walked out of the shop. The mist had cleared and the sun was shining down on the bay, hot and fierce.
“So Jasmine, you have a name! Good. That makes two of us.”
CHAPTER 22
Saz took a leisurely uphill walk from Jake’s shop to the house marked out for her in North Beach. The streets seemed to go from Italian to Chinese and back again within half a block. Halfway there she started to wonder why Jake hadn’t just turned his own house into a shop, there seemed to be several just like Midas’s Daughter in the area. When she got to the house she realized why. It was far too beautiful to waste as a place of mere commerce. The house was wide and big and looked to be in very good condition. Sited halfway up a hill, she imagined the top windows ought to have a fantastic view of the bay or at least much of the city. It was right on the street, three storeys high, painted white with detail picked out in a pale golden cream, large bare bay windows (no hanging crystals in these), and six new marble steps going up to the stained glass panelled front door. Beside which was a sign:
PROCESS HOUSE
Dr Carla & Jake Epstein
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way –
through, over and beyond.”
WELCOME
Saz was just deliberating whether or not to ring the bell when the decision was made for her. An extremely pretty young man opened the front door.
“Are you ready?”
“What?”
“Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“For IT of course!”
“I’m sorry – can we start again?”
“Can’t do that, can’t go back, can only go forward. So are you ready?”
“But I came to look for …”
“Oh! Looking! Bad, very bad. Don’t look, just do it!”
He grabbed her with a tanned brown arm and pulled her inside. Saz was just about to start fighting him off, pulling her arm back to deliver a swift blow to his solar plexus, when a woman intervened, grabbing Saz and holding her with a cool hand.
“And who are you tormenting today, Grant?”
“She’s looking Mom, she must be ready.”
“She’s English. She may not even know who we are. Isn’t that right?”
Saz looked from mother to son, the similarity between the huge brown eyes and fierce cheekbones being too striking for any lesser relationship.
“I’m a bit – shaken – do you mind if I sit down?” she asked, stalling for time while she thought of an answer that wouldn’t pre-empt her meeting with Jake later in the day.
The woman led her through to what looked like a sitting room to the left of the entrance.
“Of course, I’m so sorry. Grant go and get some iced water – or would you prefer tea?”
“No, water will be fine, thanks.”
Once the boy had gone, the woman continued.
“You must forgive Grant. He has a ninety-year-old’s wisdom rather unfortunately coupled with an eighteen-year-old’s enthusiasm. He’s lived in the House all his life you see. He’s used to living his every moment in open interaction.”
Saz, recognizing the phrases and buzz words from her day with Max North, nodded.
“Yeah, I’m just starting.”
“So you did mean to find us?”
“Kind of. Um – I’m Sarah Hannon. I did one of the Process weekends in London. And I was interested …”
The woman nodded, pushing her short greying hair out of her eyes as she continued Saz’s sentence.
“To see where it all started? Well, that’s not unusual. But it is the Past. And we do our work from the Now. Capital letters. Surely you learnt that from Max?”
“Yeah. I did. I’m here – just for a week, a working break, really. I just wanted to look. Look around.”
“Of course. That’s fair. Well, Jake’s not here at the moment, but I’d be happy to give you a tour of the House. I’m Carla Epstein, Jake’s wife. I rim the women’s groups and the one-to-one self-assessment course.”
“And I run the youth stuff. And some of the sex stuff too.”
Grant was back with a tray, grinning ferociously over thre
e glasses and a jug of iced, mineral water.
“That’ll do fine for now Grant.”
“But you’re real busy today Mom, you’ve got a family session at noon and a talk at two. I’ll show her round, I’m not working until this evening. You can even stay to lunch if you like?”
Saz looked at Grant and saw a tall, dark-eyed young man staring back at her, completely open, totally at ease with himself and with an extremely winning smile, in spite, or perhaps because of, a chipped front tooth. In all her visits to the States, she’d rarely seen less than perfect teeth on anyone under about seventy-five and this made him seem especially attractive.
“OK. You’ve got me.”
Grant sat down seriously beside her.
“No, you’ve got you. I’ve engaged you. See, words are just the format of conversation, just the beginning, but you’ve got to be precise or you can’t attain the whole entity of anything. Words make the Now more possible, but only the correct words …”
“Grant, she’s done the Process in London. She just wants to look around. Give her a break!”
Suddenly Grant’s enthusiasm surfaced again and he jumped up off the sofa.
“London? Cool! Did you see Max? What was he like? Was it good? Are you changed?”
“Well, maybe changing…”
“Grant! The tour? You can ask her questions later – and sweetheart, it might help to remember that Max is just another guy. Just an ordinary guy who happens to know some stuff? Stuff we all know if we ask the right questions?”
“Yeah Mom. Sure. Come on, we’ll start at the very beginning, in the Process Room!!”
Grant grabbed Saz’s hand and pulled her to her feet, Carla just managed to grab the glass out of her hand before it went down the front of Saz’s shirt and, hanging on to her bag and map, Saz allowed Grant to drag her out of the room, leaving Carla laughing behind them.
“I’ll see you later Sarah, have a good time!”
They went through the House, Grant pointing out the first ever Process room and the six others, smaller and slightly more modern, which were part of a loft extension at the top of the House. Saz asked him about Max’s involvement in the early years.
“And this is where Max set everything up?”
Grant frowned a little and turned away to look out at the bay view.
“Kind of. Look, Max isn’t really cool about us discussing all the past stuff. He says it blocks the Now. I’m sure you’re interested, but you don’t need to know about then. The early years were all trial and error. This is the real thing.”
He pulled her into the meeting room where House meetings were carried out once a week.
“It used to be once a month, but with six people living in-House and about another fifty involved in the regular work, let alone the occasional seminars, once a month wasn’t nearly enough for everyone to get clear.”
They went on to the family room on the third floor – a luxurious open space paid for by “a very kind donation from a grateful ex-resident”. And finally he collected some bread, cheese and apples from the kitchen and took Saz out into the courtyard at the back. They sat under a lemon tree with ripening fruit and, after he’d had time to devour half a loaf of sourdough and most of a ripe Camembert, Grant looked up at Saz. He wasn’t smiling now.
“OK, so if Sarah isn’t your real name but you have done the Process, I can tell that … then why are you lying?”
Saz just about choked on her apple.
“Fuck! How?”
“You had to think about your name too long when you were talking to Mom at the door…”
“You weren’t even there! Were you eavesdropping?”
“Of course, Carla is always far too trusting of new people, Jake and I are always having to remind her. We have to be careful here and what’s more, you didn’t answer me twice already when I called you Sarah. Simple really. So, do I call the cops now and have them take you away for lunching under false pretences or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I was asked to come here.”
“Who asked you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you spying for Max? Doesn’t he trust us to do the work?”
“It’s not Dr North. Look, someone bought me a ticket and gave me the money to come … they thought I might find it interesting.”
Saz wondered if Grant was as hot on half-truths as he obviously was on whole lies.
“I honestly don’t know who it was that sent me … they wanted me to meet Jake and so I came. They told me where the House was and they told me where his shop was … I went there this morning.”
“You met Milly?”
“Yeah, she was really helpful.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she was. My sister can be brilliant when she wants to.”
“Sister?”
“House sister. She’s Rose’s daughter. She was born here. So was I, a few years later when Carla came to live in and got it on with Jake. There’s a whole bunch of us kids who grew up in the House. Most of us are still heavily into the work, but Milly is really … I don’t know, into the world. She wants to live out there.”
“Well you can’t all stay here forever, can you?”
“Why not? And anyway, we don’t. Some of us have already left to found a Youth House in Toronto. And there’s others who are travelling. I think they’ll come back though.”
“And Jasmine?”
“Do you know her?”
“I think she’s the person who sent me. Milly told me about her.”
“Really? Look Sarah, Milly … oh God, what’s your real name?”
“I’m called Saz.”
“Cute. Short for?”
Saz grimaced, “Sarah.”
“Listen Sarah, Jasmine isn’t OK. She kind of … she went a bit strange. She’s not like the rest of us. She was born here and then her Mom left the House and took her away when she was small and then her parents died. She was brought up by someone else, her aunt. She came back a few years ago, but she only stayed for about six months. She didn’t fit in, couldn’t do it. The House thing. Community. It was best that she left. We all agreed. I think Jake saw her a few times after that, but … you mean she gave you the money to come here and you’ve never even met her?”
Saz figured she could lie to Grant about the grand efficacy of the Process and he’d probably swallow it.
“All I know is, that I did the weekend Process. I really liked it. I told lots of people I liked it. I mean lots.”
Grant nodded, “I understand, I have that joy in it too.”
“And then the money and ticket came. In the post. Along with a map with the House marked on it and the card for Jake’s shop. I put two and two together after talking to Milly and came up with Jasmine.”
“Crazy.”
“Maybe.”
Saz was starting to get nervous about giving away too many secrets without knowing which were the ones she was supposed to be keeping. She stood up.
“I have to go, I told Milly I’d go back to the shop to meet Jake.”
“OK Listen, will you call me? I’d like to know what you find out.”
“Sure. It would probably help to talk it over anyway,” Saz lied, getting more nervous by the minute. “Are you free tonight?”
“No. I’m running a meeting. It’s about adult children and their parents. Wanna come? We could do something afterwards. I’ll show you around, we could go to Chinatown. Come on, it’s not exactly far away.”
Saz groaned.
“I don’t think so. It’s not really my kind of thing.”
Grant smiled up at her from the grass.
“Your immediate reluctance indicates that this meeting could be good for you. In fact, I demand you come. What else have you got to do, all alone in San Francisco?”
“That’s hardly changing my life of my own free will, is it?”
“It’s close enough.”
He got up from the ground.
“Go through the bac
k gate, out on to the street, take the second left and you’re bound to see a cab. I’ll see you tonight, 7.30 p.m. Sharp. I have a punctuality thing – and you won’t like it if I have to spend half an hour uncovering your reason for lateness in front of sixteen other people.”
“How old did you say you were?”
“I didn’t. Carla did. But I’m eighteen, and pushy with it. You’d better get going, Jake has a timekeeping thing too.”
“But he’s not even expecting me.”
Grant took a bite of the small, hard lemon in his hand, he screwed up his face and spat out the bitter flesh.
“Jake’s waiting for you, we all were, Milly called as soon as you left the shop. She’s not very goofy at all actually, but that orange and pink girl thing really works for her.”
“Wha …? Then why did you …”
“Get you to tell me all about it? Confession is good for the soul. And you’ll feel an awful lot better after tonight when you’ve told me the whole truth instead of these half-stories. Bye!”
He leaned over and held her head, kissing her on the forehead, Saz could smell the bitter lemon juice on his hands. Then he casually sauntered back into the House, leaving Saz wishing that she’d been asked to investigate dodgy landlords, timeshare dealers, even a good traditional case of adultery.
“Anything rather than these bloody see-through-mylies-new-age self fucking actualizers!”
CHAPTER 23
Within the first five minutes of meeting Jake, Saz was starting to worry about her lying ability. Jake was obviously well endowed with his son’s charm, though without the pushiness, and a huge dose of what could only be Max’s perception. She sat talking to him convinced, though with no clear reason she could name, that he knew just exactly what she wasn’t telling him, along with a whole lot more. He had that ability to keep silent, while smiling and looking interested that always made Saz want to scream, silence that made her say much more than she really wanted to. He looked like Saz’s archetype of a grown-up hippy – sun-tanned with curly dark brown hair, just beginning to go grey and a well-trimmed, slightly more grey, beard. His eyes were big and pale blue above the fine, prominent cheekbones he shared with his wife and had handed down to his son. This man looked exactly like the Woodstock generation was supposed to – and exactly not what most of them had turned into. He greeted her with a hug, severely disarming her protective South London cool. He was friendly and warm, but with a touch of distance that Saz found extremely difficult to reconcile with his hippy appearance.
