by Malena Lott
Yet I acquiesced-it was only an innocent play, I told myself- and we headed out to the production called Four Seasons, put on by the creative independent school Zoe attended. Zoe missed way too much school to go to public school, and because Rachel deemed the arts and individual expression the highest standard for an education, Zoe ended up at the Austin Creative Academy where parents hoped for future Mozarts or Dickenses or… well, da Vincis. It also happened to be where the A.D.D. kids who failed in a more regimented environment got stuck, so it was an interesting mix, to say the least.
We arrived late as usual-Bradley couldn't find his lucky socks and William couldn't find his light jacket and da Vinci had to shower in my bathroom because a pipe had busted in the studio. I know what you're thinking. Did I get a sneak peek at da Vinci in the shower to see if reality matched up to my fantasy?
Yes. And no. While I was busy shoveling through my kids' drawers and closets to find their missing items, I remembered that some of Bradley's clean clothes had gotten mixed in with my clothes by mistake. I'd seen them in my closet, which is of course off my bathroom where da Vinci was showering. I opened the door, the steam from the shower rushing out, and slipped into my closet. As I passed by the shower with the clear plexiglass stall, I could see the frame of a naked man and all I could think was that I couldn't believe there was any naked man in my shower, let alone a man like da Vinci. I tried to be quiet, but my closet door squeaked and da Vinci hollered out. “Is that you, Mona Lisa?”
And I could feel my whole body tingle from the toes up and answered. “I'm sorry. I'm looking for Bradley's sock.”
Da Vinci hollered back. “You've been keeping secret from me, Mona Lisa.”
“Oh, yeah? What's that?”
“Your shower is much better than studio shower. Not complaint, though. Only truth. No fix other shower, and I shower with you.”
He didn't laugh, but with his broken English, I couldn't always tell when he was kidding. I couldn't see his face. Until I turned, missing sock in hand, and saw da Vinci peek his head out from the shower door. With a big smile on his face. I saw six inches of his naked body from top down, but only the left side. “It's warm in here. Come and join me. I'll wash your hair.”
If we didn't have to be at the auditorium in ten minutes and if we were alone in the house, I would've leapt into the shower as if my feet were on fire. If my heart were beating any faster, I was sure it would explode. Still, eros would have to wait. “I'll take a raincheck,” I said, which da Vinci didn't understand. “That means next time.”
He closed the door again and started singing in Italian. I don't know what it was, but I could've listened to it all night long. “Whatever,” da Vinci said, which he had picked up from Bradley, only da Vinci didn't infuse the same sarcasm.
Now all I could think about was how badly I needed a shower.
My father hates to be late, and nearly all of my childhood memories involve my dad standing with his elbow in the air, his right eyebrow cocked, staring at his watch as if the house would explode if we didn't get out by the time the minute hand hit whatever magical number he had in mind for us to leave.
In all other regards, my father was an easygoing dad: fair, caring, and noble. Yes, like his name.
Noble: from Latin, (g)nobilis, “ noted, highborn” from the Indo-European root, gno. My father revered education, was a better Scrabble player than I am, and while other dads in my neighborhood hosted poker night, my dad preferred Trivial Pursuit. No one would dare call my dad a nerd. If so, he was a handsome nerd. Or at least I'd give him “distinguished looking.” Yes, like his name. He was easy to get along with because he knew enough about any given topic to keep a conversation going and tell you something you didn't know about your favorite topic. I loved that about him. He had also filled my head with many useless facts over the years, which I was surprised to have come back to help me years later. He taught me about anagrams, a word formed by rearranging all the letters of another word, when I was six. It was my favorite car game and before I knew it, everywhere I went I was forming anagrams. It became our “thing.”
“Cinema,” Dad would say as we were in line for a movie.
“Iceman,” I would quickly answer.
“Good girl,” he would say and pat my head.
No wonder I was getting a PhD in linguistics. I'd been trained like Pavlov's dog. My love for words grew from there-my pastime looking for root words and keeping a dictionary in my backpack (and later purse) to satiate my thirst whenever I encountered a word I didn't know. Then a notebook much like da Vinci's, though I still didn't know what was in his. Mine was full of words. I had pages of words I loved like:
butter
crème de la crème
avant garde
muse
monkey
poignant
And words that made me cringe:
asparagus
prison
death
And even words that weren't even real words, but ones I thought should exist like “mind-drift” and “love coma.” I tried these words (and many others) out over the years, but so far, none of them had caught on. I would have to get them in a Steven Spielberg movie or on MTV to accomplish adding a new popular phrase into the dictionary.
Noble was checking his watch in the dark (yes, it had a light in it, of course) when we arrived. Even in the near dark of the theater, his look spoke volumes. And he sighed as if to say, “Oh, Ramona, still late at thirty-six years of age.” Two boys had not improved my proclivity for tardiness. Another word I love: proclivity.
He kissed me on the cheek, my mother hugged the boys and me, and Rachel was nowhere to be found-probably backstage being a stage mom. My father said, “Ramona, this is Dr. Cortland Andrews,” and my stomach dropped. I had no idea. What a silly thing for my body to do, just from the mention of someone's name. I squinted and sure enough, Cortland was sitting next to my father, with three empty seats to his left. The boys sat next to my mother, and I introduced da Vinci to my father. My mother was busy mothering da Vinci: how was he liking America, is Ramona feeding you enough, can I come do your laundry. Good. They just thought I was being nice to him. His patron, no more, no less. They wouldn't in a million years believe da Vinci had just propositioned me in the bathroom. I perspired just thinking about it.
“Good to see you,” Cortland said as I scooted past him to sit down. Cortland and da Vinci shook hands, though da Vinci told me the night of Panchal's wedding that he didn't like Cortland. Or more specifically, did not like the way he looked at me or danced with me. He'd been jealous. Silly, really. I started to sit two seats over from Cortland to leave room for Rachel, but Cortland said, “She won't come back. She asks me to come to these things, and I never see her until after they're over with.” He patted the empty seat with his hand, so I obliged and sat next to him. Da Vinci sat on my left. The last time I was sandwiched by two handsome guys? You guessed it: never. “ How are you?” I asked Cortland, our shoulders rubbing together as I sat down.
He straightened in his seat. “Hey, I'm glad you came. I have a word for you.”
My father used to do this. Try to stump me. I'd gone through dozens of calendars and books on vocabulary, e-mail words of the day, and the thickest dictionaries on the planet trying to keep up. “Hit me.”
“Abaction.”
“Good one. But we are in Texas, cattle country. It means cattle-stealing.”
Cortland frowned. “Okay. Devoir.”
“As in, ‘It is your devoir to win this spelling bee, Ramona.‘ Courtesy, my dad before my fourth-grade regional championship.”
“And did you do your duty and win?”
“Second place, and don't rub it in.”
“I can't believe I'm telling you this, but I was Texas spelling bee champion in 1972. Sixth grade.”
“Fine. I'm a little jealous. I lost sixth grade to Morton Fitz.”
“With a name like Morton Fitz, how could he lose?”
The light
s went off, abruptly ending our conversation. Only our third meeting and I could see why my dad and sister both liked Cortland. Skilled conversationalist, never at a loss for words. Unlike me, who had so many words to choose from I often gave up and remained silent. Cortland knew I liked words, so that's where he started with me. Charming, really. But devoir? Come on. Amateur.
The curtain raised and within a minute, da Vinci held my hand. I could feel my heart quicken as I decided whether or not to let him hold it (which my heart wanted him to do) or to slip it out (which I felt I had to do to save an explanation to my parents). The second option would no doubt hurt da Vinci's feelings, and I really did want the raincheck on the shower and whatever else may come. Why did I care what my parents thought? Hadn't my mother just the week prior said how glad she was I have some company? That I didn't seem quite so lonely anymore? Maybe she didn't think I would have that kind of a relationship with da Vinci. But still.
I squeezed da Vinci's hand and then got up, telling him I needed to go to the restroom. I made my way to the back of the theater where I watched my darling niece stumble over her lines, trip across the stage and keep a plastered grin on her face for a solid hour. My knees were weak from standing, but I didn't return to my seat until the final number and then I put my hands in my jacket pocket and shivered as if I were cold in the theater.
When Rachel and the tiny starlet joined us in the aisle, Rachel hugged Cortland and kissed him on the lips, right in front of my parents. I'd always felt funny about public displays of affection, even after Joel and I had been married for years. “Hey, you,” she said to him in a flirty voice full of sex appeal. Their language of love was out in full view for the world to see. They were an open book. They were having sex and lots of it. Only later in the bathroom she'd told me I was wrong. No sex yet.
“Believe me, I've practically thrown myself on him, but I can't believe he's the wait-until-marriage type, even if he is a good Christian man,” she gushed as she reapplied lip gloss, then tilted her head as if to reconsider. “A few more dates I'm sure he'll give in. How can he resist this?”
“How indeed,” I said, my throat catching. Maybe I was feeling a little jealous, and though my sister had enjoyed a spirited sex life since her divorce, this one got to me. I didn't want her to kiss Cortland, let alone have sex with him. He was the only guy she'd ever dated after Michael that I liked. Not like liked, just liked in the general humankind sort of way.
“What about you? Knocking boots with Leo yet?”
I brushed through my hair, trying not to compare it to my sister's. It wasn't fair that I'd just spent $125 on a color job that I couldn't afford in the first place and hers still looked shinier and bouncier. “Don't be silly.”
“I'm not being silly. I'm being hopeful. For you. If I weren't with Cortland, I'd be in hot pursuit. You're just not interested, huh?”
“Actually, he has kissed me. I mean we've kissed. At a wine festival.”
Rachel's wide mouth opened even wider and emitted a squeal of delight. “OhmygodI'msohappyforyou. Is he a great kisser? I always imagined Italians would be the best kissers.”
“Very much so. He's young, though. I think kissing improves with age.”
“Poo. It's when they're young and hot and full of reckless abandon that it's good. I bet sleeping with him will be…” She rolled her eyes into the back of her head. “OhmygodIcan'tbelieveI'mjealousofyou.”
I swelled with pride. Of course I shouldn't have to keep da Vinci a secret. I was a grown woman. I could make my own decisions about my love life. About getting one, that is. I'd just have to deal with the teacher issue and figure out how to break the news to Judith without breaking her heart, and then we were fair game. Not that I'd let my sister's jealousy speed along any decision.
“There you are,” Cortland said as I exited the bathroom, and for a split second I thought he'd been waiting for me until I saw that my sister was directly behind me. Cortland locked eyes with me, one, two, three, then focused on my sister, who put her arm around his waist and led him away from me.
My boys were still at the table, talking football. My boys: William, Bradley, and da Vinci. When I approached, they all three looked up at me with adoration. Not as adorably as when my boys were little and they shouted “Momma!” every time I entered the room, but for growing boys and one young man, I felt very lucky. Especially when da Vinci leaned over and whispered in my ear, “ Usci-amo di qui. ”
Let's get out of here.
Chapter 9
Anagrams: Leonardo da Vinci
FOR SOMEONE OF QUESTIONABLE faith, I looked for signs only where I'd felt comfortable: within words. I thought it meant something that Cortland named his dog “love.” I thought it meant something that my da Vinci had been named after that da Vinci and that Mona Lisa was a derivative of my full name. Even though I couldn't explain it, I knew that in this time and this space Mona Lisa (me) and da Vinci (him) meant something together though. To figure it out, I searched for meaning within his name, playing the anagram game that had become second nature to me. There were plenty of messages to be found within Leonardo da Vinci:
A candid lore vino. The “lore” of our names.
A candid role vino. The “role vino” had played in our courtship at the wine festival.
A candid rove loin. Having a roving loin could be a bad thing, but as long as it was roving in my direction, I took it as a good sign.
Which led me to:
A candid lover ion. It couldn't be helped. We couldn't be helped. It was right there: da Vinci and Mona Lisa's union. Love matter. Right there in his name. All along.
As Anh helped me rake leaves the following day (the thing about leaves is, they keep falling until the last leaf is gone. The trees were now bare, which meant we were only two weeks from Joel's death date), I confessed to Anh my intentions. I'm not sure if I wanted her to give me a high-five or a stern, shake-her-finger-at-me type of warning or do a cartwheel. Instead, she stared at me blankly for a few seconds, which felt more like an hour. Then she threw her rake down and wrapped her skinny arms around me.
“Good for you, Rames.” Her hug also felt like it lasted an hour. When she let go, she had tears in her eyes.
“Oh, dear. Why are you crying?”
“Because I'm so happy for you. Because I can tell how much happier you've been lately and if he's the reason for it, then I say, more amore!”
“Well, I got him transferred into another class. I'm no longer his teacher, though I am still a teacher. Fortunately Panchal met his own wife at the cultural center, so he can't exactly throw stones.”
Anh shrugged. “You're both adults and it's not a public university. Besides, sometimes you can't help how you meet who you meet, you know?”
“And besides, it's not like we would be going anywhere relationship-wise. It would just be for companionship.”
“And great sex.”
I tossed my rake onto the ground. This is why I had to tell Anh. I wasn't looking for consensus or approval. I was looking for a sex pep talk. “I don't think I can go through with it. I'm scared. And don't you dare tell me it's like riding a bike.”
Anh put her hands on her hips. “No. It's a helluva lot more fun than getting back on a bike again. And take it from me, someone who's had more sexual partners than should probably be openly admitted and three of them very different husbands in the sack; the fundamentals are the same from guy to guy.”
“Uh, yeah. I don't need a diagram. Tab A goes into Slot B, repeat as necessary, thankyouverymuch.”
“What I mean is, once things get going, it kind of takes care of itself. The body almost goes into autopilot. Only some autopilots are a lot sexier than others.”
“Well, it did feel like if I hadn't stopped things at the wine festival or in the car that I could've gone through with it. If only…”
”… you didn't feel guilty about Joel.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, if Heaven weren't already as great as having
sex every minute of the day, then he would be doing it, too. I once read orgasm is the closest thing we experience on earth to the feeling we'll have to the perfect bliss we'll feel in Heaven.”
“But you don't believe in Heaven. You believe in reincarnation.”
“It doesn't matter what I believe; it matters what you believe. And you believe in Heaven, and I do believe in bliss, so go for it.”
“A little piece of Heaven might be nice.”
“Or a lot of it. A whole lot of bliss.”
Bliss: a word missing from my personal vocabulary. What would it be like to have it back in my dictionary? To actually feel it?
“What about you? Gone blissing lately? You haven't shared, which means you either haven't or you're keeping secrets.”
Anh shrugged her shoulders. “I swore I wouldn't tell you.”
“This can't be good. Maybe I don't wanna know.”
“I had a thing the other night…”
“Great. You're telling me anyway. Fine, you had a mover/shaker thing?”
“Exactly. And who was there, but Michael.”
“As in my ex-brother-in-law Michael?”
“Mr. Republican Himself. So we have a few drinks. You know how vodka tonics do me.”
“No. Don't even say it.” I threw down the rake and covered my ears. “You slept with Michael and now neither of you are going to go to the boys' games with me, and it'll be all awkward and weird, and oh, Jesus, Anh, couldn't you stick to a safe glass of Chardonnay?”
“I'd had a very bad day. My stock dropped.”
“And that makes you sleep with people you don't like?”
“No, it makes me drink vodka tonics with extra lime. And sometimes it leads to sleeping with someone I don't like. But it's not that I dislike Michael as a person. He's a good-looking enough man.”
“Who fundamentally disagrees with everything you stand for.”
