A moment of silence. "Uh hi, Doc. How're yew?"
"Fine. And you?"
Sigh almost long enough for me to recite the alphabet. "Good as can be."
"How's Mr. Overstreet?"
"Well we're all praying and hoping for the best, Doc. How's things in L.A.? Haven't been there in years. I bet everything's bigger and faster and noisier and whatever that's the way life always seems to go, doesn't it? You should see Dallas and Houston, and down here, too, though not as much down here we got a ways to go before our troubles get really big."
Word assault. Feeling as if I'd been hit hard in the end zone, I said, "Life goes on.
"If you're lucky, it does." Sigh. "But anyway, enough philosophizing that isn't gonna help anyone or anything. I expect yew'll be wanting to talk to Linda."
"If she's available."
"That's all she is, sir. Available. Poor thang never leaves the house, though I keep telling her it's not natural for a girl her age to be just sittin' around, playing nursie, getting all gloomy with no letup.
Not that I'm suggesting, mind you, that she go out and live the high life every night, what with her daddy being the way he is, no telling what could happen at any minute. So she daren't do anything she might feel regretful for later, mind you. But all this sitting can't bring good to anyone. To herself, especially. If you catch what I mean.
"Uh-huh."
"Gotta figure it this way: tapioca pudding that doesn't get eaten develops a skin and turns hard and crusty around the edges and soon it's no good for anyone. Same for a woman. That's as true as the Pledge of Allegiance, believe me."
"Uh-huh."
"Anyway.. I'll go get her, tell her you're calling long distance.
Clunk.
Shouts over the network babble: "Leen-da! Leen-da, it's for yew!.
.
. Linda, thepho-one! It's him, Linda-yew know. C'mon, hurry, girl, it's long distance!"
Footsteps, then a harried voice: "Let me take this in another room.
A few moments later: "Okay one second-I've got it. Hang up, Dolores!"
Hesitation. Click. Demise of the laugh-track.
Sigh.
"Hi, Alex."
"Hi."
"That woman. How long did she chew your ear off?"
"Let's see," I said. "Part of one lobe's gone.
She laughed without heart. "It's amazing I've got any of mine left.
Amazing Daddy hasn't. So how are you?"
"Fine. How is he?"
"Up and down. One day he looks fine; the next he can't get out of bed.
The surgeon says he definitely needs the operation but is too weak to go through it right now too congestive, and they're still not sure how many arteries are involved. They're trying to stabilize him with rest and medicine, get him strong enough for more tests. I don't know..
.
What can you do? That's the way things go. So how are you? I already asked you that, didn't I?"
"Keeping busy."
"That's good, Alex."
"The koi spawned."
"Pardon?"
"The koi the fish in the pond are laying eggs. First time they've ever done it."
"How nice," she said. "So now you'll be a daddy."
"Yup."
"Ready for the responsibility?"
"I don't know," I said. "We're talking multiple births." If any.
She said, "Well, look at it this way. At least there'll be no diapers to deal with."
Both of us laughed, said "So at the same time, and laughed again.
Synchrony. But stilted. Like bad summer-stock theater.
She said, "Been down to the school?"
"Last week. Everything seems to be going well."
"Real well, from what I hear. I spoke to Ben a couple of days ago.
He's turned out to be a bang-up principal."
"He's a nice guy," I said. "Organized, too. You made a good recemmendation."
"Yeah, he is. Very organized." She gave another heartless chuckle.
"Wonder if I'll have a job when I get back."
"I'm sure you will. Made any plans, yet in terms of getting back?"
"No," she said sharply. "How in the world can I?"
I was silent.
She said, "I didn't mean to snap, Alex. It's just been hell.. waiting. Sometimes I think waiting's the hardest thing in the world.
Even worse than... Anyway, no sense obsessing on it. It's all part of growing up and being a big girl and facing reality, isn't it?"
"I'd say you've had more than your share of reality lately."
"Yeah," she said. "Good for toughening up the old hide."
"I kind of like your hide the way it is."
Pause. "Alex, thanks for coming out last month. The three days you spent out here were the best days I've had."
"Want me to come out again?"
"I wish I could say yes, but I'd be no good to you.
"You don't have to be good."
"That's sweet of you to say but. no it just wouldn't work out. I need to... be with him. Make sure he gets good care."
"I take it Dolores hasn't become much of a nurse?"
"You take it correctly. She's the original Helpless Hannah a broken nail's a major tragedy. Till now she's been one of those lucky idiots, never had to deal with anything like this. But the sicker he gets, the more she falls apart. And when she falls apart, she talks.
Lord, how she talks. I don't know how Daddy tolerates it. Thank God I'm here to shelter him. It's as if she's bad weather-a wordstorm.
I said, "I know. I got caught in the downpour."
"Poor you.
"I'll survive."
Silence. I tried to conjure her face blond hair against my chest. The feel of our bodies... The images wouldn't come.
"Anyway," she said, sounding very tired.
"Is there anything I can do for you long distance?"
"Thanks, but I can't think of anything, Alex. Just think good thoughts about me. And take care of yourself."
"You, too, Linda."
"I'll be fine."
"I know you will."
She said, "I think I hear him coughing. Yeah, I sure do.
Got to be going."
"Bye."
"Bye."
I changed into shorts, aT-shirt, and sneakers, and tried to run off the phone call and the twelve hours that had preceded it. Got home just as the sun was setting, showered, and put on my ratty yellow bathrobe and rubber thongs. After dark I went back down to the garden and ran a flashlight over the surface of the water. The fish were inert; even the light didn't arouse them.
Postcoital bliss? Some of the egg clusters seemed to have dissipated, but several remained, adhering to the pond walls.
After I'd been down there for a quarter of an hour, I heard the phone.
News from San Labrador, finally. Hopefully, mother and daughter had started to talk.
I vaulted up the stairs to the landing and made it into the house in time to catch it on the fifth ring.
"Hello."
"Alex?" Familiar voice. Familiar, though I hadn't heard it in a time.
This time the images tumbled out like vending-machine long candy.
"Hello, Robin."
"You sound out of breath. Everything okay?"
"Fine. Just made a mad dash up from the garden."
"Hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"No, no. What's up?"
"Nothing much. Just wanted to say hi."
I thought her voice lacked buoyancy, but it had been a while since I'd been an expert on anything to do with her. "Hi. How've you been doing?"
"Just great. Working on an arch-top for Joni Mitchell. She's going to use it on her next album."
"Terrific."
"Lots of hand-carving. I'm enjoying the challenge. What've you been up to?"
"Working."
"That's good, Alex."
Same thing Linda had said. Identical inflections. The Protestant ethic, or something abo
ut me?
I said, "How's Dennis?"
"Gone. Flew the coop."
"Oh."
"It's okay, Alex. It was long-brewing no great shakes."
"Okay."
"I'm not trying to be a tough broad, Alex, say it didn't affect me at all. It did. In the beginning. Even though it was mutual, there's always that... empty space. But I'm over it. It wasn't like What he and I had was- I mean, it had its merits as well as its problems.
But it was different... from you and me."
"It would have to be."
"Yes," she said. "I don't know if there'll ever be anything like what we had. That's not a manipulation, just the way I feel."
My eyelids began to ache.
I said, "I know."
"Alex," she said in a pinched voice, "don't feel pressured to respond-in any way. God, that sounds so ridiculous. I'm so afraid of going out on a limb here "What is it?"
"I'm feeling really lousy tonight, Alex. I could really use a friend."
I heard myself saying, "I'm your friend. What's the problem?"
So much for steely resolve.
"Alex," she said timidly. "Could it be face-to-face, not just over the phone?"
"Sure."
She said, "My place or yours?" then laughed too loudly.
I said, "I'll come to you.
I drove to Venice as if in a dream. Parked in back of the storefront on Pacific, impervious to the graffiti and the trash smells, the shadows and sounds that filled the alley.
By the time I reached the front door she had it open. Dim lights touched upon the hulls of heavy machinery. Wood-sweetness and lacquer-bite floated forth from the workshop, mixing with her perfume-one I'd never smelled before. It made me feel jealous and antsy and thrilled.
She had on a gray-and-black floor-length kimono, the bottom hems flecked with sawdust. Curves through silk. Slender wrists. Bare feet.
Her auburn curls were lustrous and loose, tumbling around her shoulders. Fresh makeup, age lines I'd never seen. The heart-shaped face I'd woken up to so many mornings. Still beautiful as familiar as morning. But some region of it new, uncharted. Journeys she'd taken alone. It made me sad.
Her dark eyes burned with shame and longing. She forced herself to look into mine.
Her lip trembled and she shrugged.
I took her in my arms, felt her wrap around me and adhere, a second skin. Found her mouth and her heat, lifted her in my arms, and carried her up to the loft.
The first thing I felt the next morning was confusion a desolate bafflement, throbbing like a hangover, though we hadn't drunk. The first thing I heard was a slow rhythmic rasp-a leisurely samba-beat from down below.
Empty bed beside me. Some things never change.
Sitting up, I looked over the loft rail and saw her working.
Hand-sanding the rosewood back of a guitar clamped to a padded vise.
Hunched at her bench, wearing denim overalls, safety goggles, and a surgical mask, her hair tied up in a curly knot, bittersweetchocolate curls of wood collecting at her feet.
I watched her for a while, then got dressed and went downstairs.
She didn't hear me, kept working, and I had to step directly in front of her to catch her attention. Even then there was a delay before our eyes met; her focus, narrowed and intense, was aimed on the richly patterned wood.
Finally she stopped, placing the file on the bench top and pulling down the mask. The goggles were filmed with pinkish dust, making her eyes look bloodshot.
"This is it the one forJoni," she said, cranking open the vise, lifting the instrument, and rotating it to give me a frontal view.
"Your basic carved belly, but instead of maple she wants rosewood for the back and sides with only a minimal arch should be interesting to hear it."
I said, "Good morning."
"Good morning." She put the guitar back in the vise, kept her glance lowered even after the instrument was secured. Her fingers grazed the file. "Sleep well?"
"Great. How about you?"
"Great, too.
"Feel like breakfast?"
"Not really," she said. "There's plenty in the fridge mifridge es sufridge. Feel free."
I said, "I'm not hungry either."
Her fingernails drummed the file. "Sorry."
"For what?"
"Not wanting breakfast."
"Major felony," I said. "You're busted."
She smiled, looked down at the bench again, then back at me.
"You know how it is-the momentum. I woke up early fivefifteen.
Because I really didn't sleep well. Not because of I was just restless, thinking about this." Caressing the guitar's convex back and tapping it. "Still trying to figure out exactly how I was going to get into the grain. This is Brazilian, quarter sawn can you imagine how much I paid for a piece this thick? And how long I had to look to find one this wide? She wants a one-piece back, so I can't afford to mess it up. Knowing that jams me up it's been slow going. But this morning I got into it pretty easily. So I kept going I guess it just swept me along. What time is it?"
"Seven-ten."
"You're kidding," she said, flexing her fingers. "Can't believe I've been working for almost two hours." Flexing again.
I said, "Sore?"
"No, I feel great. Been doing these hand exercises to ward off the cramps and it's really working."
She touched the file again.
I said, "You're on a roll, kiddo. Don't stop now.
I kissed the top of her head. She took hold of my wrist with one hand, used the other to push the goggles up on her brow. Her eyes really were bloodshot. Poor goggle fit or tears?
Alex, placed a finger over her lips and kissed her left cheek.
Remnants of the perfume, now familiar, tickled my nose. Mixed with wood dust and sweat a cocktail that brought back too many memories.
I freed my wrist. She grabbed it, pressed it to her cheek. Our pulses merged.
"Alex," she said, looking up at me, blinking hard. "I didn't set it up to happen this way please believe me. What I said about friendship was true.
"There's nothing to apologize for."
"Somehow I feel there is."
I said nothing.
"Alex, what's going to happen?"
"I don't know."
She lowered my hand, pulled away, and faced the workbench.
"What about her?" she said. "The teacher."
The teacher I'd told her Linda was a school principal.
Demotion in service of the ego.
I said, "She's in Texas. Indefinitely sick father."
"Oh. Sorry to hear that. Anything serious?"
"Heart problems. He's not doing too well."
She turned, faced me, blinked hard again. Memories of her own father's sludged arteries? Or maybe it was the dust.
"Alex," she said, "I don't want to I know I have no right to ask this, but what's your... understanding with her?"
I moved to the foot of the bench, leaned on it with both hands, and stared up at the corrugations on the steel ceiling.
"There is no understanding," I said. "We're friends."
"Would this hurt her?"
"I don't imagine it would make her whoop for joy, but I'm not planning on submitting a written report."
The anger in my voice was strong enough to make her clutch the bench top.
I said, "Listen, I'm sorry. This is just a lot to deal with and I'm feeling... jammed up, myselfo Not because of her maybe that's part of it. But most of it is us. Being together, all of a sudden. The way it was last night... Shit, how long's it been? Two years?"
"Twenty-five months," she said. "But who's counting." She put her head on my chest, touched my ear, touched my neck.
Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 06 - Private Eyes Page 17
