My Ex-Life: A Novel

by Stephen McCauley

  As she led him into the kitchen, she decided to call and cancel the appointment. Sandra was a little testy on the phone, but as long as she rescheduled for a time after David’s departure, she couldn’t object too much.

  “I have to make a quick call,” she said. “There’s lemonade in the fridge. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Great cabinets,” he said. He opened one but closed it quickly, probably appalled at the lack of order.

  She went into the living room and found her phone. She hadn’t expected David to be so filled out, a polite way of saying he had a slight paunch and had lost the lean boyishness she remembered as his defining physical trait. So much the better. It made her less self-conscious about her own exhausted appearance. She’d been fearing that—having come out and moved to California all those years ago—he’d be trim, sunny, and immaculately groomed, like one of the deans at Crawford School, an impeccable gay man in his fifties who used the word “spectacular” too often. No worries there.

  Sandra answered her call instantly. “This is Sandra. Good morning. I hope you’re having a successful day.” She had a high pixie voice Julie found piercing.

  “Hi, Sandra, this is Julie Fiske.”

  “I know that. You’re in my phone, Julie. All my clients are in my phone.” How did she manage to sound so bright this early? “I’ll be seeing you in a few hours, Julie.”

  “The thing is,” Julie said, “something’s come up, and I was hoping we could reschedule.”

  “Nope,” she chirped without a pause. “Sorry to dash your hopes, but we made the plan almost a week ago, and I’ve arranged my day around it. I’m in Manchester-by-the-Sea, 7.8 miles from you, doing another consultation right now. If you cancel, I’ll be at your door at the appointed time to pick up what you owe. In cash for cancellations.”

  “I’m not canceling, exactly. Rebooking. Sometimes things come up.”

  “If you’re in the emergency room, naturally, I’ll only bill a cancellation fee of 50 percent of the balance due.”

  “I’m not sure what to say…”

  “Then I’ll decide for you, Julie.” The high spirits had evaporated. “I’ll be there at two-thirty, as arranged days and days ago. And FYI, I’m never late.”

  The call was terminated. In the kitchen, David was dumping milk down the drain.

  “It had curdled,” he said. “Everything all right?”

  “I’m afraid I made a plan to have an Airbnb consultant look at the house this afternoon. I tried to cancel, but it didn’t go well.”

  “I promise to stay out of your way,” he said. “Why is she coming?”

  “To help me make more money off the rentals. My expenses are about to go up. I’m buying the house from Henry in August.” She felt a spasm of panic as she said this, but it passed, like a cramp in your calf. “That’s the goal anyway. Unless my rich neighbors end up buying it behind my back.”

  She brought him into the living room and watched as he took in the décor in a calculated way. Seeing it from his eyes, and knowing his fondness for order, she saw more clutter than she was used to seeing and noticed that there was a small water stain on the ceiling near one of the windows. “It needs a little organizing, I know,” she said. “Is it worse than you were expecting?”

  He put down his suitcase and hugged her. “The house makes me happy. I know it needs work, but it’s exactly the kind of place I imagined you living in. A little out of control, but totally appealing. It’s perfect for you.”

  This was the confirmation she needed that her plans weren’t completely insane. As for “out of control,” there was no point in trying to pretend it was otherwise, and besides, he’d meant it as a compliment.

  The minuscule Cabinet Room, in which she was guiltily putting him, was between the kitchen and the living room. When she opened the door, David burst out laughing. “You chose the best possible name,” he said. He flopped down on the bed, still laughing. The move was so youthful, she was transported back thirty years, and joined him, sprawling across the chenille bedspread, grinning.

  “I have people booked into the other rooms,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no. It’s perfect. I can’t tell you how much I love it.” And then, suddenly serious, he sat up and said, “I’m not here for the room, you know that. I’m here to help out with Mandy and whatever else you want. But mainly, I’m here to see you. This hasn’t been the best year of my life, so I have selfish motives, too. I had to get away from San Francisco for a while. When I called you from that party, I was in a panic.”

  “I thought so. I heard it in your voice. You’ll tell me about it?”

  “Eventually, of course. But give me a chance to make a good first impression.”

  After all these years, they still had a lot in common.

  As she helped him unpack his neatly laundered shirts and folded pants and watched him put them in the dresser beside his bed (too big for the room), she explained about the bathroom. It was across the hall, tucked under the staircase in what had once been a closet. “Anyone can use it, but no one does. On the listing, I call it a ‘bathroom-with-privacy.’”

  “Clever feint,” he said. “People prefer privacy with their bathrooms.”

  She took his socks out of the suitcase and, remembering how he preferred to store them, rolled them into a ball. She was aware of how small and warm the room was and how close they were standing. There was nothing sexual in the proximity, nothing that stirred her in that way, but it was impossible not to flash back on all the private things they’d known about each other (his fondness for epically bad movies, his love of the subway, the freckle above his penis) and the stored images of the way their younger bodies had felt and tasted and moved together. They’d never be lovers again, but a ghost of what had once been between them hovered somewhere in the room.

  There were other ghosts, too. In anticipation of David’s arrival, she’d tossed restlessly throughout the preceding night, worrying about how she’d get around to having the discussion with him that was the one big, unfinished piece of business in her life.

  “At some point,” she said, “we’ll have to recap some of the past, don’t you think?”

  He closed the dresser drawer, leaned against it, and rolled his sleeves up his forearms. She’d always found his forearms sexy although now she realized there was nothing special about them. “I’m not here for very long,” he said. “Maybe we should let things come up when they do, without planning ahead too much. If that’s all right?”

  It was a welcome reprieve.

  10

  They had lunch, and after they’d finished, David sat on the front porch with Opal at his feet, waiting for the arrival of the Airbnb consultant, trying to make a mental list of everything he needed to do around the house.

  He’d asked for a salad, part of a resolution he’d announced to “eat healthy,” everyone’s favorite euphemism for “lose weight.” Julie had pulled all the vegetables out of the refrigerator, and the two of them had stood at the counter, washing and chopping. All the greens had had the weary look of food that had been bought with good intentions, then abandoned in favor of takeout pizza. He was going to have to go shopping with her soon and take over the cooking. He’d been the cook the entire time he and Julie had lived together, and it would be odd to have her serve him now.

  Maybe it was the jet lag, but he was finding it impossible to prioritize tasks, something he usually found easy to do. There were so many. The most urgent need was the most selfish—declutter the cabinet he was sleeping in.

  He pulled a little notebook out of his pocket and started to jot down items. When he gazed out at the street, he saw a woman passing by on the sidewalk, swinging a straw bag in an extravagant way. She was wearing tight white pants that came down to the middle of her calves, and even from a distance she gave off an aura of money and sex that seemed out of place in this town. This had to be the rich neighbor Julie had mentioned, the one whose husband either was or wasn’t tr
ying to buy Julie’s house.

  She caught his eye, waved, and strolled up the walk to the house.

  “I didn’t think you were coming until later in the week!” she called out, as if they were old pals. David reeled in Opal’s leash. “Yes, hold that terrible dog so I can give you a hug.”

  “You must be Amira,” David said as she bounced up the stairs and threw herself against him. She smelled strongly of a dense perfume that seemed to be an amalgam of the best scents from the most intimate parts of the body. Or perhaps it was just her natural odor.

  She reached up, undid a button on his shirt, stood on her toes, and peered inside. Some glamorous women, he’d noted, seem to think the concept of personal space does not apply to gay men. Unfortunately, few glamorous men do. “I thought you would be hairier,” she said. “And fatter. My husband waxes his back to be more attractive. Does he think I care how he looks?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Everyone knows I married him for money. I didn’t think he’d move me up to this horrible, depressing prison. It is like death to be here.” This pronouncement seemed to cheer her up. “We’re going to have fun with you this summer. I’ll have a big, hideously boring cocktail party. It will make me less depressed to be around Les Miserables and the Anonymous Alcoholics.”

  “You don’t look depressed. You look extremely beautiful.” When in doubt, compliment, in this case, truthfully. She was wearing a tight green T-shirt made from a stretchy material that clung to her body and showed off her small, perfect breasts and slender waist more clearly than if she’d been topless. On the shirt, printed in an elegantly simple font, was the adage, FUCK YOU. “Besides, I’m only here for a little over a week.”

  “That’s not nearly enough time to solve all of Julie’s problems. I predict you’ll be here all summer. I would love to say more, but I’m meeting a potential lover at the hideous beach, so I have to hurry.”

  She waved and headed off, but as she was halfway down the hill, she called out, “David! David!”

  He went out to the sidewalk, carrying Opal. “Yes?”

  “You have to be careful with Mandy.”

  “Why is that?” he asked. The sun was in his eyes and he had to shield them to see her.

  “She is one of those girls who thinks she is ugly and will let men take advantage of her. She is going to end up crying on the steps of the library at midnight if you don’t help. That would be no good because there is only room for one of us. Cheers!”

  Clearly, this self-absorbed showboater was not a reliable witness. And yet somehow he sensed that her comments about Mandy were valid. When he sat down again and took out his notebook and looked at his to-do list, he crossed out what he’d written and scrawled “Mandy” across the top of the page.

  11

  Craig had sent a text saying he’d meet her in the parking lot of the old IGA at two o’clock, but it was getting close to three and there was still no sign of him. Mandy had her sneakers off and was juggling with them to trick herself into believing she wasn’t paying attention to the time. Not working.

  The IGA had closed its doors less than a year ago, but it already had a postapocalyptic look, as if it had been abandoned for decades. The parking lot was littered with paper and the cracked hot top was sprouting weeds.

  It was a humid afternoon and the air was sticky. David Hedges was showing up today and even though she was looking forward to having him in the house, she didn’t want to be there until he’d settled in and he and her mother had said their hellos and cried or fought or whatever they needed to do.

  She let one sneaker fall to the ground and, for the hell of it, tossed the other toward the Dumpster. Just her luck, it went in. As she was hobbling to retrieve it, Craig’s van pulled around the side of the building. She felt a nervous thrill. He stopped next to her and leaned out. He had his curly hair pushed off his face with a yellow headband, a look that actually worked on him.

  “I didn’t think you’d still be here,” he said.

  “Really? How come you came?”

  “How come you stayed?”

  “No life,” she said. “I have to get something. It’ll only take a second.”

  She felt awkward climbing into the Dumpster but had an inkling he’d like her more if she cared less about his opinion of her. She found her sneaker on top of some contractor bags and empty Dunkin’ Donuts cups. She tried to climb out as athletically as she could. She did care about his opinion of her. Of course.

  Craig was shaking his head and smiling. “Looks like you’ve done that before,” he said.

  “It’s one of my many interesting hobbies.”

  “Yeah? Maybe you’ll tell me about the others.”

  It was clear that one of his hobbies was making pretty much everything he said sound like it had a whole buffet of meanings. Take your pick, but most sounded sketchy. The way he paused before saying “others” and then raised his eyebrows?

  “I’m headed up to the water tower,” he said. “It’s cooler up there. Are you getting in?”

  She had the same feeling she had whenever he spoke to her—like a warning signal was flashing in her head, red blue red blue red blue. She ignored it and opened the door.

  “Don’t forget your seat belt,” he said.

  “You’re not wearing yours.”

  “I trust my own driving. A girl your age shouldn’t trust anyone.”

  She knew this was true, but it was reassuring that he’d at least pointed it out. The back of the van was full of cables and computer parts from an earlier decade.

  “So what are you doing with yourself now that school is out?” he asked.

  “I’ve got a summer job,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask for more details. The name of the store was so humiliating—Beachy Keen—she had trouble saying it out loud, even to her mother. “It’s called Beach something” was as much as she’d been able to get out.

  “Working retail at one of the junk shops on Perry Neck?” he asked. “Minimum wage?”

  Foolishly, she hadn’t asked the owner how much she’d be making. It had seemed rude. Mandy had wandered into a few shops out on the Neck and Elaine Guild was the first owner to offer her twenty hours a week. “And wear something beachy,” Elaine had said. So far, Mandy had worked two shifts and had worn her usual overalls, explaining that these were what she wore to the beach.

  “Something like that,” she said.

  “You’re wasting your talents,” he said. “You could be making a lot more.”

  She was so happy to hear he thought she had talents, she didn’t want to jinx the conversation by asking for details.

  “Everyone says you were in the army,” she said, trying to change the subject and maybe learn something concrete about him, something no one else knew for sure, despite all the speculation.

  “I saw you change the topic,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’ll get back to it. And who’s everyone? Those snarky little friends of yours?”

  “I don’t have all that many friends.”

  “Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing. Neither do I. Your school is full of girls walking around in designer clothes and ten pounds of makeup, all trying way too hard.”

  “I’m not sure how designer the clothes are,” she said. “Don’t forget, it’s public school.”

  “One of the things I like about you is you’re not trying.”

  She was eager to know what some of the other things he liked were, but she didn’t want to push her luck. “Why try when you know you’ll never succeed?” she said. As a fallback position, self-criticism probably wasn’t great, but it was reliable.

  “I can tell you’re smarter than all of them.”

  “I’m not so sure,” she said. “They’re too smart to get in this van with you.”

  “I wouldn’t ask them.”

  He turned off the main road and started the climb up to the hills above town. The woods up here were dotted with scruffy pines and abandoned granite quarries. The water
tower was at the highest point in town, and the van’s engine strained as they went up the steep road. It seemed right that he drove a clunker. It was reassuring. She didn’t like slick people, like that sleazy husband who’d shown himself to her in the bathroom. As bad as it was, the fact that he and his wife presented themselves as so perfect made it worse. She’d seen the wife again before they checked out, and she’d felt bad for her. She knew more about her husband than the woman did herself. It had made her want to cry as she watched them getting into their car like a happy couple.

  The water tower was a favorite hangout of teenagers because it was remote and felt dangerous—the surrounding woods had been an encampment for outcast settlers centuries ago, and the quarries were filled with icy spring water that was rumored to be bottomless. From the side-view mirror, she could see the ocean falling off behind them and the crescent of the shops and restaurants on Perry Neck.

  “So were you in the military?” she asked.

  “That’s what they say.”

  “Oh, come on. Is it really so hard to answer even one question?” She was surprised she’d said something so blunt, but having done so, she was encouraged to say more. “It’s not like I asked for your Social Security number.”

  He rattled off a string of digits so automatically, she knew it had to be his actual number. He winked at her and said, “I was in Afghanistan for two years.”

  “Is that where you learned computers?”

  “That’s where I learned to mind my own business.” The engine bucked and he shifted to a lower gear. “I get the feeling you’re a girl who already knows how to keep secrets.”