Leap Year

by Peter Cameron

“What do you mean?” asked David.

  “You know, like Holland and the Netherlands are the same.” Susan sat on the couch in David’s office. She lit a cigarette. “I don’t really smoke anymore,” she announced, and thus excused, proceeded to drag.

  “No,” said David. “They’re two separate islands.”

  “But they’re real close, right?”

  “What’s all this about?”

  “You know the March piece on Crete? Well, I think I fucked up. I told the photographer Corsica. Anyway, I just got the film back and it looks a lot like Crete, or at least how I picture Crete. Do you think we could fake it? Or maybe we should do Corsica instead?”

  “It’s got to be Crete,” said David. “And we need pictures of Crete.”

  “If I hadn’t told you, you’d never have known.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have told me.”

  Lydia came in. She was dressed entirely in black, as she had been since the election. Unfortunately this somber attire made her appear more fashionable than mournful. “There’s a Colette Menzies on three for you,” she told David.

  “I’ll talk to research,” said Susan. “There must be some pictures of Crete floating around.”

  When David was left alone, he picked up the phone. “Hello,” he said.

  “Mr. Parish? This is Colette Menzies. I’m with the law firm of Farrell, Calegari and Lopez. I’m defending Heath Jackson. I believe you know Heath?”

  “I do,” said David.

  “Well, as you know, Heath is accused of murdering Solange Shawangunk.”

  “I know,” said David.

  “Of course you do. I’m calling to ask you a favor in regard thereto. It’s come to my attention that the prosecutor believes—or at least contends—that Heath was having an affair with Mrs. Shawangunk and killed her in a jealous rage upon hearing she had been reunited with her husband.”

  “That’s absurd,” said David.

  “I know it is. And it’s my job to convince the jurors of that absurdity. I wondered if I might enlist your aid?”

  “How so?”

  “Heath mentioned that the two of you had been…involved. It occurs to me that your testimony to that effect could be influential.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Mr. Parish, Heath is gay. It’s in his best interest to establish that fact. The best way to do that is to have his lover testify.”

  “I’m not his lover,” said David.

  “But you were,” said Ms. Menzies. “You’re as close to a lover as he’s presently got. Surely you must feel…”

  “What?” asked David.

  “Listen, I don’t want to pressure you. Either you feel comfortable doing this or you don’t.”

  “I don’t think I would,” said David.

  “Why don’t you think about it? Let me give you my number.”

  ***

  David was reading Kate Dear Mili, which he had given her for her birthday, when the phone rang. “I’ll be right back,” he said, overturning the book across Kate’s chest. “Don’t look ahead.”

  “I won’t,” said Kate.

  It was his mother, calling from River Hills, Wisconsin, to wish Kate a happy birthday. He summoned Kate to the phone.

  “When is Ms. Mouse’s birthday?” she asked as she entered the kitchen.

  “In July,” David said.

  “Then am I older than her?”

  “Older than she. No. Ms. Mouse is eight years old. Now Nana wants to wish you happy birthday. Don’t forget to thank her for the pretty dress.”

  “What dress?”

  “You remember the pretty dress she sent you. The one with bells on it. Nana made that for you. She sewed it.”

  “Thank you for the pretty dress with balls on it,” Kate said in way of a greeting.

  “Bells,” David corrected.

  Kate didn’t hear. She was busy reporting. “I got a book and some toys and an ant farm, only the ants are dead. Daddy says they’re sleeping, but they’re not.” She paused. “I have school every day.” She paused again. “Do I have school on Christmas?” she asked her father.

  “No,” said David.

  “No,” said Kate. “I love you too. Good-bye.” She handed the phone back to David.

  “Can you talk?” his mother asked him.

  “I was just putting her to bed,” he said. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Call before nine. I want to watch ‘L.A. Law.’ ”

  “Okay,” said David.

  He and Kate and Ms. Mouse and Mili returned to bed. Mili died after being reunited with her long-lost mother, a fate that seemed to please Kate.

  “Did you have a nice birthday?” David asked, as he tucked her in.

  “I still have my party at Mom’s,” said Kate.

  “Yes,” said David. “But did you like this party?”

  “Yes,” said Kate. She looked at the ant farm, which was beside her bed. “They still aren’t moving.”

  “They’re sleeping. They’ll be moving tomorrow.”

  “Promise?”

  “Well, I don’t promise, but I think so.”

  “Ants are insects,” said Kate.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Do ants have dreams?”

  “I guess,” said David.

  “May I have another éclair?”

  “No,” said David. “It’s time to sleep. Where do you want to kiss me tonight?” Kate had taken to depositing her good-night kiss in a different place each night.

  She thought for a moment. “Your elbow,” she decided.

  David rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and crooked his arm above Kate’s face. She kissed it. “Kiss Ms. Mouse,” said Kate.

  “I don’t kiss cats,” said David.

  “I do,” said Kate.

  “No you don’t,” said David.

  “Yes I do,” said Kate. She kissed a reluctant Ms. Mouse on her tiny lips. “See,” she said.

  “That was very interesting,” said David.

  “I love Ms. Mouse,” said Kate.

  “I know,” said David.

  “Do I love Nana?”

  “I think so,” said David.

  “I think so too,” said Kate.

  “Good.” David kissed her. “Good night,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

  In the kitchen he washed the dishes before calling his mother. They were not very close. His father had died when David was twelve years old by freezing in his car, which had stalled on the highway during a blizzard. Instead of bringing them closer together, this event served only to alienate David and his mother. They had two very separate griefs. When he was eighteen David learned that a woman—his father’s mistress—had also died in the car, frozenly embraced by his father. Mrs. Parish had still never acknowledged this. David finished scouring the macaroni-and-cheese pan (Kate’s choice) and dialed his mother’s number.

  She was calling about the holidays. “What are you planning?” she asked him.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it yet,” David said.

  “Well, I’ve just heard from Karen. She’s arriving on the 23rd for a week. It would be swell if you could come then. What about Kate?”

  “What about her?”

  “Do you have her that week?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t talked it out with Loren yet.”

  “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “We’re having it together: Loren and I. And Loren’s mother.”

  “That sounds lovely. How are things going with you two?”

  “Fine.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means things are fine. Back to normal.”

  “What’s normal? Together or apart?”

  “Apart,” said David.

  “That’s a shame,” said Mrs. Parish. “I was so hoping—”

  “Come to think of it,” said David, “I might have some trouble getting away this holiday season.”

  “Is work terribly busy?”r />
  “No. A friend’s going on trial, and I plan to testify on his behalf.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Parish. “A nasty custody battle?”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  “It’s a murder trial.”

  “Heavens! You’re joshing. A friend of yours—a murderer!”

  “He’s not a murderer. That’s the whole point—why I’m getting involved.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s good of you, but even so, darling, one doesn’t…I mean, nice people aren’t accused of murder. At least not in Wisconsin. Perhaps you should reevaluate this friendship.”

  “It isn’t really a friendship.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “It’s more of a romance,” said David.

  “I thought you said it was a man friend.”

  “I did.”

  Mrs. Parish was silent for a moment. The whispery edges of another conversation could be heard at the corners of theirs.

  “Well,” Mrs. Parish finally managed. “You must do whatever…I can hardly presume to…are you all right?”

  “Yes,” said David.

  “Is this romance…ongoing?”

  “No,” said David. “It’s over.”

  “Does Loren know?”

  “Yes.”

  She paused again. “You’re careful, aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” said David.

  “One hears such awful things…”

  “It’s no big deal,” said David. “I’m not even seeing him anymore.”

  “Then why this need?”

  “What need?”

  “The need to testify on his behalf. The need to tell me about it.”

  David thought for a moment. “Because it matters,” he said. “Because it matters to me.”

  CHAPTER 33

  THE CANDLES HAD SPUTTERED and gone out. The only sound was the traffic passing up the avenue. Solange and Anton lay, bloody and sweating, in the dark.

  “It was good,” said Solange.

  “Trés bon,” said Anton.

  “You’re mine,” said Solange.

  “I am,” said Anton. “I’m all yours.”

  “Every bit of you.” She chewed his hair. “Your hair is mine.”

  “What I’ve got left.”

  She licked his ear. “Your ear is mine.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “She’s nothing.”

  “Who?”

  “Amanda.”

  “Who’s Amanda?”

  Solange laughed. “Her heart is dead,” she said.

  “She never had a heart,” said Anton.

  “I want to go away,” said Solange. “I want to be alive again, but not here. This city is dead to me, and I to it.”

  “Where shall we go?”

  “I don’t care. Paris, Mustique. Some sun would be lovely.”

  “As soon as the trial’s over, we’re gone, then. Forever.”

  “No,” said Solange. “Now.”

  “But shouldn’t we…the boy will go to jail, and Amanda will go free. I thought you wanted revenge.”

  “I have you.” She held his cock. “That’s my revenge.”

  “What about the boy?”

  “I don’t like boys,” said Solange. “I like men.”

  “Why isn’t Lillian having Thanksgiving with her family?” asked Judith. She stood in Loren’s kitchen, breaking the pithy ends off of asparagus.

  “Because she’s starting to show, and her parents don’t know she’s pregnant. Besides, you know Lillian: She hates her family.”

  “She hasn’t told them?”

  “She didn’t think it would go over too big with Harriet and Winston.”

  “I thought Harriet was dying for a grandchild.”

  “She is. I don’t know. Lillian’s gotten paranoid about this baby.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Judith. “It should be such a happy thing.”

  “She is happy,” said Loren. “She’s happy and paranoid.”

  “Do you have a steamer?” asked Judith. “I can’t find it in here.”

  Loren wiped her floury hands above the pastry she was trying to roll large enough to fit the pie tin. “It’s in the bathroom,” she said. “Kate used it in her bath last night.”

  “I guess we don’t need it yet anyway,” said Judith. “I’ll put these in some water. What time did you tell Lillian and David?”

  “I told them to come at three and we’d eat at four. What’s it now?”

  “Two-thirty.” Judith watched Loren roll the pastry. “If it’s too thin, it will burn,” she said.

  Loren ignored this observation. “It’s too bad Daddy isn’t with us,” she said.

  “Well, it was his choice,” said Judith. “He said he’d be happier at Aunt Peggy’s.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Loren.

  “If he’s going to sulk, there’s nothing we can do,” said Judith.

  “Why are you acting like this?” asked Loren. “What’s going on with you and Daddy? Why is he avoiding us?”

  “You’re the one who talked to him. What did he say?”

  “He gave me some crazy story about your having a boyfriend. Something about some man at your apartment. It was really absurd.”

  “What’s so absurd about that?” asked Judith.

  “It even sounds absurd: a boyfriend. Sixty-year-old women don’t usually have boyfriends. At least not as far as I know.”

  “What if he were a lover? Can a sixty-year-old woman have a lover?”

  “Is this true? Are we talking about you?”

  “Yes,” said Judith. “We are.”

  Loren opened the oven and looked at the turkey. It just sat there, baking. She tried to picture it as a real turkey, with a head and everything, but she couldn’t. It was just this naked thing baking.

  “Of course you can have a lover,” she said, addressing the turkey. “It’s just that, well, you’re my mother, and one doesn’t think of one’s mother…you know, in that way.”

  “In what way?”

  Loren closed the oven. “You know what I mean,” she said. “As being sexually active.”

  “It isn’t just sex,” said Judith. “It isn’t even primarily sex.”

  “Than what is it?” asked Loren. “Are you in love?”

  “A little,” said Judith.

  “Do you still love Daddy?”

  “Of course,” said Judith.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Judith. “I have a month left to figure that out.”

  As dusk gathered, the party dispersed. The most senior (Judith) and junior (Kate) guests departed for a trip to the playground, leaving Loren, David, and Lillian to the washing up. David washed, Loren dried, and Lillian picked the turkey.

  “I talked to my mother the other night,” said David.

  “How is she?” asked Loren.

  “She’s okay. She called to see what I was doing for Christmas. She wants Kate and me to go out there. I told her I’d talk to you.”

  “That might work out well,” said Loren. “I was considering going away for Christmas.”

  “Without Kate?”

  “With or without. So if you wanted to take her to River Hills, that would be fine. In fact, I think it would be nice: She sees your mother so infrequently.”

  “Lucky for her,” said David. “Anyway, I might not go at all. It might conflict with Heath’s trial.”

  “You want to watch Heath’s trial?” asked Lillian.

  “I’m going to be a witness.”

  “What kind of a witness? You weren’t even there.”

  “I’m going to be a character witness,” said David. “I’m attesting to Heath’s homosexuality.”

  “Couldn’t that get messy?” asked Loren.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I just mean, well, it’s a very public thing, you know…”

  “I know that.”

  �
�Poor Heath,” said Lillian. “Have you talked to him?”

  “No,” said David.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t think he wants me to. I told him to call me if he needed anything, and he hasn’t called.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t call him,” said Lillian. “He’s checking coats at the Wisteria. Loren and I went down there to see him. Only we didn’t. They hide him in the basement.”

  They were silent a moment. The subject of Heath made them all a little uncomfortable. “You said before you were going away,” Lillian said to Loren. “Where are you going?”

  “I’d rather not say,” said Loren.

  “Oh, please,” said Lillian. “Come off it. Where?”

  “I was thinking of going to California.”

  “It’s a big state,” said Lillian. “Could you be a little more specific?”

  “Lillian! Mind your own business.”

  “She’s going to see Gregory,” said David. “Right?”

  “Yes,” said Loren.

  “You’re not thinking of moving again, are you?”

  “No. Jesus Christ, I’m just going to see Gregory for a couple of days. It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s what you make it,” said Lillian, smiling cryptically at the turkey carcass.

  “Speaking of which,” said Loren, “what’s the story with you and the guy?”

  “What guy?” asked David.

  “Didn’t you hear about Lillian’s romance?”

  “No,” said David. “Who?”

  “The guy who owns the restaurant in Stone Ridge.”

  “Paul?”

  “Claude.”

  “Oh, right. I thought there was something cooking between you two. Personally, I thought he was a little strange.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Loren.

  “Your basic nothing,” said Lillian. “Or rather, my basic nothing.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No. He invited me up there for today, but I said no.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want to, you know, go through that rejection again.”

  “What rejection?” asked David. “How come I don’t know anything about this?”

  He was ignored.

  “Maybe this time would have been different,” Loren said.

  “I doubt it. I invited him here, but he wouldn’t come. He said he never comes to New York anymore. I’ve given up on him. Plus, if I saw him now I’d have to tell him about the baby, and I’m just not into discussing that.”