Night Swimming

by Robin Schwarz

  “It’s fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “Do you gift-wrap?”

  And, as matter-of-fact as that, the watch was hers. The watch was his.

  “No. Absolutely not, Blossom.” Skip was staring at the watch. It was not even nine o’clock yet. She had been waiting for him to arrive like you wait for Christmas morning.

  “I can’t take this.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s too much. It’s just... too much.”

  “Money?”

  “Money and otherwise.”

  “But it’s my thank-you... for Disneyland and for hanging the print.”

  “Hanging the print? Jesus, Blossom, this thing costs a fortune. My hourly rates are a little more reasonable than that. Anyway, all

  jokes aside, I know what a Rolex costs, Blossom, and I just can’t take it.”

  “But Gene Hackman saw it, too, and he said anyone would like a present like this. I mean, Gene Hackman approved of it.”

  “Gene Hackman?”

  “Yeah, he was in the store, so I asked him.”

  “Well, in spite of Gene Hackman, I insist you take it back, Blossom.”

  “But I really want you to have it—the money means nothing to me.”

  “I just wouldn’t feel comfortable accepting this. It’s really beautiful, and I really appreciate it, but I can’t. I can’t.”

  “It’s rude to give a gift back, Skip,” she said, in hopes this last-ditch logic would give him an excuse to accept it.

  “I’ll just have to live with my rude self.... I’m sorry, Blossom. I know you meant well by it, and I’m flattered, but it wouldn’t be right.”

  Ever so reluctantly Blossom took it back. She put it in the box and closed it. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. That would sort of defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I guess you’ll have to content yourself with my good intentions.”

  “That I can do. Thank you. I’ll take that.”

  He walked away while Blossom stood there, not sure what to do next. She didn’t want to appear hurt. That would be a completely inappropriate response, but she was too embarrassed to sit at the pool now.

  She thought about Fernando Lamas and Ethel Merman in Happy Hunting. The scene they were in called for a kiss. One night Lamas was angry at Merman for some unknown reason. He walked off the stage after the scene and wiped the kiss off his mouth. He said kissing Merman fell somewhere between kissing a fat uncle and a Sherman tank. Blossom felt as if she’d forced Skip to kiss a Sherman tank, and he just couldn’t do it.

  “So I guess I’ll just return this,” she called out to him, looking for an instant exit.

  “Thanks, Blossom.”

  And Blossom turned toward the gate, holding back the tiniest tear. Oh, Blossom, snap out of it. He’s right. It’s too much, too much. Just like me. Too damn much.

  CHAPTER 24

  BLOSSOM DROVE AROUND for hours, practically turning pavement to butter before finally returning to the apartment at around nine. Why was she so sad? she wondered. It was just a watch. But it was more than a watch. She had given it to him out of a feeling of love, and it was as if in refusing it, he had given her love back.

  She could reason it out, knew logically it made no sense to feel so crazy about it. Skip didn’t love her. He liked her. And that was wonderful all by itself. But because Blossom craved love so badly, she couldn’t seem to appreciate the gift he gave so freely. The gift of friendship.

  Later that night she put on her bathing suit and walked down into the dark garden. By now, even the pool lights had been turned off. She dropped her towel behind her like an afterthought and slipped into the cold water.

  She felt like a satellite given up to the sky, alone in her own awful orbit, surrounded by a jangling isolation. She floated for what seemed like an endless amount of time, looking for some tiny pinpoint in the black heavens to call home. But there were only clouds. An anonymous sky offered no comfort at all as to why she was there or why, one day, she would not be. And so she swam, back and forth, back and forth, woefully heaving her body from one end of the pool to the other, disappearing beneath her own heartbeat.

  And as she swam, thoughts began to break like bubbles around her. Words . . . Back and forth, back and forth she swam. Images ... She had something special and couldn’t see it... fragments ... until she almost ruined it. It all came into focus. Back and forth, back and forth, everything was becoming clear, unknotted, good again... in spite of what I almost did . . . and the clouds of clay that had sealed the sky shut thinned out and now shone like a deep field, glinting with mica and midnight.

  She continued to swim until a certain lightness began returning to her body. Skip could see someone special hidden under all this ballast.

  Back and forth, back and forth she swam, shedding the weight of whole loaves of bread. Back and forth, back and forth, she swam, purging the excesses of her life and leaving behind so much bread and sadness. Blossom, who had been buried for what seemed no less than a thousand years, yearned to get out and live and laugh and love. Yes, love. And so she swam. And swam. And swam. The water felt like a baptism to her. And she would swim all the way to Jerusalem if she had to, to discover who it was that was in there.

  CHAPTER 25

  KELLY GOT AN UNEXPECTED reprieve from Makley, who had gone back to New Orleans. Someone had called asking if there was reward money regarding Charlotte, and even though the person refused to leave a name, and even though this inquiry didn’t mean anything necessarily, Makley wanted to get back there and begin showing Charlotte’s photograph around again. And so he did. A gut feeling told him there still might be something to learn there.

  Mrs. Sippi was crowded when Makley walked in and made his way over to the bar.

  “What’ll it be?” Henri asked the stranger.

  “Scotch, please, straight up.”

  Makley picked up a swizzle and wound it through his fingers like a string of worry beads. Henri brought him his drink.

  “You get a lot of tourists in here?”

  “A fair amount,” Henri said.

  “A friend of mine recommended this bar.”

  “Dat a fact.”

  “Yup.” Makley brought out Charlotte’s picture and showed it to Henri. “Recognize her?”

  Henri recognized Charlotte right away: the lady who’d given him the biggest tip he’d ever seen in his life, the biggest tip he ever would see. The woman who had afforded him not only that brand-new fishing rod but a secondhand bass boat to go with it. He smiled. Then he looked at Makley, and a rush of mistrust flooded his basic instincts like an ill wind.

  “Nope. Don’t recognize her none.”

  “You smiled.”

  “She funny-lookin’.” Henri felt bad disrespecting Charlotte by saying that. Especially when she had been so generous. But he was backpedaling now. He knew he had smiled, and was scrambling for an alibi. “Why you’s wanna know if I seen her anyways?”

  “She’s been missing. I’m trying to find her.”

  “Dat all?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “I s’pose. How is you her friend?”

  “I just know her...we go back a few years.”

  Henri could smell the lie like strong Stilton wafting from the doors of a cheese shop. But Makley could smell a lie, too.

  “How come you’re asking so many questions if you never seen her before?” Makley asked.

  “Idle chatter’s all. Da bartender’s curse.” A few seconds passed, and Henri’s curiosity was still primed. “If she come in, ya wants me to give her da message?”

  Makley grinned. He knew damn well Henri had seen her. He just wasn’t sure if he had seen her a few minutes ago or last night or last week. “No message. I want to surprise her.” He finished his drink and tossed down some cash. He knew more now than he had an hour ago, and was certain he was on the right track. Someone would recognize her picture and tell him so
mething. It was just a matter of time. As he got up to leave, he thought he heard Henri say something. Could have sworn he heard him say something.

  So he turned back. “S’cuse me?”

  “Have a pleasant stay in da Big Easy.”

  “Thank you.” But that wasn’t it. It was something else. Something about tipping...or someone... being...a... better tipper...? Was that it? Naaaa.

  CHAPTER 26

  BLOSSOM LOOKED THROUGH the curtain and saw Skip adjusting a sprinkler. Sprinklers. They brought back such nice childhood memories of rainbows bowing back in the sun and turning the wet air red and purple and green. And then there was the ice-cream truck that would spread the thinnest tintinnabulation of cheap silvery bells throughout the neighborhood. How everyone would rush from their childhood obsessions of hopscotch and jump rope and freeze tag to the only thing on God’s earth that could bring them unconditional happiness: a Hoodsie Cup. That was when MaryAnn and I were small, when we were still friends.

  Happy. This is how Blossom felt watching Skip drag the sprinkler across the lawn. He waved, pulling her into the present. She waved back and moved away from the window. And then her eye caught a letter someone had slipped under the door. How odd. Who knew she lived here? Maybe it was from Skip. Maybe it was an apology for refusing the watch.

  To Banjo and Moxie

  R.S.V.P. only

  It was engraved. She opened it.

  Banjo and Moxie

  are cordially invited to attend Jigsy and Pip’s annual gala

  on Saturday, the 9th of November at 4pm.

  Casual dress is requested.

  Mrs. Dolly Feingold, apt. 3B

  Banjo and Moxie? Jigsy and Pip? How strange was this? Blossom tumbled into one of her titanic tutus and headed down to the pool with the invitation. Besides genuinely not knowing what the hell it meant, it was a good way to talk to Skip and defuse any strain that might have settled about the watch.

  “Hey,” Blossom yelled, “look what I got.” She walked toward Skip, extending the letter. He read it.

  “Do you have any idea what this might be about?” asked Blossom.

  “Mrs. Feingold has two dogs: a bulldog and some big old French dog. I forget the name of the breed. Anyway, she throws this birthday party for them every year and invites all the dogs in the neighborhood to attend. I hear it’s pretty wild, ya know, dogs dressed up in basic black and pearls.”

  “Really? Is that what she means by casual dress?”

  “Yeah, last year I heard four male dogs ripped some female dog’s satin dress right off her. It was a real scandal.”

  “So who are Banjo and Moxie?”

  “Oh, they used to live in your apartment. Two Yorkshires. She probably thinks they still live there. Want me to say something?”

  “Definitely not. I may never have another excuse to meet Mrs. Feingold. I’m going. Even if I have to rent a dog.”

  “Take my dog; Mrs. Feingold won’t know.”

  “Yours?” More information.

  “He’s a mutt, but he might fit in. He’s got a great personality, and I promise he won’t gang-rape any of her guests. He’s been fixed.”

  “I can borrow him?”

  “Sure. Jeannie’s dropping him off here today. She kept him for me when I went off alone on my part of the vacation. I’m finally getting him back. It’s a custody battle,” Skip laughed.

  A custody battle? I didn’t even know Skip had a dog. She’s dropping him off here? Jesus, I’m not ready to meet his wife. No way. “So what time is she coming, Skip?”

  “I think about three. I asked her to keep him till five, but she has to get to some audition. It’ll be fine; he’s cool. He’ll just lay down under a tree.”

  Who cares what he’ll do? I’m not even thinking about the dog. “Good.”

  “When’s the party?”

  “What party?” Blossom asked. She had put the invitation so far behind her, the party might as well have come and gone.

  “Oh, the party, yes,” she said, remembering, “Saturday...at four p.m.”

  “So you can have him if you want. I’ll bring him over.” Skip paused. He had a semiserious look on his face. “Unfortunately, he doesn’t really have anything to wear. He’s not that kind of dog.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Skip,” Blossom said; the worry in her voice and eyes had nothing to do with doggie attire. “I’ll find something. He won’t be underdressed. By the way, what’s his name?”

  “Valentine. Jeannie gave him to me last Valentine’s Day. I just call him Vinny, though. It’s less embarrassing on walks.”

  Valentine? Just kill me now. “Valentine. Great.”

  “So you’ll meet them at three? Vinny and Jeannie.”

  “Wonderful. Looking forward to it.” Like a pencil in my eye. “See you then,” she said, disappearing upstairs.

  CHAPTER 27

  BLOSSOM MADE SURE TO STAY away the whole day to avoid bumping into Jeannie, but when she pulled into her parking space, she was horrified to see Skip standing there with Valentine and Jeannie. Jesus Christ. She was supposed to drop him off two hours ago. Back up, just back up. But she couldn’t. Skip was waving to her, and Jeannie was staring.

  “Hey, Blossom,” Skip said as Blossom approached. Happily. Dreadfully. She felt as if she was fake-laughing. Something she swore she’d never do again.

  “I’d like you to meet my wife. Jeannie, Blossom . . . Blossom, Jeannie...”

  My God, she’s beautiful.

  “Nice to meet you,” Blossom said, extending her hand. She wanted to die right there.

  How could I have ever thought, for a second, for even a nanosecond, that someone like Skip could ever like me. Look at her. She’s a long-stemmed rose, and I’m...I’m...I’m...a shrub!

  “Same,” Jeannie said. She was exactly as Blossom had imagined: five-eleven, lanky, blonde, her features as fine as smooth, white butter. “So, I hear you’re taking Valentine to a formal?” She’s probably thinking I’m asking her dog ’cause I can’t get a date.

  “Yeah, a dog party,” Blossom said, smiling on. God, how long do I have to keep this grin on my face? A dog party. I might as well put bowwow on my forehead.

  “A dog party. How quaint. Anyway . . .” she said, handing the leash over to Skip, “I gotta go; I’m late.” And she dashed off, her long hair trailing behind like a silk scarf, her long legs taking forever to pull up into her BMW.

  This is a nightmare. “Nice meeting you,” Blossom lied. Jeannie said nothing.

  Jeannie waved and took off.

  “I thought you said she was coming at three.”

  “I did. Her audition got all changed around. That’s Jeannie for you. You never know. So this is Vinny. Vinny...this is Blossom.” Vinny was a black and white mixture of border collie and who knows what. He wagged his tail, obviously glad to be here. It wouldn’t matter if Blossom were the queen of England or the duchess of York or just Blossom. Vinny was happy to meet her. This, she thought, is why animals are so wonderful. You could be anyone, even yourself, and they’re still happy to see you. She gave him a scratch behind the ears.

  “Vinny, how you doing, you silly boy?”

  “I think he likes you, Blossom.”

  “Yeah? Well, I like him, too.” She hesitated before asking one more time about borrowing Vinny for the party. She wanted to make sure she wasn’t imposing. “So it’s still okay to take him for a couple of hours, Skip?”

  “Yeah, no problem. Saturday, right?” Skip confirmed, turning to leave. “Four o’clock?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Skip. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem.”

  And as Skip led Vinny down the path, she couldn’t help herself; she just couldn’t help it. She had to ask him one more question: “Oh, by the way, what was Jeannie auditioning for today?” Deodorant, dental floss, hemorrhoidal suppositories?

  “I don’t know,” he called back. “I think it was for some skin cream or perfume. She does mostly fashion and beauty.�
�

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Blossom lied, watching Skip turn the corner. You just had to ask, didn’t you?

  CHAPTER 28

  WELCOME, WELCOME, COME IN.”

  “This is Vinny, Mrs. Feingold. I’m Blossom McBeal. We live where Banjo and Moxie used to live. I hope it’s okay if Vinny comes to your party this year.”

  “Absolutely. Hello, Vinny, very nice to meet you. Do come in.” Mrs. Feingold answered the door with a fake boa around her neck, sporting an ivory cigarette holder. Oversized butterfly glasses, trimmed in rhinestone, framed her face. Her hair was dyed fashionably blond and very done up, very Zsa Zsa. It was a pleasant and young-looking face for someone who was eighty-two years old. Eighty-two! It was really hard to believe. Mrs. Feingold didn’t look a day over seventy.

  “I brought rawhide,” Blossom said, offering up the plate.

  “How very thoughtful. Chi Chi and Lou Lou will love these. Chi Chi and Lou Lou are Rona Rosenberg’s shar-peis. They’re mad for rawhide.”

  Blossom looked around. Mrs. Feingold’s apartment was elegantly decorated with beautiful paintings, period antiques, and Persian rugs. And displayed in the center on the dining room mantel was a replica of a fifty-foot Hinckley, finely appointed and exquisite.

  Fresh roses were everywhere, roses that were so deep and velvety, they looked like opera curtains. If someone were to see the apartment without Mrs. Feingold in it, this dog party would truly be a puzzle. But there she was, standing between two large ceramic dogs that flagged her entryway and invited everyone in with a flair.

  “You must meet Sputnik and Eloise, and, of course, Suzuki Beane. Over there, in the corner playing hard to get, is Lizzy, with that insistent pit bull Chopper, and out on the veranda, my very own Jigsy and Pip. And there’s Louisa Parker’s Chihuahua. He’s got quite the bark. He looks like a soprano, but he barks like an alto. And want to be let in on another little secret?”

  “Sure,” Blossom said.

  “Louisa’s husband, Mr. Parker, thinks he was a dog in the time of William the Great.”

  Blossom laughed. “Let’s hope for Mrs. Parker’s sake he wasn’t a Chihuahua.”