Night Swimming

by Robin Schwarz

  Both women laughed now. Everyone here was a bit cuckoo, Blossom thought. Mrs. Feingold continued with her introductions, but not of the owners—they were quite secondary. Only the dogs got the honors.

  “There’s Max and Milou and Scout. Over there is Mochachina, River, Dottie and Spottie. Buddy, Blue, Emma, Peaches, Chelsea Fleemarket—because that’s were she was found, poor dear—and over there is Casey, Winston, Travis, Tess, and Ted Koppel.”

  “Ted Koppel?”

  “Mrs. Sorrenson loves Ted Koppel. She’s watched him every night for twenty years. She was so worried that after the hostage crisis ended back in nineteen-eighty he’d be taken off the air. But he wasn’t, and she’s been loyal to him ever since. Hence the name.”

  “Ahhhh.” Definitely cuckoo, no doubt about it.

  Mrs. Feingold’s apartment was so thick with dogs and hair, Blossom worried that someone’s throat would close. The TV room played Lady and the Tramp while the TV in the bedroom played Best in Show. Human food and drinks were set up in the kitchen, while doggie treats were set up all over the place. Blossom caught sight of a table where dozens of gifts were piled neatly.

  “Oh, my God, I didn’t bring you a gift,” she gasped, realizing her rudeness. “My dear, you brought yourself and your handsome young dog. That’s quite enough.”

  As the afternoon drew on, Blossom felt sure she’d landed in some strange parallel universe. It was as if a petting zoo had collided with a weird variation of performance art in Mrs. Feingold’s apartment. After an hour, Blossom found herself in the kitchen with Mrs. Feingold.

  “So these parties are somewhat unusual, Mrs. Feingold. How did you even think to do a dog party?”

  “When my husband died, I was very lonely, so I decided to get a dog for company. I didn’t get one right away, though. I waited for about two years. I think those two years were the hardest in my entire life. I never thought a dog would make any difference. I didn’t think anything would. Hell, I wasn’t even a dog person. But bringing a dog into the house was like bringing in life. It just made me happy. Their little tails wagging when you came home, jumping into your lap when you watched TV. That’s, of course, when Pip was smaller. Now he’d break my lap. Slowly but surely I began to find my smile again. And part of that was because of a dog. Can you believe it?”

  “I can totally believe it. In fact, I’ve heard of people even living longer because of their pets. I’ve never had one”—Jasper was too long ago to count —“but I’ve always thought about it.”

  “What about Vinny?”

  Blossom had slipped. “Oh, yes, Vinny, of course.” She didn’t want Mrs. Feingold to think she was crashing her party under false pretenses, so she continued her charade. “Vinny’s my first dog.”

  “Well, he’s a good one. Maybe he can go to the park with Jigsy and Pip sometime.”

  “Ahhh... yeah... that sounds nice.” What was she going to say? No, never? Blossom struggled to change the subject. “Why’d you get two dogs, Mrs. Feingold?”

  “I got them from a shelter. Jigsy had only a day left before they were going to put him down, and I couldn’t bear to take one without the other.”

  “That is such a nice story, Mrs. Feingold. What kind of dog is Jigsy?”

  “A French briard. It was his ears that got to me. Every time he perks them up, it looks like he’s trying to get Radio Free Europe.”

  Blossom laughed.

  “Sometimes we just need rescuing, Blossom. The way I see it is, they rescued me as much as I rescued them. So I give them this little birthday party to celebrate another year of...of... just being here and being happy... happy and alive. It’s just as much a party for me, too, being here for one more year and being happy. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “More than you can imagine.”

  Blossom was pleasantly surprised by Mrs. Feingold’s openness. She felt as if she had known her before this, perhaps in some other life.

  Mrs. Feingold stood with some sort of delectable doggie casserole in her hands. “Well, my dear, can’t leave the guests waiting.”

  Blossom gently touched Mrs. Feingold’s arm. “I liked your story. Thank you for telling me.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome, Blossom, dear. I have dozens. You must come over and let me chew your ear off.”

  With that, she swept out of the kitchen like a French chef, holding what looked like a swan carved out of Alpo.

  When it was time for Blossom to leave, she gathered up her charge. Mrs. Feingold escorted her to the door.

  “Perhaps next Sunday, if you don’t find yourselves too busy, you can bring Vinny over and we can have a visit.”

  Oh, Jesus. I’m gonna have to borrow Skip’s dog again.

  “Well, I’d love to, Mrs. Feingold, but I’m afraid that’s Vinny’s day at the groomer’s. I leave him there for hours. You know, nails, shampoo, massage.”

  “Oh, yes, absolutely. Well, then, perhaps you’d like to come by yourself for some brandy.”

  This was unexpected. Besides Skip’s invitation to Disneyland, Blossom hadn’t been invited anywhere in a long time. It felt very nice.

  “Brandy? Yes, that would be fine. I love brandy.” What are you talking about? You’ve never had brandy in your life. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Well, thank you for coming. This year was so much better than last.”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, only a little bit. Something about . . .” She was trying to find a nice word for what happened.

  “Gang rape. That’s the word you’re searching for. It was awful. Fortunately, Bruno had a prior engagement this year. Poor Eloise.”

  Blossom looked over at Eloise. She didn’t look as if she was having such a great time. It occurred to her that Eloise was probably very disappointed Bruno did not show up this year.

  “So I’ll see you on Sunday, Blossom?” Mrs. Feingold asked as she slowly closed her door. Dogs were trying to get out.

  “Uhhh, yes, Sunday... Sunday will be fine. Thank you.” And Blossom walked away thinking how nice it was that Mrs. Feingold had extended herself. People in Gorham would never say, “Hey, you must come over this weekend,” or, “Keep Tuesday night free for dinner.” It was a different mentality completely.

  Clearly, something had changed. Something was different. She was different. Blossom felt free, freer than she’d ever felt. She felt free to live. And it seemed so damn ironic to her that death had been the thing to give her this gift.

  It was seven o’clock when Blossom returned Vinny. Skip was sitting on the swing by the pool, reading a paper. “Sorry it’s so late, Skip, but Vinny was the first dog to leave.”

  “No problem. I got here only fifteen minutes ago myself.” He looked at his watch.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you from anything.”

  “Not at all,” Skip answered. “I was just going to grab a bite.”

  “Oh, well... ahhh... okay, then... thank you again,” she said, handing him Vinny’s leash. There was something awkward and apologetic in her voice. Skip sensed it. It had the ring of someone who looks around at others who have somewhere to go after a party, and it was clear to him that Blossom had nowhere to go.

  “Have you eaten, Blossom?”

  “Oh, I . . .” she mumbled. There she was again. Unable to make complete sentences with Skip.

  “Would you like to get something to eat? It’s dinnertime anyway,” he said, “and I want to hear all about the party. There’s a great place on Sunset. Café Med. They’ve got an outdoor space where Vinny can lay down. And good Italian food that’s reasonably priced.”

  “Thanks, Skip. I’d love to. But I insist, this is my treat. A thank-you for borrowing Vinny.”

  “That sounds perfect.” She could feel Skip’s kindness like an embrace. How was he able to do that, understand her loneliness in an instant? And then reach out. Skip. There was so much to fall in love with. How could Jeannie even question what she had with him? She thou
ght about how lucky some women are with the gifts they are given. Jeannie was thin and beautiful and had someone like Skip to love her. Probably many men had loved Jeannie and would love her. Jeannie had so much that she could throw things away and still have a lot left over. What would that feel like? Blossom could only imagine. Suddenly she felt jealousy rising in her like a green hatred.

  She bit the inside of her cheek to feel something stronger than her loathing. She didn’t want to be jealous or angry or sad. She had been given what she had been given, and it was time to find the good in it.

  Skip and Blossom settled at a table beneath a yellow beer umbrella. Vinny settled, too, cooling his belly against the shaded sidewalk. No one even knew he was there.

  “So he wasn’t underdressed?” Skip inquired, looking at Vinny’s red bandanna handsomely tied around his neck.

  “Absolutely not. There were two or three dogs that had nothing on. We hid our eyes in shame,” Blossom teased back. “And that patch over Vinny’s eye is very distinctive. I told everyone he was the Van Heusen man.”

  “Know what you want?” he asked Blossom.

  “Ahhhh...” Get something thin. Don’t go stuffing cheeseburgers into your mouth like Jughead. “The shrimp salad looks good. You?”

  “The pizza, I guess. Very unexciting.”

  “Hey, Skip,” two voices called out from beyond the sidewalk. A man and a woman approached. He was tall and handsome and muscular, and she looked like Jeannie’s clone. This city was relentless in spitting out beautiful people.

  “Hey,” Skip said back. “What are you doing here?” He turned to Blossom. “Blossom, this is Jeff and Summer Cross. Jeff... Summer, this is a friend of mine, Blossom McBeal.” Summer. Who’s named “Summer”? She sounds like a bottle of room spray.

  “Hello,” Blossom said.

  “What are you up to?” Summer asked, looking at Blossom with a sideways glance that said judgment.

  “Just getting something to eat. And you? I thought you were skiing or sailing or doing something exotic.”

  “We just got back,” Jeff confirmed. “But you’re right. We were at Summer’s family house back east in Connecticut for a couple of weeks, and from there went to Zermatt.”

  “You must stop over, Skip,” Summer chimed in ebulliently. “We’ve relandscaped the back forty when we were away. It’s absolutely fabulous now.”

  God. She’s Joan Collins in a Dallas rerun.

  “Yeah, the pool has fountains, for Christ’s sake,” Jeff laughed. Summer laughed. Skip laughed, too. Blossom didn’t laugh.

  “Hey, you get the ten-year reunion notice?” Jeff inquired, as though he’d just remembered why they’d bumped into each other after all.

  “Yeah.”

  “You gonna go?”

  “No... I’m too busy, and to tell you the truth, I’m just not that interested right now. Got other things on my mind.”

  “How are you and Jeannie, by the way?”

  Very nice. Very considerate. It’s like I’m not even here. I hate Summer.

  “All right... still working it out. Saw her a couple of days ago. She’s good.”

  A look of sympathy crossed Summer’s face like a passing cloud. Blossom looked down toward Vinny, anxious for a place to rest her eyes.

  “Well, Skipper,” Summer continued, changing the subject, “gotta run. Tag said if I came over right now, he would give me an emergency haircut. He’s such a queen, but I love him, and he’s got me over a barrel. Look at this,” she said, pointing to her perfectly coiffed do. “Call us some time,” she chirped, turning toward the street with Jeff in tow.

  All Blossom could think about was Yul Brynner’s comment: “Girls have an unfair advantage over men. If they can’t get what they want by being smart, they get what they want by being dumb.” That was Summer to a tee.

  “Call,” Jeff yelled back, “and if I decide to go to the reunion, I’ll give you a full report on what all those dot-com dropouts are doing now. Take care, Bud.” And he was off, a beat behind the scurry of his wonderfully wispy wife.

  “Friends from college,” Skip explained before Blossom had a chance to ask. “At least Jeff was. We were at Yale together. Both of us ended up coming out here when we graduated. He was coming home to go into his father’s business. I was going to law school... which I did before I quit the fancy job it got me and took the job at the pool.”

  All this was news to Blossom. Her view of Skip was changing like a Rubik’s Cube. He was suddenly all new angles.

  “You were a lawyer?”

  “For about six years. An entertainment lawyer, but I hated it. I didn’t like ‘making the deals’—negotiating with people, who, in my mind, were oilier than the stains my pickup leaves on the asphalt. It just wasn’t my thing.”

  An entertainment lawyer. Blossom was dying to ask who he’d met, if he ever had any dealings with Tom Selleck. But she knew this wasn’t the time, not after he’d said he hated it.

  “So you quit?”

  “Yeah, I quit. And it was kind of funny how I actually got the pool job. I saw the ad in the paper and stopped by Mr. Birnbaum’s office. Sidney Birnbaum. He manages many properties like this. Well, when he saw my résumé, he nearly fell on the floor. ‘Why do you want this job again?’ he asked me.

  “So I told him I was tired of entertainment law, that I was looking to do something that would use my hands, my back—something where I could be outside and breathe the air. And he said, ‘You’re willing to give up a six-figure job just to breathe the air? And it’s not even air. It’s smog.’ ”

  Skip smiled. “ ‘Well, it’s not that simple,’ I told him. ‘But in short, yes.’ This utterly perplexed Mr. Birnbaum. He said my qualifications were ridiculous, overkill. He said it would be like shooting a fly with a shotgun. But then he figured I might be an asset. Maybe I could help him with his books or legal matters, if they came up.

  “He said what concerned him was that I was going to get tired of using my hands and breathing the air and leave him high and dry. He didn’t want to have to start trying again to find someone new to fill the position. So I reassured him I’d be here for a while—not forever, but a while.

  “After that, I started immediately. But the funniest thing happened when I was leaving his office. He stopped me one last time with the question of the hour. ‘Just let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t find yourself for four hundred thousand dollars a year plus bonuses?’

  “‘In a nutshell, no,’ I said, and he said, ‘That’s the word I’d use.’

  “I left the office smiling, knowing exactly how confusing all this must have been to him. Hell, it leaves me confused at times, too.”

  “Wow,” Blossom said, barely able to grasp the breadth of Skip’s story. “You must have really wanted out.”

  “I did. But the strange thing is, I never thought I’d be doing the lawyer thing for that long. My heart just wasn’t in it. This pool thing was suppose to be strictly transitional. And it is, I suppose. But the transition is taking longer than I thought. Certainly longer than Jeannie thought. Jeannie’s pissed that I’m not doing something that, quote, ‘taps into my true potential, makes money, and isn’t embarrassing.’ She married a lawyer, not a pool guy. This pool thing was perfect. A simple managerial job, where I could be outside. I needed a respite, a little time, someplace simple to clear my head and genuinely decide what I really wanted to do. Figure out my

  future.”

  “Find your destiny,” Blossom interjected.

  “So to speak,” Skip continued. “Jeff’s destiny was set in stone. Wealthy family and all—he always knew he’d be back here. In spite of our different backgrounds, we were good friends in college.”

  “What was so different?”

  “Well, for one, I was what you’d call a Southie. I came from South Boston, blue-collar territory. My education was possible because of grants and scholarships and whatever I had worked for and whatever my father had put aside for me. Jeff’s edu
cation was possible because Jeff’s father gave Yale enough money to build a science center.

  “My dad and my grandfather all came from a background of hard workers who had to put their backs into it. Construction. I remember going to the sites they were working on when I was a kid and being absolutely awed by the buildings they were putting up.”

  “What stopped you from going into that business?”

  “At the time, my father said, ‘Over my dead body.’ He’d worked hard all his life so that he could see me go off to a good school. Yale for him was like getting knighted by the queen. My grades were good, my SATs were good, so when I was accepted, I simply followed his wishes. The road of least resistance, as I look at it now. On one level I could see his logic—‘local boy makes good’—but on the other hand, the route I took didn’t make me happy. And law school made me even more unhappy. And then practicing law made me miserable. My fate seemed to continually tumble into the wrong place, and I couldn’t redirect it.”

  “And your dad?”

  “Oh, he was happy all right. I was the big success in the family, in the neighborhood, in the universe for chrissakes.”

  “So now what?”

  “Now I’m trying to figure it out. Something I should have done when I was eighteen. But who knows what they want when they’re eighteen? Did you?”

  Yeah, I wanted to be a game show contestant and marry Tom Selleck.

  “No idea.”

  “So that’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.”

  Blossom was letting it all sink in. “I had no idea,” was all she could mutter with so many variables going through her head.

  “Yeah, well, there was no reason you would. I don’t like talking about it much. I feel like a guy in a Dominick Dunne novel. The one who had so much going for him and then suddenly can’t quite find himself. It’s even too cliché for me. Sometimes I feel my life is like bad summer reading... and worse, that Jeannie might be right: I should just bite the bullet and go back to being a lawyer. But then...I know there’s something out there I was destined to do.”

  “I really believe that everyone has a destiny, Skip. Sometimes we find it when all other routes have been closed to us. When we don’t have a choice. That’s when we forge a new route. Sometimes we get so squeezed down from the pressure of life, the world just collapses in, and when that happens, all that pressure has nowhere to go but out.”