Night Swimming

by Robin Schwarz

  “There was nothing in there a minute ago, and when I opened it, something came out. What was it?”

  “It was your heart’s desire.”

  “Will it come true?” she asked.

  “I will hope and pray it does, my beautiful angel. I will hope and pray it does.”

  “Could you visit me again?” Heather asked hesitantly.

  “My goodness, yes.”

  Blossom smiled at Heather as she made her way to the door.

  “What’s your name?” Heather asked.

  “Snow, my dear, just like the snow globe I left on your table.”

  Heather looked over and found the globe, a glorious globe with nothing less than a wizard whirling her wand inside. She shook it and looked back up to show Blossom, but just like snow, she had melted and simply disappeared.

  CHAPTER 45

  AFTER A FEW WEEKS the pink began to come back into Blossom’s cheeks. She was going to the hospital every Tuesday and Thursday with Dolly and every Wednesday as the wizard. Her outlook began to change, too. You could see it in her step, her eyes, her general demeanor.

  She sold the Hockney for even money, a hundred twenty-five thousand, and was able to live quite comfortably for the moment. She worried that Hockney would call on a whim to see it, but Dolly assuaged her concerns. “He’s back in England, dear, working on a canvas the size of an IMAX movie screen. He won’t return until it’s done, and you know how long that could take. Ever paint a room?”

  Blossom could not believe how good she was feeling, and took stock of how much control the mind plays over the body. She even thought she might have put the disease in remission. How could she feel this well and still be sick? Surely it was the perfect example of mind over matter. She traded in her reading on death and dying for think-healthy, be-healthy books. Attitude, it’s all about the attitude.

  The other thing she began doing was taking in the sights. After all, she’d barely seen anything since she’d arrived in California, the land of dreams. Except, of course, Gene Hackman.

  She walked through the open-air Farmers Market, simply absorbing the mood and spice of it. So many different foods were out on display, as well as kitsch souvenir stands brimming with Los Angeles key chains and all sorts of junky Hollywood paraphernalia. She took in Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and meandered down the Walk of Fame to see if her hands or feet fit any of the various stars. The closest match was Joan Crawford’s, which she found immensely depressing. She’d rather have matched Trigger’s.

  She toured Paramount Studios, which was a personal thrill, never having been so close to her longtime passion. She knew every story, every detail of the famed histories that hovered like secrets around every corner—the best of which, she recalled, was Fred Astaire, who took his screen test here. They said of him, “He can’t act, can’t sing, is balding, and can dance a little.” This made her laugh.

  She wished MGM still had a studio she could meander through. That was where so many of the big stars made their names—people like Judy Garland, Spencer Tracy, Greta Garbo, Clark Gable, Gene Kelly, and Elizabeth Taylor. She imagined the ghosts floating through those abandoned lots, revealing all the gossip, the affairs, the transgressions that had taken place on these mystic grounds.

  She had so much cinematic history stored in her brain. What on earth would she do with such useless information now? So what if Bing Crosby had an ermine-covered toilet? Did it matter that Buster Keaton was drunk when he married his second wife and didn’t even know he’d done it?

  On and on the trivia crissed and crossed Blossom’s brain. She had saved every scrap of fact and fiction about Hollywood, and now it all seemed like so many useless pieces of paper that better served as kindling. A whole life of gathering information that was as unimportant as week-old newspaper left on a bench at the train station.

  Blossom made her sojourn to the new Getty Center, perched high on a hill. It was beautiful up here, traversed with courtyards, fountains, and gardens. And to think I might have missed this. Someone would ask, “How was Hollywood, Blossom? What did you see?” And I was inches away from just being able to say, “A pool.”

  However, Hollywood was all about stars, and Blossom yearned to see one celebrity, just one, other than Gene Hackman. So in a last-ditch effort she took the Warner Brothers tour. The tour was chock-full of executives, carpenters, prop assistants, production staff, and tourists, but absolutely no stars.

  Still, it was exciting finally to see everything she and MaryAnn had only read about or seen on TV. At long last she was here, in the middle of it all (middle—the word had found new meaning), and she was sure she was at least close to someone famous, but who they were and where they were would remain a mystery.

  She drove through Malibu, skirting the homes of the rich and famous, though most of them were obstructed by walls and garages. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out what was so great about Malibu. The homes were close to the road and, from what she saw, not very attractive. She had to give full credit to the East Coast on this one. They had it all over Malibu for beauty.

  She rose early one weekend morning and took in the famed Pasadena Flea Market, where she was able to find twelve silver charms in the shape of roses. These would be perfect for the secret present she was preparing for Dolly, especially since there was never a day that Dolly did not make sure to have fresh roses in her house, happily, gratefully carrying on a tradition.

  She rented a bike and followed the stretch of sand for miles down Venice’s boardwalk.

  She lost herself in the hillside curves of Mulholland Drive, riding the crest of the Santa Monica Mountains. She stopped several times just to take in the views. This was the most spectacular road she had ever been on.

  What if she had missed all this? What was she thinking? Now she had done something. Now she had her own stories to tell, if only for a short time.

  CHAPTER 46

  BLOSSOM HAD NOT SEEN SKIP in a few weeks. She was still swimming at night, but always long after Skip had gone home. She’d lost fifteen more pounds and looked like a different woman from the one who had arrived in Hollywood. Dolly insisted they go out and buy Blossom some new clothes. She was literally lost beneath the fabrics of her shifts and caftans. Blossom reluctantly agreed, and together they headed to the Beverly Center.

  She tried on dresses she never imagined getting into. At five feet four she found she could even fit into some size eights. It was a revelation, looking in the mirror and seeing a shapely, pretty woman looking back.

  “That’s your color, Blossom.”

  Blossom looked down at the bright orange skirt and matching blouse. She thought she looked like a crossing guard or a Popsicle. And, after all, Dolly had thought she looked good after she had her eyebrows done. So she tried on another skirt and blouse. An apple green skirt with a washed-out peach top. Yes, that looked much better. She even tucked it in at the waist, which she hadn’t dared do in years.

  “Not too terrible, Dolly.” Dolly laughed. Blossom had such a self-effacing way of giving herself a compliment. In fact, as Dolly thought about it, Blossom had never given herself a compliment. It was as if she didn’t dare.

  “You look wonderful, Blossom; yes, you do! Now it’s time to buy you a new bathing suit. You have to be floating in your old one.”

  It was true. Lately, Blossom felt as if she were swimming in an empty potato sack. She even had to pin the back when she swam, so that it would stay on. And so it was off to the dreaded bathing suit section. Even as a size eight Blossom was still self-conscious.

  “Honey,” Dolly said, “even if you weighed sixty pounds soaking wet, you’d still hate buying bathing suits. There’s not a woman I know who likes this part. So just relax and pick out your favorite colors.”

  Blossom just sort of flew through the racks and grabbed what looked reasonable.

  “Now how about going all out? How about a haircut?”

  Blossom was hesitant. Visions of Franz, the eyebrow man, danced in h
er head.

  “Who did you have in mind?”

  “The hairdresser of the stars,” Dolly said.

  Phyllis Diller is a star; Sinead O’Connor is a star; Eddie from Frasier is a star.

  “Who goes there?”

  “Everyone.”

  What the hell? Take a chance. Hold on to a mirror. If something’s happening you don’t like, grab the scissors and stab the hairdresser to death.

  “Okay,” Blossom agreed, and off they went.

  The salon was lovely. Tea and sandwiches were being served, while several other employees asked you every fifteen minutes if there was anything else they could do for you.

  Blossom was led to her chair. “I think,” a young woman said in an English accent, “you should cut about six inches off. You have beautiful hair, but there’s just too much of it and it weighs you down. You’re not big enough to carry it all.”

  Not big enough to carry it all? Had Blossom heard right? She turned around to make sure the hair dresser wasn’t talking to someone else behind her. She wasn’t. So short of kissing this woman, Blossom simply threw caution to the wind and said, “Do what you think is best.” She could have shaved the NBC peacock onto her scalp after that comment.

  “And the other thing I think would work quite well with your coloring,” she continued, “is some gold highlights to frame your face. What do you think?”

  Blossom cocked her head and studied what she had to work with.

  “All right, what kind of look were you thinking of?”

  The hairdresser pulled a picture out of Glamour. It was a shoulder cut that was light and easy, suiting someone like Meg Ryan. “I love it. But will it look like that on me?” “Better.” And so it began: the tin foil, the washing, the drying, the cutting.

  After five hours it was over. Blossom looked in the mirror and did something she hadn’t done in a long time when she looked in the mirror. She smiled. But this was no ordinary smile. This was the smile of acceptance.

  “I love it,” she said. Dolly was pleased as could be. “You look beautiful, Blossom. I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner.”

  “It suits you,” said the hairdresser. And it did. Even at six hundred dollars. It was the first time in eons that Blossom had held her head up when she left a shop. Watch out, baby...coming through, coming through.

  When she arrived back home, she saw Skip, dragging a wheelbarrow across the lawn. He looked up, then down, then up again. He was startled to see it was Blossom. He simply had not recognized her.

  “Well, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, look at you.”

  Blossom’s face reddened. Skip could still do that to her.

  “You look absolutely radiant, Blossom.”

  “Thank you, Skip.” She felt awkward, anxious to change the subject, move the attention away from herself. “So how are you doing anyway? I haven’t talked to you in so long, it seems.”

  “Oh, fine, fine,” Skip said in a not-so-fine way.

  “I saw Jeannie here; it must have been three or four weeks ago now. How’s that going?”

  “She served me with divorce papers.”

  Blossom was shocked. She really hadn’t expected to hear that. So that was what had been in that envelope. “Oh, Skip, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m sad, but you know what, Blossom? In some ways it’s better. I mean, if this is the way it’s going to be, then so be it already. I was hanging in there, waiting, wishing for another ending, but at least this way I can start getting on with my life. That’s the line I keep telling myself anyway. Sometimes the day drags on so long, I feel like a week has passed—and it’s only one o’clock.”

  Blossom was well acquainted with that awful sense of interminableness. It wasn’t too long ago when she’d experienced the endlessness of days.

  “Hey, why don’t we have dinner this week? We haven’t gotten together in a while. We deserve a catch-up.” She felt so easy in suggesting it, it even took her by surprise. But she truly meant it. Her heart was becoming full, just as Dolly had predicted. Blossom was happy for the first time in weeks.

  “I’d love that, Blossom. When’s good for you?”

  “Anytime, really, Skip. You say.”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow night it is. Oh, wait, damn, I completely forgot, I have a dinner party.” Someone from the hospital had invited Dolly and Blossom to a benefit dinner party. “The night after? I know I’m definitely free then.”

  “The night after is great.”

  “Perfect.” She couldn’t believe she was the one who couldn’t make it for dinner with Skip, but she had said yes to this other invitation already. A tiny part of her felt good she could say that to him. Two months ago she would have managed to be with him come hell or high water. But Blossom didn’t want to disappoint Dolly. Her friend had expressed some excitement about seeing Dr. Cohen in a more social situation, and this made Blossom happy. Dolly, too, was returning to the living, in ways she perhaps wasn’t aware of.

  When Blossom turned to leave, Skip called to her again.

  “Hey, Blossom,” he yelled as she was halfway up the steps.

  “Yeah?”

  “You look good, really, really good.”

  “I feel good,” she said as she headed upstairs, all grin now. She looked over the railing. “Thanks, Skip.” He smiled. She smiled back. Cha cha cha.

  CHAPTER 47

  BLOSSOM WAS FEELING GOOD, but still, in the back of her mind, she was counting the minutes. She made a list of things she wanted to do before she died. Her mother’s last words rang in her ears: “At the end of our lives, all we have are our memories or our regrets.” Blossom wanted no regrets.

  THINGS I WANT TO DO BEFORE I DIE

  1. Take a hot-air balloon ride

  2. Wear a bathing suit at high noon

  3. Meet Tom Selleck

  4. Do something wonderful for Dolly

  5. Go sailing

  6. Meet Tom Selleck

  7. Sing a song out loud for everyone to hear

  8. Tell Skip my feelings for him

  She read over her list and realized she had written Meet Tom Selleck twice, and laughed. What would she say to him anyway? Tom, I just wanted to tell you I’ve enjoyed all your TV shows and movies. Especially Magnum, PI. I wish you could have gotten out of your contract at Universal and been cast in Raiders of the Lost Ark. You would have been great in that. And never forget, you were really their first choice....Yeah, right; you’re an idiot, Blossom. It’s a good thing that people can’t read other people’s minds, ’cause then everyone would know you’re an idiot.

  She crossed Tom Selleck’s name off her list and thought that finally, finally, she was over that girlhood obsession. Then she looked over the list one more time.

  All this can be done. I can do this.

  She put on her bathing suit and took her nightly constitutional down at the pool. A cool and invigorating whirl of water undulated around her as she sank to her shoulders. The stars hung like Christmas lights on black cords. Jupiter was brighter than usual, and Venus, her elusively perfect self. Light reflected in the pool like silver coins tossed into a fountain. But the light would sift through Blossom’s fingers when she tried to capture it. Ahhh, just like love, she thought.

  She had to pull herself away from the sky to begin her laps. The stars could have held her in their gravitational orbit all night.

  Back and forth she swam, thinking about all the things she had to be grateful for. Dolly was one of them, the kindest person she had ever met. And how strange the timing of their meeting was. It was as if some mystical deity had been watching over her and decided, This would be a good time to help Blossom out. Send in Dolly. She was so grateful to whatever gods had prevailed to bless her with this friendship.

  She was grateful to Jigsy and Pip and the people at the hospital, especially the children, who, through the acceptance of their own life lessons, had truly taught Blossom what it meant to accept.

  She w
as grateful for having met Skip. No, it wasn’t romantic love, but it was special all the same.

  She was grateful for these past several months. She was in the last sips of spring and still had summer to look forward to, and maybe, if she was lucky, a bit of September. That would bring her to a year.

  She was grateful for Henri, the old bartender back in New Orleans, who was right in telling her we have to take the sad with the happy, that sorrow is a gift, yes a gift and by going through it we get to happiness... like honey from a rock.

  Finally, she was grateful for these long watery evenings when she could stretch out beneath the moon and sense the acceptance of a whole world embracing her. The stars didn’t laugh at her; the clouds didn’t turn away; the rain didn’t refuse to caress her. She was grateful for all the warm, wonderful nights that strengthened her, gathered her up, and held her without judgment. She was grateful for the chance to be herself in her final days.

  Blossom was still changing, even as time was descending. It felt as if an apple press were squeezing out the last of its juices. She reveled in the reward, which was every last sweet drop life had to offer.

  And she believed. While she was still here, life was limitless. She was believing in herself and, for the first time, witnessing the successes of that belief. Her own happiness. It was so simple. It stunned her. Dolly once told her we have everything we need to love inside ourselves. Why hadn’t she seen this sooner? Had it always been there? It seemed impossible that it could have been there the whole time. With all she’d gone through, how could happiness and love have been quietly waiting in the wings, waiting to be discovered? But every cell alive in her being was recalling the feeling so vividly that it must have been there all along.

  All she needed to do was believe. Not with her eyes but with her heart. And there it was, as matter-of-fact as it was unexplainable: just the way people believe in something beyond themselves. A simple faith. Like... like when you’re in Wyoming and you swear that you can smell the ocean.