by Robyn Carr
For starters, the very sound of her voice sent him drifting; he loved her voice. Her skin was clear and fair, her eyes sparkled and her laugh was like music. He was falling.
“If you knew my father and how like him I am,” Leigh had gone on, “you would know what utter chaos our marriage really was. My mother predicted long ago that Max wouldn’t favor our marriage with even a cursory glance and it would simply disappear. Mother, you see, is not like my father. She is an absolute rock with great common sense. She was the anchor in the raging sea that was my father’s enormous intelligence. She’s very intelligent, but not in the showy, extreme way my father was. She always knew the best thing for me would be an anchor, not a sail. She advised me not to marry someone so like my father, but I didn’t listen.”
John had given her a bewildering frown and ordered another beer, letting her talk, intrigued by her expensive vocabulary. Then they had necked in his truck after drinks, indulging in kisses that were long, wet and the most exhilarating he had ever known. And he had known a few.
John had often pondered the whole concept of the physical chemistry between a man and a woman. It was like the meshing of fine gears, like waxing skis or tuning up a Porsche...and he said so. “What a great match of taste, texture, smell,” he had said.
“Pheromones,” she had replied.
John had more fun exploring the phenomenon than discussing it and closed her mouth with his. Whether it was pheromones or dumb luck, it could grab you by the neck and drag you across the room. That was how it had been with Leigh from the start, as it had never been with any other woman, ever. Though she was beautiful, it hadn’t been her picture-perfect looks that had drawn him closer. In fact, he liked beauty but hated vanity. Leigh, he learned right away, didn’t put much stock in her appearance. He had wanted her instantly; he wanted her still.
Jess never did know that Leigh was seeing a man in Durango. With the Sierra Club as a cover, Leigh could disappear for “hikes,” “trail rides” and “camping trips” that took days. It was the closest thing to paradise John had ever experienced. But, he wondered, didn’t Jess suspect something?
“She works very hard at not interfering in my personal life,” Leigh had said. “My dad was an intellectual, a Bohemian, more so than my mom...and I’m a spoiled and indulged only child. They treated me like an adult from the time I was three. I don’t want her to start worrying about me now.”
Over the next several weeks John began to understand that he had landed himself in a peculiar and extraordinary situation. When Jess had been twenty-one she had married a forty-year-old eccentric genius and produced one gifted child. Leigh. Cal, a very successful, prizewinning scientist, was so well-known and well traveled that Leigh had lived a privileged, highly educated life. She had graduated at the age of nineteen from Princeton and received a master’s degree by twenty-one. Math and philosophy, a unique combination, were her specialties. She also spoke four languages, painted, sculpted, wrote poetry and plays, played the piano, to say nothing of all she had read.
Also she had two left feet and often seemed sidetracked by some huge idea; she lost things, missed turns, bounced checks. It made him laugh; she could work on some complex math theory containing more letters than numbers—not to mention strange symbols—but forget to balance her checkbook or make deposits. She was brilliant. John began to slowly understand that Leigh had been far more than Max’s secretary; she had several degrees of her own, including a Ph.D. in Physics.
John, by contrast, had a high-school diploma and, when he met Leigh, was a ski bum who played Mr. Fix-it and Mr. Yardman from April to October so he could make just enough money to ski all winter. He was emotionally and materially unencumbered and led a loose, fast life. After Leigh left Durango, he found he was so much in demand that he hired young men with similar agendas to work in a little business that had since become a hefty operation. He had been raised in Denver by an airline mechanic and a housewife, and was the youngest of four boys. He did not like the big city and had never understood, nor cared to understand things like stock leveraging, quantum physics or DNA, nor did he read anything more complicated than the sports weeklies. But, boy, could he plant a flowering plum. If he died in summer, he would go to heaven with dirt under his nails.
They were together for just over two months. Through the high, green heat of summer he was amazed by how intensely he loved her. He knew that while Leigh had traveled the world and read El Cid in Spanish, she had never before had great sex. He knew because her response shocked her as much as it pleased him. Though multilingual, she had not been multi-that-other-thing before John—and she told him so. Breathlessly, she said, “I thought there was only one to a customer.”
“How many do you want, doll? I’m in no hurry.”
“Oh...John...is everyone this good at this?”
“No,” he told her, kissing every place he could think of. “Just me with you—it’s the only combination that works this good.”
“Well,” she corrected. He didn’t hear.
The true meaning of arrogance, John discovered, was believing you were the cause of another person’s passion or pleasure. He believed he had invented sex for Leigh. She could paint and sculpt, but he had been the first man to undress her outside, beside the lake, and rock with her on a floating dock.
Around the first of August, just as John was beginning to believe he could not live without her, a series of events conspired to tear them apart. In retrospect, he could see that it was nothing but lousy luck that arrived before he was ready to deal with it.
First, Max Brackon had a heart attack and Leigh went to him. Though it didn’t change the facts of the divorce and she returned to Durango in less than a week, it exacerbated John’s jealousy and fear that he wasn’t smart enough to be loved by her. It made him irritable, unfair and critical. He began to find things seriously wrong with being in love with a genius.
One—she had very few practical skills, having been told by a quorum of professors throughout her life that she had more to offer the world than her skill at cleaning and cooking. She should exercise her cerebellum and let someone else do the drudge work. She could, therefore, theorize and build a microwave oven, but she couldn’t cook vegetables in one.
“That’s just plain lazy,” said John. Perhaps he raised his voice.
“I am not lazy,” she replied, just as hotly. “You can’t call someone who has three degrees and gets a Ph.D. by twenty-three lazy.”
“I thought it was just a master’s,” he replied.
“That was at twenty-one.”
Two—she obviously thought that because of her higher than average IQ, she had higher than average needs and should be indulged. Whenever they began to talk about never being apart, she naturally assumed they would go wherever she went. “What can I do in Durango?” she had asked. “I’ll have to go somewhere where I can be challenged. Boredom terrifies me more than anything. I have an offer from UCLA to work on a design for a newborn CAT scan device that can be used to detect a predisposition for Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. You could come to L.A.”
“And do lawns?” he asked. “While you win the Nobel Prize in scientific discoveries? Maybe I should clean pools.”
“You could do anything you like,” she replied, not understanding him or his ego problem. “I would be happy to support you financially. It would be no problem.”
“Yes, it would,” he had said. How could a woman so smart be so completely insensitive to a man’s feelings? A man’s needs? It never occurred to him to be more considerate of what she might need.
Three—there appeared to be exactly one place in which they were totally compatible; in all other places they were different. She wanted children right away, the sooner the better. He didn’t. He loved athletics; she didn’t even run to answer the phone. He liked the mountains and fresh air; she had her nose in a book. He was physic
al; she was mental. He was night; she was day.
“It works here, like this,” he whispered to her when they had just made love.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes tearing, “but will this be enough? I didn’t have this with Max, but here in Durango, with you, there’s nothing to do after this! I need work, family, challenge, mental stimulation, intellectual activity.”
Those were not things John could offer.
Things fell apart at the last breath of summer. Leigh gave him books he didn’t read; she talked about scientific research he couldn’t fathom. Ecology was the only subject on which they could converse without him feeling like an idiot. He had trouble prying her loose from some sheaf of papers to hike. Their differences became more obvious. Tense. Leigh often lost track of things. She could begin to make a pot of coffee, think of some odd mathematical equation she had read about or have an unfinished poem pop into her mind, and become consumed, forget to put the pot under the coffeemaker and flood the kitchen. She left Jess’s car in Drive once because she had been thinking of something complex, and it rolled down a steep incline and into a ditch. The scatterbrain antics that had amused him at first began to strike him as inexcusable. It was like babysitting sometimes. John wasn’t quite ready for the job but was definitely unprepared to give her up. The pain and frustration began to match the ecstasy.
Leigh became morose and restless all at once. She wanted to stay, wanted to go. Wanted to make love, but cried, sometimes during their loving. John couldn’t stand to be so messed up over someone so messed up! Where were all the uncomplicated, silly, girlie girls? The ones looking for a man with muscles and no serious conversation?
In the panic of coming to the end of an affair they were filled with equal parts hunger and agony. It was exactly the kind of mood that made lovers demand impossible things of each other and suffer temporary insanity. He demanded she admit she couldn’t cope with being in love with a ski bum who had no ambition beyond enjoying life as much as possible. She demanded he make an effort, at least, to fit into a world in which she would have the challenge she craved and he could fish, hunt, ski, boat and do anything he wanted on the money she would earn. He said he would cut his throat before he’d live off a woman, and she said she’d only die a painful death without intellectual stimulation. She needed long hours. Relaxation of the type he loved was harder for her than anything else in life. However impossible it was for him to understand, she relaxed by reading philosophy and physics.
John said that was garbage. And he honestly thought it was.
The way it ended was even more ridiculous than the rest of it had been. She said she was going to go back to Stanford to think things through, to at least get her divorce taken care of. And he said—it was still hard for him to believe—he actually said, “Good. Go. It was fun, but we’re just from two different worlds. I’m not up to this, anyway.”
When that made her cry, he didn’t hold her and say he was sorry. He didn’t try to take it back. For a brief moment he really believed he wanted someone “regular.” That’s what you think when you’re twenty-seven and stupid.
Then, when she was gone, he had called, written, even braved asking Jess, “How are you getting on? Need anything done around the house?”
“No, my daughter was here, but she’s gone home now,” Jess had said, as if that were an answer.
John felt thoroughly rejected. After a hard-hitting four-month depression and more failed attempts to reach Leigh, he quickly married a pretty young woman named Cindy who was “regular” and whom, though he didn’t know it at the time, he did not love. Their happiness had lasted only a month or so, although their divorce took much longer.
He often wished there was some way to find out if Leigh had really left because she wanted to or if he had driven her away.
When he thought about it rationally, he believed Leigh had been the smart one. They couldn’t have made it work; she hovered above the average mind by about twenty feet. No matter how great their bodies worked together, it would have been unbearable to watch her grow bored and weary with someone like him—a simple man who didn’t earn much money and couldn’t discuss science. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to think about it rationally very often.
But now he knew she had twin sons, and he realized what else had been going on. That first night he met her, she had said one of her marital frustrations had been about children. Seven months after that first shared drink, after the first time they were intimate, she had had twins. She must not have been all that separated from her husband. She must have realized she was pregnant and taken herself guiltily home to Max, disconnecting from her summer affair. It made him feel slightly better to know that her inability to bridge the IQ gap hadn’t been her only reason for leaving. Very slightly.
He was afraid to see her again, yet he wanted desperately to see her again. He was no braver. Also no smarter.
* * *
Jess was repotting a plant on her redwood deck. She could see her grandsons, Mitch and Ty, constructing a fort in the thick batch of trees behind the yard and garden. They had taken turns swinging on a rope swing; they had nailed boards together in a sad attempt to make a ladder up the crooked spine of a perfect tree-house tree. She predicted they would ask to sleep in a tent in the backyard before the end of the week. She would say no. But it was grand to know they were average. Active, curious, healthy, athletic boys... What a treasure. They could keep themselves busy and challenged. They could get into the same jams that all kids did—a ball through a window, swiped candy, a fight.
Leigh been such a handful to raise; she had been reading at the age of two, skipped grades and taken special classes and advanced lessons all through school. Leigh had been so relentlessly curious that she mixed cleaning supplies with fertilizers after she had picked the lock on the garden shed. It was amazing she hadn’t killed herself; she had burned a hole through the floor.
Having her home was much like having Cal back. Ninety-five percent of the time Leigh was a joy and best friend—clever, funny, helpful. That other five percent she was like a wandering two-year-old. Jess hadn’t yet encountered the five percent this visit; Leigh seemed to be improving at keeping her mind clear.
The first thing they had to get out of the way was the business of Jess’s heart abnormality.
“I want to talk to your doctor,” Leigh had said.
“No. This is my condition. It’s manageable, and I will not have you involved. I’ve had a series of examinations, and I’m watching my cholesterol and my activities. I’ve been told I won’t drop dead today, and I’m still a competent babysitter. In fact, if I’m careful of my diet, I’ll probably be around to drive you crazy for years to come. I’m having another checkup in the fall. You’re lucky I told you at all. And the only reason I did is that I really wanted to spend some time with you and the boys. Just in case.”
“Is it angina?”
“What?”
“Mom,” Leigh had said, “I could investigate, help with some treatment decisions...”
“Absolutely not. I’m well aware of your intelligence, but this is a matter that requires good instincts. You’ll only get technical, pragmatic and annoying. Butt out.”
“But I’m home because—”
“I hope you’re home because you want to be, not just because you’re afraid I’m short-term!”
“Mother,” Leigh had begun.
“Daughter,” Jess had mimicked.
Now Jess saw Mitch, the dark one, take a wide swing on the rope that hung from a high branch. A good, big swing. What a guy. And then she smelled a nasty smell and cursed under her breath. The five percent! She made quick work of the steps to the kitchen and found macaroni burning in the pan. Then she heard a sound and looked up; a damp spot was spreading on the ceiling. She cursed again. She missed Cal, but not enough to go through all this again.
�
�If I had a serious heart condition,” she grumbled as she raced up the stairs, “this girl would kill me in no time. And if I ever get a really important heart condition, she will be the last to know!”
The tub was overflowing. “Leigh!” she shouted. But of course she wasn’t heard. Busy mind, blocked ears. She turned off the water and pulled the plug. The carpet was soaked, and her sneakers got so wet she sloshed. She went to the loft that had been Cal’s study and saw Leigh, wearing her bathrobe, sitting in front of her computer screen, her fingers clicking keys at lightning speed. She touched Leigh’s shoulder. “You’ve burned up a pan and flooded the bathroom!”
“Oh, Mom,” Leigh said, startled and shaken. “Oh, I’m sorry! I really don’t do that so much anymore, really! Damn, I’ll clean it up, I’m so sorry... I’m... ”
“Never mind,” Jess sighed wearily.
“Where are the boys?” Leigh asked over her shoulder.
“The boys are just fine. You need more watching than they do!” Oh, Leigh, she thought, where is your brain?
Much later, while drinking her afternoon glass of wine on the deck, Jess said, “Do you realize how much better you are when you have a social life? That summer you joined the Sierra Club, you had fewer mishaps. I think the fresh air helps clear your head.”
“I had mishaps that summer. Remember?” Leigh said.
“They weren’t as obvious,” Jess said.
“To you,” Leigh argued. And then, on the subject of mishaps who were now four years old, “The loveliest thing happened, Mom. Max remembered Mitch and Ty. Wasn’t that dear of him?”
“In his will?” Jess asked, amazed.
“Yes. I can’t think why. He rarely saw them. He must have done it for me, knowing how much I wanted children. Do you suppose that means he finally forgave me? Perhaps he loved me more than I knew. Am I being sentimental?”
Jess couldn’t resist the urge to touch her daughter’s golden hair, braided and falling over her shoulder. Sometimes Jess tried to imagine Leigh’s pain, her feelings of inadequacy or the way she suffered in rejection. Men were afraid to date her; women friends were equally rare. It could be such a lonely life, being a fast-tracker. “Oh, Leigh, the boys need a father.”
