“So now you’re a hedonist?”
“What have you got against nudity?”
“Depends who’s naked.”
“Again, sue me.”
Five minutes later, wrapped in bathrobes and snow boots, Krupsky, Muller and I cross the lawn. People are running out of Riley’s house, dropping towels, jumping in the deep end. Riley and Pam are naked. “Eighty-six degrees, Sam,” Riley says.
Krupsky laughs and drops his robe. He jumps in the pool with his cigar. Muller and I jump in after him. Krupsky moves to the shallow end. “Pam, this is my doctor,” I say. “Krupsky, this is Pam.”
“Glad to meet you, Pam.”
“When did you start hanging out with your doctor?” Riley asks.
“We’ve been dancing together,” I say.
“Not with each other, of course,” Krupsky puffs away.
“Riley, Krupsky,” I say. “Krupsky, Riley.” They shake hands. Muller swims over to the diving board. He gets out and does a belly flop. Krupsky laughs himself silly.
More people emerge from the house, shaking their thighs, jumping in the water. They’re counting down in the house. Then someone yells out, “Happy New Year!”
Krupsky’s eyes shine. “Happy New Year, Sam,” he says.
“Happy New Year, Krupsky.” Now he’s blubbering again and Pam’s giving him a hug. Lucky prick.
Chapter 87
Ruby calls the day after New Year’s. “We’ve got a bit of a panic, Sam. You up for painting a store? A crew’s coming in with the fixtures and counters on Tuesday. The owner wants two coats on the walls tomorrow. Max is already over there doing some prepping. You in?”
“Sure,” I say. “Pick me up around seven.” I get off the phone, joining Mary in the sunroom. Muller and Judy are watching Margot talk about New Year’s resolutions. Behind her, Otis dances with his arms going like windmills. Ruby bought him an iPod for Christmas. Now his New Year’s resolution is to have fun. “Knock it off, Otis,” Margot yells. She throws a pen and it bounces off his forehead.
“I’m doing my thing, Margot,” Otis says.
“I didn’t do my thing when you were on.”
“I didn’t know you had a thing.”
“Here’s my thing”—stomping on Otis’s toe—“how’s that?” Otis goes hopping around the room. “Now,” Margot says. “What are your New Year’s resolutions, folks? Any new projects? Anyone joining a health club?” The pings go off like mad. Margot reads away, her bifocals slightly askew. “Half of these aren’t worth going into detail,” she says. “The others I can sum up with three words. Get a life.”
More pings. “Look, knock off the stupid stuff. Is anyone doing anything constructive?” Ping, ping, ping, ping. “Here’s one from Lola. She’s expanding her business. Nothing wrong with diversifying. What sort of business, Lola?”
Ping.
“Oh, you’re that Lola. How exactly are you expanding?”
Ping.
“Bigger tits isn’t diversifying, Lola. Otis, get your keister over here. I don’t know what’s wrong with everybody . . .”
Ping.
“Well, thank you for the compliment, Mitch. I do sit ups and push-ups according to the U.S. Military Training Guide. My birthday’s in June. Which, by the way, is when my friend, Sam’s daughter, Judy is having her baby. Great news, Judy.”
Ping.
“Of course she knows who the father is—”
Ping, ping, ping, ping.
“Bunch of dingdongs. Get over here, Otis.”
Otis limps over to the computer. “This goes back to 1966, folks. James Carr doing ‘You’ve Got My Mind Messed Up’, one of his best. Enjoy, folks. Be right back.” He leaves Bisquick watching the record go around and around.
Mary turns off the computer. “That was very sweet of Margot,” Mary says.
“Maybe I should do butt squeezes,” Judy says.
“Just do them in private, sweetheart,” I say.
Muller stretches and yawns. “What did Ruby want, Sam?” he says.
“Another painting job starting tomorrow.”
Judy starts doing butt squeezes. Muller drifts off to sleep. Meek and Beek sit there like a couple of stuffed birds.
Chapter 88
The doorbell rings at seven o’clock the next morning. I’m just finishing my toast and coffee. Muller goes to the door. “Morning, folks,” Ruby says, tossing me a pair of clean painter’s pants. “Let’s boogie, Sam. Max’s already over there. He was priming until two in the morning. How about you, big fella? Need some extra cash for that baby of yours?”
“Can I go with them,” Muller asks Judy.
“Sure, Muller,” she says. “I’ve got baby booties to knit.”
Muller grabs his coat and follows us outside. We crowd into the pickup, Muller in the middle, me pressed up against the door. Ruby hasn’t started driving the new van yet. She says she can’t see out the back windows. She’ll keep using the pickup until she gets more practice. Muller’s legs are practically up on the dashboard. “You and those big drumsticks of yours,” she says. “We’re not going anywhere if I don’t get this thing out of reverse.”
“Sorry, Ruby.”
“I’m not mad, you big lug. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too, Ruby.”
“I gave up smoking, Sam.”
“Good for you, Ruby. I’m next.”
“Was that your New Year’s resolution?”
“I’m not big on New Year’s Resolutions.”
“Excited about the baby, Muller?” Ruby asks. “What pediatrician are you using?”
“I asked Krupsky if he’d deliver the baby.”
“You what?” I say. “When?”
“In the pool the other night. He said he has to brush up. He hasn’t delivered a baby since the sixties.”
“Since . . . since the sixties?”
“Easy, Sam,”
“The sixties? Jesus Christ, Muller. You’re telling me Krupsky’s brushing up? Why, for chrissake? Why Krupsky?”
“I like the way he touches Judy’s stomach.”
“Does Mary know about this?”
“Judy told her this morning. Did you know he delivered three babies on the boat going to Buenos Aires?”
“That was fifty fucking years ago.”
“We’re also thinking of having a home delivery.”
“Pardon?”
“Home delivery. Maybe a water birth—”
“A what?”
“In the bathtub, Sam. Krupsky says he’s fine either way.”
“Fucking hell, Muller—stop the truck, for chrissake. I can’t breathe. Stop the truck.” Ruby pulls over to the side of the road. I get out and fall on the ground. Muller’s got his paper bag out. He puts it over my face. “Breathe, Sam. Take deep breaths.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Ruby asks.
“He’s having a panic attack.”
“I didn’t know he had panic attacks.”
“Nice and slow,” Muller says. “You have to calm down.”
“I’m . . . trying to calm down. You keep . . . you keep . . . pushing my God damn buttons . . .”
“Do you want to go home, Sam?” Ruby says.
“I’ll . . . be . . . fine in a minute.”
“Maybe we should take him over to Dr. Krupsky?” Ruby says.
“Christ no, Get that bag off my face, Muller. I’m fine . . . Let’s just get back in the truck, okay?”
“You sure?”
“Just get in the truck.”
The painting gets done faster than we expected. Max stays behind to do the trim while Ruby drops Muller and I back at the house. Judy and Mary are busy in the nursery putting up curtains. In the kitchen, I splash cold water on my face and sit in the sunroom. Margot’s talking to some blogger who thinks she’s addicted to herbal enemas. A song is going through my head, a tune sung by Tony Bennett. I watched him on a special the other night. It was old footage, shot around the time he joined Martin Luther King Jr. dur
ing his March on Washington.
The song keeps going around in my head, something about every head being held up high and sunshine in their skies. Lyrics always give me trouble, mostly because I mix verses up. Mary remembers the first line of a song, then goes, dum diddly dum, or la, la, la, until I’m about ready to scream. She’s probably doing that now although, knowing her, she’s thrown in a couple ba booms just to scuttle any suspicions I might have that she’s a one-trick hummer.
I pour myself a drink and look out the window. Steam rises from Riley’s pool. It must be costing him a fortune. I sit down and pretty soon I’m drifting off with Tony singing in my head.
“Sam?”
I open my eyes. Krupsky’s standing there with a pill bottle in each hand. Mary and Judy are standing next to him. “Heard you had an episode today. What gives?”
“I’m okay.”
“Muller says you gave him goose bumps.”
“He told me you’re delivering the baby in the tub, for chrissake.”
“That’s what this is about?”
“It’s just an idea, Sam,” Mary says. “You didn’t have to go loopy.”
“I didn’t go loopy.”
“What’s wrong with home delivery, Daddy?”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.”
“Water birth’s no biggy,” Krupsky says. “Have a pill.”
“I don’t need pills.”
“Glad to hear it, Sam. Anyway, get some sleep. I’ll pop around again tomorrow. Bye, Mary. And you, my girl,”—he puts his hand on Judy’s stomach—“let’s keep up the good work, huh?” He goes out humming some song that sounds suspiciously Latin.
“I like Krupsky now,” Mary says.
“What changed your mind?”
“He’s a kind and giving soul.”
“He still irritates the fuck out of me.”
“So, what else is new? You’ll never change, Sam.”
“Why do I need to change?”
“You’re a downer.”
“Am not.”
“You can be, Daddy,” Judy says. She’s going through cookbooks, helping Muller sort out his menus. To see them in the kitchen, you’d think everything was rainbows and sunshine, nothing but love, love, love. I’ll tell you, Judy, you need a downer now and then, someone to drag your husband out of the lake. As for you, Mary, I’ve been up more than down, lately, if you know what I mean. At least I haven’t wilted.
Chapter 89
We’re all going to this Mardi Gras party Muller’s catering. It’s open to the public and promises to be quite the affair. Krupsky and Emma are coming, too. He figures it’s a good chance to practice our rumbas. Once word got over to Otis’s place, the whole gang decided it would be a blast. Ruby’s even taking a few days off to make outfits. When I dropped over there earlier, everyone was in the rec room getting fitted. Material covered the floor. Ruby was hemming sleeves and collars while Otis blubbered away on air. “Get over here so I can fit you, Otis,” she said. “You’ve cried enough for one day.”
Margot and Ruby are wearing these crazy gowns, Otis looks like a gay pirate, Max and Zack resemble stable boys on crack. Mary and Emma are sewing away here at home, trying to get enough material to go around Muller’s waist. Krupsky and I are going as gauchos. Mary hopes we’ll get a chance to do the tango.
The palladium is up near Berger Park, a long building by the water with marquis flashing, spotlights beaming across the sky. Inside, it’s all beads, headdresses and masks. Max and Zack head for the bar, Ruby drags Otis out on the dance floor. We see Muller at one of the serving tables with feathers in his hair. Music plays, people dance, drinks are poured. A rumba chain forms and we all join in. Bums go up and down, glitter drops on the floor. Outside, big heaters glow red on the patio.
I go out for a cigar and Krupsky follows. We stand against the railing and look at the water. “You know, Sam,” he says. “I must thank you.”
“For what?”
“This,” he says. “All this,”—pointing his cigar— “the whole works. You got me tangoing again. I’m indebted, I really am.” He looks at the sky. “The moon is up. All is well.”
“I think you’re drunk, Krupsky.”
“Have it your way, Sam. I know what I am. How about you? Have you figured out what you are yet?”
“I’ve got the same last name as Tony Bennett.”
“Does it help knowing that?”
“Not particularly.”
“Sam”—putting his hand on my shoulder—“what would make you happy?”
“Seriously?”
“Shoot.”
“I’d like, just once, for you to fall on your ass.”
“That’s it?”
“That’d do it.”
Ruby drags Otis out on the deck and pins him to the wall. Otis squeals like a pig. Krupsky tosses his cigar over the railing and goes inside. I look across the parking lot. Just beyond the point is the place where Muller tried to drown himself last summer. I can’t imagine him doing anything like that now. Krupsky says it’s a big universe. That’s all we know. I guess he’s right. Just eat what’s solid, and spit out air. I go inside and find Mary. Krupsky’s dancing with Margot. “Come on,” Mary says, pushing through a group of people throwing balloons in the air. “Watch my feet this time.”
Margot’s not much of a dancer outside of the crazy shake-a-leg stuff she does in Otis’s basement. It’s still amazing how Krupsky leads her through cazas and baldosas. The other dancers are giving them room, clapping and banging on tambourines. Krupsky caminandos Margot between different couples. Voices yell Como vai and Krupsky moves faster, spinning Margot, going off in one direction, then another. We lose sight of them as they move between feathered heads. Then there’s a crash. A table topples over, glasses smash. We push through the crowd. Margot and Krupsky are on the floor. “Are you two okay?” I say.
Margot tries to stand up. Her dress is caught under Krupsky. “We were chugging along just fine,” Margot says. “Then we dropped like a bomb.”
“Are you okay, Krupsky?”
“Just fine, Sam.” Krupsky sits up and wipes his jacket. He smiles at me. Then the crazy bastard winks.
Chapter 90
I’m in my living room, covered in feathers. I fell asleep on the couch earlier while Krupsky and Margot tangoed through the kitchen. The rest of the crew, beads around their necks, danced in a rumba chain with Muller leading. Now I’m looking at crushed beads all over the floor. Mary, Judy, and Muller are asleep. Through the window, I see the moon above Riley’s cabana. It’s staring down at me, like the man in the moon, as the song goes, when the moon beams.
I take the dustpan from the cupboard and start sweeping up the beads. Krupsky’s gaucho hat hangs on a lamp. Mine is crushed on the floor. At some point last night, Krupsky said to me, “Good people are around you, Sam,” he said. “You should be thankful. A man with friends is rich. Have you ever counted them?” Muller was leading a rumba chain through the sunroom. “I’ll leave you to ponder that,” Krupsky said and joined the end. As I was drifting off, I remember Emma standing the kitchen, her hands in a dishcloth.
I mix a drink and sit at the kitchen counter. Muller must have left the computer on. A shape move across the computer screen. It’s Otis sitting down in his bathrobe. Confetti twinkles in his hair. He stares at the screen, clearing his throat. “I know I’m talking to a limited number of you out there,” he says. “Maybe this is a good time to get something off my chest. I’ve done some bad things. I slept with Max’s girlfriend. We slow danced to James Carr. Just want to send an apology . . . sorry, honey . . . I was bad. Here’s Dark End of the Street . . .
Bisquick appears beside the turntable. He jumps on the record as it starts going around and around. “Bugger off, bird,” Otis says. The bedroom door opens in the background. “You got Bisquick with you?” Margot calls out.
“Stupid thing’s on my turntable—” Bisquick flaps about as Otis swats at him. “Get off there
—” He makes a grab for Bisquick and falls out of his chair.
Margot comes out in a negligee. “Are you on air?”
“What the hell did you think I was doing?”
“I’m standing here in my bare minimum.”
“Well, cover up.”
“Come on, Bisquick,” she says. “Leave Otis to his birdbrains.”
“Dammit, Margot, they can hear you.” Bisquick flaps over to her arm and Otis gets up. He puts the stylus on the record and it pops. “Here it is, honey. Once again, I did you wrong. That’s a fact.”
“Who the hell are you talking to, Otis?” Margot says.
“None of your dang business. Go to bed.” The bedroom door slams. Otis takes out a handkerchief and blows his nose. Confetti falls like dandruff.
Chapter 91
“I thought we were starting early today?” I say when I come through Otis’s back door. Max is the only one up. He yawns and scratches his chest. Then Ruby appears in her dressing gown. “What time is it?” she says.
“Eight o’clock,” Max says. “We told Sam we were starting early.”
“Let me get ready,” she says. She goes off while Max sits and drinks his coffee.
Margot comes upstairs with Bisquick on her shoulder. “Morning, Sam,” she says. “God, my head hurts. Krupsky came back with us and made hot toddies. The man’s a machine.” She puts bread in the toaster. Bisquick tries to pull it out. “Buzz off, Bisquick. Go on, get down.”
Otis stumbles through to the washroom. “Otis, I’m doing something here,” Ruby yells, and he bounces off walls coming to the kitchen.
“Keep that bird away from me this morning, Margot,” he says.
“Keep him away yourself. I’m not your bodyguard.”
The toilet flushes and Ruby comes out in jeans and a flannel shirt. Her hair is up under a bandana. “Let’s go if we’re going,” she says.
In the truck, I roll down the window and light a cigarette. “Damn, that smells good,” Ruby says. “Give us a puff.”
“I thought you weren’t smoking anymore?” Max says.
“I just want one puff.”
I feel the sun warming my face, the light against my eyelids. I picture the rooms we’re painting now, each one needing a little sanding, a little priming. I can feel the brush in my hand. “Where are we going, Ruby?” I say.
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can't Make It Scuba Dive) Page 24
