Adventures of Pebble Beach

by Berger, Barbara

  * * *

  After her boys left her room, taking the breakfast crumbs with them, Pebble’s mind went wild. She imagined her body working feverishly to get her out of this unpleasant fix. Pebble hated confrontations and remembered all the unpleasant scenes she’d had with Slim before their divorce. He’d holler and she’d tremble. It was enough to make her temperature rise, even now. Maybe my temperature will rise and I’ll get delirious…maybe I’ll have more and more difficulty breathing…maybe I’ll feel so weak and dizzy that I can’t navigate my way to the bathroom. She pictured herself getting out of bed in her feverish state, and stumbling towards the bathroom. I’ll be so groggy that I can’t see straight. The walls will wobble and everything will look strange. I’ll feel so dizzy that I’ll stumble and walk right into the bathroom door by mistake and knock myself out. Jon and Adam will hear this awful bang and come running down the hall and find me unconscious on the floor. They’ll be desperately afraid and call an ambulance and rush me to the hospital immediately. After conferring in hushed voices, the doctors will put me in the intensive care unit and insist that I remain there in absolute quiet for at least two to three weeks. It was a wonderful thought.

  Pebble almost smiled. No angry ex-husbands, no accusing ex-employers, nor any semi-sober boyfriends would be allowed in to disturb me. Whoever wanted to pour venom on Pebble’s head would have to wait. She could just see Peter, Albert and Slim pacing furiously up and down the hospital hallway. The doctors wouldn’t tolerate their agitation. Ms Beach is in critical condition, gentlemen, so we must ask you to leave at once…at once! She’d have time to recuperate, rest, get her act back together. And by the time she was as fresh as a daisy, they’d all be gone, especially Slim. He’d be “very gone”. Of all the people she knew, Slim was the one with the least patience. He’d never wait two weeks to see her. (She remembered how he’d blow his top if a kid needed a diaper change when everyone was finally dressed for their Sunday walk.) Waiting for two weeks for Pebble to get out of intensive care – no way! The man would be so fed up that he’d stomp out of the hospital and take off on another escapade and not return for at least another 10 to 15 years. The thought was positively invigorating.

  Adam knocked on her door.

  “Yes, dear?”

  He opened it just a crack. “Don’t you want to get up and take a shower before Dad comes?” He didn’t want Slim to see Pebble looking so wretched.

  “You’re right. Did you try to call him again?” She clung to false hope.

  “Yeah, but he didn’t answer. He’s supposed to be here at two.”

  Five minutes before Slim’s expected arrival, they were all sitting in the living room, waiting. Pebble had done her best to fix herself up. Behind her make-up, she was miserable. Jon, seeing Pebble’s desperate plight suggested she go for a walk. “You can always come back after he’s been here a few minutes.”

  But Adam objected adamantly. “It wouldn’t be right and besides, you’ll look like a coward.” Adam had a ninth grader’s clear-cut ideas of right and wrong.

  Pebble, who remained rooted to the couch, suddenly had a brilliant idea. I’ll write a book and call it “Ten Easy Ways to Meet Your Ex and Survive!” The idea exploded in Pebble’s head. It had to be a bestseller; the idea was so hot, Pebble forgot she was feverish and that her make-up just barely covered her red nose. Just think of the market. I’ll be writing for half the adult population of the Western world. The thought was overwhelming. Pebble had never written a book in her life. She was a copywriter, period. She might write brilliantly, but she wrote what other people told her to write. They set the tone; she just filled in the blanks. It was easy. Writing a book, writing a real book was something else. A whole other ball game. Pebble couldn’t see herself being an author. The creator of something original. But the thought intrigued her. My life sure is due for an overhaul. Turning author fit perfectly with her up-and-coming out-of-work status. I’m going to be a hopeless bum on welfare anyway. I could just as well use my time to write a book. Wonder why I thought of this now? The fear of meeting Slim again seemed to stimulate her creativity. The idea was real, intriguing and Pebble liked it. She saw herself in a whole new light and it scared her. She saw herself powerful, in control. Now that she was nearing rock bottom it was just what the doctor ordered. She might be sitting warm and tight in her apartment with her sons, but the safety of her surroundings was deceptive. She had no one to rely on but herself. I guess that’s how life is. Having to face Slim again – and face what she’d done with her life – was forcing her to grow, even if she didn’t feel like growing. Maybe something good will come out of this divorce in the end. She liked the idea of making millions writing about divorce survival. For the moment, it didn’t occur to her that the process might enrich her life, too. She only thought of the money. Making a million would get to Slim. And Pebble was mad enough at herself to like the thought. If there was one thing Slim couldn’t tolerate, it was Pebble’s success.

  Fueled by the fear of meeting Slim again, Pebble’s mind raced on. She discovered dark shadows she didn’t want to look at. Pebble was not ready to admit that Slim still had power over her.

  “I wonder where he is.” Adam broke the silence.

  Pebble was covered with a cold, sickly sweat. It was not at all warm in the room. Jon fiddled with a soccer ball he found under the sofa. He’d bounce it and toss it and stop. Then he’d start all over again. Pebble felt like shouting “stop it” but didn’t. The boys are nearly as nervous as I am. She wanted to comfort them and make things right, but it was too late for making things right again. Divorce might not be death, but it’s very final. Slim is their father. God I wonder how it must feel to be them?

  Her mind went back to her book. Probably some American psychologist somewhere has already written it. But if it’s out there, I haven’t seen it yet. Her mind was calculating the number of couples who had or would encounter precisely this traumatic moment on the way from marital bliss to divorced bliss. Almost everybody gets divorced. At least almost everyone Pebble knew did or would. And they’d all have to pass this milestone in personal development. Pebble smiled. A book about divorce survival has got to be a bestseller. Especially if the book wasn’t already written. The market has to be immense. Is there really anybody out there who isn’t either thinking about getting divorced, looking forward to getting divorced, dreading getting divorced, actually getting divorced, recovering from getting divorced, or just plain divorced?

  The doorbell rang.

  Adam leaped into the air.

  The door seemed to open, inch by terrible inch.

  “Hi Dad,” both boys were there. Pebble thought Adam looked strangely grownup. Behind his chubby 14-year-old features, there lurked the makings of a real mensch.

  Slim look chagrined, confused. Hardly the monster Pebble remembered. She softened.

  Slim hugged his sons, one in each arm. He wasn’t a big man, but thin and tense. She couldn’t remember being married to him, ever. He was a complete stranger.

  “Hi,” she strode purposefully towards them, her hand outstretched. She didn’t want to kiss him. The boys would have to accept some limits.

  He shook her hand, impressed by her newfound authority. He surveyed the apartment, “her” apartment.

  After saying hello, Pebble backed off. Jon and Adam took Slim’s leather jacket and bubbled around him, jabbering nervously.

  “When did you get back?” Adam wanted to know.

  “Just yesterday,” replied Slim, brushing his dirty blond hair back from his forehead. “Do you think I’d be here without calling you guys?”

  Adam was embarrassed by his question, but wanted to know for sure. The boys ushered Slim towards the sofa. It was an awkward moment.

  “Why don’t I go and make some tea?” Pebble asked. She wanted to leave her sons alone with their love for their father.

  On the way down the hall towards the kitchen, Pebble felt like laughing and singing. He doesn’t have a hold on me
anymore. But she knew it wasn’t quite true. Not yet. She was almost free, but not quite. Divorce is only paperwork. Real divorce is something else. It’s a process; it takes time, something Pebble wasn’t ready to admit. In her feverish mind she enacted weird scenarios, danced dances of liberation. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken that shower and just met Slim in my sweaty nightgown – without brushing my teeth or anything. She giggled at the thought. But no – beauty is power. He’s always had power over me. My good looks are a part of my power over him. She couldn’t imagine presenting herself to any man, unbrushed and unwashed, body odors hanging out. It didn’t work like that. You kept on plugging until the day you died. Maybe the day you stopped plugging was the day you died.

  Pebble wished she understood things better. Life keeps folding in on itself. I’m going to go to therapy. She was surprised that she was making a commitment to herself, but she was. I’m going to do something for me. She put water up to boil and got the jar of Earl Grey tea down from the white kitchen shelf. It’s time to grow up and take charge. She shook tea leaves into her white and blue Royal Copenhagen teapot. Then she took out the pastry the boys had bought at Van Hauen on the Walking Street and arranged it carefully on a white and blue dish. I always wanted to understand why. Always. But I never dared. If I wait any longer, I’ll be dead before I dare. It was a solemn promise. Before, there was always someone to ask. Someone to explain things to. Now there was no one.

  When she rejoined father and sons, they’d settled down into a normal where-have-you-been-what-have-you-been-doing conversation. Safe and easy. Pebble could handle it. She chimed in from time to time without getting involved. It suited her fine. She didn’t want a hassle – didn’t want the anxiety. Pebble didn’t realize how beautiful she looked sitting there, all calm and quiet, but her sons did. Occasionally she blew her nose. Slim said, “You look run down, Pebble.” Adam and Jon shut up tight as clams, the minute the words left Slim’s mouth. There was fire in their eyes. Slim might be their father but if Pebble looked run down, it was none of his business. They were with Pebble, if sides were to be taken. Slim got the message. He wasn’t supposed to make unkind comments to anyone, he wasn’t the boss anymore. The boys might forget to wash dishes and clean up, but when it came to Pebble, they were overly protective. They knew who their guardian angel was. The look on their faces confirmed it. It said: “You guys are divorced now. So if you have anything to say to Pebble, Dad, it better be nice.” Pebble almost felt sorry for Slim when Jon and Adam turned on him like that, but not quite. He had caused her enough pain. Being a jerk was no excuse. Why should I forget? She was ready to forgive, but not forget.

  There was something sad about him, though, behind his forced gaiety. He talked incessantly about his job teaching Laplander kids in the northern part of Norway. Slim started life as an idealist. He believed he could change the world, that people would listen to him. When they didn’t, he turned bitter. Somehow it was all Pebble’s fault.

  Memories came flooding back as Slim talked. It was just like old times, no one dared interrupt him. Slim couldn’t tolerate being crossed, something Adam and Jon knew as well as Pebble. So they listened to his description of Laplander life in northern Norway politely. Doesn’t the man ever wonder if we’re interested? He still jabbed the air with his finger as he talked – a habit Pebble found very distasteful. It’s right and good we’re divorced, even if the boys don’t quite understand. She saw they almost did. But understanding hurt. Pebble couldn’t change that for her sons. At least she didn’t have to answer to Slim anymore. Idealists can be such tyrants.

  When it was all over, the four of them – the unit that once was family – stood at the door of Pebble’s apartment and tried to behave civilly. Pebble smiled because saying goodbye can be tough, even though it wasn’t a real serious, awful goodbye, an I’m-going-away-for-a-long-time or maybe-forever goodbye still it was a goodbye for now and today. Goodbyes are emotional for broken families. Slim said he wasn’t going back to Norway right away.

  When the moment could be prolonged no longer, Slim leaned forward to kiss Pebble’s check. In that split second, she couldn’t determine if he’d been thinking about kissing her for a long time, or if he’d just plain forgotten what he was doing. Either was possible, he was that inconsistent. Pebble accepted his kiss, not wanting to make a scene. Accepted his peck on the cheek, graciously, as if he was the Fuller Brush man himself and she’d just bought herself a complete new set of brushes, making this an event to remember. Pebble with a brush for every occasion. But no. The Fuller Brush man was only an aberrant memory from Pebble’s American childhood which placed her at some strange junction of time and space and gave her a name, values and a place in history. But she didn’t start the fire and the Fuller Brush man was just an indication of how idiotic she felt at that moment, receiving an awkward, lukewarm kiss from a man she’d slept with hundreds (thousands?) of times and now never wanted to sleep with or see again. Maybe this is how survivors feel. They don’t know if the whole ordeal is a joke or not. The funny part is they’ll probably never know. I never would have done this if it wasn’t for my kids.

  Watching her kids and Slim hug, Pebble realized that this was not only not a major goodbye, but Slim was going to be around. She’d have to get used to having to face him. It would happen more than once. Why do I keep trying to make final goodbyes? Final goodbyes are rare among divorced people with children.

  “What about going to the movies tomorrow?” Slim wanted to be with his sons badly.

  “Sure, Dad,” they replied, “sure.” The boys still weren’t sure they’d get to see him again, Pebble could tell. She also knew both would have to rearrange busy schedules to go out with him the next day, but she kept her mouth shut. Glad it’s not my headache. I’ve done my bit. Almost to the finish line now.

  Pebble left them discussing the next day, a smile on her face. She was proud that her nose hadn’t gotten too red and that none of her weirder scenarios had materialized. I did it, I really did! I took a shower, didn’t smell, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, wasn’t drunk, acted like a lady, didn’t commit any serious crimes, didn’t throw any wild karate chops, and am not in the intensive care ward at the local hospital. It was quite an accomplishment. So I guess I’ll just have to make do. Which is exactly what Pebble did.

  But she couldn’t shake off the feeling she had when Slim left. It lingered and lingered. It was as if she’d discovered this great tuna fish sandwich hidden away in the back of her refrigerator. The sandwich was one of those really wonderful sandwiches she sometimes made when she was homesick for things American. Then she would use the best tasty white tuna she could find in Copenhagen and lots of mayonnaise, mustard, finely chopped fresh onions, dill pickles and celery. She’d place her masterpiece tastefully on a slice of ultra thin bread (the bread though Danish was almost as good as real toasted Jewish rye from New York) and top it with a nice layer of freshly washed crisp lettuce before adding the final slice of bread. Almost a sacrilege in Denmark because traditionally Danes only ate open-faced sandwiches, but Pebble didn’t care. It was one of her best New York-style deli sandwiches, the kind she loved to eat during a lunch break when looking at her computer for five more minutes was more than she could bear, regardless of which side of the ocean she was on.

  There was only one problem. She’d made this sandwich a long time ago. She’d put it in the fridge and forgotten it. She might have put lots of love and energy into the sandwich, but it didn’t help much because after she made it, she hid it in the back of the refrigerator behind the milk cartons and forgot it. Since she was planning to eat it later and didn’t want her ravenous sons to find it and devour it before she did, she’d wedged it in between the orange juice, the jam jars and the salad bowl and went back to work. That was when disaster struck. She forgot her sandwich. Why or when she couldn’t recollect, all she knew was she lost track of it. And now it was too late to figure out God’s plan for this sandwich. Since it was forgotten long ago, n
obody would ever know. At the time, it all seemed so logical. Especially since the sandwich was so tempting. A one-of-a-kind-sandwich. That was until she went and she forgot it. And now that she’d found it again, the sandwich was no longer a miracle. It was just plain old. Its time had come and gone and now the bread was moldy and the tuna fish smelled strange.

  So the fact that tuna fish was Pebble Beach’s absolute favorite sandwich in the whole wide world didn’t help much – because this particular tuna fish sandwich made her feel like puking.

  Which was exactly how Pebble felt after meeting Slim again.

  She wanted to cry, because it was such a waste and she always loved a great sandwich. But it was obvious, even to Pebble, that no matter how great this sandwich once was, nothing, absolutely nothing was going to save it now.

  Chapter 9

  Talking to Einar made Pebble definitely decide to go to therapy, right away. The man was quite simply the straw that broke the camel’s back. And the funny part was, even though Pebble felt like ranting and raving at him, she honestly didn’t know if the man was a friend or foe. The only thing she knew for sure was he had balls.

  I’ve got to do something for me – God damn it! – was a strange reaction for Pebble Beach. More in character was not slamming down the receiver even though she wanted to.

  But she knew she’d be broke soon.

  Pebble had been home for five days when Einar called and just as Peter Cato predicted, her phone hadn’t rung once during the five days. It just sat on her desk, like a wounded animal. The power of speech – that sparkling absurdity which also meant money, friends, food, fun – never touched it. When it finally did ring, Pebble knew who it was before she answered.

  “So how was your trip?” He had the driest voice in Denmark.

  “It was okay.” She didn’t know how to feel.

  “Are you still so in love?” Einar asked innocently. Pebble had never once mentioned Albert, so how did Einar know? But Einar knew everything.