Monsters (24 page)

“Right. One of the producers,” I say. “When's this supposed to be?”

“Late September.”

The lifeguards blow their whistles for break, and I look up and see that Stevie still has his head underwater. I'm sure he'll be the last to come in.

“Look, Erin, I have to go. I'm at the pool with the boys.”

“Don't blow this off, Stacey. And send me that bio,” she says. “Today.”

I tuck my book back in my bag so they don't drip on it, and pull out towels to wrap around them. It's a hot day, but I know they'll feel chilly in the shade.

The boys sit on the lounge chair next to mine. “Did you bring any snacks?” Stevie says.

“Apple slices,” I say, and I dig them out of my bag.

“Did you see my flip?” Ben says.

“I did. You went really high.” He landed on his back though. It looked like it stung. “Dry off a little. I want you to get more sunscreen on.”

The break is ten minutes, and the whole time I'm watching the second hand tick on the giant clock that hangs over the door leading to the showers. I'm counting down to the whistle, to the boys running back to the water, to calling Tommy.

When he answers, I say, “What the fuck did you do?”

“I'm not sure who you're talking about, baby, but whoever it is, she means nothing.”

“Really, Tommy? That's hilarious. What is this Chicago shit?”

“Jesus, you're worked up about that? It's a weekend.”

“You could have asked me first.”

“I don't need to ask you, honey. You always make it work. And anyway, we're doing this for Daniel, so don't make a thing about it. He's already freaked out.”

“Daniel?”

“Yeah. You don't think this little Chicago deal is really my league? He wants to start doing more, maybe finding his own projects. He needs to start meeting people, agents, making some contacts.”

“Daniel's leaving you?”

“Leaving me.” He laughs. “Whose money you think he's gonna spend? He's not leaving me, he just wants to change his job a little.”

“Who's going to run your life?”

“Fuck if I know. Not me. I'm not really qualified.”

M
ATT STOPS CALLING
Sadie in early August, and Tommy says she's in a tailspin. He says she's lost ten pounds. I have had a few weepy texts from her, but of course she didn't mention the weight loss. She's stupid, but not completely.

“Jesus, from where?” I say.

“Exactly.” He sounds like he's going to cry.

I'm in my kitchen, sorting the boys' back-to-school supplies. Two boxes of crayons in the yellow backpack, three packs of pencils in the blue.

“Tommy”—I take a deep breath—“how's she been dressing?”

“Trying to hide it. Wearing all this baggy shit, but it's not like it isn't obvious. I mean I can see it on her face.”

“No.” I can't remember which color of scissors belongs to whom. I think Stevie picked red. “I mean how much skin is she trying to cover. Is she wearing shorts ever? Long sleeves?”

He doesn't say anything for a minute. “How do you know about that?”

I say, “You told me,” even though he didn't really need to. You'd have to be trying pretty hard not to see.

“I don't even remember that,” he says.

“You wouldn't,” I say, sliding a ruler into each bag. “It was a pretty bad night, Tommy.”

“Yeah,” he says, “it was.” But he says it really quietly, like he doesn't want to think about it, and I can't blame him. I don't either.

“So?” I say. “It's summer, Tommy. What's she been wearing?”

And then he says, “Shit,” but he says it in this voice that's kind of cracking. He says, “I don't know what to do.”

“Have you thought about a treatment program?” I say. “Maybe something inpatient.”

“I don't know, don't you think it would just make her mad?”

“Better mad than dead.” Then I think I shouldn't have said that. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that.”

He sighs and says, “No, you're right, she's a mess. And her mom isn't helping. Her mom's like, ‘Why doesn't that guy like you anymore? What did you do?'”

“You're kidding me.”

“I don't know. She's in the middle of a divorce, and she's got all her own shit mixed up in this.”

“Well, you're gonna have to find a place you can put Sadie,” I say. “She needs full-time help. Like a nutritionist and a fleet of shrinks help.” I open the package of glue sticks and separate them into two piles. “I'm sorry. I really am,” I say. “I wish I could fix this for you.”

•   •   •

Jenny wants to have a barbecue on Labor Day, and she wants me to bring Phillip. She says, “I'm cutting you off on babysitting until I
meet this guy.” We're standing in her kitchen, and the kids are all outside.

“I don't know. The kids haven't met him yet.” I sit down at her table where I can still look out the windows. They're covered in these horizontal wooden blinds, and my view of the boys is sliced into layers. It's like looking at a grid.
Here is a section of leg. Here is an eye.

She sits next to me. She has a wide elastic band twisted around her wrist, and she pulls it off, uses it to tie back her hair. She's older than me, just by a year, but her skin is so light and pretty. She doesn't show her age at all. Every time I look at her, it makes me feel tired.

“It's been almost six months,” she says. “Don't you think it's time?”

“He doesn't have anything to do with them. I just . . .” I shake my head. “I don't see the point.”

“You are an asshole, Stacey. A total asshole.” She points her finger at me like she's being all emphatic. “This guy is serious about you. You encourage it, but then you turn around and keep him at arm's length.” She shakes her head. “That's kind of shitty, Stacey.”

“Oh, fuck you,” I say, but I say it in a soft tone, not really like
Fuck you
, just like
You're wrong.

“Seriously, Stacey.” She gives me this really tough mom expression. “Bring him over and act like a decent
person.”

I
MAKE
P
HILLIP
drive over separately, and we get there before him. He brings a six-pack of craft beer that Todd likes, and it's perfect because it's what I told him to do. I take him out to the backyard, and Todd is at the grill. It smells like smoke. It smells like burning meat.

“You must be Phillip,” Todd says, shifting his tongs into his left hand and holding out his right, “and you brought beer? Nice! Welcome to the family.” He winks at me. “I got a brat right here with your name on it, Stacey. You like 'em a little charred?” I just roll my eyes, but I love Todd.

The glass door slides open, and Jenny steps out. She'd gone downstairs to get a bottle of chilled white from the bar. “Hi!” she says brightly, and I can tell she's giving Phillip this whole body scan, but she's pretty subtle with it. Jenny's always been slick.

The kids are all up in the playhouse, and they won't come down until they run out of potato chips, so Jenny decides she can speak freely. “So you're the guy keeping my little sister so busy?”

I think Phillip almost blushes. He's still standing there, holding
that stupid six-pack of beer. It's kind of awkward, really. If I were him, I'd want to leave.

“Here,” I say, taking the beer from him. I pull one out and grab the opener that Todd keeps hanging from his grill. I pop the top off and hand the bottle to Phillip. “You're going to need this.”

“Hot dogs!” Todd yells in the direction of the playhouse, and the kids all echo him in squeals.

Jenny's fixing their plates because of course she already knows who wants ketchup, who wants mustard, who wants the hot dog but doesn't want the bun.

“Wash your hands,” I say when the boys are close enough, and Stevie holds his up like,
They're not even dirty.
They don't argue though, they just open the door and head in.

When they come back out, I hold my hand out toward Phillip and say, “And this is Dr. Keller.”

He squats down in front of them. “You can call me Phillip,” he says.

“Hi,” Ben says. He takes his plate from Jenny and holds it in both hands. He looks up at me. “Can we eat in the playhouse?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Crumbs and ants.”

Ben rolls his eyes and heads for the picnic table.

“What kind of doctor are you?” Stevie says.

“Oh, uh, I help people with allergies.”

Stevie frowns.

“He means hospital or school,” I say. “Dr. Keller is a medical doctor, sweetie.”

“But you can call me Phillip,” he says again.

“Okay,” Stevie says as Jenny hands him his plate.

Phillip stands back up. “I think that's one of the first things you asked me too.”

“We need to know if you can perform CPR or you just really know your way around a library.”

“And the library's more important,” he says.

“Obviously.”

Jenny gets her three settled at the table and comes back to stand by us. “So I have been bugging Stacey for the longest time about bringing you over,” she says to Phillip.

“Great,” he says. “No pressure then?”

“Actually, I have this rash,” Todd says, turning half around. “Maybe you've got an ointment or something?”

“He's joking,” I say.

Todd's trying, but he can't keep a straight face. “It's on my ass. You want to look at it?”

“Oh my god, you are such an embarrassment.” Jenny smacks him on the arm.

Phillip laughs and takes a sip of his beer. “That's not really my specialty,” he says. “But I'll get you a referral.”

When we leave, Jenny hugs me, and she whispers in my ear. “I love him,” she says. “He fits right
in.”

I
'M IN THE P
ICK-UP LINE
in front of the boys' school when the phone rings.

“Come to New York with me next week,” Sarah says. “John's busy, and I hate traveling alone.” Some movie she shot last year is coming out, and she has to do the morning and late-night shows.

“I can't,” I say. “I just got home. I had that conference in Chicago.”

It was nothing, like a fifty-minute panel, and I barely even had to talk, but then Tommy wanted to take me to dinner and buy me drinks and kiss in the elevator, and after two nights of that, I felt completely unwound. Though it's not the nights, really, that get to me. It's the mornings, how the mornings drift into afternoons.
What's with you?
he said.
You're so fucking down.
And I shrugged and said,
I don't know. Maybe I'm feeling guilty?
But Tommy didn't really want to hear it. He laughed after a minute though, and he said,
You should, you know. I hope you feel like shit.

Sarah sighs. “I love that you'll go places with Tommy, but not with me. Come on, Stacey. It's just for a few days.”

“I would, really, but I've got parent-teacher conferences next week.”

I have a feeling I'm going to be hearing a lot of
concerns
. Last week Ben's teacher e-mailed to ask if I'd gotten her notes about his missing assignments. I haven't seen any of these notes in his backpack, but Ben swears he didn't throw them away.

Sarah makes this annoyed groan. “Now I'm just going to feel stressed-out.”

“Pack your Xanax,” I say, and she says, “I was going to.”

I hear the bell ring and turn to watch the kids filing out of the building. Stevie's classroom is toward the front of the school, so he's always in the first group. When he spots the car, he waves.

“Well, maybe I'll just stop on the way back to see you.”

Sarah here? I think that could be a mess. But I say, “I would love it.”

“And then I can meet this Phillip,” she says. “We'll have dinner.”

I think about Phillip in the room with Sarah's big mouth, and I say, “No fucking way.”

•   •   •

The conferences are even worse than I expected. Stevie, it turns out, has drawn a family portrait that is mostly just him and Ben and Jenny. There's an arrow pointing to the house that reads,
Mommy
.

“When I asked him who was in the picture, he added that label. He said you were inside,” his teacher says, and she gives me this concerned look. At least he didn't draw Michael floating over everyone in the sky.

Ben is not drawing pictures, but he is failing math.
Of course he is,
I want to say. I can barely count. How am I supposed to help with his homework?

•   •   •

When I get home, I call Tommy, and I say, “I think I broke my kids.”

“This doesn't surprise me, honey. You are determined to break shit.”

“I'm being serious,” I say, and I tell him about the picture, the math.

“Who needs math?” Tommy says. “We'll hire someone to do his math. It's not like he wants to be an architect.” He wants to be a football player, and Tommy knows this. Neither of us believes it will work out. The kid is as scared of the ball as he is of the other players, but he reads a lot of football books, and they seem to make him happy.

I sit on the edge of the couch, fold my body down against my knees. “And what about Stevie?” I say. “With the unavailable mother?”

“You're not unavailable. You're just trying to figure things out. But how lucky is he that he has Jenny? That's the thing about family, Stace. It means you don't have just one person to lean on. He's fine. I promise. Honestly, that picture says more about you.”

“Great. That's just perfect.”

“What? We already knew you were a mess. This sounds like good news.”

•   •   •

I offer to pick Sarah up at the airport, but it's a charter flight, and she says it's just as easy for them to send a car. She'll meet me at the hotel, she says. She's only staying the night. I almost don't recognize her when I walk in. She's known for her long blond hair, but she's spun it up into this messy bun. And she's got glasses on. I don't think she needs them. She's wearing jeans and a loose beige sweater. She's still beautiful though. She has to work hard to dull it down.

She jumps up and runs over to hug me, and she says, “Stacey, hi!”
but she does not use her bell voice. She's almost doing an accent. I can't quite place it, but it's definitely not her.

“Jesus, do people ever recognize you?”

She shakes her head. “Only in L.A. No one would think to look for me here.”

“How do you feel about sushi?” I say. “There's a place close by. We can walk.”

She squints behind the glasses. “Fish in the middle of the country? Is that even safe?”

“How would I know?” I say. “I don't eat fish.”

She laughs and says, “Let's do it.”

We walk arm in arm to the restaurant. “I talked to Tommy this morning,” she says. “He said to tell you hi.”

“Oh?” I say. “How is he?”

She sighs. “I don't know. He seems particularly gloomy. I guess he tends to get like this when a project is winding down. I don't know that he has anything new lined up. John sent him the script for this action movie he's involved with, but Tommy turned it down.”

“That was John's?” I say, and Sarah frowns.

“Tommy tell you about it?”

“He mentioned it, yeah. In Chicago.”

I'm not going to say that I spent Saturday morning reading the script in Tommy's bed.
This isn't very good,
I said. He was just coming out of the shower, and he crawled in beside me, laid his head on my stomach, and said,
Yeah, I know.

•   •   •

I call Jenny in the morning. “Why don't you guys come for dinner?”

She seems surprised.

“Are you inviting Phillip?” she says, and she's got that lilt in her voice.

“I don't think so,” I say. “But I'll make something good. I'll make that Tuscan bean soup.” It's cold. It's good soup weather, and I know it's one of Todd's favorites.

“Okay,” she says, “yeah. I'll bring the wine.” And I think,
Perfect,
because I've drunk all mine. I don't want to have to go to the store.

•   •   •

The kids run downstairs to the playroom. They've got a new video game, and they want to show it off. The soup is ready, but I've just stuck the whole pot in the oven to keep it warm. The kids need time to burn off some energy, and I need a glass of wine to settle my nerves.

“Open this?” I say to Todd, and I hand him the wine and nod toward the shelf where the corkscrew is.

“Sure,” he says. “Shit, that's an expensive bottle of scotch.”

“Help yourself,” I say.

“No, I'd be afraid to. That's like liquid gold.”

I grab the bottle and an orange-juice glass and pour a healthy ounce or two. “It's like drinking lighter fluid,” I say. “Seriously, I don't want it.”

“Really?” Todd says, and I can tell he really wants to try it, so I push it into his hand. “But first,” I say, “open that wine.”

We sit in the living room, and I try to look relaxed. I'm all twisted up though. My spine is in knots. I take a swig of the wine. I hope it helps.

“What's the matter?” Jenny says, and I just smile, shake my head. “I'm fine,” I say.

“This scotch is really something.”

I turn toward Todd. “I know, right? I don't really like the taste of it, but it packs a punch.”

“Where'd you even find it?”

I shrug. “I don't know. Tommy sent it.”

“Oh shit, this is a gift?” Todd looks back at the glass like it makes him uncomfortable.

“No, really, it's more like a joke.” I wave my hand like,
It's nothing,
because to Tommy it really isn't. It's no big deal.

“That's a hell of a gag gift,” Jenny says.

“More like a white elephant. I gave myself a pretty nasty scotch hangover. Tommy thinks he's hilarious.”

Jenny frowns a little. I don't love her expression.

I take a deep breath because I'm trying to work up to something. “Stevie drew a picture of his family in school, and he forgot to put me in it.”

“What?” she says, and she scoots forward a little on the couch.

“Yup,” I say. “It's him and Ben, and you can tell it's Ben because he's holding a football, and you, and you're smiling, and then there's a house in the background, and I guess he forgot to draw me because he just drew an arrow and said, ‘Mommy's inside.'”

Todd says, “Shit,” and I just look at him like,
Yeah,
but Jenny scoots over to hug me.

“It's just 'cause they're spending so much time at our house. I bet it doesn't mean anything.”

“I don't know,” I say. Jenny looks like she feels a little guilty, so I hug her back, and I say, “I'm not mad or anything, I'm just worried.”

“I think the boys are doing fine,” Todd says. “I bet it's just all the traveling you do.”

“Yeah, that's what Tommy said. Actually, he said, ‘You're a disaster, Stace, but your kids seem fine.'”

“What does Phillip think?” Jenny asks.

“I don't really talk to Phillip about the boys.” Jenny gets this look on her face like she just caught me in a lie or something, and I say, “I'm serious, Jen. I'm not ready for someone to get all involved with my kids.”

“Okay. Okay,” she says. She puts her hand up like she's actually going to be willing to drop it.

“I should probably call them up for dinner,” I say. Tomorrow's a school day. They can't stay up all
night.