The Good Life (31 page)

“Are you okay?” asked Sally, hand at her throat.

“Absolutely,” said Ann. “That was fantastic!”

“What are you talking about?” asked Jesse.

“Where are your eyes, girl?” asked Ann. “I just fell off a cliff and survived! That calls for another round. Where’s our waiter?”

“He’s done with his shift,” said Jesse. “They’re closing up.” Ann looked at her friend with squinted eyes, as if she couldn’t quite make out who she was talking to. Sally and Paula also looked at Jesse, waiting for what would happen next. Jesse pushed her chair out from under the table. “I’m going to take Ann back,” she said, standing. “You two go ahead, and I will join you when I can.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Ann.

Jesse looked down at Ann, a rubber doll somehow able to talk. “It’s time,” said Jesse.

“Fuck you, it’s time,” said Ann, reaching for her empty wineglass.

The waiter returned to the table with a stout, middle-aged woman dressed in the crisp royal blue and white uniform of the resort. Her black hair was pulled back into a bun, the side hairs held in place by a glistening gel. She smiled at Ann, exposing coffee-stained teeth through pulpy burgundy lips. “I’ve turned down your bed, Mrs. Barons,” she said. “And I’ve put a jigger of brandy on your bed stand, just the way you like it.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Let me help you to your place,” she said, bending down.

Ann slapped her on the arm. “I don’t need your help,” she said, swaying as she got to her feet. “I’m forty-five years old. I know how to fucking walk.” She zigzagged around the other dining tables, making her way past the bar to the restaurant entrance. The maître d’ looked up as she approached. Ann raised the middle finger of her right hand and thrust it toward his face. “Thank you,” she spat, “for a wonderful evening.”

“Stay here,” Jesse said to Paula and Sally, who were half-standing. “I’ll go after her and come get you if I need you.”

“We want to help,” said Sally.

“I know you do,” said Jesse. “But if the three of us confront her, it may be overwhelming. Let me just see if I can get her into bed. I’ll be back.”

Jesse walked quickly out of the seating area before jogging along the path to find Ann. She found her friend fumbling with keys at the door and stepped forward to help her. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Let’s go inside,” said Jesse, sliding open the glass door that had not been locked.

Ann opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. She charged past Jesse and plopped down on the living room couch. “Get me a glass of wine, will you?”

Jesse sat down opposite Ann. “I think we went through the bottle before dinner,” she said. “Why don’t you lie down and I’ll see if I can get one at the restaurant.”

“Excellent idea,” said Ann, already leaning into the couch cushions.

“I’ll be right back,” said Jesse.

She jogged back along the path to the restaurant, where she updated Sally and Paula. “I think she’s going to pass out,” she said. “I’ll get her settled and then come back and join you.”

“Can’t we do something?” asked Sally, straightening her cutlery. “I feel useless sitting here.”

“Don’t feel useless, Sally. I know you’re here. It may be that tomorrow is the day you can help instead of tonight. Nothing is going to get through to her right now.”

“Do you want us to just come with you?” asked Paula. “We don’t have to say anything.”

“Ask them to hold my dinner,” said Jesse. “I’ll be right back.”

When Jesse got back to the condo, Ann was not asleep. Instead, she was standing behind the bar, fiddling with a corkscrew and the bottle of wine she had pulled from the fridge. Jesse heard the pop of the cork. “I found a bottle in the fridge,” said Ann, eyes half-closed. “I’ve got two glasses out for us.”

Jesse stood where she was, just inside the sliding glass door. “I don’t want any wine, Ann. And I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

“What is this?” asked Ann, looking around the room. “A conspiracy?”

“Look, Ann,” said Jesse, approaching her. “Let’s get you to bed. Tomorrow is another day, and you don’t want to miss it with a huge hangover.”

“I thought I left my mother in Michigan,” said Ann, pouring herself a glass.

“I’m not your mother, Ann. I’m your friend.”

“A friend?” asked Ann incredulously, her voice rising in volume and pitch. “You call yourself a friend? I’m the one who invited you to stay for a weekend and you have the fucking nerve to tell me when I can and can’t have a drink?”

“I think it’s best for you to stop.”

“You think it’s best? Who gives a rat’s ass what you think?”

“You do,” said Jesse, standing on the other side of the bar from Ann. “Sometimes.”

“Well, tonight’s not one of them,” said Ann, hitting her hip on the bar as she walked around it toward the couch. “Ouch! Look, I’m here on vacation. I’m forty-five years old and I can do whatever I damn well please.”

Jesse watched as Ann, now stopped in front of the couch, swaying slightly, drank half her glass of wine in two swallows. Jesse thought about what to do next; the pitfalls of arguing with a drunk were well-documented. “You’re absolutely right,” she said, turning her back on Ann and walking toward the sliding glass door. “You can do whatever you please.”

“What are you doing?” asked Ann, setting her wineglass on the glass side table. “Where are you going?”

“To get Sally and Paula,” said Jesse. “I’ll be right back.”

Jesse closed the door behind her, walked a few steps until she was out of Ann’s view, then hurried down the path. When she reached their table in the restaurant, Sally and Paula were just starting their entrées. “What’s going on?” asked Sally when she saw Jesse. “Where’s Ann?”

“She’s back at the condo,” said Jesse, breathless from running. “I don’t want to leave her long because she’s having another drink. Here’s my suggestion. Let’s all go back together and go to bed.”

“Go to bed?” asked Sally, looking at her watch.

“We have to pretend we’re going to bed,” said Jesse. “If we all go back there and stay up, she’ll have three more glasses of wine tonight.”

“Won’t she drink them anyway?” asked Paula, forking some garlic mashed potatoes into her mouth as she stood.

“I think she’s close to crashing,” said Jesse. “Let’s go.”

“You two go,” said Sally. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Jesse and Paula walked out, while Sally reached for her purse. She gave her credit card to their waiter and apologized for the commotion. She then scurried along the path to find her friends, catching up to them outside the sliding glass door.

“She’s always liked to drink,” said Jesse, hand on the handle. “But tonight she’s way out of control.”

“Do you think I should talk to her?” asked Sally, breathing hard.

“I don’t think talking to her tonight is going to result in anything but a fight,” said Jesse. “I’m hoping if we all go to our rooms, she’ll choose to do the same thing, rather than sit in the dark alone with a glass of wine.”

“Okay,” said Paula. “I’m in.”

“Sally?” asked Jesse.

Sally bit her lower lip. She was quite certain she could talk some sense into Ann if she could just get her alone. Perhaps she could sneak back downstairs after Paula and Jesse had retreated to their bedroom. Or, perhaps she could talk to Ann when she came upstairs. That was it. She’d have her all to herself in the master suite and they could talk, just the two of them. “Let’s go,” said Sally.

When they walked into the living room, Ann was on the couch. An almost-empty wineglass was sitting on the table beside her. “Well, here they are,” she said, “the party poopers.”

“I
am
pooped,” said Paula, in a loud voice. “That sun was brutal today. Anyone mind if I go up?”

“I’m with you,” said Jesse, feigning a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”

“Me too,” said Sally.

They all looked at Ann. “Good night,” said Jesse. “It’s been a great day. Thank you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Ann, her words slow and weighted with wine. “The three of you are going to bed?”

“I’m whipped,” said Paula. “A little aloe for my sunburn and I’ll be in dreamland in fifteen minutes.”

“Sally?” asked Ann. “You won’t stay up and talk with me?”

Sally hesitated. She looked at Jesse. “Come upstairs,” Sally said. “We can talk for a few minutes before bed.”

“I’ll come upstairs when I’m ready to come upstairs,” said Ann. “So, don’t wait up.”

Jesse headed for the stairs, followed by Paula, and, reluctantly, Sally. Ann called after them, “Next time, I’ll invite some adult friends, not schoolchildren.”

“Let it go,” Jesse whispered to the others.

When they were gone, Ann got off the couch. She reached for her wineglass, but bumped it instead, sending it flying off the table and onto the straw rug, where it spun several times before rolling under the dining table. “Thank God for plastic,” said Ann aloud. She got down on her hands and knees and ducked under the table to get the glass. She would have just one more before joining the losers upstairs. She grabbed it by the stem, then—forgetting she was underneath the table—raised up her back and head, smacking it against the glass top. “Shit!” she said, ducking again, and then backing out into open space. She crawled to the couch, put her head back onto a seat cushion, and closed her eyes. And she slept in that position for an hour, when Jesse came back down the stairs and helped her friend into bed.

C
HAPTER
18

E
ileen made a big breakfast that Saturday. She had agreed to accommodate Nate, who asked to sleep in, as well as Mike, who wanted to take a long run outside, and serve the meal at eleven o’clock. Preparations, however, began at nine, when Eileen walked up the path to the big house and made a pot of green tea, Lauren’s favorite. Lauren, who had begun to appear earlier and earlier on weekend mornings, came down at nine thirty, ready to help. Eileen handed her a mug of tea, then put her to work making waffle batter while she fried the sausages. Still wearing his pajamas, miraculously dry, under his overcoat, Sam ambled into Ann’s kitchen through the back door and—after saluting Eileen—reported that Selma was taking a shower and would arrive on time. He then sat down in the window seat and looked at the newspaper Eileen had retrieved from the front walk.

At quarter to eleven, with the sausage, bacon, and waffles in the oven, Eileen started the scrambled eggs and Lauren cut up the cantaloupe. Everything was going according to Eileen’s schedule. She and Lauren chatted about Josh, high school gossip, and Eileen’s early married life while the eggs cooked to fluffy perfection. When they were done, Eileen scooped them onto a platter and put them into the oven along with everything else. It was just shy of eleven, when Lauren set the melon slices on the island. Breakfast would be a buffet, Eileen had decided, with everyone serving themselves and eating around the kitchen table.

At eleven, a wet-headed Mike walked into the room, followed by Nate, who had a notable bed head and was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt wrinkled from spending the night on the floor of his room. Selma, looking squeaky clean, blew in the back door. “Something smells awesome,” said Nate, yawning. “I didn’t even need my alarm.”

“Well, I hope you’re all hungry,” said Eileen. “We’ve got enough food for an army.”

It was just after Lauren and Eileen had removed the warm platters from the oven and set them on the island with the melon that Sam made his remark. It was not expected, or even, seemingly, remotely possible because there was nothing that portended its arrival. “She used to love me,” he said.

Selma looked at Sam and then at Eileen. “Sam,” Eileen said softly. “Get a plate.”

“You have no idea what it’s like,” continued Sam, lowering the newspaper and looking at Eileen. “You don’t know what it’s like not to be loved by your own wife.”

Red-faced, Eileen said, “Okay, everyone, let’s eat.”

“Is it because you love someone else?” Sam asked, his voice rising.

“Gramps,” said Lauren. “Gran loves you.”

“It’s okay,” said Eileen, whose watery eyes told everyone in the room otherwise.

“Are you having an affair?” asked Sam. “Go ahead and tell me. ’Fess up to it, for Christ’s sake!” Eileen looked at her husband for a moment, and then ran out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Lauren followed her.

“You two go ahead and eat,” said Selma to Nate and Mike. “I think I’ll take Sam back to the house and fix him something there for breakfast.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Sam, slamming the table with his open hand.

Mike took Nate aside. “See if you can get him down to the guesthouse,” he said. “You have a way with your grandfather, and he may just listen to you. I’m going to find your grandmother.”

As soon as his father left the room, Nate approached Sam. “Gramps?” he said. “Can we talk somewhere? I need your advice.”

Sam looked at his grandson. “Of course we can,” he said. “What’s on your mind, son?”

“Let’s go to your house,” said Nate, reaching down to help his grandfather up from the window seat. “We can talk there.”

Sam glanced over at the food on the counter. “What about breakfast?”

Nate looked at the platter of cooling scrambled eggs, then at Selma. “Selma will put everything back in the oven,” said Nate. “We can eat in a little while.”

Sam licked his lips. “This can’t wait?”

“No,” said Nate. “I’d like to talk now.”

“Very well then,” said Sam, accepting Nate’s help to stand. They walked slowly toward the back door, which Selma opened. She closed it after them, then scurried over to the oven and turned it back on. She re-covered the food with the aluminum foil tents Eileen had left on the counter, then slid the platters into the oven. When she was done, she stood next to the oven with her hands on her hips, wondering what to do next. She didn’t, particularly, want to find Eileen, who was already with Lauren and Mike. And she didn’t want to interrupt Nate and Sam. She sighed as she removed the pot holders, and then sat at Ann’s kitchen table. She picked up the newspaper Sam had discarded and started reading the front page.

 

In the living room, Eileen was sobbing. Embarrassed by her emotions, but seemingly unable to stop them, Eileen told Mike and Lauren she would be okay.

“It’s okay to cry,” said Lauren, sitting on the couch next to her grandmother and holding her hand. Mike, with his hands in his pockets, stood over his daughter and mother-in-law. For the second time that morning, he was glad Ann was somewhere else. She wouldn’t handle this scene well. The first time was just after nine o’clock, when Sharon Rosenberg, the woman who’d come on to him at the resort in San Francisco, called him. He wondered how she’d found his private cell phone number before realizing he had given it to her husband, Paul.

“I just knew you’d answer,” she said, after purring her name and asking if he remembered her. “Powerful, attractive men always answer.”

“How are you?” asked Mike, his groin warming.

“I would be just perfect if I could see you,” whispered Sharon. “I’m in Detroit, with Paul on business, so I thought I’d call.”

“What do you think of Detroit?” asked Mike, unable to think of anything else to say.

“What do you think I think of Detroit?” asked Sharon, chuckling. “It’s dreadful.”

Mike laughed.

“I hear there is a good mall, some restaurants, and a four-star hotel about an hour from here,” said Sharon. “That would be about an hour from you, too. We could meet this afternoon.”

Oh God,
thought Mike, his warm groin now tingling. He remembered her open robe in the hallway of the resort. He remembered her lovely large breasts. In an instant, he pictured her naked, on top of him, her nipples inches from his mouth. She had a wide, fleshy ass he could hold on to, so unlike Ann’s. “I can’t,” said Mike, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair.

“Please,” said Sharon slowly. “I would just love to see you.”

Mike sat up. “And I’d love to see you,” he said, meaning it. “I just can’t today.”

“Your loss,” said Sharon flippantly.
Yes,
thought Mike. “I’m going to give you my number,” she said, “just in case you change your mind.” Mike wrote it down. “I always answer my phone. Day and night.”

“Okay,” said Mike, looking at the number he had just written.

“Call me, Michael,” said Sharon. “Any time at all.”

 

“He doesn’t mean it,” said Lauren to her grandmother. “I know he doesn’t mean what he says.”

“I know it, too,” said Eileen, blowing her nose. “I don’t know why it hurts so much.”

Not knowing what else to do, Mike sat down in the chair across from the couch where Lauren and Eileen were sitting. It was the chair he sat in when he and Ann had drinks in the living room, and so he was comfortable. He tried to focus on the conversation at hand, on Eileen and Lauren, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Sharon. Should he call her? Should he meet her, just for a drink?

“It hurts because you love him,” said Lauren. “And he loves you.”

At this, Mike decided he was in the wrong place. “I’m going to check on Nate and Sam,” he said, standing. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in ten minutes or so.”

“Fine,” said Eileen, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry to be so silly about this.”

Mike gave his mother-in-law a hug and then left the room.

“You’re not being silly,” said Lauren. “He hurt your feelings.”

And at that, Eileen’s tears flowed again. “I can take his physical disabilities,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with the crumpled tissue. “I can take changing his sheets and helping him get dressed and, sometimes, feeding him. In many ways, it’s like having an infant again.” Eileen blew her nose with a fresh tissue from her apron pocket. “I can take anything,” she continued, “except when he insults me.” Lauren wrapped her arm around her grandmother’s shoulders. “When he tells me he doesn’t love me,” said Eileen, softly, “I die inside.”

Lauren’s eyes blurred with tears. “He does love you,” she managed to say.

“How do you know?” asked Eileen, looking at her granddaughter. “He never tells me anymore.”

“I can see it,” said Lauren. “I can see it in his eyes.”

 

On his way through the kitchen, Mike told Selma, who was still at the table reading the newspaper, that everyone would be ready to eat shortly. Selma smiled at him as he walked out the back door and returned her attention to the story she had been reading about show dogs. Mike signed her paychecks, but she would have breakfast on Eileen’s schedule.

In the guesthouse, Mike found Sam and Nate, side by side on the couch, watching the History Channel. “Anybody hungry?” asked Mike, standing next to the couch with his hands in his pockets. Neither Nate nor Sam responded. Mike spoke louder, over the volume of the television. “I said, is anyone hungry?”

“You said is any
body
hungry,” said Nate, still looking at the images of tanks and army men on the screen.

“Let’s go, guys,” said Mike, walking in front of them to turn the television off.

“Dad!” protested Nate. “We’re watching something here.”

“And your grandmother,” said Mike, standing in front of the set, “has worked all morning to prepare a breakfast that’s drying out in the oven.”

“I’d like to watch the program,” said Sam quietly.

“I’m not going to listen to that,” said Mike, pointing his finger at Sam. “You started this.”

Nate got up from the couch. He turned the television back on, then told his father to go outside with him. On the way out, Nate stuffed his bare feet into his grandfather’s slippers that were lined up next to Eileen’s pair in the entranceway closet and grabbed his jacket from the hanger next to the one holding Sam’s overcoat. Outside, Nate explained to his dad how agitated Sam had been and how the television was sometimes the only thing that would get him refocused. In another ten minutes, Nate suggested, Sam would be calm enough to join them for breakfast. In fact, Nate thought, he would have forgotten the entire incident. Arms folded across his chest, Mike listened to his son talk, and then said, “I understand what you’re saying, and I appreciate that you have a relationship with your grandfather. In fact, I commend you on that. But I’m a little tired of these games we have to play. I’m hungry, and I’d like to eat the meal Eileen prepared. And I don’t see why we need to wait any longer. As far as I’m concerned, he can eat with us or he can have a bowl of cereal in front of the TV.”

“He’s part of this family,” said Nate.

“Yes,” said Mike. “And he and your grandmother are living here temporarily by the good graces of your mother. We are doing our best to make this work. But it cannot be all one way, Nate. Nothing in life is one way.”

“Meaning Gramps has to give back?” asked Nate.

“Something like that,” said Mike, knowing how ridiculous that statement sounded as soon as it left his mouth.

“He has Parkinson’s disease and dementia,” said Nate. “What kind of giveback are you looking for?”

Mike looked, briefly, at the ground, and then back at Nate. “Look,” he said. “I don’t understand his disease. I don’t know how it works.”

“It doesn’t work, Dad,” said Nate. “His brain doesn’t work like it should. Do you think he said those hurtful words to Gran on purpose? Sometimes he has no idea what he’s saying.”

“I know that, Nate,” said Mike. “I just don’t know how to handle it.”

“You can’t just handle this. It’s not like a business decision.”

“Well, that’s what I’m good at, Nate.”

Nate lifted both of his arms, pointing his hands at the big house. “Obviously,” he said. “And if you’re that good at business, you can certainly figure this out.”

“To what end?” asked Mike. “What am I going to do with this information?”

Nate turned to go back inside. With his hand on the doorknob, he said, “You will not profit from this information, Dad. There is no financial gain. But if you make an effort to understand him, you will learn other things, things that matter more.”

Mike put his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Maybe I should just leave that in your capable hands,” he said. Nate turned the doorknob and opened the door. “Can we eat soon?”

“I’ll push him a little,” said Nate. “Gramps and I will be in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

“I’ll go tell the others.” Mike waited until Nate went back inside and shut the door before he turned and walked back up the path to the back door. In the kitchen, Selma was still reading the newspaper and breakfast was still in the oven. Mike assumed Lauren and Eileen were still having a therapy session in the living room, so he went to his office, where he was needed, and sat down behind his desk. Sitting on his calendar was the phone number Sharon gave him that morning. He picked it up and looked at it. “Sharon,” he said aloud, before crumpling up the paper and throwing it away.

 

It wasn’t until almost twenty minutes later that Eileen, looking both composed and apologetic, appeared in the doorway of Mike’s office. “Are you still hungry?” she asked softly.

“Sure,” said Mike, getting up from his chair and wondering what food that had been sitting in a warming oven for almost an hour would taste like. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” said Eileen. “I don’t know what made me react that way.”