The Nakeds (22 page)

She placed the meat on her atrophied calf while Hannah slept.

And she held it there, like that, until the meat stuck.

“Your mother did this,” Azeem said, hesitating.

“Oh, dear God,” Nina said.

“Your mother did this so you could have sex with the man and not be—”

“Stop it,” her mother said.

“Do you understand?” he said.

Hannah was still standing in the door frame. She hadn’t moved. The kids on skateboards were back, flying down the street, cussing into the sky. She heard the word
dickhead
. She heard
watch this.
She heard
fuck you
. She looked down at her cast, and then up at her mother, whose face was now gone behind her hands.

MARTIN’S DAD
had collapsed and died at their newest restaurant, which ended up being his favorite of the three, his sister said on the phone. He was on his way to a table with a pair of tiramisus and a slice of raspberry cheesecake that he’d made himself. He was carrying the desserts on a tray above his head.

“Usually Dad didn’t serve food, but he’d been excited to show off his new cheesecake,” she said.

“How’s Mom?” Martin said.

“She needs you,” Sandy said.

•  •  •

The next morning he packed up his clothes and bought a bus ticket home. He called Ilene first, hoping for a quick good-bye. He wanted to leave the same way he’d arrived, quietly, without fuss. But Ilene started to cry, saying that she loved him like a grandson, asking him to please keep in touch, insisting he come by the restaurant so she could give him some sandwiches for the road.

Next, he called Elmer, who said that he’d always wanted to see California’s beaches and girls. “When you get your own place, I’ll be out for a visit,” he said. “Maybe I’ll even move out there.”

“Why uproot yourself?”

“A change might be good for me.”

“You’re doing just fine here.”

“Get me a job at one of your dad’s restaurants.”

“I have to go,” Martin said, feeling like he was about to cry.

“Sorry about your dad,” Elmer said.

“Thanks. I have to go,” he said again.

“Wait, hold on,” Elmer said. “They’re
your
restaurants now. Right, buddy? You can just
give
me a job. You scored, man.”

“Shut up,” Martin said.

“Sorry, buddy. Sorry. Listen, let me wait tables. Let me prove myself, man. I’ll help you run things.”

“I’m hanging up,” Martin said.

“I don’t know why I can’t ever catch a fucking break.”

And Martin hung up the phone and let himself cry. He sat on the couch in the living room and looked at Sadie, who was curled up on the coffee table with a paw over her face, and cried some more. He cried and cried, hoping the neighbors couldn’t hear him, but wanting to get it all out before leaving the house and getting on the damn bus.

•  •  •

Later, he lured Sadie into the carrier with a fingertip of tuna. He set a towel on the bottom and tossed in her favorite rabbit-fur mouse. He stopped by the restaurant and hugged and kissed Ilene good-bye. He accepted her turkey sandwiches and plums and chocolate chip cookies. “Everyone should eat cookies when someone dies,” she said. “Sit down, Marty, visit with me one last time.”

“I can’t—bus leaves soon,” he said, moving Sadie’s carrier from his left hand to his right.

“Give me a second to say good-bye to Ms. Sadie then.” She took the carrier from him and put her face right up to the bars, where Sadie was sniffing, her whiskers twitching. “Bye-bye, Sadie Lady,” Ilene said.

•  •  •

Sadie meowed all the way to California. Sometimes she stuck her face to the carrier with the mouse in her mouth. When she meowed loudly, people turned to stare.
Fuck you
, he thought,
it’s a bus, not a library
. Every now and then, he’d whisper to Sadie, passing her treats through the bars. An old man who smelled like garlic sat next to him. He popped mints into his mouth every few minutes. He’d reach into his pocket and pull one out. It seemed he had an endless supply. “Want a peppermint?” he said an hour in.

“No, thanks,” Martin answered.

And the man sighed, saying, “Suit yourself,” like Martin was really missing out on something.

Martin unwrapped one of Ilene’s sandwiches, sniffed at it, and took a bite.

“What do you have there?” the old man said, peering over.

“Sandwich,” Martin said.

The old man got off the bus halfway through the trip, and a woman Martin guessed was in her late thirties got on and took the seat next to him. She had a paperback of
Fear of Flying
that she kept open even when he suspected she wasn’t reading from it, a barrier between the two of them that Martin thought was a fine idea. He wished he’d at least brought a newspaper. He bounced along in his seat and stared out the dirty window at the hills and mountains—miles and miles of the same hills and mountains.

They stopped at a diner and the driver gave them thirty minutes to eat. Martin didn’t want to leave Sadie on the hot bus, so he brought her inside with him. He covered the carrier with his jacket, which only made her meowing turn into caterwauling. When the hostess gave him a look, he told her to put them in a back booth. “She’ll quiet down in a minute,” he promised.

From where he sat eating his burger, he could see the woman whom he’d guessed was in her late thirties. She was at the counter and Martin could make out her back and shoulders, her thick, straight hair. She wore a short-sleeve shirt and her arms were slender. Every now and then, a sleeve would fall off a thin shoulder, revealing her bra strap, and she’d pull it back up. He was looking at the woman, wanting to talk to her and wishing he’d been friendlier when she’d sat down next to him.

He wished he’d been a better son.

He wished he’d gone home when Sandy told him that his dad was sick.

Back on the bus, the woman picked up
Fear of Flying
again. He’d heard the book was almost pornography. Martin moved his eyes without moving his head, trying to sneak a look at the print. He thought he made out the words
fuck
and
cock
and maybe
pussy
. He looked at the woman’s legs then, which were long and thin, covered in denim. He looked at her visible bra strap and felt a boner coming on. He adjusted himself in the seat and turned to the window again.

An hour later, the woman put the book down, looked at him, and said, “Do you ever think—”

He turned from the window and looked at her. “What?” he said.

She seemed disappointed, as if she thought he might have had a different face, one she could talk to. “Never mind,” she said.

“Come on,” he said, smiling.

“Forget it.” She picked up her book again and didn’t put it down until they reached the bus station in Los Angeles.

NINA AND
Azeem arrived in Palm Springs an hour early for Phillip’s fiftieth birthday party. Phillip was a friend from The Elysium, a former British television star, famous in his day but retired now and out of the limelight. A longtime member of The Elysium, Phillip was the best volleyball player at the camp and had recently been elected to the board of directors. He lived in Palm Desert, just fifteen minutes from where they were now. They’d bought him a fancy volleyball, which was wrapped up in a pretty blue box with a white bow, sitting on Nina’s lap. She had slept nearly the whole way there with her head against the window and now she was achy. “I slept funny,” she said, rubbing her neck. “What did I miss?”

“A lot of brown mountains,” Azeem said. “Oh, and a dead dog a few miles back.”

“I dreamt that I was clothed at The Elysium. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get my clothes off. I was pulling and tugging. They were glued to me or something.”

“Was I there?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Everyone was annoyed at me for staying in my clothes. I tried to explain the situation, but they were hostile and wouldn’t listen.”

“So much for ‘clothing optional,’ ” he said.

“They wanted me to go home. Some woman actually told me to leave.”

He laughed.

“It was upsetting. Sort of like the dreams I used to have about getting caught naked at school. My dreams are so vivid lately.” She paused. “I wish you wouldn’t have told Hannah about the hamburger meat.”

“She’s stronger than you think,” he said.

“Strong isn’t the point.” Nina couldn’t get the image of her daughter, after a painfully quiet few seconds, spinning around on her crutches without saying a word. She jumped from her chair to follow her, but Hannah was fast on those crutches, flying down the hall, and by the time Nina reached her bedroom, the door was already shut. Nina stood, calling her daughter’s name, but Hannah ignored her.

Later, when Nina tried to tell Hannah that it was only a meaningless dream, Hannah abruptly changed the subject, and Nina knew not to bring it up again.

“We’re so early,” Azeem said now. “What should we do?”

Nina looked at her watch. Phillip’s birthday party started at seven and it was only five after six.

“I was surprised you slept. I had the radio on the whole time. A talk show on NPR,” he said. “There was an Arab and a rabbi—” he began.

“Sounds like the setup to a joke.” She yawned.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t funny. They started out talking about the conflict today and ended up arguing about the ’72 Olympics.”

“Munich.” She shook her head. “No one handled that correctly.”

They were past Palm Springs and nearly in Palm Desert. They’d be at Phillip’s house in no time. Nina placed her palm on the hot car window. “It’s terrible out there,” she said.

“Look,” Azeem said, pointing at a big thermometer hanging from a streetlight. “The sun’s gone down and it’s still 101 degrees.”

“I’d be a nudist even if I wasn’t a nudist in a place this hot. And if my clothes were glued to me, I’d go nuts.”

It was too hot to walk the streets, too hot to stop and stretch their legs, too hot to get gas or think or window-shop, and Nina really had to pee. “I know it’s bad manners to show up early, but do you think Phillip would mind? He’s always so easygoing,” she said.

Azeem shrugged. “Back home, you arrive when you arrive. You’re invited, you show up. You’re welcome no matter what time it is. We sit you down and offer you tea.”

“Well, here,” she started to say, and then stopped herself.

“Here, what?” he said, turning to her.

“Nothing,” she said. “Maybe Phillip won’t mind if we show up early. It’s not like he has to get dressed for the event.”

They decided to go straight to Phillip’s house, hand him his birthday present, and just apologize.

They knocked on the door, and Nina was sheepish, apologetic, when Phillip greeted them. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, his dark hair was still wet, and there was stubble on his chin, a razor in his hand.

Azeem held the present out to him, an offering.

“What’s this? I said no presents,” he said, smiling.

“We couldn’t resist,” Nina said.

“Come on in.” Phillip took the box from Azeem. “The caterers are in the kitchen, but you’re the first guests here.”

“I’m sorry we’re so early,” Nina said.

“Really sorry, Phil,” Azeem added.

“The drive didn’t take us nearly as long as we thought it would.”

“No traffic. We’re not used to that,” Azeem said.

“No worries,” Phillip said. “I’ll set you up in the bonus room with a couple of drinks while I finish up a few things. When the others arrive, I’ll let you know,” he said, kindly.

“May I use your bathroom?” she asked.

“Certainly.” Phillip pointed her down the hall.

When Nina returned from the bathroom, Azeem was already naked in the bonus room, sitting on the black leather couch and sipping what looked like lemonade. “It’s spiked,” he said, setting the drink down.

Nina stepped out of her shoes and skirt and underwear. She unbuttoned her blouse, took it off, and turned her back to Azeem so he could unclasp her bra. She opened their bag and scooted Azeem’s sandals over, making room for her own. After carefully folding up her clothes, Nina set them on top of the shoes and zipped up the bag.

She was about to sit down next to Azeem when she noticed Phillip’s family photographs on the wall. There was a lovely picture of his wife, Janet, who had died a year earlier in a car accident and whom Nina used to sit with sometimes at The Elysium. In the photo she was waving, standing by a pair of palm trees, smiling big like she had all the time in the world. There was a picture of his two adult sons sitting at a table playing chess, their bare chests visible. And some other people Nina didn’t recognize—all of them naked. Everyone in every picture was naked. Some of the people in the photographs wore hats and shoes, but never clothing. In one picture, a naked Phillip held a Chihuahua wearing a yellow sweater.

“Look at this. The dog’s dressed,” she said.

Azeem got up from the couch and stood next to her, looking at the dog.

Phillip knocked, and then popped his head inside the room. “Everything OK in here?” he said.

“We’re admiring your little dog,” Nina said.

“Barney died two months after Janet. I think he died of grief,” Phillip said.

“I’m sorry,” Nina said.

“Thank you. It’s been difficult, but I’m better every day,” he said, not seeming better at all. “Make yourselves comfortable. People should be arriving soon.” He closed the door and Nina could hear his footsteps in the hall.

Azeem sat down first and she sat next to him. She leaned forward and picked up her drink. The ice had melted, which disappointed her. The drink was strong and sweet; she could taste the lemons and sugar and vodka. She didn’t really like hard alcohol, but decided to drink it anyway. It was a party and maybe it would help her relax.

Apparently Azeem didn’t want to relax. He wanted to talk about the radio show again. He reiterated, saying that the rabbi and the Palestinian were discussing the ongoing Middle East conflict and he wasn’t sure how they ended up talking about the ’72 Olympics. “It was nearly eight years ago,” he said. “Let it go already.”