She stops and pivots. Cara is a strong woman. I enjoyed that with her, feeling her strength, the muscle to her as she has worked for all these years wrestling stump and root in and out of the ground. I see this power now as her shoulders push back and her neck tenses as she shouts loud enough that the boys in the yard might hear, “I owe you?”
“It would be nice to know.” I remain composed, have no reason to bark, and say simply that she knows why I wanted to sleep with her: because I’m an ass, because I believe in the potency of free love. “In theory,” I say, though I have never made this work for me because my heart is a confusion, I tell her that I am confused as I thought to still love Lidia and now I think that I may love Gloria. “And yet here I am sleeping with you, though obviously we aren’t in love so why did you do it?”
Cara takes the heels of her hands and presses them against the side of her head, she makes a face as if she is actually in pain. I am certain she has thought of little else since we fucked, has asked herself the same, wondering why, and can’t quite allow herself to answer. Here, however, she replies to me in a way I don’t expect. She doesn’t launch into a mournful confession and say it was because she lost her way, or that she has loved Matt so long and with such blind conviction that she actually forgot what passion felt like. She does not say she was confused and realizes now more clearly than ever that I am not Matt, or that the things I argued about love and our individual needs, what we can offer and what we can keep, appealed to her in the moment but that moment is gone. She doesn’t say any of this but calms her head with a more immediate claim, lowers her arms until she is so totally still I think for just a second she has forgotten me. It is here that she replies as I could not have expected from her, and tells me, “Because I wanted to.”
It is enough. We go upstairs after this and fuck like the feral dogs we are.
Chapter Fourteen
I shower after Cara leaves. The boys outside are installing the gazebo. Fred is with them. Cara is gone. The repeat performance of our sex lingers in the house now. I go back to my desk, open a window despite running the air, and, inspired again, as I can’t help, I write about Cara coming home last night and Matt telling her of our plan to use one of his poems for a song. What a scene it makes with Cara howling and Matt dumbfounded.
I check the time, give Fred a quick walk, then grab my keys and head off to see if I can catch Gloria at the diner before her shift ends. I have no idea if she is working today, no idea if she’s quit the diner and taken another job, no idea if she’s read Matt’s poem, or why I can’t stop thinking about her nearly a week after she left me.
Danny’s is a popular west side diner serving hippie hash omelets, brioche French toast, Cajun catfish, and Danny’s famous cheddar-stuffed burgers. The ten tables and counter space are set inside a rectangular brick building, the sign on the roof flashing Danny’s in orange neon lights. Gloria is there, working with one other waitress on the floor. She wears a gray Danny’s T-shirt and jeans. It is the end of lunch and I take a table near the back window.
Gloria comes over and says, “Hello, my name is Gloria and I’ll be your server.” She doesn’t look surprised to see me, asks what she can get me.
I order a chicken salad sandwich toasted, “Hold the chicken.”
She smiles. The diner is busy even at this off hour. I watch Gloria as she walks away. Seeing her overwhelms me and I begin to tear at the end of my paper napkin in order to have something to do with my hands. I remember once I was attending a conference in Delaware, a woman was on one of the panels with me, a midlist writer, quite handsome and intelligent. I was attracted to her right away. We sat side by side on our panel and fielded questions from the audience, our subject “Deconstructing Social Consciousness in the Modern Novel.” I listened to her answers and took note of how comfortable she was—not the least bit affected or smug, each reply coming as if conversing with a friend. I immediately went and bought one of her books and stayed up late that night reading and was riveted by her prose, which was graceful and brilliant and touching without being sentimental. The story was about a medical student who volunteers at a clinic in Uganda and is followed overseas by a boyfriend she may or may not love. I went to bed that night dreaming wildly about the writer. For the next two days I behaved like a smitten schoolboy, following the woman, talking to her when I could gain the courage, attending her reading, and finally taking her to dinner where we had an enjoyable time and ended the night with a perfectly proper kiss. I was certain that I had fallen in love, but then I flew home the following day, got on with my life, and did not ever seriously think of her again.
That I think of Gloria still and have not forgotten her, even after she moved out, I assume means something. I have also not forgotten Lidia, and what does that mean? As skeptical as I am, as much proof as I have now that love is a jerry-rigged construct from which no couple is safe, the harder it is becoming for me to doubt it. Gloria picks up my order, brings me the burger and coke as she knows I want. I would like to talk with her about us, I hope to say something in support of our affair and why she should move back in with me. Before I can, however, Gloria takes her cellphone out of her back pocket, texts me, then walks away.
I click on what she’s sent and find a link to the song she’s composed for Matt’s poem. Recorded on video from her phone camera, Gloria is sitting against a white wall, in a chair, in what I imagine must be her new digs. There is a ceiling fan overhead, the shadows flickering in a silent swirl. Gloria plays a picked-out third fret in E and G that catches me right away. When she starts to sing her voice is low and longing, moving up the register toward the chorus like a perfect wave. I am pitched in the mooring of your morning after the shape of things in the bedsheet draw without you now offering what is to come. I am left In the sun day’s paper left in the toss of stories spread out in the soft light fading on my floor. I wait for your return want for you for your return hope you never know that I am waiting not / waiting for your return.
I play the song again while I eat, I am giddy with what I hear. It shames me to think how little I did for Gloria’s music when we were living together. Her talent deserves better. The few times I did reach out on her behalf, I did not follow up, did not make a concerted push, and why was that? Hurriedly now I make two calls, one each to Daniel Glass at Glassnote and Laurence Bell at Domino Records. I get through to both and tell them I’m about to send a link their way and they should listen, as a favor they will thank me for. Ten minutes later, Laurence and Daniel both call me back.
I finish my lunch, wait for Gloria’s shift to end, then go outside with her and sit in my car. She tells me she can’t stay, that she is meeting someone. “Five minutes,” I say, and she checks the time.
I keep things professional, thank her for the link, tell her the song she’s come up with is amazing. “Truly,” I say and explain how both Glassnote and Domino want to hear more. “They’re offering development money for us to cut additional songs,” I say. “I’ve worked with Dan and Laurence a bunch. Either company will be a solid fit.”
Gloria takes the news in stride and refuses to give me too much, even though I can tell she’s pleased. In sending me the link it’s apparent she also knows the song is good and that she and Matt are a nice fit. I discuss a plan for cutting new music, including more Matt poems and Gloria originals. I say I will throw in Colossal time for free and she and Matt can split whatever cash Dan and Laurence provide, “Though we’ll have to pay musicians and the development money won’t be much. Still, assuming either Dan or Laurence like what else we present,” I say, “they’ll want to sign you. This is a career changer. I told them about Matt and they’re intrigued. And they love you. I reminded them I sent songs of yours their way two months ago and they’re going to listen to those as well.”
I’m feeling confident. I touch Gloria’s shoulder and she moves away. I would like to woo and charm her now, and am tempted to speak of love as if I might actually mean it, describe the empty nigh
ts since she’s been gone as the hollowest of holes into which I’ve fallen, and I have fallen, I want to say, but Gloria is not one to woo this way, so I stop and ask instead, “How are you? Are you happy? Are you well?”
Gloria doesn’t reply to any of this. If she is playing me for some further reaction I can’t be sure. I wonder if I should tell her about Cara, confide how crazy things are and that she was right about everything and if she would only come back now I promise to mend my ways. I want to apologize and let Gloria know but doubt my saying as much will work in my favor, so I stick to business and tell her that she needs to come by Colossal and sign a management contract allowing me to negotiate for her. “You should meet Matt and we need to pick three more poems and go over your songs and start laying down tracks for review.” I ask about her schedule.
Gloria says she can come by the studio tomorrow at four. She thanks me. Just like that, formally as if we weren’t once lovers and I hadn’t just done her a serious solid. She gets out of my car and heads to her own. I find my cell and call both Daniel and Laurence again. Twenty minutes later I have a development deal with Glassnote. I then call Matt and give him the good news.
•
Lidia phones as I am driving home. I’m not expecting this; I have just finished speaking with Matt when Lidia says she’d like to talk and can I come by the restaurant tonight?
As a reflex, not knowing what to think, delighted Lidia has contacted me, I ask if everything is all right. She assures me, “Yes, of course,” as if the question is unnecessary, and says she’ll see me around seven and clicks off the line.
Cara’s crew has left for the day when I get home. I walk around back with Fred who immediately goes and christens the gazebo. Fred’s a big boy, part lab and part pit, sweetest dog I’ve ever had but can piss a mountain stream; I’ll have to train him off the gazebo and onto the trees. The garden is coming along, the new shrubs and brush planted, the remaining flowers and trees arriving soon followed by the gravel path and fountain. The setting is tranquil. I can’t quite explain what I’ve done, but I do like the look of the yard. I take a picture and send it to Lidia, I imagine myself sitting out back with Gloria, and wonder what Cara is doing now. I spend an hour in the front room rereading Matt’s poems, find three more I think will work for songs, type them out, and email them to Gloria. At a quarter to seven I drive to Caber Hills where Lidia is talking to diners, moving from table to table.
I go to the bar and wait for her there. On my way downtown I played Gloria’s new music through the speakers in my car. Hearing her sing, I was convinced I loved her fully and deeply and lamented nothing more than her leaving. No sooner do I walk into Caber Hills, however, and see Lidia than I’m convinced I still love her as well. That I vacillate this way between the two puzzles me, and yet I know the issue is not my being torn between Lidia and Gloria, but that my attitude toward love is fickle and fleeting. A conundrum, this time I tell myself I will do better, though what I mean by this exactly I haven’t a clue.
Lidia spots me and smiles. The whole of my heart aches for her alone now and my knees shake as I kiss her cheek. She says she is glad to see me and holds my arm as we walk up to her office. I’m pleased by this. Lidia closes the door after we step inside. She goes to the bookshelf and takes down a bottle of Woodford and two glasses. I sit in the chair. Lidia leans against the front of her desk. She has on a black skirt and white top. Her hair is neatly arranged for presenting herself in public, the Caber look I used to call it, her features given soft shading, her eyes hazel and lips mauve. Her office is a modern ergonomic design done in silver and glass like the restaurant below. She hands the whiskey to me and says, “Cheers.”
We talk about the garden. Lidia thanks me for sending the picture and asks when it will be done, and can she come see?
“You want to see?”
“I do.”
“Great. Come by any time.” I bend forward and put my glass on the desk. Lidia is directly in front of me, she touches my shoulder as I lean close. This continued affection is peculiar, and, unsure of what’s going on or why Lidia wanted to see me, I ask, “So, what’s up?”
Lidia sips her drink and assures me again everything’s fine. “What about you?”
For a moment I think to answer honestly and let her in on all that’s happened with Cara and Matt and Cara again, with Gloria, too, as she has left me, and yet sharing all of this with Lidia when I don’t yet know why she asked me to stop by seems ill-timed, so I simply say I’m good as well and I’m glad she called.
Lidia nods her head as if I’ve said something significant, and, touching my shoulder again, she says, “We’re great friends, aren’t we, Eric?” She pronounces this in such a way as to keep me from insinuating more. “After everything we’ve been through, we somehow managed to get out before hating one other, and on good terms, as I do feel close to you. It’s good that I can still call you and you can call me. That’s the most important thing, don’t you think?” Lidia says.
I’m not sure how to respond other than to say, “Sure. Yes, of course.”
“We have a history, we know one another completely, which is such an advantage for getting on.”
“What’s this about, Lid?” I’m becoming suspicious now, all the precursory chatter is unlike Lidia who is most often straight to the point. I wonder if she’s met someone, after her sous chef, if she’s called to tell me she’s fallen in love.
Lidia continues. “We’ve survived the worst of us and still care for one another,” she says. “Experience has taught us what works and what doesn’t. We’re lucky this way. We know now that we don’t actually function well as man and wife, or as permanent lovers, but as friends we do, as friends who truly trust one another, without ulterior motives or designs. We want only what is best for each other,” she says. “How many people can say that?”
“And so you’ve called to tell me what?”
“That I’m going to have a baby and I want you to be happy for me.”
“Of course, I’ll be…” Wait. “What?” I make Lidia repeat herself then ask, “What baby?”
“Mine, Eric.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“No.”
“Then…?”
“I almost told you the other night,” she says, “but things weren’t final and I decided not to.”
“What do you mean final?”
“I’ve always wanted a child.”
“I know. I know. So what is this? Are you adopting?”
Lidia explains that she has contracted a surrogate, that she has her eggs and a donor dad all set and ready to go.
This is too much information for me to digest, and I wave my hands and ask Lidia to, “Hold on. Wait now. What dad?”
“I have an anonymous donor.”
“You went shopping?”
“I selected a father. I know his genetic makeup, his intelligence, and education all without having to deal with him personally.”
“And this is what you want, to mix your eggs with some mercenary sperm popped into a surrogate baby-making blender?”
“That’s cruel.” Lidia cautions me not to take that tone and I know at once she’s right. “We tried long enough,” she says. “I want to do it this way now, for me.”
I realize I have no right to object to Lidia’s decision and that it’s generous enough she is sharing her news with me. Even so, I can’t help feeling sorry for myself, for the reality that Lidia is moving on completely now and has no need for me other than as a friend. I should be accepting, but can’t quite get there and blurt out, “Why this way, though?”
“This way is best.”
“No, it’s not. Best would be if I was the dad. What about me?” The last thing on my mind when driving out to Caber Hills was the prospect of fathering a child, and yet when I make my offer to Lidia I’m entirely serious and hurt she didn’t think of me before. That she wants to have a baby made from her eggs and some odd sputter dick’s sperm is an insult. “Fuck me,�
� I say, and mean this both as an offering and a condemnation.
Lidia sighs loudly and moves behind her desk as if our discussion is about to devolve from a friendly disclosure into something more formal. She runs through her list of reasons and lets me know that she is happy for our time together and very much wishes for us to remain close, but that’s all. “Don’t fight me on this.” She says she’s looking forward to her new life and raising a child, and to appease me, whether or not it’s true, she adds, “Of course, I considered asking you. You’re a brilliant man, Eric McCanus, you’re handsome and funny and possess many of the qualities I need.”
“But?”
“But you’re also crazy as corn beef pudding, Eric. We would drive each other mad trying to raise a child. I don’t want to do this with you anymore. We’re divorced. This is my decision and my child.”
Stung twice now, I ask if her surrogate has already had the insemination. Lidia tells me everything is scheduled, and when I start to argue further she makes it clear my effort is futile, so I stop and decide to take the high road. I stand in front of the desk, let Lidia know this is all swell news and I’m happy for her and am sure she will be a great mom and whatever she wants from me, I’m her man. We talk a bit more and then I say I have to go, and do so while turning around only once to look back at the office door, now closed.
•
I drive to Fendunckle’s where I order three drinks in quick succession. Lidia’s news has shaken me in ways I’m ill-prepared to handle, and, recoiling from the bombshell that my ex-wife, whom I may or may not still love, is planning to have a child without me, I decide to become sufficiently drunk. The bar is dark and loud and the whiskey goes straight to my head. Sozzled, I call Gloria. When she answers, I start in chattering right away and ask as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, “What do you think about having my baby?”
Gloria hangs up.
I call her back and this time when answering she asks in turn, “Have your baby do what?” We laugh at this, and then Gloria becomes serious, addresses me more as she did this afternoon, and says it’s important if we’re going to work together that I promise to keep things strictly business. “No drunk calls. No talking about us.”
Liars Page 12