by Sloane Tanen
“I’ll bet.”
“What is your problem?”
“She obviously sniffed you out. Don’t be daft, Henry!”
“Yes, Mother. She’s stalking me because I’m such a catch.” A short pause. “Oooh, I see,” he said, finally getting it. “I’m a prize because of you. Is that what you think? That she’s mercenary and wants a crack at your fortune, so she’s floating around in public pools hoping I might show up on a whim?”
Bunny picked up her pace. Why on earth was his mother being such a capital twat about this?
“I know it’s impossible to believe that somebody might like me for me,” Henry continued, following her. “But some women, quite a few, actually, seem to like me very much and have no interest whatsoever in your bank account.”
“I just wish you’d listen to me every once in a while. You met her, what, three days ago? And now you’re splashing around together and she’s getting in by taking you to hospital?”
“Getting in?” Henry asked, incredulous. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about. She’s lovely. You’d like her. And she offered.”
“Why didn’t you ask me to take you?”
“You’re in rehab!”
“It’s not my fault if you haven’t a friend to help you out. It’s mystifying what you’ve been doing out here all these years. Obviously not socializing.”
“I do have friends I could ask,” he said, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. “But she suggested it, and why not? It’s an easy outpatient procedure, after all.”
“So now it’s easy? Last time we discussed it, you made it sound as if you were having a triple bypass.”
“What is this about? Really?” Henry asked. His mother’s face was pink and her eyes were glassy. She turned quickly and began walking back down the hill. “Where are you going?” he called after her. “We haven’t reached the top yet. Hey!”
She was moving at a brisk clip now, almost running. “Slow down!” he shouted. He was afraid she’d fall, despite the ridiculous trekking poles, which she manipulated with surprising grace. But she was fast and nimble, more so than Henry, as it turned out.
“Wait!” By the time he spotted her again, she was at the bottom of the hill, just at the point of crossing the street that led back to Directions. There was a FedEx truck idling. His heart stopped when he saw her lose her balance, twist awkwardly, and fall down, hard. She lay flat, not moving.
The truck started beeping and backing up and Henry knew the driver didn’t see her there. He was going over the poles. Was he on the phone? Listening to music? Henry could hear the crunching of metal. It was a horrifying sound, all the more so because he kept imagining it was his mother’s head. Bunny let loose a harrowing scream. Then the beeping stopped and all was silent.
He was too stunned to move when he saw her stand up, straighten her shirt, collect the poles, and limp over to the front of the vehicle. She held the bent poles midshaft and began repeatedly driving them into the hood, as if she were stabbing someone to death. Henry could hear her screaming as she adjusted her grip and continued thrashing. Then she started on the headlights, aiming at them sideways, like a baseball player swinging at a ball. It might have been comic had the madwoman not been his mother.
“You stupid bloody pillock! Why don’t you look where you’re going, you fucking wanker!”
Then she walked to the side of the vehicle, where Henry knew the driver sat exposed. As she stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and lifted the poles, Henry started sprinting down the hill screaming for her to stop. She’d kill the driver, he was sure. Just when the poles were about to make contact, the truck jerked forward and drove away, fast. Henry could see the terrified expression of the young driver as he peeled off. He left Bunny standing there, holding her poles aloft.
“Are you all right? What the hell are you doing?” he asked, running up behind her. She was red with rage, covered in dust, and her nose was bleeding. One of her sandals was three feet away. She looked disoriented.
“He didn’t even stop!”
“He was scared for his life!” Henry shouted. “You were terrifying!”
“He could have killed me. Did you see that? He drove over me. He just drove off!”
“He didn’t drive over you. He drove over the poles. He didn’t even see you until you started smashing up his truck.”
“You’re defending him?”
“We’re lucky he didn’t plow you down trying to escape!”
She dropped the poles, sat on the ground, and began to weep. Henry had never been so uncomfortable. He hadn’t a clue what to do. She was sitting cross-legged, her tears mixing with the dirt on her face.
“Mum?” He gathered her shoe and the poles and sat down next to her.
“He doesn’t find me attractive, Henry.”
“You tried to kill him. Of course he doesn’t find you attractive.”
“No, no,” she cried. “Martin. Martin doesn’t find me attractive anymore. Getting old is an attack on the soul, Henry. It’s a long, boring, fruitless war.”
“I’m sure he finds you attractive. You’re a beautiful woman.” It was true, odd as it was for Henry to consider the fact.
“But I’m not sexy anymore,” she said, sobbing. “Nobody wants to have a go with a seventy-year-old woman. Not even a seventy-five-year-old man.”
“I’m not sure what to say.” Henry shifted awkwardly, deliberating whether to give his mother a hug.
His conversation about Janine must have been what set her off. She wasn’t jealous. She was simply mourning her own lost youth. Still, her violence had terrified him. Perhaps she was detoxing and this was simply what alcohol withdrawal looked like.
“I think I made a pass at him,” she confessed, burying her face in her hands. “I made a pass at my ridiculous, ancient, drug-addled ex-husband, and he rejected me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Henry said, trying not to imagine what “making a pass” might entail.
“I’m so mortified I could die. I can’t go back there. You’ll see,” she said, pointing a finger at him, accusing. “You’ll get old too. One day there won’t be any more water nymphs. Not that it’s the same for men if they have money. You’ll have plenty of it,” she said, slightly cheered. “Buckets.”
“I don’t want your money, Mother. But thank you for thinking of me.”
“Of course you say that now,” she said, smearing dirty tears on her forearm. She started putting on her sandal. “Being poor is the most terrible thing in the world. You’ve no idea.”
“Have you?”
“Some,” she said. She closed her eyes and shivered.
Henry found it hard not to laugh. “You don’t really fancy Martin, do you?”
“No, I don’t. It was just a moment. It wasn’t really a pass, just a gesture. But it was embarrassing. I so rarely put myself in a position of vulnerability and now I remember why. I’m such an ass.”
“Let’s get back,” he said, helping her stand. She looked a mess. “We’ll have to tell Mitchell what’s happened. If he hasn’t heard already.”
“I need a drink,” she said, hobbling. She was holding his arm and her voice was pleading, like a child’s.
“Well, yes,” he said. She was admitting that she needed something from him, though it was something he couldn’t give her.
“Please.”
“No, Mother.”
“Piss off, Henry.”
“Well, yes,” he said.
Marty
“Knock, knock.” Marty was standing in front of Bunny’s door with his gym bag slung over his shoulder. It was after dinner. No answer. “Open the door, Bunny.”
Nothing.
“I’m coming in,” he said, turning the handle. None of the doors at Directions locked. He was certain Bunny was in there. He hadn’t seen her since their dinner. Was she hiding from him? He was bored without her. She was a pain in the ass but she livened the place up. He liked giving her a hard time. He opened
the door and found her on the bed, supine, with an eye pillow placed sloppily across her face.
“Go away,” she said. “I’m sleeping.”
“I brought you something.”
She sat up slowly, grimacing. Her wrist was wrapped in an Ace bandage, and the right side of her face looked like a skinned knee.
“Jesus. What the hell happened to you?”
“I got run over by a FedEx truck.” She arranged her features into a frown. “I fell.”
“I fall too now,” he said, reassured. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “It’s like the ground just gives way and I’m down. I never understood about all the broken hips until recently. Who thought that would happen to us?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My footing is excellent. I was running away from Henry and I tripped over a branch and fell.”
“And then got run over by a FedEx truck?”
“I’m glad you find it funny.”
“Why were you running away from Henry?”
“Because he’s getting his willie wet and thinks he’s falling in love again. He never listens to me. He just moves from one slag to the next and always seems surprised that things don’t work out. I want grandchildren! I’ve a right, haven’t I?”
“You can’t decide who your son dates.”
“When was the last time you fell in love?”
“I fall in love all the time.”
“I really don’t know whether to envy you or pity you.”
“Me neither.”
“About the other night…” she started.
“Forget it,” he said, not wanting to revisit that awkward moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t find Bunny appealing—he did. But he didn’t believe in cheating, and he was too old and too tired to start over again. Besides, he knew Bunny wasn’t really attracted to him. They’d spent half the dinner discussing her lack of interest in sex. She was just bored, enjoying a nostalgic ride on the tracks they’d laid down long ago. Being with Bunny was like touching hands with his younger self. Assuredly she felt the same way.
Bunny stood up. She limped across the room and pulled a sweater over her head.
“You could sue FedEx.”
“I don’t think so. There would be publicity.” She paused. “And I beat the truck into a state of disrepair.”
“Ha! Good for you.”
“Rehab is much less relaxing than I’d hoped. I find the emotional turmoil exhausting. I’d like a drink when this is all done. Or, at the very least, I’d like to get away.”
Martin smiled conspiratorially as he unzipped his gym bag. “Where would you go?” he asked. “I assume you’ve been everywhere, spreading your goodwill around.”
“Italy,” she said, perking up. “I do like Rome.”
“Let’s have a toast, then. To Bunny in Rome.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Bunny looked at the bottle, then at him. Her mouth was open. For a moment he thought she might be angry. It was a stupid thing to do, really. The woman had a drinking problem. They were in rehab. He might have some issues, but never with booze. He’d somehow failed to see the difference between Bunny’s addiction and his little habit when he’d slipped Erika from the Directions spa five hundred dollars to get him a bottle.
“Genius,” Bunny said. “Get the glasses.”
“Who needs glasses?” he asked, relieved. He unscrewed the top and handed the bottle over. “Up your ass, Mitch!”
Bunny took a whiff and made a face.
“Best I could do under the circumstances,” he said.
Bunny took a very long, very deep drink. She took another few sips before handing it over. Marty took a series of gulps and hissed as the liquid seared his throat and swelled like a wave in the river Styx at the bottom of his stomach.
“I always could drink you under the table,” he said, remembering a night when they were doing shots at a pre-Oscars party. She’d vomited into Terrence Malick’s lap. Faye Dunaway helped clean her up in the ladies’. Bunny didn’t drink much after that. At least not while they were married.
“Maybe in the old days.” She took the bottle back. “Not anymore. Let’s say I’ve built up a tolerance. Shots?”
Marty hobbled into the bathroom and took the two glasses off the vanity. He noticed, not without irritation, that her bathroom was larger than his and equipped with an eight-headed shower and a private steam room. He walked back to the bed, put the glasses down on a brochure, and began filling them both to the top. “How much do you pay here a month?” he asked.
“No idea,” she said. She looked transfixed by his presentation, as if he were performing a magic trick. He handed her one of the glasses.
“Ready, set, go!” he said and they both downed their cups. They screamed at the sheer pain of it, then laughed as Marty refilled the glasses.
“Ready, set, go!”
Marty felt a little queasy but they kept going until the bottle was empty. The whole thing took about ten minutes.
Part Three
Schnapsidee (noun): A plan so stupid, it must have come from a drunken mind; literally “a schnapps idea”
Janine
Janine was sitting next to her dad in the Directions dining room, trying to joke him out of a bad mood while they waited for Gail, Amanda, and, with luck, the twins. She’d arrived early, nervous about seeing everyone, had even put on her best black jeans and a cropped blazer. Her dad was red-faced and grouchy, entirely uninterested in her routine about eating next to Buddha’s giant fiberglass toes. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn her dad was hung over. She knew he could think of nothing less appealing than celebrating his birthday at Directions.
Gail arrived in what Janine thought was an outrageous outfit for dinner in rehab (an emerald-green Gucci cocktail dress and heels). She embraced Janine while cheerfully reprimanding her for not returning any of her calls. By the time Amanda showed up, twenty-five minutes late and without the twins, their father was in a silent rage.
“You’re late,” he said before asking where the kids were. Janine noticed right away how pretty her sister still was. Despite Amanda’s sloppily pinned-up hair and her blah beige pantsuit, all the eyes in the room had followed her across the dining hall.
“They’re grounded,” Amanda said. She looked at Gail, who nodded her head almost imperceptibly.
“Just teenage nonsense,” Gail added, preempting any further explanation from Amanda. Janine wasn’t sure what was going on but she was coming to understand that one of Gail’s self-appointed jobs was insulating their father from his own family.
Amanda sat down and squinted at Janine, as if trying to draw some conclusions about her state of mind from her physical appearance—her short hair, her thinness, her outfit. Nobody but Amanda could make Janine feel so instantly insecure.
“Hello,” Janine said. She leaned over to plant a loud, wet kiss on Amanda’s cheek. Then she smiled. The only way she’d ever been able to penetrate her sister’s frostiness was to disarm her, make her either laugh or squirm.
Amanda made a face and wiped the saliva off her cheek.
“Will you two please get over it?” Marty said, distracted. His eyelids were heavy but his expression was tight, as if he were halfway between a nap and a panic attack. His thumbs were pushed into his temples now. “Let’s call it a birthday wish. I’ve neither the patience nor the inclination to endure whatever bullshit is going on between you. You’re sisters.”
“What’s the matter with you today?” Gail asked him. “You look exhausted.”
He took a sip of water and nervously glanced around the room. Then he put the glass down and started speaking quickly. “Listen, I’ve got to talk to you all about something. Right now.”
“Marty?” Gail asked. “What is it?”
“I would have waited, but since you’re all here, and the twins aren’t…” He took a deep breath and looked toward the entrance again. “My ex-wife is here.”
“Elise?” Janine asked,
horrified.
Marty shook his head. Gail was frozen.
Amanda looked over her shoulder. “Karen?” she asked in a low voice.
“My first wife,” he said, irritated.
“Don’t be gruesome, Dad,” Amanda said. “Mom’s dead.”
“My very first wife. It was ages ago. Before your mother.”
Janine pushed her glass out of the way and leaned forward. Then, almost in unison, she and Amanda said, “You were married before Mom?”
“For a minute,” he said. “I told you that.”
“No, you didn’t,” Janine and Amanda said together.
“There’s another wife?” Gail asked, incredulous.
“You never told us you were married before Mom,” Janine said.
“Of course I did,” he snapped. His face was getting redder. “Anyway, it lasted five minutes. It’s ancient history.”
“Our history,” Janine said.
“No, mine, actually.” His voice was loud now, on the cusp of anger. “You think I orchestrated this? That I’m happy my ex-wife is here?”
“You don’t sound unhappy.” Gail was looking at Marty like she’d never seen him before. “How long has she been here?”
“Fuck,” he muttered as he clumsily pushed out his chair and stood. An older woman in silk pajamas was heading purposefully toward their table. Janine could see that the woman was good-looking, elegant, despite appearing as if she’d been in a street fight. Her face was scabbed and she had an Ace bandage wrapped around her wrist. She also had a limp she was clearly trying to hide.
“Speak of the devil,” he said, holding on to the back of his chair for support as he feigned a casual air. Janine had never seen her father look so completely flustered. “We were just talking about you.”
“This must be your family.” She looked around the table at the circle of pinched faces.
Gail stood up slowly, mustering whatever dignity she could in what even Janine recognized was a very awkward situation. “I’m Gail Engler,” she announced grandly. She extended her hand with gravitas.