by Lisa Glatt
Ilene had gray hair that she wore up in a messy bun. She wore funky floral dresses and dark nylons that she pulled up to her knees. She was sweet and approachable, always wanting to sit down and flatter you while you counted your tips.
“You’re some kind of waiter,” she’d say.
“What a bright future you have,” she’d tell them.
Martin talked to Ilene the way he hadn’t talked to anyone in years. He told her about his family’s restaurants and how he wasn’t sure he’d ever return.
He admitted he lied to his father on the phone.
He told her that he used to drink too much, but he was getting that under control.
He said he always wanted to go to school but didn’t know what to study.
He told her about his cat Sadie’s antics.
He said that he didn’t know how to talk to girls his own age.
He told her he didn’t drive.
He admitted he was afraid he would always be a disappointment.
At her urging, Martin signed up for morning cooking classes, which kept him out of the bars and casinos during the week. He found that he didn’t drink as much at home. Sometimes just a couple of beers relaxed him fine and helped him to sleep.
He was surprised how much he loved the cooking classes, how he looked forward to the mornings when something particularly interesting was, as his teacher said, on the menu. He was learning how to make a mean omelet: flat, perfect eggs, how to chop onions and heat them into honey before folding them over with pink cubes of ham. He was learning how to whip cream into a sturdy point and bake a flourless chocolate cake, how to make French sauces, frittatas, roux and pilafs, a Thai-spiced fish.
“Tell me what you made in class today,” Ilene would say when he arrived at work. He’d be putting on his apron and she’d stand there, listening carefully to each word he said.
Twice his family came out to visit, this last time a few days ago. His parents pulled up to the curb in a new light-blue Caddie with his sister and her baby, Billy Jr., in the backseat.
Martin watched them climb out of the car from the upstairs window. He stuck his head out and hollered hello and waved. They looked up at him, smiling, waving back.
Sandy, who now ate her food and was a normal, healthy weight, handed Billy Jr. off to Martin’s mom. She walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. It seemed she was struggling to pull out the two oversized suitcases and Martin wondered why his dad just stood on the lawn with his arms crossed. Getting the suitcases out of the trunk was something that his father had always insisted upon doing; even when Martin was a teenager and could help out, his father shooed him away.
After dinner his parents went for a walk on the Strip and he took his sister and the baby back to his apartment. She put Billy Jr. to sleep on the couch and they moved into the kitchen, where she told Martin that she was pregnant again and so happy. She explained that Billy Sr. was working long hours these days, that they were saving up to buy a bigger house and that’s why he didn’t come out this time. She said that she hoped they’d see Martin back in California this Christmas.
“You know the restaurant business,” he said. “I can’t get time off. It’s busy season.”
“It’s sad that you never come home,” she said.
They sat together at that table, drinking coffee, the cat purring in Sandy’s lap, and he told her about cooking school, his new job and boss, and about Marla, pretending she was still his girlfriend when really he hadn’t spoken to her in nearly a year.
“Where’s she now?” Sandy asked.
“Visiting her folks,” he said.
“I’d like to meet her.”
“You’d love her,” he said.
“Is she The One?” his sister said, raising her eyebrows.
“Possibly,” Martin said.
Sandy told him how all that talk about cooking and omelets had made her hungry and coaxed him into making her some eggs even though it was ten o’clock at night and they’d had dinner only a couple hours earlier.
While she was finishing up, dragging her toast across the plate, she admitted that there was something she needed to tell him.
“What?” he said.
“It’s about Daddy.”
“What about him?”
“He’s sick,” Sandy said.
“Sick?” Martin leaned forward and looked at his sister.
“It’s his heart.”
“How sick?”
Sandy’s face suddenly looked long and tired. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Mom wants you to come home, Marty. Dad could go at any time.”
“He ate a big dinner. He’s out gambling. They look so happy. It can’t be that bad,” he said.
“It is,” she insisted. “The doctor wants to do surgery, but Mom thinks it’s too risky.”
“He doesn’t look sick,” Martin said.
“You can’t see his heart,” his sister said.
PART 3
1
HANNAH STOOD in the door frame. She looked at them and wondered what was wrong. Outside, skateboarders whizzed past the house, wheels loud on the pavement. One kid screamed another kid’s name. Someone called someone a pussy. She shifted her weight from one crutch to the other, wondering if Azeem had decided to leave her mom or maybe they’d stopped loving each other. Or maybe they still loved each other but one of them loved someone else too, maybe he was insisting that they open up their marriage, and maybe her mom, despite the book written by that very happy couple, still didn’t want to.
But that wasn’t it.
He wanted her mom to describe the dream she’d had last night about Hannah’s leg. It was important, he said. She should know these things, get ready for them.
“Tell her,” he said.
“No.” She took a sip of her coffee and stared straight ahead.
“You should tell her,” he pushed. “I’m the psychologist.”
“You’re not a psychologist yet,” she said.
“I’m studying. I know what’s healthy. I understand mental health.”
She shook her head.
“Honesty is important. Getting it all out in the open. A family should talk about things. It’s important that she know. I’ll tell her,” he said.
“It was my dream.”
“Describe it then.”
“It’s cruel.”
“She needs to understand that there’s more to it than walking.”
Hannah shifted her weight again. “Tell me,” she said.
“I had a silly dream,” her mom said.
And he described it.
And he wouldn’t stop talking.
And he kept talking even though he knew that he was hurting both of them.
The dream was about hamburger meat.
Hannah was seventeen, not fourteen, and she loved a man. The man was older, say twenty, and Hannah wanted to have sex with the man, but was too upset about her skinny leg.
It was ugly.
It looked like polio.
He wouldn’t love her if he saw it.
It would scare him.
He would take one look and walk away.
Her mother went to the freezer and pulled out a pound of hamburger meat.
She let it defrost on the counter.
It was all she knew to do.
She carried the meat to Hannah’s room.
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 fu
ck you. She looked down at her cast, and then up at her mother, whose face was now gone behind her hands.
2
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.
3
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 c
hair 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.