This Beautiful Life

by Helen Schulman

  “Scott Levine called me, out of the blue. He wants to have a drink. If things don’t work out for me here, I think there’s a possibility for me over at Lehman. I’ve heard that they’re looking for a chief economist. Maybe it’s time to make real money.”

  “You’re going to become an investment banker?” Lizzie says. She sounds incredulous. “I left Ithaca and the life we loved, where the children were safe, where they were happy, we traded all of that in for this horrible, ridiculous mess so you could be a banker? What next, you’re going to be a Republican, Richard? You’re going to go work in the Bush administration?”

  “Do you have to be such a child?” He feels like slapping her.

  There is silence on the line.

  “Enough of this, Richard,” Lizzie says. “Our baby is in trouble. That’s why I’m calling you.”

  “I already put in a call to Jake’s teacher. I’m on top of it,” says Richard.

  “It’s Coco. Are you listening? I’m calling you about Coco.”

  “Not Jake?” says Richard. “This isn’t about Chemistry?”

  “Chemistry?” asks Lizzie.

  The conversation is making no sense.

  “He failed Chemistry. The final. He called me from school,” says Richard.

  “He called you?” says Lizzie, the hurt apparent in her voice.

  “I’ll work with him, we’ll get them to regive the test. If we have to we’ll send him to summer school. I already have a call in to his teacher.”

  “But his probation, Richard.”

  “I know. I said I have a call in to the teacher. Historically, Carmichael’s been fairly sympathetic.”

  “He must be crushed.”

  “I put in a call,” says Richard. “I’m taking care of it. Now, what’s up with Coco?”

  “It was after the recital,” says Lizzie. “I found Coco with a group of girls in the bathroom.” As she goes on, Richard listens.

  After Liz hung up, the phone immediately rang again. She let it ring, and then just as the machine picked up, she clicked on the receiver, thinking it was Richard. He’d been so angry; she’d never heard him so angry. There was a horrible new edge to their conversation that had never crawled into their fights before. She was hoping he was calling back, hoping they could find a way to make peace.

  “Richard,” said Liz, a little breathlessly, into the receiver.

  “Oh no, it’s Casey,” said Casey on the other end.

  Liz silently cursed herself for answering. The machine began to scream, that high buzzing sound it emitted in protest whenever it was interrupted. She never picked up. She almost always let the answering machine get her calls.

  “Hold on.” She crossed the room to the bureau where the answering machine sat and frantically pressed buttons to stop the noise.

  “Hello, hello,” she said. “Sorry about that.”

  “I think this is the first time you’ve ever picked up,” said Casey. “I was expecting the machine.”

  “I thought you were Richard,” said Liz, stupidly. She did a little verbal two-step to cover up. “I’m sorry, Casey. I don’t mean to be rude, we’re just in the middle of something here.”

  “That’s why I’m calling,” said Casey. “I’m calling as your friend.”

  Liz felt her stomach drop.

  “I just thought you should know that Sydney and some of the other mothers and I were gabbing after the musicale, and Sydney said you said you were ready to shoot yourself, not unkindly, Liz, but with concern, you know? And she said that you looked stoned and that Jake is under psychiatric observation . . . Anyway, I thought you should know that we’re all concerned about you. As your friend, Liz.”

  Thank God for friends, thought Liz. “Thank you, Casey.”

  “Anything more I can do to help, just let me know,” said Casey.

  “I appreciate it,” said Liz. “That’s enough.”

  Liz must have sat on that corner of her bed for half an hour after Casey hung up. She was waiting for her hands to stop shaking and for her heartbeat to return to normal.

  Then she went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet and found a hair tie. She pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. She turned on the water and washed her face, forgetting to first tissue off her makeup. She pulled a hand towel off of the ring that hung next to the sink and rubbed it across her cheeks and under the eyes—a rainbow of mascara and eyeliner and foundation and blush smearing across the terry cloth. She wet her skin again and lathered up and rinsed, and this time she used the back of the hand towel to dry off, and it came clean. She looked at her face in the mirror. Without makeup her skin was pale and thin. Translucent. You could see right through it into the tangle inside. The veins in her temples that had always looked like delicate blue tracings—an architect’s sketch—now bulged slightly against the skin in little gray knots. Liz looked older than she was used to. It was as if she were peering into her future face.

  She left the bathroom and walked into Coco’s room. Coco was sitting on her bed giving her stuffed animal Buster the Cat a tea party with real water and saltines and Mint Milanos she’d pilfered from the kitchen. Already there were several soggy puddles on her handmade quilt. That was quintessentially Coco. When she was two, she’d learned to climb out of the crib, and Liz would find her at 1:30 a.m. at her easel, in a smock, painting with watercolors. You couldn’t hold this one back. The trick was to cultivate her without breaking her spirit, Liz thought. How exactly does one do that? Liz sat down on the bed.

  “Would you like a cup of tea, Miz Mouse?” Coco asked her.

  “Oh yes, Miz Ladybug,” said Liz. “Thank you.”

  Coco splashed some “tea” into a teacup. Up close, what Liz had taken for water was Paul Newman’s Lemonade. There were sticky patches everywhere. She was about to scold but thought better of it. The quilt would have to be taken to the dry cleaner anyway. Some of the Milanos had melted.

  She took a pretend sip. “Mmm, delicious, Miz Ladybug,” Liz said.

  Coco was busy arranging what was left of the saltines.

  “I loved your concert today, Coco,” Liz said.

  Coco looked up. “What part did you like best? The way I marched or the way I sang?”

  “I loved both,” said Liz. “But especially the way you sang.”

  “You could hear my voice,” Coco said.

  “I could hear your voice,” Liz repeated.

  Coco beamed.

  “Come sit in my lap,” said Liz. Coco crawled over and snuggled up.

  “Where did you learn to dance like that, Coco? The way you were dancing for the girls in the bathroom?”

  Coco kept her head down. “The movie on Momma’s computer.”

  Liz pet Coco’s silky head. Liz had so completely failed her daughter. Is this how Sherrie Cavanaugh felt when she first saw Daisy’s email?

  “Momma’s going to explain to you about that movie,” said Liz. “The girl who made it, she made a big mistake. Everything about that movie is a big mistake.”

  “Why?” said Coco. “Don’t ladies dance like that all the time?”

  Of course that’s what Coco would think. She’d seen it on her own mother’s computer. She’d seen stuff like it on TV, probably. The newsstands. In the Halloween costumes at the store, the advertisement for a gym class at the bus stop. It was true, ladies dance like that all the time. And yet Coco was so young, Daisy was so young. Jakey was too young. Everyone involved was too young for this.

  “I guess they do,” Liz said. “But they shouldn’t have to. There is more to ladies than that, more than their—I don’t know what to call it—their sexual attractiveness to men, men they don’t know.”

  “I don’t understand, Momma,” said Coco.

  How could she? She was six years old.

  “I don’t understand, either,” Liz said. “And this lady, she’s not a lady, she’s a girl, she’s just a little girl . . .”

  Liz’s voice broke. Daisy was a just a little girl. She
was a baby.

  “Then why did she do it?” said Coco.

  “Why did she do it? I don’t really know. I think maybe she did it to make a boy like her. I think maybe she did it because she felt lonely. I don’t know, but I’m sorry that you saw it. I am sorry it was on my computer and I left you alone with it. That was my mistake and I am sorry, truly sorry, Coco.”

  “It’s inappropriate,” said Coco.

  “Yes,” said Liz. “It is. The girl, she didn’t respect herself. We women, we always have to respect ourselves . . . Do you know what I’m saying?”

  Coco buried her head in Liz’s lap.

  “Do you know how much I love you?” Liz said.

  “Enough to go to China,” said Coco. “More than anything.”

  “Guess who’s got the biggest dick in Manhattan?” says Richard.

  It is about nine o’clock. He is home late from his drink. Lizzie looks up from her computer screen. He stands in the doorway to the bedroom in his blue suit and tie, which he loosens. Then he stretches his arms out and flashes her his brightest smile.

  The bedroom is dark, and Lizzie rubs her eyes as she tears her gaze away from all that backlighting. She quickly closes the laptop lid.

  “Where are the kids?” asks Richard.

  “In their rooms,” says Lizzie.

  “I was great today,” says Richard.

  In the background they can hear the television. “Is that Coco’s TV?” Richard asks. Lizzie has let her stay up too late again.

  As if she is reading his mind, Lizzie says, “I know it’s late, Richard. But it’s just cartoons. We had a long talk; I need to tell you about it. After that awful, trying day, I thought, just let her enjoy herself.”

  “What did Jake say when you got home?” asks Richard.

  “ ‘Can we discuss it tomorrow, Mom? Please?’ ” Lizzie quotes him. “I made him talk a little. He’s very upset, Richard. Contrite. I told him we can all discuss it together tomorrow, as a family.”

  She takes the elastic out of her hair, rerolls it into a little bun as she speaks.

  “Then I made them a nice dinner. I tried to normalize things. There’s some for you, too, to heat up, if you want it, in the fridge.” She snaps the elastic into place and pats her hair down. “I could sit with you.”

  She looks totally exhausted. But she is trying. Richard sees she is trying.

  From the sound of things, sometime in the evening, like worn-out boxers, Lizzie and the kids had each retreated to their various corners of the apartment—Coco to the TV in her room, Jake most likely stretched out on the floor by his bed listening to his iPod, and here in their bedroom, once again, Lizzie heedlessly entering her laptop’s dark Oz. Since when do they each need a media highball? Richard thinks. Since when did they need something to take the edge off ?

  “Turn on the light,” Lizzie says.

  Richard does, and then he closes the door. And when he does, he sways a little. He reaches a hand out to the wall to steady himself.

  “That was one long drink. Are you drunk?” says Lizzie.

  “No, I’m not drunk,” says Richard. “I am the opposite of drunk.” He tries to stand up straight, but he prefers the wall. “Well, maybe a little buzzed, Lizzie. I had a couple of martinis with Scott and then a little celebratory nightcap on the way home.”

  “Celebratory?” asks Lizzie.

  “The job is mine if I want it.” He runs his fingers through his hair. He is so proud of himself, he can’t stand it. But it does not make sense to show this pride. Let her come to him. Let her come to him in awe. He sways again. He leans up against the wall so that he is looming over her, waiting for her response.

  “Sit down, Richard,” Lizzie says. “You’re not acting like you.” There is something close to fear in her voice.

  “Really?” says Richard, in surprise. “I think I’m acting exactly like me, Lizzie.” He laughs. “This is what I do: I save us. We’re going to be richer than God.”

  He grins at her.

  “You’re acting drunk, Richard,” Lizzie says. “Sit down.”

  She tries to stand up, to put them on more equal footing. But there is no room for her to stand. He is right there in front of her, demanding her approval, her gratitude, her admiration and amazement. He is so close to her, she’d have to push him out of the way to stake her own turf. She is dwarfed there in her chair. He has dwarfed her. She tries to stand, but he is too close, and it looks like her legs won’t hold her.

  “My legs are half asleep,” says Lizzie. “Richard, can’t you move back? If you’re not going to sit down, I want to stand up. I’ve been sitting so long they are all pins and needles.”

  He takes a step back, weaves, regains his balance. It is enough room to allow her to rise. She shakes her legs, one by one. Stamps them a little. She is not giving him her full attention.

  “I said, I’m not drunk,” Richard says, a bit harshly.

  “Okay, okay,” she says. “You’re not drunk.”

  “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” Richard asks, so needy he embarrasses himself.

  “Of course, honey. Congratulations,” says Lizzie, looking up at him. “It’s a big job and I am proud they offered it to you.”

  “Congratulations,” says Richard, “but . . .”

  “But it’s just that money has never been a motivating factor for us before.” She takes a step under his arm and finds space on the other side of him.

  “Money’s never been a motivating factor for you, you mean,” says Richard, turning around now to face her. He hears the edge creeping into his voice again. “Because you’ve never had to worry about it. I do the worrying for you.”

  Lizzie is quiet. She is thinking. In earnest? Strategically? Richard is too loaded to be sure. “I appreciate all that you do for us, Richard, I really do,” Lizzie says, “but I grew up without a whole lot of money and I can live without a whole lot of money. I just don’t want us to lose sight of who we are.”

  This strikes him as funny. Richard starts to laugh. He puts his forearm on the wall and laughs into it.

  “What is it?” says Lizzie. “What’s so funny? Richard, honey, please, won’t you sit down?”

  He laughs and shakes his head.

  “Richard,” says Lizzie, a little panic creeping into her voice.

  “It’s just so funny, I come home, once again, saving the day, I come home with the job of a lifetime . . . and you can’t even say wow? You can’t even say thank you?” Richard is furious. “You say you don’t know who we are anymore. Well, join the party. I don’t know who you are,” he says. His voice is so cold, his body feels so cold. “I don’t know who we are anymore, Lizzie.”

  “We are us, Richard,” says Lizzie. “We are us with a child in jeopardy. We are us protecting our child.”

  “We are not us,” says Richard. “Our son does this stupid thing, this terrible thing, and we compound it by being worse.”

  Lizzie reaches out one hand to touch Richard’s arm, but he pulls back. She steps away again, away from him again, and backs up farther into the room.

  “He made a mistake, a mistake any grown-up could make,” Lizzie says. “You’re too hard on him. He forwarded an email. A shocking, grotesque email, an email he didn’t ask for. That’s all. There was no intentional maliciousness. I’m sure most people would have forwarded that thing on to someone, Richard. Maybe you would have.”

  Richard thinks about the video. He remembers the way Daisy made him feel. He had never in his life felt that way before.

  “We never even talk about the girl. We don’t even think about her. She is a child,” Richard says.

  “I think about her, Richard,” Lizzie says, facing him off. “Don’t tell me what I think about. I think about her a lot.”

  “You don’t think about her the right way,” says Richard. “You don’t think about her like she was Coco, as if all this had happened to Coco.”

  “All this did happen to Coco,” says Lizzie. “How do you think
I spent my day? I want to talk to you about it.” He can feel the heat of her exhalation on his chest, or is it his heart, on fire? His body is cold but his chest burns.

  “That’s because you didn’t protect her,” says Richard, and he points his finger in her face.

  Lizzie breathes his accusation in. It’s almost as if she accepts and swallows it.

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t have let Coco play on my computer. I should have supervised Coco more closely. I’ve been so distracted. I haven’t paid enough attention to my daughter.”

  “Our daughter,” says Richard.

  “Our daughter,” says Lizzie.

  The phone begins to ring. They both ignore it.

  “You’re right. I should have protected her . . . It was inexcusable,” Lizzie says.

  Richard nods in agreement.

  “I need help. Help me. I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m flailing. I don’t know how to protect them. The genie’s out of the bottle. It’s in the air. How do I keep them safe?”

  Their answering machine picks up. It is Richard’s voice. It sounds funny to his ears, jovial, confident, like someone else. “You have reached the Bergamot family. Please leave a message for Richard, Liz, Jake, or Coco . . .”

  “You used to play with Jake, when he was her age. You used to do little art projects,” says Richard.

  A woman’s voice comes on the answering machine. “Liz, it’s Sydney. I just spoke to Casey and I wanted to let you know I did not say you were stoned today at school, I said you looked stoned . . . I meant it sympathetically. Call me,” says Sydney. “I didn’t want to put it in an email.”

  “You went to Coco’s school stoned?” says Richard. He can’t believe it.

  For a minute, Lizzie looks like she wants to run. But Richard is a wall, standing there in front of her. Forcing her to own up.

  “I hate going there, Richard,” Lizzie says. “It’s all so public. Everyone judging us, judging Jake. You don’t know what it takes out of me, every day, just to face it. I should be stronger, but I’m not.”

  She stands naked before him. It is as if she is entrusting him with her worst secret. People were hard for her, they’d always been. He knew that. These people, they were a totally different animal. Still, he is in no mood to back down.