But the big thing was the pool. After all those years of being afraid of the water, Ollie couldn’t get enough of swimming, so long as Monkey Man was with him. Within a week his skin had turned brown and I could see muscles developing in his formerly skinny shoulders.
As much as possible, I wanted to spend time with my son, too, of course—not only during the days at the Havillands’ but back at our apartment together in the evening. And we were having good times there, too, though my work for Ava seemed to be occupying more and more time. Sometimes it would be seven or eight o’clock before we made it back to the apartment for Ollie’s bath time and our book.
The project of cataloging Ava’s entire art collection had been set aside for the time being, so Ava and I could direct the majority of our energies to the secret birthday book—The Man and His Dogs. And my job description appeared to have expanded. More and more often, Ava was finding other tasks for me, little jobs she might once have assigned to Estella. She’d ask me to untangle a drawerful of necklaces or organize the perfume bottles on her vanity.
“Maybe Estella would like this job,” I said once. “Or if Estella’s too busy, Carmen.”
“I used to ask Carmen to do things like this for me,” Ava said. “But I’ve got to be honest. I don’t trust that girl anymore. One time when I came home, I found her coming out of the laundry room with a guilty look on her face. But the deal breaker for me had to do with Cooper.”
I asked what she meant.
“Back in high school, he earned this ring for rugby. The most valuable player. One day, a year or so after that, Carmen left her purse open on the table, and I saw it. That ring. She must have taken it.”
“What did you do?” I asked her.
“Reached in and took it back, naturally. We never told Cooper. It would have broken his heart. He was always so fond of Carmen.”
Ava told me that the additional work I did would free up more of her time. But more often than not, she’d end up sitting with me in the room where I worked, editing or arranging or organizing. I could hear my son and Swift outside splashing in the pool or hitting balls out by the batting cage. Ollie was so enthralled with Monkey Man that I started to worry that he and I weren’t getting in as much time together on our own as I’d hoped for.
“I was thinking Ollie and I might take off a little early today,” I said one afternoon, a week or so into Ollie’s time with me. “Maybe take our bikes out together.”
“I’m just so anxious about having the book ready for Swift’s sixtieth,” Ava said. “And anyway, you don’t need to worry about Ollie. He and Swift are having a great time. Swift’s always been like the Pied Piper where kids are concerned. It’s like he hypnotizes them. They’d follow him anywhere.”
Just then came the voice of my son, calling up from the pool house. “Hey, Mom. Monkey Man invited us for dinner. We can stay, right?”
“Of course,” I told him. What plans could I have more exciting than that?
39.
As good as things had been with Elliot before the start of summer, I didn’t think about him much once Ollie came back to stay with me. I was just so happy to have my son with me. And our days were filled with the Havillands. Things were going so well that Ollie had asked Dwight if he could stay another week, but the answer came back, no. Still, it was a good sign to know my son wanted to be with me. Even though I knew a big part of his reason was Swift.
Once and once only during that time, Ava asked me about Elliot. We were up in her office, looking through photographs for the commemorative birthday book.
“You still seeing that guy?” she said. “Evan? Irving? The accountant?”
“We haven’t had a chance to get together since Ollie’s been with me,” I told her. “But yes.”
“When I first got together with Swift, we couldn’t be apart even for five minutes,” she said. “I’m thinking the sex is just average?”
I didn’t really want to discuss it, but with Ava it was hard to say no. Elliot was a sweet lover, I told her—not wild or aggressive, and lacking a certain imagination, maybe, but slow and more tender than anyone I’d ever known. When I got out of the tub—I was thinking back to earlier times, before Ollie’s arrival—he put lotion on my elbows and knees—a brand he’d sworn by all his life, he said, one that farmers used.
“Mmmm. Sounds wonderful,” Ava said. Dubiously.
It was true, I admitted: Elliot was not romantic in any of the ways people think of when they’re talking about romance. But once, when I had three days off in a row, we had driven up to Humboldt County and camped in a secluded spot by a natural hot spring; he had brought along his telescope, and we studied the constellations. On the way home it had occurred to me that though he was not one of those people who knock you off your feet when you meet them, every time I saw him I cared about him a little more. But, I told her, I just didn’t see how to have Elliot in my life as well as my son. And I wanted my son more than anything.
I never said I was in love with Elliot, or that I felt that kind of all-consuming hunger to be with him that Ava described having known with Swift. (And still did, apparently.) In fact, almost nothing in the way Ava would speak about how things were between herself and Swift bore any resemblance to what I would have said about Elliot and me. Things were just easy and comfortable with him. I felt happy when he was around, but hadn’t missed him now that he wasn’t. He was always kind to me. I trusted him completely—more than I trusted myself, possibly.
“Kind is good, I guess,” said Ava, with a certain hesitation in her voice. It was clear enough, without her saying more, that she expected more from a relationship than this.
As much as Swift alluded to how mind-blowing things were for the two of them, Ava never spoke of the particulars. They made no effort to conceal the books about tantric sex they kept around, or the erotic limited edition Hiroshige prints lining the second floor. But what actually went on between the two of them, and what was actually possible for Ava with her spinal cord injury, was a topic we never went to.
One night back at my apartment, I went online and googled paraplegic sex, which brought up all kinds of websites with information about catheters and positions for lovemaking in a wheelchair. Just doing that search left me feeling guilty, as if I had opened up the door to a room that should have stayed shut. Whenever Ava spoke of her intimate connection to Swift, she was vague, saying only that what went on between the two of them was beyond anything most couples ever imagined.
“Swift and I have no secrets from each other,” she said. “It’s like we’re part of the same body. Maybe that’s why I don’t see it as a tragedy that I’m in this chair. He’s not, and that makes me feel whole.”
Talking about Elliot, I said, “We’re very different. But it feels good, having this very steady man at my side. I never had a partner before that I trusted this way.”
As always, when I spoke about Elliot, Ava’s responses felt like damning with faint praise. “No doubt he’s a really great guy,” she said. “Just make sure you’re not in the market for a brother or a pal. Speaking purely for myself, of course, I’d rather have a passionate love affair.”
At the time, the idea of having a passionate love affair seemed inconceivable, anyway. Ava didn’t have children, and maybe that was the difference between us. I had my boy back in my life. There wasn’t room for much more than that.
40.
Ollie and I finally had something like a routine during those two weeks—the first time since he was five years old that I’d had a rhythm with my son. Because my apartment had only one bedroom, I’d set Ollie up in the living room, on an air mattress, but most mornings he’d come into bed with me sometime before sunrise, bringing a stack of library books with him, and we’d pile up the pillows and read till the sun came up. I’d make French toast or pancakes, and we’d play a round of a card game called Anaconda that Swift had taught him. Ollie usually won. Then we’d get dressed and I’d bring him over to Swift and Ava’s,
where he’d spend most of the morning playing with the dogs and swimming in the pool with Swift while I got a few hours’ work in.
“I’ve got an idea,” Swift said. We were out by the pool. I was taking a midmorning break to have a snack. Ollie was stretched out on a beach chair after a game of Marco Polo with Swift, listening to Swift’s iPod. Ava was reading a magazine. Estella had just brought out the Bloody Marys and my own nonalcoholic version of the drink.
“It’s been way too long since we had a party over here. Let’s invite the boyfriend over for dinner.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. In fact, I’d been missing Elliot, but Folger Lane didn’t feel like the best place for getting together with him after almost ten days of not seeing each other. And besides, Ollie would be here.
“It’s about time we met this guy,” Swift said. Ava knew his name, of course, but she always referred to him as “the accountant.” Evidently Elliot’s name hadn’t registered with Swift either. “Why don’t you call him up and see if he’s free for dinner?”
When did he have in mind, I asked.
“Now.”
“I don’t think it’s such a great idea,” I said. “Elliot’s never met Ollie. It might be better to do one thing at a time. First let Ollie spend a little time with just Elliot and me. Then we could all get together.”
“You overthink things,” Ava said. There was a sharpness in her voice I rarely heard in her, usually only when she was speaking to Estella, if she came home with the wrong kind of dog food or missed a spot vacuuming. Or—as had happened recently—when she’d told me about Carmen stealing Cooper’s ring.
“It’ll be fun,” she said. “We can all head over to the yacht club and have dinner on the boat.”
Not surprisingly, Elliott was free that evening, but as happy as he was to hear from me, he raised the same concern that I had earlier—though now, hearing him wonder if this was the right time and place for him to finally meet Ollie, I dismissed it with a certain sharpness of my own. “You overthink everything,” I told him. “And you worry too much.”
“I worry about things that matter to me,” he said.
“How about we just have fun for once, without analyzing every-thing?”
Elliot was quiet. “I thought we’d been having plenty of fun,” he said. “I just take this seriously, that’s all. Meeting Ollie means a lot to me.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said, sounding like Ava. “Swift has a grill on the deck of his boat. We can have hamburgers, and Ava will make s’mores. Swift will probably let Ollie steer the boat.”
We decided that Elliot would meet us all over at Folger Lane that afternoon. We’d have a drink, and a swim for those who wanted, then head over to the yacht club for dinner on the Havillands’ sailboat.
“The Donzi?” Ollie asked. He’d heard all about Monkey Man’s speedboat by now.
Swift shook his head. “That one’s at Tahoe, buddy,” he said. “But don’t you worry. I’m getting you out on that boat soon. And when we do, look out, baby.” He made a motion like a cowboy twirling his lasso.
We were out by the pool when Elliot showed up. Swift was in his swim trunks, Ava in one of her long gowns. Ollie was in the water—his swimming having progressed to the point where he was no longer in need of an adult at his side, though we kept close watch.
I registered Elliot’s clothes first. A button-down shirt and baggy khakis, penny loafers. He must have gotten a haircut since I’d seen him last. This left a strip of neck exposed, pink and vulnerable, and a naked place around his ears also. I didn’t want this to bother me, but it did.
I got up to greet him, put my hand on his shoulder, but didn’t kiss him, though in other circumstances I would have wanted to.
“I want you to meet my friends,” I said. I figured it was best if we handled one introduction at a time. Swift and Ava first, then Ollie, once he got out of the water.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Elliot said, extending his hand over the table, which held a nearly empty bottle of wine. Swift was already opening a new one. Elliot had brought wine to contribute to the meal, too, but I knew it probably wouldn’t pass muster with Swift.
“We know all about you, too,” said Ava. “Well, maybe not everything. But you might call this ‘meeting the parents.’”
“It’s great that Helen’s had friends like you two looking out for her,” Elliot said.
“She’s the kind of person someone could take advantage of,” Swift said, looking Elliot in the eye. “There’s a lot of sharks in the water.”
“I’m not one of them,” Elliot said. Meeting Swift’s gaze.
“Of course you aren’t,” Ava said, reaching a hand up to pat Elliot on the arm. “A mouse would be scarier than Elliot.”
They laughed. I didn’t.
Swift tossed a towel to Elliot—thick pile, oversize, with a blue racing stripe on the bottom that matched the logo of one of the companies Swift had started. Back in the days when he still worked in Silicon Valley, Ava told me once, they gave these out as Christmas presents, along with matching, personally monogrammed bathrobes.
Now Swift was handing Elliot a cigar from his humidor of Cubans. Elliot’s face took on a faintly pained expression.
“I hope you brought a change of clothes, pal,” Swift said. “We’re going out in the boat later.”
“If not, we can give you something of Swift’s,” Ava said. Elliot was a good four inches taller than Swift, and their builds were entirely different, but Elliot made no comment.
“It’s a rule around here,” Swift added. “When a person doesn’t go in the water on his own, we throw him in.” He let out his big hyena laugh. I looked at Elliot, who wasn’t smiling.
Ollie was on the diving board now doing cannonballs, calling out for Swift to watch. “My husband has turned this kid into a fish,” Ava told Elliot.
“Next comes wrestling,” said Swift.
Later, when he got out of the water—in that moment that always clutched at my heart: the sight of my little boy, skinny and shivering, dripping by the side of the pool, teeth chattering but happy—I wrapped Ollie in one of the blue striped towels and brought him over to the table where the adults had gathered.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” I said. “This is Elliot.”
I could see my son taking him in: the shirt, the dorky pants, his pale white ankles and pale white hands. Elliot had not gone in the water.
“He’s your boyfriend, right?” Ollie said to me.
Swift let out one of his big laughs again. “This guy doesn’t miss a trick,” he said.
“Your mother and I are good friends,” Elliot said. “But I’m not going to lie to you. Sometimes if I’m lucky I get to take her out on a date. I was hoping we might get to go someplace fun with you sometime, too.”
“I don’t want to go someplace else,” Ollie said. “I like it here.” He turned to Swift. “You want to play foosball?”
“I will destroy you,” Swift said. “Destroy, and then pulverize.” He lifted Ollie up over his head then and carried him—shrieking and laughing—to the pool house, where the games were.
This left Ava and me alone with Elliot. She started to pour him a glass of wine but he stopped her.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” he said.
She set down the bottle. “Oh my,” Ava said, and laughed a little, as if this were an astonishing thing. “No swimming. No drinking. Do you ever have any fun?”
“Yes, actually,” he said.
“I hope you like dogs, anyway,” she said.
“I love dogs,” he said. “I’d have one myself, if I wasn’t allergic.”
I studied Ava’s face.
“Isn’t it odd,” she said, “that nobody ever says they’re allergic to people?”
41.
An hour or so later the five of us piled in the Range Rover with a cooler of steaks in the back—also oysters, wine, a bunch of take-out salads, and hamburger meat and buns for Ollie—an
d drove to the private marina where Swift kept his sailboat.
“I’m actually more of the speedboat type than a sailor,” he said. “But I keep the fast boat up at Tahoe. That’s where we really crank up the horsepower.”
“Can we do that soon?” Ollie asked him.
“Do dogs piss on fire hydrants?” said Swift.
Swift and Ava sat in the front seat of the car with Ollie between them, so he could play with Swift’s iPod. Elliot and I sat in the back. Since Swift had introduced him to Bob Marley, reggae had supplanted the albums that used to be Ollie’s favorites—late-eighties and nineties music favored by his father.
“I shot the sheriff,” he was singing, off-key but loud. “But I didn’t shoot no deputy.”
From the backseat, Elliot mentioned that he’d seen Bob Marley live, at a concert back in the seventies. I could feel how hard he was trying to come up with something Ollie might find worthy of notice.
“I was down in Jamaica one time with a buddy,” Swift said. “We got invited to a party at Bob’s house. Crazy place.”
“You met Bob Marley?” Ollie said.
“We played soccer. Only Bob called it football.”
Elliot didn’t say anything about this, but I knew he got seasick sometimes. I wasn’t too worried about sunburn, because it was past four o’clock when we set out onto the bay in Swift’s boat, Bad Boy, but Elliot had slathered himself with sunblock. Luckily, he hadn’t brought along the hat he sometimes wore when we went hiking—designed to protect not only a person’s face, but also his neck, with a string that went under the chin. It always reminded me of the bonnets worn by the little girls on Little House on the Prairie. That day he had his Oakland A’s hat with him.
“I’m a Giants man myself,” Swift said.
“Me, too,” Ollie volunteered, though this was news to me.
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