by Zoey Dean
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Now they were once again in the living room of her father's mansion, two hours after they'd left LAX. The martini pitcher had been refilled--one of the maids must have done it--but no one was drinking.
Jonathan drummed his fingers on his thigh. "Maybe we should try the police."
"And report what?" Jane asked in a low voice. Anna knew that the decibel level of her mother's voice dropped in direct proportion to her level of unhappiness. And when she started picking invisible lint off her skirt--like she was now doing--it meant that Jane Percy was on the verge of fury. "That our adult daughter didn't meet us at the airport when she was supposed to? That she didn't have the common decency to inform us of her alternate plans? Jonathan, I'm ready for a cocktail."
As Jonathan poured an icy martini into his ex-wife's glass, Anna closed her eyes for a moment and recalled what it used to be like in the Percys' town house on the east side of Manhattan, back in the long ago days before her parents had divorced. It had been a sort of Upper East Side WASP version of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Her parents had all the drinking, the bickering, the loathing. But unlike the characters in the Albee play, they never yelled. Anna had learned well that a whisper could cut more sharply than a knife.
By the time Anna reached middle school, Jonathan and Jane had reached what they called "a civilized arrangement"--they'd spend most of their time apart
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and come together when social niceties required that they be a presentable couple. This had worked for a year or so. After that, they headed straight for divorce court.
It all made Anna wonder about the idea of one man, one woman, forever. Was marriage just another kind of peculiar institution? Maybe it was impossible to expect to love someone forever. Just because Jane Austen and Tolstoy and the Bronte sisters waxed poetic about eternal love didn't mean that such love really existed; it just meant that they were excellent writers. Unfortunately, literature was not life. Right?
Jane sipped her martini and sighed. "Evidently, our elder daughter will never take responsibility for her own life."
"We should find out what happened before we--" Anna was interrupted by the chime of her cell phone. She took it from her jeans pocket. "Hello?"
"Don't freak, Anna, it's me."
"Susan!" Anna saw her mother sit forward on red alert while her dad sagged back on the couch in relief.
"Where are you?" Anna asked her sister. "We came to meet you at the airport. You weren't there!"
"I'm on another plane. Using the air phone."
"You're what?"
"On my way to Albany."
"Albany, New York?" Anna asked.
"No. Albany, Georgia," Susan snapped. "Of course Albany, New York. I got off the plane in L.A. and got on a different flight twenty minutes later."
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Anna was completely bewildered. "Why?"
"Because fucking Dad and Mom are with you, that's why," Susan declared. "I just couldn't do it, Anna. Don't be mad at me. I'm trying to protect myself."
"Hold on a sec," Anna told her, and put a finger over the mouthpiece of her cell. "She's on a plane. She's going to Albany, New York. Mom? She knows you're here. Somehow."
Jonathan looked sheepish. "I told her doctor I'd get Jane to fly in--it was his suggestion, after all."
"Your sister has still not dealt with her issues," Jane stated. "Don't let her blame it on the rest of us."
Anna exhaled slowly. No wonder Susan had changed destinations. Then she spoke into the phone again. "Sooz? Why Albany? There's nothing up there."
"I'm going to the Berkshires. I'll rent a car and drive across."
"What's in the Berkshires?"
"The Kripalu Yoga Institute."
Anna knew the place she was talking about. It was a yoga retreat perched on a hillside above the Stockbridge Bowl, directly across from the Tanglewood concert grounds. Kripalu catered to spiritually minded visitors.
On the hierarchy of places where Susan could have been headed after rehab, with a crack den in Philadelphia at the bottom and her grungy apartment on New York's Lower East Side someplace in the middle, Anna thought Kripalu was actually not a bad option. At least they weren't selling glassine bags of smack on the nearest
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street corner. If only Susan had chosen to announce her destination in a somewhat more conventional fashion.
"That's nice," Anna said guardedly. "How long do you plan to stay there?"
"Forever, maybe. I got a job. Working in their kitchen."
Anna had to let that one sink in. Her sister had a lot of interests, but yoga and Eastern religion had never been among them. Nor was she a particularly spiritual person, except when it came to distilled alcohol. Plus Susan had an eight-digit trust fund. She didn't need to work, period.
"This guy Raji I met at SV turned me on to it," Susan continued. "He said it's the perfect place to be after SV He was a cook there."
"You don't know how to cook."
"So I'll peel a few potatoes or something. I was going to go there after L.A. anyway. I'm just moving up the timetable. And don't worry. I'm alone. Raji went home to Bombay."
"I wish you'd have stopped here first," Anna said. "To let us know. At least at the airport."
"I just couldn't, okay? Dad triggers me. Mom triggers me. Mom and Dad together, it's like stepping in front of a machine gun with a fucking target on my chest."
"Uh-huh," Anna replied, just to keep her sister talking while her parents looked at her pleadingly. They were desperate for some information. But Anna stayed focused on Susan.
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"Anyway, Raji says Kripalu totally changed his life."
"Then why was he in rehab?" Anna asked.
"Hey, chill on the judgments, Anna," Susan admonished. Then her voice softened. "People like Raji, like me ... there's this thing inside us that we've got to fight our whole lives. Sometimes we don't win that fight."
"I understand."
Anna didn't, really, but God knows she was trying.
"Understand what?" Jane asked impatiently. She held out a slender arm. "Give me the phone, Anna."
Anna shook her head at her mother. "You do what you have to do, Sooz."
"I can think up there, Anna. I think. I hope." Susan laughed nervously. "Hey, listen, do me a favor? Can you explain to Mom--?"
"You should talk to her, Sooz. She came all the way from Italy."
"Forget it!" Then Susan softened. "Later. I promise, Anna. Tell her that. I'll call you in a week or so, okay? And them, too."
"Okay. I guess."
"Love you, baby sis."
"Love you, too." Anna clicked off, turning to her parents. "She said she promises to call you guys in a week."
Her mother rubbed her temples with elegant French-manicured fingers and sighed. "Her promises are meaningless, Anna. Surely you know that by now."
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"If that's how you feel, then why did you bother to come?" Anna asked her. Defending her big sister was habit. Anna had always been the dependable one, Susan the flake. But even at her flakiest, Anna still loved her.
Jane's chin jutted upward. "I was willing to give her another chance. Are you going to fault me for that, Anna?"
"No," Anna replied, chastised.
Jonathan patted his ex-wife's arm. "I'm glad you're here, Jane. Why don't we just give Susan a little time to sort things out?"
"Sure. Why not?" Jane asked rhetorically. But Anna could see that she wasn't at all convinced.
Tired from the surfing and the drama, Anna dozed off on her bed. Her cell rang a couple of times; she tried to ignore it. But when she couldn't get back to sleep after the second time, she decided to check her messages.
The first one made her snap wide awake.
"Anna, hey. It's Ben."
Ben. His voice always managed to hit her somewhere south of her navel. She'd been glad when he'd returned to Princeton. But hearing him now gave her instant second thoughts.
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"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I haven't forgotten about you. If you come back east, let me know. And if I come home for spring break--I don't know, I might go skiing at Jackson Hole. Maybe you'd want to come. We could be together away from all the insanity, you know? So ... that's it. I'm still thinking about you."
His voice still made her heart pound. Maybe she and Ben were star-crossed lovers, like Anna and Vronsky in one of her favorite novels, Anna Karenina. That story didn't end very well--her namesake fell head over heels for the Russian count but was much more in love with him than he was in love with her. In the end, she died under the wheels of a train barreling down the tracks. If that wasn't a Freudian notion, what was?
Ben. Their lust on an airplane had quickly turned into ... so much more. But it couldn't be love, could it? Wasn't love something that happened over time when you really got to know the other person? Everything with Ben had been so tumultuous and had happened so quickly. Maybe they were a fire destined to burn each other out, intense lust masquerading as more.
Honestly, Anna didn't know.
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An" Something-or-Other
" What is this place?" Cammie asked as Adam led her into the open-air square that was teeming with people. "And what smells so good?"
"Watch and learn," Adam told her with a grin. "You wanted to eat, right?"
"Yeah. But I was thinking the Beverly Hills Hotel." Cammie looked around the crowded plaza, which Adam had told her was the Buddhist temple complex of North Hollywood. There were many Asians and hippie-looking American kids who probably professed to believe in the principles of the Buddha. But the crowd was by and large eclectic. The plaza had a few redwood and metal tables, but most folks had set up picnic blankets in the shade of the big eucalyptus trees nearby.
"Think outside the box, Cam," Adam told her as he led her to a money-changing booth, where people were lined up to exchange their American dollars for the plastic chips that were apparently the sole approved currency at the venue. An old man with craggy skin and
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an impossibly long last name on his name tag supervised the operation.
Cammie looked ashen. "Don't worry," Adam said, tapping his daypack. "I'm completely prepared. You'll dine like a princess."
A princess who dines at a place like this must have had her kingdom overthrown, Cammie thought. But she didn't say it. Because, God help her, she wanted Adam to like her. More than like her.
When they'd parted the night before, Adam had suggested they meet for Sunday brunch; a good sign. He couldn't be too upset or embarrassed about their little incident in the sand if he wanted to be with her the very next day, right? Cammie had suggested a couple of possible restaurants, the Beverly Hills Hotel at the top of her list, with Encounter (located in an ultramodern structure above LAX, it had an amazing view of arriving and departing jetliners) being a close second.
But Adam had insisted on surprising her, promising that it would be well worth it. So he'd brought her to the Wat Thai Theraveda Buddhist temple in North Hollywood. He explained how, during the week, this temple complex served much of Los Angeles' sizable Thai community. But on weekends, it was transformed into an oversized outdoor food court, with a good percentage of all sales going to the upkeep of the temple. Adam was no Buddhist, but he'd come here with his parents a few times and loved it.
Cammie was actually impressed. Not because she
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was about to dine in some multicultural mosh pit, but because he hadn't been too embarrassed to admit that he'd eaten here with his parents. She entwined her fingers with his as they waited to change their money.
As for the nonevent on the beach, she had no doubt that he'd be ready for a rematch at the soonest possible moment. Every guy Cammie had met since eighth grade wanted to get his hands on her. Adam might be a great guy, but he was still a guy.
"I don't know anyone else in Los Angeles who would have brought me here," she told him.
"Yeah, I'm up for anything," Adam joked. "That is, if we don't count last night."
Cammie shrugged. "Already forgotten," she lied.
He grinned at her. "If at first you don't succeed ..."
She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "My sentiments exactly."
Ten minutes later, armed with the plastic money chips, they'd visited several of the open-air food vendors arrayed around the plaza and loaded up on pad Thai, meat satays, papaya salad, and sweet pancake rolls. By the time they found some unoccupied space on the grass under a huge eucalyptus tree, Cammie's mouth was literally watering at the luscious aroma from the food. Meanwhile, Adam extracted a thin ground cloth from his backpack, along with linen napkins, silverware, and two small thermos bottles.
"The fair lady said something about a mimosa?" he asked, offering Cammie one of the thermoses.
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"You're kidding. You mixed mimosas?"
"I'm a guy of many talents."
Cammie bit into a forkful of pad Thai. "Delicious. But I don't get it. You moved here last year from Michigan, I've lived in L.A. my entire life. Why didn't I know about this place?"
"Umm ... because there are no waiters and no valet parking?" Adam quipped.
"That must be it." She leaned over to kiss him. What started out as a peck turned into the real, pad Thai-flavored thing. 'Turn."
They ate for a while, watching the passing parade. When Cammie recognized two cast members from Saturday Night Live with an Endeavor agent named Ari Something-or-other who had once threatened to put out a hit on her father, she knew this had to be an actual Hollywood insiders' hot spot. Eventually she put her food aside half eaten; there were only so many calories she was willing to ingest while the sun was still up.
"So, what would you like to do now?" she asked, keeping her tone low and suggestive, though there was a definite answer she was looking for. From their spot under the tree, she could see the tops of both the Universal City Hilton (decent, though it catered to too many tourists) and the Universal City Sheraton (somewhat less nice, but hey, for what she had in mind, they wouldn't be spending a lot of time in the lobby). It was a Sunday; people checked out early to catch their planes, so there would certainly be a suite available.
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Adam took way too long to answer. "I don't know how to ask you this," he began, "but..."
"Ask," Cammie commanded. She could already picture them inside a suite, already imagine the look on his face when he realized he'd just lucked into the sexiest girl on the planet.
"I do some work for Habitat for Humanity," Adam went on. "They're building houses for two homeless families on this vacant lot in South Central. How 'bout we go down and help out? I've got a few hours before I'm supposed to run hoops down in Venice with some guys from the team."
A house? He had a few hours, and he wanted her to help build a house? Was there something wrong with him? Maybe he was gay. No. Couldn't be. Cammie's gaydar was better than that. Her friend Dee was the one who hooked up with gay guys. What could the problem possibly be? Her? What if it was her? What if he'd decided that she wasn't a charitable enough human being or some such shit? Well, she would change, if that was what it would take to get this guy to want her.
Pushing aside thoughts of what hell would be wrought upon her French manicure, Cammie smiled and did her best to look enthusiastic. There was something touching about a guy sincere enough to believe that pounding nails in the hot sun would save the whales, the redwoods, Tibet, and the universe. She kissed him again and told the second lie of the day.
"I'd love to."
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Had Kabbalah Reprogrammed Her Neurons?
S am was confused. The noxious smell that had awakened h
er was paint. Fresh paint. But fresh paint made no sense. Her father and Poppy had flown in Harry Schnaper, the famous New York interior designer, only three weeks ago. Under Harry's meticulous direction, the whole upstairs had been redone and repainted. Everything: the bedrooms, the new nursery, even the hallway. So Sam rolled over, buried her nose in her pillow, and pulled her Yves Delorme rose-colored combed Egyptian cotton four-hundred-thread-count sheets over her head.
But it was no use. The smell was overpowering. Reluctantly, she got of bed, her Sunday morning sleep ruined. As she brushed her hair, she saw her new clothes from Fred Segal hanging in the closet, though she'd left them in the foyer the night before. But the evening housekeeper, a recent immigrant from Belarus named Svetlana, had left the closet doors open. Sam closed them. She was not going to walk around all week smelling like acrylic.
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Then she left her room, following the strong odor to Ruby Hummingbird's new nursery. Even larger than Sam's bedroom, it had a small room attached for the soon-to-be-hired live-in nanny.
"Morning, sleepyhead!" Dee chirped as soon as she saw Sam. "Want to help us?"
Sam was aghast. There were cans of paint, brushes, and rollers everywhere. All the new furniture in the nursery that Harry had brought in was now covered by drop cloths. Ditto the floor. Two of the walls, which yesterday had been a hand-mixed off-white blend, were red.
Fire-engine red.
"Isn't the color great?" Poppy asked. Like Dee, she held a red roller and wore crisp denim overalls. A smock speckled with red paint ballooned over her belly.
"For the seventh rung of hell, yes; for a newborn baby's room, no," Sam replied.
"But Ruby Hummingbird resonates with red," Poppy explained. She showed off her slender wrist, which was encircled by a red Kabbalah string that supposedly warded off evil energies.
Dee lifted her own wrist and displayed a similar string.
Suddenly Sam felt a bit dizzy from the paint fumes. "Are you sure this is okay for the baby, Poppy? It reeks in here."
"It's fine," Poppy assured her. She pointed to an open window. "There's plenty of ventilation."