Slipstream

by Leslie Larson

  She had never told anyone who Vanessa’s father was. Not one soul. “A man from the church,” was all she told Vanessa. “A mistake. A big mistake.” Shame had kept her silent, shame at how stupid she’d been, at how she’d been duped. If Vanessa ever got anywhere near anyone like that! And what man Mr. Vanta’s age would come anywhere near Vanessa, Inez wondered as she opened the oven and tested the meatloaf. Her jewel, her flower, her perfect angel! So innocent, just as she herself had been. So wrong!—though at the time she had no idea. She winced, closing the oven door, wondering if Mr. Vanta had persuaded any other girls in the church, if other children had been born—children who shared Vanessa’s blood.

  “My bangs need to be cut,” Vanessa said, tipping back her head and blinking through her hair to make her point. She stretched out her hands and felt in front of her, pretending to be blind.

  “Don’t act silly,” Inez scolded, though she couldn’t help smiling. “I can trim them after dinner,” she said.

  “Ah, no! You never get them even. I’d rather go to the beauty shop—” Vanessa began to object, when Rudy’s key turned in the lock and both of them froze.

  Inez’s stomach tightened. “Set the table,” she said tersely. Now the evening begins, she thought, taking a deep breath. There would be dinner, cleaning up and making lunches, watching television in the small living room, then bed. Rudy stepped into the kitchen, and Inez’s guard went up. There was something different in his face. Vanessa saw it, too. She stood behind Rudy, watchful. His arms were loaded with packages. Boxes wrapped with ribbons and bows. He smiled, even kissed Inez lightly on the lips.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said.

  “No, no, not tonight,” he said brightly, his round face splotchy with excitement. “Tonight’s different. We’re all going out to dinner.”

  He smiled, compressing his small features into the center of his face. His hair was like fluff on a baby bird. He selected one of the gifts and held it out to Inez. She saw how he wanted to please her, and she wished, not for the first time, that she could love him. But there was something hard in her chest, as undeniable as a heartbeat.

  “But I cooked,” she said. The smell of meatloaf and potatoes filled the room. “It’s all ready.” She stared at him, trying to figure out the strange glimmer in his eye. “What happened?” she finally asked.

  Rudy put the gift he’d been holding out back on the stack. It was easy to mistake him for a gentle, quiet man, the kind who always thought of others first. Once she left, people would blame her. Ungrateful, they’d think. Foreign. Too demanding.

  “It’s my job,” Rudy said. “I got a promotion.” He smiled victoriously, as if he’d beaten her in a bet.

  “You got a raise?”

  “A promotion, a raise, a new job title!” He gestured impatiently with his small hands. “New responsibilities. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

  Inez nodded slowly. So did Vanessa, but Inez saw the doubt in her eyes. “That’s wonderful,” she said, forcing a smile. “Congratulations to you.”

  “Congratulations to all of us!” Rudy corrected. “We can start putting money away to buy our own house now. That’s what you want, isn’t it? And we can start thinking of Vanessa’s education. You want to go to college, don’t you?” he said, turning toward her. “Now we can start planning for that. Hey, look at you.” He set the packages on the counter and frowned theatrically. “I thought the two of you would be glad. Overjoyed! I thought this would make you happy.” He dropped his head and looked at his feet. One of his shoes was untied. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” he sighed. “I guess nothing I do is right.”

  Inez roused herself. She felt genuinely ashamed. “No, I’m happy,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “Very happy.” She pulled the meatloaf from the oven, then the potatoes. “Just surprised, that’s all. It’s all at once. So sudden, I don’t know what to say.”

  She smiled at Rudy, her best smile. The one that had won him over. Placid and gracious, looking him full in the eyes. It always worked. After a minute of scrutinizing her, his face relaxed and his shoulders slipped down from where they were riding around his neck. “Okay, come on then!” he called, clapping his hands like a kid. “Let’s go! Let’s celebrate! Let’s go out to dinner! You can open the gifts there. Anything you want. Anything and everything.”

  It was only after they were seated that Inez realized they were in the same restaurant she and Rudy had gone to before they were married. The very one, in fact, where he’d taken her on their first date and, three months later, proposed. The White Horse, how could she forget? Made to look like an English tavern, it had big stones plastered into the walls, massive timbers overhead, rounds of colored glass set in the windows. The furniture was dark and heavy, like someone had carved it with an ax. The place was lit with rustic chandeliers, candles on each table, and a huge fireplace along one wall. In the flickering firelight you felt like you were way out in some cold, wintry countryside instead of in the middle of L.A. Everything was the same as it had been eight years ago, right down to the waiters wearing knickers and flouncy shirts and the thick steaks they carried out on wooden planks, each one sporting a metal tag that said RARE, MEDIUM, or WELL DONE. She’d been so different back then, Inez reflected, like she was only half awake. Shy, sitting across the table from Rudy, but proud to be seen in a restaurant with a man. Normal, like all the other people. Well, what did she know? He’d been living with his mother then, who’d objected to the marriage because Inez wasn’t white and already had a child. She’d died a few months after she and Rudy started dating. A week later he proposed.

  They got a cramped table in the corner near the salad bar. Rudy held her chair. Vanessa kept her eyes down, her arms crossed over her chest.

  The menu was on a plank, too. Their waiter, Alex, set it up on the table. PRIME RIB, SIRLOIN, FILET MIGNON. Potatoes baked, mashed, or fried. As many trips as you wanted to the salad bar.

  “I can’t eat all this meat,” Vanessa whispered to Inez, though of course Rudy heard. Vanessa nodded toward the neighboring table, where a family of four were cutting into steaks that filled their entire plates.

  “Meat’s good,” Rudy said. He smiled, trying to be nice. “Protein. You’re growing. You need that.”

  Vanessa wouldn’t answer, she wouldn’t even look at Rudy. She kept her eyes on the table until the waiter came, then she ordered the salad bar. Inez would talk to her later, after they got home. Tell her to straighten up, to make an effort. She ordered the filet mignon, medium. Rudy got the prime rib, well done. She could use the meatloaf at home for lunches, fry the potatoes up on the weekend for breakfast. She glanced around at the other diners, at the bar where a few men stood facing the dining room, drinks in hand. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Finally she reached out and touched Rudy’s hand. “This is nice,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “How was school?” Rudy asked Vanessa when the food came. He shook Worcestershire sauce on his meat and cut himself a hefty chunk.

  “A girl got hurt at practice,” Vanessa said. “She slipped on the beam and landed on her neck. It was really scary. They had to tie her to a board and take her to the hospital.”

  Rudy and Inez leaned forward and nodded, chewing. The meat tasted wonderful, salty and charred. And the potato, loaded with butter, sour cream, green onions, and bacon bits. No use holding back.

  “You want a little bite?” Inez said to Vanessa, holding out a piece of meat on the tip of her fork.

  Vanessa shook her head.

  They chewed in silence, sawing through the meat, avoiding each other’s eyes. The meal dragged on. What did they used to talk about? Rudy had been surprisingly uninterested in Inez’s past life: who her parents were, how she had grown up, her relationship with Vanessa’s father. He had been satisfied with the barest of answers to any of his questions, for which she had been grateful.

  “We’re starting over,” he had told her. “Just me and
you. All that matters is now.”

  “Open your presents,” Rudy said eagerly when the meal was over and the waiter had cleared the table.

  Inez had a weakness for gifts, and when she saw the delicate gold bracelet, she felt a rush of warmth for Rudy. His face flushed and his eyes looked almost moist when she thanked him. A woman at a nearby table turned and looked, nodding her approval. And so many gifts! A kidskin wallet that she could tell wasn’t cheap, and a scarf that felt like suede when she held it against her skin. Such an unusual color! Deep plum, almost black. He didn’t forget Vanessa, either. But Vanessa eyed everything suspiciously. Inez would definitely have to talk to her. The scarf he’d bought Vanessa was like a beautiful tropical flower, but she barely looked at it. She thanked Rudy, laid it back in the box, and fastened her eyes once more on the table in front of her.

  When Inez finished brushing her teeth and combing her hair, she took her diaphragm from the cabinet under the sink and loaded it up with spermicidal jelly. Rudy might expect something for the dinner and the gifts. As part of the celebration and the beginning of his new job. The thing was a mess and a pain to use, not to mention what came after, but once in a while it had to be expected. Less and less, though. She slipped the diaphragm in, made sure it was in place, and washed her hands. The last thing she needed right now was a baby. Even in the early days of their marriage, they had made love only once a week, almost always on Saturday night, and that was a quick and reasonably painless affair. Rudy was a quiet lover, a little panting and grunting and he was finished. He thanked her politely afterward, and that was that. Which was fine with her. Maybe not normal, according to what she read, but people tended to exaggerate. Anyway, if he wanted it tonight, that was okay. Less trouble just to go ahead.

  He was already in bed when she stepped into the bedroom and closed the door. Way over on his own side with his back to her.

  “Got to get to sleep,” he said when she touched his hip. He twisted around and gave her a quick kiss. “I have to go to work in the morning.”

  13

  The first drops of rain fell as Wylie climbed the railroad-tie steps to Carolyn’s house. The hillside exhaled a moist breath of eucalyptus and bay. The rain sounded like small animals scurrying through the leaves. In the mist and fading light it was easy to imagine figures darting from tree trunk to tree trunk, hiding. Wylie thought he caught just the barest glimpse of them. As he got closer, he heard pans banging and water running in the sink. Carolyn’s profile showed in the yellow light of the kitchen window.

  “Hey,” she said. “Come in.”

  Her hands and the front of her jeans were wet, as if she’d been doing dishes. She was the same height as Wylie, sturdy, with a long face and big teeth. She had the complexion of a bird’s egg, her body was flecked with tiny brown freckles. They’d worked out a routine during the year and a half they’d been seeing each other. Wednesday he picked up a video on the way home from work, took a shower and fed the dogs, then drove down the road to her house for dinner. She was a good cook. Roast chicken with herbs. Spinach lasagna. They ate on her couch, plates on their knees, watching the video. He stayed the night. He was happy to smell something besides his own body for a change. He felt good with her: her under him as he went inside her, her body closing around his, or her on top of him, looking down, her hair hanging across her face. They could talk while they did it, easy and comfortable. Sunday mornings he picked her up and they went out for breakfast. They took a drive: to the desert or the beach or up in the mountains. After that they went back to her place and made love, took a nap together. They had dinner and he went home to sleep, to wake up Monday morning ready for another week. It worked for him. His life hadn’t exactly been easy, and right now he wanted to keep things simple.

  “It’s just starting to rain,” Wylie said, wiping his feet on the doormat.

  He embraced her and kissed her lightly on the lips. She smelled good, like the wood from the furniture she refinished.

  “Go ahead. Have a seat in the living room,” she said, guiding him with an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll be right there.”

  Carolyn had inherited her house from her grandfather, whose ashes she kept in a cookie jar on the china cabinet. He’d built it himself as a weekend cabin when the area had been considered the boonies. Wylie envied it. There was wood everywhere: open beams, mahogany wainscoting to eye level, oak floors. Windows along one whole side of the house. It was furnished with Carolyn’s finds: a massive couch that she’d reupholstered in what looked like a hand-woven horse blanket, a plank table polished to the deep brown of a coffee bean, cabinets with dozens of drawers, a heavy rug in the middle of the floor that mirrored the gray-greens and orange-browns of the trees outside. Despite the rustic quality, everything was amazingly comfortable. Wylie sank down onto the couch and let his head fall back, looking up at the woodwork of the ceiling. He’d be sorry if all of this had to end, if Carolyn was about to issue an ultimatum and he’d have to call it quits. He’d miss their cozy evenings, her easy laugh, and her snug bed.

  “I just made some snacky things,” she said, coming into the room with plates balanced on her arms like a waitress. “That okay?” She set down bowls of guacamole, bean dip, fresh salsa, tortilla chips. It wasn’t Wylie’s imagination: she was nervous. Fake cheery, not looking him in the eye. She came back with a bowl of black olives, a plate of sliced jicama, and two cans of ginger ale.

  “You’re not having a beer?” he said. He liked watching her savor it on their nights together. If he couldn’t enjoy it himself, he could at least watch.

  “Naw, not tonight,” she said, flopping down on the couch beside him. “Go ahead. Dig in.”

  He nibbled cautiously, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Carolyn was usually so relaxed she was almost goofy, which was one of the things he liked about her. But tonight she seemed tense. She stared straight ahead, absently crunching corn chips.

  “Did you have a good day?” Wylie ventured.

  “Oh yeah. Yeah,” Carolyn said, coming back to herself. “Some old lady died, way out in the Valley. Her brother was selling her stuff. I scored. She had some amazing pieces, things that must have been in her family for generations. I was buying things right and left until her daughter showed up and called everything off. Guess she knew she could get more for it.”

  “Uh-huh. Too bad,” Wylie said. He was getting jittery. Carolyn brought a slice of jicama halfway to her mouth and stopped, her hand in midair. She stared at the opposite wall like she’d forgotten where she was, what she was doing.

  The light had faded and the room was dark. A feeling of melancholy slipped over Wylie, like his chest had just filled with cold water. Raindrops pelted the windows like gravel. Outside it was nearly black. “Maybe we should turn on some lights,” he said. “You want me to close the curtains?”

  Carolyn nodded. She watched him cross the room. “You’re not eating much,” she said when he sat down again.

  “Neither are you.”

  She leaned forward and dipped up a mouthful of guacamole with a chip. “What happened at work today?” she asked, crunching down.

  Wylie shrugged. “Same old. Made a bunch of drinks, got a lot of people sauced. Sent them on their way.” The wind was picking up. Bushes at the front of the house scratched the windows like they wanted to get in. For a fleeting moment, Wylie considered telling Carolyn about the scares he’d had, the shapes moving in the periphery. Instead he took a swig of ginger ale. “Someone plugged up all the toilets in the men’s room.”

  Carolyn was uncharacteristically quiet. She looked at him and nodded. He doubted that she was listening to him. The tension was getting on his nerves. What the hell, he thought, and added, “Oh, and someone called me at work. She said she had something she wanted to tell me.”

  He was relieved when Carolyn broke out into one of her grins.

  “That would have been me,” she said with a laugh. She took a deep swig of her drink and loaded in a few more chips.
“Yep,” she said, nodding. “That was me.”

  “Well?”

  She looked at him with curiosity, as if she was trying to figure something out. Her freckles made her look young, though there were wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and a few white strands in her hair. She was a practical woman who could hang wallpaper or whip up a full meal in record time, but she had a fine, artistic side that could see the potential in an old object. Wylie had gone to garage sales with her where she’d pick out the most unlikely thing, take it home, and turn it into something fantastic, something he didn’t recognize. He didn’t have an eye for it. “What about this?” he’d say, hoping to impress her. She’d just shake her head. A couple of times he’d bought the things himself, just to prove her wrong, but after he lived with them awhile, he had to admit she’d been right. They had no character, no promise. They were only the thing itself, with no past, no inner life.

  Carolyn raised her eyebrows mysteriously, teasing him, and drained the ginger ale. “This stuff isn’t bad,” she said, shaking the empty can.

  “You know, I hate surprises,” Wylie said. “Whatever it is, maybe you should just tell me.”

  “Okay. Well, let’s see.” Carolyn nibbled the corner of her thumbnail, then reached into her hip pocket. She handed Wylie something that looked like a cross between a toothbrush and a thermometer.

  “What is it?”