“Sorry.”
“Empty word at this point, Kil.”
“But I am.”
“I don’t think you get it. I was worried sick.”
I lower myself deeper into the seat. “Could you cut me some slack, please? I feel bad enough as it is. I know I messed up.”
He doesn’t respond, though, and he doesn’t say a word during the entire drive back.
• • •
“Kil.”
The smell of coffee wafts under my nose.
“Kil.”
I open my eyes and stare directly into Selwyn’s face. One face this time.
“I made breakfast. Get up.”
I moan loudly. My head feels as though it’s being smooshed by an anvil. “I hurt.”
“Breakfast is getting cold. You need to eat somethin’.”
I roll onto my side as slowly as possible so as not to make my head pound any more than it already is.
“Come on. You need to eat. Breakfast is waiting.” He claps his hands next to my ear. “Up and at ’em!”
“Could you not do that, please?”
He claps again, louder. “You mean that?”
I moan and sit up. He hands me the mug of coffee, and I thank him.
“Breakfast is out on the balcony.” With that he turns and leaves.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the empty room. I have a strong feeling he’s not speaking to me. Last night he forced me to drink a glass of water, and he put me to bed in the guest bedroom, where I’ve been sleeping, without a word. I don’t blame him for giving me the silent treatment. I can’t imagine what it was like for him to find me in a bar as drunk as I was. I can’t believe how much I’ve messed up either. How do I start over? Is it even possible?
I take another sip of coffee. I can’t fathom the idea of eating anything, but I also don’t want to piss Selwyn off any more than I already have, so I moan softly and get out of bed.
It’s already warming up outside, and the table is set. There are fruit and more coffee, bagels and cream cheese, and eggs.
“This looks great.” I doubt I’ll be able to eat more than a couple of strawberries but hope I sound polite.
“Dig in.”
I stick to my coffee while, vampirelike, I try to duck from the sun in the event that I evaporate. Selwyn has what looks like legal documents out and basically ignores me. I want to apologize, but I know he doesn’t believe I’m sincere. If memory serves, last night he called my apologies “empty.” And I’m starting to agree. I feel my head pound and close my eyes. I can’t believe I’ve fallen off the wagon. I’m not even sure what it means, except all those months of sobriety feel wasted. I’m obviously a drunk to the core, and this both shames me and terrifies me. What do I do now?
I look up at Selwyn, who continues reading.
“Sorry about last night, Selwyn.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that.”
“But I am.”
“Kil, I’ve been thinking.” He removes his reading glasses and sets his documents next to his plate.
“I know. Don’t worry. I’ll leave as soon as we’re finished eating.”
“It’s not about you leaving. I meant it when I told you I think we have a connection, and I hope you can see how much I care for you. Thing is, Kil, I don’t want to be with someone who caves every time she doesn’t get her way.”
I raise a brow. “Caves? I was upset. I had another fight with my mom, and Margot’s sending the girls away. Yesterday was awful.”
“Yeah, but that’s no excuse for disappearing the way you did. Going off to some bar where God knows what could have happened to you. I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if you’d been hurt.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“You need to do better than that. You’re not the only person with troubles in this world, and troubles don’t give an excuse to act poorly. And when people want to help? A person shouldn’t try to push them away. You say your sister’s selfish, but you’ve got some of that in you, too. You gotta stop acting like everybody owes you. A turnip can’t be anything but a turnip, and your mother, unless she decides to change, can’t be anything but who she is now. You worry about how she behaves. At what point do you worry about how you behave?”
He’s right, and I have absolutely no retort or reply.
He says, “You told me about the teacher who was like a father to you—”
“Mr. Hoffman.”
“Have you have ever tried to find him?”
“I wrote him once when I was in high school, but I never heard from him and didn’t bother trying anymore.” Already my lack of effort seems infantile.
“Try again, Kil. And again. That’s my point. You act like life owes you something, Piper. You have so much going for yourself. When are you going to stop looking to other people to be kind to you and you be kind to you?”
I think of Sherry: “Grow up. Forgive yourself. Like yourself.” “But I’m not sure it’s possible to have a better relationship with myself if I keep messing up. Look what I did last night.”
“Yeah, keep saying that. That’s the easy way out. Excuses. What if you stop with that mess and start telling yourself how good you are? You have a lot of love inside you. I know you do. I see it when you’re with the girls. And I know you still carry the love you have for your child. Think about that. Think about all the love you have, and let it help you.”
Now I think of Deacon Morris. “Since when did you become so knowledgeable?”
“Since I had to go through hard times myself. When Momma passed and I had no brother, no mother. Like I told you, my dad died when I was a boy. So I was alone, and then Charlene did what she did. Yeah, I had to do a whole lotta soul-searching. Tough times, Kil. Tough times. But I came out on the other side the better for it. That’s what I want for you, to come out better. No matter what happens between us, I want to know the best you. Not the so-so you, or the half-trying you, the best you. And listen, Kil, whether those girls go to that school or not, they’re going to need you. They need a role model. Show them how to get through tough times with confidence and grace. Be a woman they can look up to.”
I nod slowly. He’s right. I know he’s right. But just as quickly I plop my head into my arms. “But what about last night? Look what I did.”
“That was last night. New day, in case you haven’t heard. Isn’t that what they say, one day at a time? Today is today. What are you going to do with it?” When I don’t respond, he sips his coffee. “You might start with forgiving yourself.”
“You make it sound easy.”
He turns his gaze out toward the property. “New day, Kil.”
I take my coffee and walk to the edge of the balcony. I watch a bird flutter about before speeding off over a hill. I take in the sweet smell of grass and trees; I’m relieved when I don’t feel the sensation of having to throw up. I like what Selwyn said about getting to know the best me. Hell, I’d like to know the best me, too. I messed up last night, truly, but at least I was on the road to meeting that self.
Selwyn joins me. He leans over the balcony with his coffee, and we stare out at the property.
“I am sorry, Selwyn.”
“I know.”
“It’s just hard sometimes.”
“Yeah, I know. But so what? Your mother isn’t the mother you want. Your sister isn’t either. But so what? You have the twins, and you have your sponsor, and, Kil, you have me.”
“I do?”
“Yeah, Kil. Can’t you tell?” He sips his coffee and looks away.
Sherry “stumbled,” as she calls it, three times before she started to believe in herself and stuck with the program. Where would she be now if she hadn’t found it in her heart to forgive herself and start over? Where will I be if I don’t?
I turn so that I ca
n look Selwyn in the eye. When our gazes meet, I keep mine steady and focused. “I’ve been behaving selfishly, and I regret drinking last night. I made a terrible choice yesterday, and I’m sorry I scared you. I’m going to call Sherry after we eat. And if you’ll let me stay tonight, I’ll find a meeting to go to somewhere in town later.”
He searches my face to see if I’m bullshitting or not. Alcoholics are expert bullshitters. When it’s apparent that I mean every word, he takes my hand and kisses it. “That’s my girl.”
He kisses my cheek next, and I rest my hand across the back of his shoulder and point up to the half-moon suspended in the morning sky, a big dust ball when you get down to it. “Pretty, huh?”
He begins to hum softly.
“What’s that?”
“Little jazz tune from back in the day.” He sings quietly. He has a nice voice, deep and rich: “‘Shake down the stars. Pull down the clouds. Turn off the moon, do it soon. I can’t enjoy another night without you.’ I used to sing it on nights when I was thinking about you and wishing you’d call.”
“Guess it worked, ’cause here I am.” I bump his hip with mine and smile. “‘Shake down the stars.’ I like that.”
“I’ll have to play it for you later. Wait till you hear Sarah Vaughan’s version.”
We continue to stare up at the blue sky. The stargazer in me can’t help but point out Venus just below the moon, shimmering faintly in all that pale blue. “We’re pretty lucky, you know. Mars’s sky is a yellowish brown and Jupiter’s is black.”
He takes my hand and gives it another kiss.
“She knew the names of the planets in our galaxy before she knew the alphabet. She was named after Halley’s Comet. Her middle name was Mercury. Spencer fought me over that, but I won.”
“Pretty name,” he says. “You know, I was thinking. If your sister allows it, we’ll bring the girls back here after the wedding while she’s on her honeymoon. Have a nice visit. What do you say?”
“That would be great. And I’ll keep trying to change her mind about the boarding school.” I sigh loudly and toss my head back. “And I guess I owe Mom another apology for losing my temper.”
He kisses me on the cheek, but I don’t let him pull away. I kiss him on the mouth softly, holding my lips on his until I hear his breath quicken and feel my heart beat faster. I see a star cluster with millions of densely packed stars burst behind my closed eyes. After we kiss, we both sigh loudly at the heat we feel and the possibilities of what that heat represents.
“Wow,” he says.
“Wow.” I laugh.
Smiling, we go back to gazing at the blue sky. We’re quiet until he reaches for my hand. “The universe,” I say, “is mostly made of dark matter. It’s primarily a huge void of darkness that goes on and on and on. But every now and then between those vast eternities of black, there’s a galaxy filled with billions and billions of stars—and some stars, like our sun, are surrounded by planets, like our planet.” I pause, my eyes fixed on the moon. “It’s pretty amazing when you stop to think about it.”
twenty-one
Sherry nudges my arm and nods toward the corner of the tent. “Check it out.”
Clem and I follow her gaze. TV crews are filming Margot’s wedding reception for a future episode of Margot and Me, and when a cameraman steps off to the side, we spot Curtis’s mother, flanked by her daughters, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, fast asleep at her table. His sisters wear matching weaves that hang past their shoulders; their silver silk gowns have enough dips and slits to make anyone wonder why they bothered dressing at all. Mrs. Randolph, meanwhile, sits with her head bowed into her chin, eyes closed, thick legs crossed at the knee. She wears a platinum-blond weave and a silver and black sequined dress with a matching sequined hat shaped like a fried egg.
“Poor thing is worn-out,” Clem says.
“She got the Holy Ghost so many times at the wedding, I’m not surprised,” I say. Twice, Mrs. Randolph jumped from her seat during the wedding and started shuffling her feet and praising God. “It’s not even midnight. You’d think her daughters would wake her up.”
Sherry laughs. “She sure did give the cameras a show.”
We raise our brows and giggle. Sherry is my plus-one tonight; Clem, my plus-two. A few weeks ago, after I called Sherry and told her what happened, there wasn’t a hint of judgment or anger in her voice. She simply said, “Today is a new day, and now you get to see exactly how kind to yourself you can be.”
She drove out to Selwyn’s place two days later. I’ve pooh-poohed the idea of angels in the past, but that’s what she is to me. I take a peek at her as she eyes an actress on the dance floor. She knows all the celebrities here and keeps pointing people out to me. I’m glad I was able to bring her.
There are three times the number of people here than at Margot’s engagement party, and everyone is either on their feet dancing or laughing and chatting it up. The thirty-plus-member band moves effortlessly between old- and new-school grooves—with Curtis, of course, taking over the mike now and then for solos.
We’re celebrating tonight at a movie producer’s estate in St. Helena. The property is located on several acres of land, most of which are used for his winery. Richard Atwell, Margot’s new wedding planner, found the estate after declaring the Huntington, her last-minute find with Danielle, “banal at best.” Cancellation fee paid, Margot moved the wedding to Napa County.
For a surprise, Curtis had the Edward Johnson Mass Choir flown in from Los Angeles to perform several songs. I notice a choir member with a pompadour and lopsided choir robe stumble and laugh out loud. As someone who knows drunk when she sees it, I can count on two hands the number of choir members who are higher on champagne than on Christ, and Pompadour is no exception.
Curtis is suddenly draping his arms around us from behind. “You ladies having a good time?”
“Great!” Sherry says, raising her flute of apple juice.
Curtis takes me by the neck and rubs his knuckles on top of my head before I can push him off.
“Can you believe how great this all is?” he exclaims. “This is a wedding!”
“Good,” I say. “This is a wedding. Do you know who got married?”
Befuddled, he stares at me for a second, then grins at Clem while pointing my way with his thumb. “This one here is always full of jokes.”
“That’s why we love her,” Clem says.
I nod toward Sleeping Beauty. “You might want to check on Mrs. Randolph.”
Curtis glances in her direction but only waves his hand at his slumped-over mother and half-dressed sisters. “Aw, you know, that’s just Mom. When she’s tired, she’s tired, and there ain’t no two ways about it. She’ll wake up when she’s good and ready and’ll be like new. You can trust me on that. ’Sides, she don’t ever sleep more than thirty minutes a shot. She’s like one of them rechangeable batteries.”
“Rechargeable.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
A tall, skinny man with a receding hairline interrupts us. “Curtis?”
Curtis opens his arms. “Wilcox, man! Good to see you!” Wilcox congratulates him and says something about the book Curtis is “writing,” and he and Curtis wander off before an introduction is made.
“Who was that?” Sherry asks, excited.
“Hell if I know. More cake?”
We head over to the wedding cake, a seven-tiered affair with seven varieties of cake. Our goal is to taste every one.
After finding a table, we watch a TV camera close in on Margot and Richard, bride and wedding planner, who are suddenly taken over by the impulse to dance. Margot smiles into the camera just as Richard extends a hand, and she twirls into his arms.
“She’s so beautiful,” Sherry murmurs.
“She is,” Cle
m says in agreement. “Just as pretty as she can be.”
Margot is otherworldly tonight, a woman who belongs in a fairy tale, albeit a dysfunctional tale involving mistrust, cheating, and a dopey jerk of a prince. After the Danielle debacle, Margot made sure to hire a wedding planner of the male variety, and Richard is as efficient as they come, running the evening with military-like precision and an expert’s eye to detail: a look-alike waitstaff in tuxedos and slicked-back hair served dinner, and it was his idea to hire dancers from Alonzo King LINES Ballet to perform two numbers, the first set to an acoustic version of one of Curtis’s songs. Sparkling gold lights glow from behind the white chiffon that drapes the tent, giving the space an ethereal feel. The head chef from French Laundry presides over the kitchen, having been paid probably twice what his entire staff makes in a year.
Since Danielle is no longer in the picture, I was asked to give a toast. Initially, I worried I wouldn’t have much to say except, Let the girls stay, you spoiled bitch! But a lot can happen in a few weeks. I found a therapist, for starters, and along with Sherry and the meetings, I’m learning on a deeper level about forgiveness and acceptance, for others and myself. In the end, I managed a quick two-minute speech that spoke to Margot’s tenacity and her ability to make friends with whomever she meets. I then wished her success, ending the toast on a tone that sounded snider than I intended—“Good luck with the marriage!”
The band switches into a 1990s pop hit, and I hear Selwyn’s yelp from somewhere in the crowd. I spot him near the band, dancing with Coco. Selwyn and Coco are my plus-three and -four. When I asked Margot to send Selwyn an invitation directly, she responded with, “Who?” So I told her, “Shawn,” and she finally got it, although not without making one of her digs: “Who the hell are all these people you’re inviting? Since when do you have friends? Space is limited!”
Shake Down the Stars Page 29