by Pike, Leslie
We moved from San Francisco to L.A., but it wasn’t enough. Even when people devote their entire lives to that pursuit, it’s not a given they will make a decent living.
He mostly rode around on his motorcycle looking the part of the moody handsome biker, while I worked my ass off in real estate.
But today I’ll see him, and I’m actually happy for that. It’s been about a year since we last spoke. It was at his mother’s seventy-seventh birthday party, and there was no ill will between us. He was four years clean and wore his thirty-seven years well. And I was no longer a prisoner of his charms.
The woman I became would never have been satisfied with Finn. He was the man for my unthinking youth. If I were to meet him for the first time today, I’d be hard-pressed to get past some of his glaring flaws. I’d still see the sex appeal, but as soon as I’d look deeper he’d turn me off. Once you see those things, they can never be unseen.
Too bad we weren’t born brother and sister. That would have been so much more perfect. How I wish Mary and Carl could have been my parents.
Here’s my turnoff. Castro Boulevard.
The one person I’m dreading to see is Carl. Oh God, he’s going to be heartbroken. Mary and Carl were inseparable for sixty years. I doubt if they ever spent a night apart, until she got sick. Now Finn is his only family. At least that’s one of Finn’s dependable qualities.
He loves his father as he loved his mother. He’s all in.
Even when he was in his druggie heyday, he never neglected or ignored the needs of his parents. Mary would tell me how he’d call or visit. His attention wasn’t a matter of duty, it was a matter of desire. He truly wanted to spend time with them. And he genuinely wanted their opinions. I get that because I did too.
I’m almost there now.
It’s going to be bittersweet seeing the Kennedy Compound, their well lived-in ranch-style home. The name being a throwback and a tip of the hat to the JFK years. Their own Camelot.
I spent a lot of time there, talking and walking the three acres with Finn and his family. Some days we would lie in the sun on aged loungers, smoking a joint and laughing for hours. Then we’d all gather in the open kitchen and cook the most delicious meals I’ve ever had. Of course, we were stoned, so everything would taste that way. But really I believe it was because there was happiness there. It was a creative place to be as well. Carl was a prolific oil painter, and Mary his muse. She would read aloud wonderful poetry, and he would encourage us to try our hand at painting.
The more we smoked, the better we painted, and the more meaningful the poetry became.
I turn on the dirt road that leads to the home, set back about three hundred feet. Cars are parked along the sides and at the end next to the house. I can see people carrying in covered casseroles or bakery goods. Some carry flowers and plants. Offerings of comfort.
Finn’s motorcycle, his Hog, sits parked in the open garage next to Carl’s 1979 Beetle. Both men love their rides.
As I get out of my car, I spot Finn. He’s standing on the porch talking to Mary’s sister. He touches her arm, then brings her to himself in a comforting hug. It looks sincere and sweet. At the same time though, I can’t forget what I know. The man’s an actor. Even when he’s actually feeling the emotion, he’s staging it. This is the scene where he consoles his aunt.
There something a little humorous about it though. It used to bother me, but now it’s become almost endearing.
He sees me. He holds the hug with Aunt Amelia, but lifts his chin to me in hello. He closes his eyes for a final squeeze, kisses her on the cheek then breaks away. Cue the applause.
Here he comes, with a sexy saunter only he can do. His ice-blue eyes are teary, but he breaks into a smile and opens his arms in greeting. His hair is still dark and long, but now there’s a hint of grey at the temples. It looks good on him.
He’s keeping his heavy beard trimmed to just a two-day growth, and I’ve got to admit it doesn’t suck. He wears his usual uniform, a black leather jacket, black jeans and a white T.
“Bliss. I’m so happy to see you, darlin’.“
His musical Irish accent never loses its appeal. We hug and kiss each other on the cheek.
“Finn, I’m so sorry for your loss. For all our loss. You know how I felt about your mother.”
We separate and he keeps ahold of my hands.
“She felt the same for you. Just last week she told me you had sent her beautiful orchids. Her favorite. That was kind of you, and she loved them.”
I let go of his hands, and we begin our walk to the house.
“How’s Carl doing?”
“Not good. He’s quiet as a mouse, and I fear he’s goin’ to just fade into his grief. Do you know what I mean?”
I just nod.
“Come on, let me take you to him. Maybe that will bring a smile. I know it did for me.”
We walk inside the home, and I’m immediately carried back to my days and nights with the Kennedy family. The open living room has hardly changed, but now it seems old-fashioned and a little beaten up. Only his magnificent paintings have held their timelessness. The heart of the home is missing, and that changed the look of everything. It makes me want to cry.
“Come on, he’s over there.”
Finn points to the far end of the room. There sits Carl, on a rattan Peacock chair. He looks so out of place, a shrunken lost man sitting on a throne. That wonderful face has lost its life force. My heart is breaking.
As we approach, Carl spots us. His face lights up for just a beat, then he breaks into tears. We go to his side, and Finn kneels down and takes his father’s hands.
“Da. My Da. I’m here for you. Just let it out.”
I put a hand on his shoulder.
“Carl, I’m so sorry. I know how much you love her.”
Carl nods a silent agreement and uses his handkerchief to dry his tears.
“Thank you for coming, Bliss.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Mary wanted you to have something of hers. Something that meant a lot to her.” He reaches in the pocket of his cardigan, and brings out a small satin bag. He hands it to me. “Open this when you’re alone dear. And say a prayer for her whenever you wear it.”
I take the gift, and I feel my throat close with emotion. I don’t care what the gift is, I’m just grateful she thought of me, and that I’ll have something to remember her by. Not that I need anything to prompt that. She’ll never leave my memory.
“Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”
Carl stands and gives me a strong hug.
“I’m going to go lie down for a few minutes. Just enough to get myself together. I can’t seem to stop crying. I’m sorry.”
“Of course,” I say.
Finn watches his father as he walks toward the bedroom he and Mary shared for all those decades.
“This is killin’ him and me,” he says almost to himself.
This time it doesn’t seem like an act.
I put the satin bag into my purse. I’ve got to get out of here before I break down too.
“I’m going to head out, Finn. I’ve got a meeting in the city.” He looks at me and in his expression I see real sorrow.
“Of course, darlin’. I want to thank you for all the years of affection that you showed my mother. You’ll never know what it meant to her, or to me. Even when I misbehaved, you never took it out on her. You’re a good woman.”
“Thank you. Call me, and we can all get together for a dinner. Take Carl away from here, if just for a meal. I’m in Pacific Grove most of the time now, maybe he’d like to go for a ride.”
“I’ll do that.”
We give one last hug.
All the way back to my car I can feel his eyes on me.
I make it to the car before the tears start falling. Thank God no one saw me. I reach inside my purse for a tissue, but feel the satiny bag instead.
I may as well open it now. Get all my tears out before I have to drive.
Opening
the bag, I find a small slip of paper. It says, ‘To my daughter with love. Wear this when you need a bit of magic.’Below the note, resting on the bottom, is Mary’s treasured wedding ring.
I give in to my sadness. Tears roll down my cheeks and stain my blouse. I lean on my steering wheel and sob.
All the way to my office I’m a mess. I don’t want to listen to music or look at the city landscape. I’m deep inside my mind, a captive of my memories.
The song of my cell brings me out of my reverie. The strains of my favorite childhood song, “Moon River” snaps me back to reality.
“Hello.”
“Hi. It’s Steven.”
That’ll do it. He’s exactly what I need. Take me away from my thoughts.
“Hi.” There’s a frog in my throat from all the crying.
“You ok?” he says.
“Oh yeah, it’s nothing. So did you make plans for tonight?”
“I did. We’re going to Passionfish. Reservations at eight. Pick you up at seven?”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“Let’s have a cocktail or two before dinner. Or maybe some wine. Does that work for you?”
“Definitely.”
His voice soothes my savage beast and changes the direction of my day.
“Alright then, see you at seven. And, Bliss …”
“Yes?”
“I can’t wait.”
That one makes me smile.
I pull into my parking space at 22 Broadway. My office is on the twenty-third floor and overlooks the Golden Gate Bridge, the bay and the hills of San Francisco. Pole position in one of the greatest cites in the world.
I’ll never have enough of this city, and I’m still in awe of the fact that I found my success here.
I take the elevator to my floor, and when the door opens I see Nicki standing at the receptionist desk. The offices are decorated in such an understated modern elegance, I could almost live here. “Morning,” I say.
Nicki turns and puts her hands on her hips. I almost laugh at her attempt to look stern. I call her my delicate flower, not because of her fine Japanese features and her porcelain skin, but in jest because of her warrior spirit. Her size zero frame belies the fact that this woman is tough. The girl’s got a big set of balls.
“Where have you been?”
“Mary’s service was today.” She immediately softens her stance.
“I’m sorry. Oh my God, I forgot. Come here.”
I go to her, and accept her sympathy. “It’s alright.” I motion for her to follow me.
“I saw Finn.”
“How’s the Irish infidel?”
“He’s good. Still sober, still Finn.”
I open the door to my office. The view is spectacular. Ten years of hard work has bought me this prime location for my business. Now I’m on the slow, thoughtful hunt for my dream home. I think it’ll be in Pacific Grove.
I sit at my desk and begin to open my private mail.
“I have something else to tell you.” I smile.
“What?”
“I met someone interesting.”
Nicki’s face registers her surprise. “That’s the most descriptive thing I’ve heard you say about a new man in years.”
I laugh, but can’t deny the truth of the statement.
“Who is he?” Nicki asks.
“His name is Steven.”
“And.”
“And we met at the gym.”
“Very original.”
“He’s very … well, he’s very …” I search for the description.
“Very what? Very hairy? Very stubborn? Very what?”
“He’s very attractive.”
“Attractive. That’s good. What else?”
My face is flushing, just telling her about him. Nicki picks up on my discomfort.
“Did you keep your pants on?” I don’t immediately answer. “You didn’t keep your pants on? Oh my God! Good for you. I’m proud of you, Bliss.”
“You’re proud of me because I had sex with someone?”
“Yes.”
I toss an empty envelope at her and smile.
“Idiot.”
Chapter Six
STEVEN
I give myself one last look in the mirror before I head out.
My grandfather was a tailor, and I got his genes. So when I look at what I’m wearing, I look for quality and tailoring.
This works. Steel grey Hugo Boss suit, white shirt, open collar. Good shoes, good belt, good watch. That’s my entire philosophy on men’s fashion. Keep it simple.
I wonder what she’s going to wear. It doesn’t really matter. She’d look good in a sheet with a hole cut in it for her head.
I know this, no matter what she wears I’ll always have a favorite. It’s jean shorts, blue tank, flip flops.
One last call before I go. I grab my cell and punch the familiar number. It goes to voicemail.
“Hey, Jack. I’m about to leave. My keys will be under your mat. Thanks again for the loaner.”
I didn’t want to take the Cobra tonight. It’s too cold for a convertible, besides which they’re predicting rain. I can count on Jack to trade cars any time. He’s into cars too, and appreciates driving the Snake every so often.
I leave the cottage and make the one-minute walk to Jack’s. The company has procured a beautiful new Jaguar for him in exchange for a drive by shot in the film. It’s abnormally good to be a film star.
I find the key under his mat, and leave mine. It’s nearly seven. It’s time.
Firing up the silver Jag, I pull out of the driveway. Everything in me is excited about seeing her.
I pull up in front of Bliss’s cottage and get out. As I walk up to the door, I see the small differences in our properties. She has added some touches to the exterior that reflect her own taste. Nice. There’re more flowers and more variety. The pots are all different sea colors. They look good against the grey wooden cottage exterior. Her chair cushions are deep purple and are thick and tufted. Looks great.
I ring the doorbell, and hear her heels as she walks across the hardwood floor. Yes. Heels.
The door opens. She’s wearing a blue knit dress that perfectly matches her eyes, and skims her figure flawlessly. I want to rip it off her. It cuts in at the waist, then follows the curves of her hips. The neckline is low and hints at the treasure hidden beneath. High heels lift her practically to my height.
A delicate gold necklace with one small solitaire diamond, hits just above the rise of her breasts, and makes me want to trace my finger along its path. Did I mention I want to rip her clothes off?
Her hair is lightly curled, and hangs loose and free. One side is tucked behind her ear, almost in an afterthought. But I think it’s perfect in its placement.
And her face, that’s the kicker. Her beauty is highlighted, but in no way masked by too much makeup. I didn’t think she could look more beautiful than when I met her, but she can and she does.
“Hi.” She looks me up and down.
“Hi. You look very good, Mr. French.” God, that smile of hers is hypnotic.
“Thank you.” I take her hands. “And you look beautiful.” I bring her to me for a kiss. She doesn’t resist.
I could completely forget dinner, forget drinks, forget myself. But that would be presuming too much. She may actually need to eat, while I could just have sex with her to survive. I’m sure of it. Just lock ourselves in this cottage and fuck for nourishment.
“Shall we go?” she says.
If we must.
“Yes.” We leave the cottage behind and make our way to the car.
“What’s this? Where’s the Cobra?”
“Jack and I traded for the evening, in case of rain.”
“It rains here a lot, but it’s wonderful. That’s part of what attracted me to Pacific Grove. I’m a bit of a fog and rain lover.”
I picture her naked in the rain.
It’s only a ten-minute trip, but I wish it was further away.
All the way there Jack’s synced iPod plays music to fall to. And unbelievably that’s what this feels like.
Without logic or reason, it feels just like that.
Tony Bennett and Paul McCartney sing a great jazz version of “The Very Thought Of You.”
Suddenly every lyric seems to be speaking to me. And it’s starting to rain.
We park in front of the restaurant and make a dash for the cover of the entryway. Once inside, the entry’s narrow, and the lighting is subdued. On the left is the glass-enclosed wine cellar. There’s a small bench on the right, where a handsome couple in their seventies sit waiting for their table.
I give my name to the hostess, then rejoin Bliss waiting next to the silver-haired lovers. He has his hand on her knee, and she’s laughing at something he said.
I lean into Bliss’s ear.
“It’s good to know there’s an exception to the rule.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to believe anyone maintains that kind of fascination with each other after years together.”
She looks at me and laughs.
“How do you know they’ve been together for years? Maybe they got married a year ago.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why’s that?”
“Look at her ring. It doesn’t match the expensive clothes and her other jewelry.”
“So?”
“I think he gave her that ring decades ago, when all he could afford was a tiny chip of a diamond set in yellow gold. But she treasures that ring, and she wouldn’t trade it for any other.”
“You have a very vivid imagination,” she says laughing.
The hostess comes over and speaks to the couple.
“Your table’s ready. And happy anniversary.”
As they rise, Bliss touches the woman’s hand. “Happy anniversary. How many years?” The couple smiles with pride.
“Fifty. We’ve been married fifty years today,” the man says.
“Well, that definitely requires a congratulations. How wonderful.”
“Thank you.” The woman leans her head against her husband’s shoulder.
“And the funny thing is it seems like it just began.” The couple walks away with the hostess.