On her way out at five o’clock he would come on duty and stand by the door to say good night to her. Laughing at the stupid jokes he made, she worried about him and finally worked up the nerve to invite him over to her place for dinner.
It was midsummer in the high desert, about a hundred ten degrees in that town, and the air-conditioning had quit on her. She couldn’t cook at all, so they ate olives and crackers and cheese and drank cheap Russian vodka with 7UP, sitting out on the shady fire escape above the main street. He didn’t even kiss her, but the next day he came by with a new air conditioner and put it into her window for her, and then they did a lot of kissing on the dusty red couch in the living room.
That day had been the happiest day of her life, because she mattered to someone again.
“Dad,” Lindy breathed, and rolled over and looked into the California sky. “You out there?” No answer. He was gone, gone somewhere forever where she couldn’t follow, leaving behind a tender indentation in her heart. She pulled herself to her feet and started walking up the hill toward the big house.
Sammy, their rottweiler, came rushing toward her, wagging his whole rear end when he recognized her. “Sammy,” she whispered, crouching a little to scratch him behind the ears. “What are you doing outside? Your job is to stay in the house. You’re supposed to guard Mike,” she said, rubbing him on the back. Then she remembered. Rachel didn’t like Sammy. She probably didn’t want him inside. He followed her silently as she climbed the wide wooden stairs up to the back door.
She turned her key in the door, which unlocked without a squeak. Her watch told her it was three-thirty.
In the dark kitchen the only sound was the humming of the refrigerator. How strange to creep around her own house. She opened and closed a few drawers, maybe to reassure herself that this was the place in spite of how alien it felt. Without giving it any thought, she picked up their sharpest knife from one of the drawers, a favorite she used to cut the tips off of carrots. She had bought the knife herself at Williams Sonoma on a trip to the Bay Area. She had used it often, helping the housekeeper with party preparations. This knife definitely belonged to her.
She passed through the dark silence into the hall to the reception room where the great staircase wound upstairs. Her footsteps in the big rooms seemed to echo with the sounds of parties gone by.
The banister felt warm to the touch. She led with her free hand, running it along the smooth surface upstairs, around the curves she had been so proud of when they first had the stairway built. At the landing she paused, waiting for a sign, but there was no sign. The house slept. Tuesday was the housekeeper’s night off, and Florencia lived far away in what Mike called the dungeon, a two-bedroom apartment on the basement level that opened out onto sloping gardens at the side of the house.
The heavy Persian rug in the upstairs hallway muffled her progress. She approached the bedroom door. How outlandish everything seemed. She was a foreigner in her own home. On its stand by the door, the big blue Chinese vase was still filled with the same willows and reeds she had arranged three weeks before, dried and dusty now, looking like plants arranged by some other woman’s hands, the new woman of this house.
She used the knife to push open the door. In the dusky light, Mike was lying on his back, snoring lightly, asleep. Rachel lay on her stomach beside him, her lower leg and bare foot free of the covers, her right leg looped over his, her beautiful long hair covering her shoulders.
She looked at them for a long time, clutching the knife in her hand, struggling to accept the proof of her eyes so that she might finally allow the umbilicus that still tied her to Mike to disintegrate, feeling the shaky instability that comes when death is very close.
Mike’s eyes opened. He had always been a light sleeper, awake at any sound. He didn’t move. Neither did she. For a long moment they stared at each other.
Then, while Rachel slept on, he carefully pulled the covers off himself and got out of bed, not taking his eyes from Lindy’s. In the dimness his bulky nakedness shifted like a shadow among shadows. Bending down, he picked up his old wool robe from the floor, pulled it on, tied the belt. He stepped into slippers. Lindy watched, hypnotized.
He came to her and touched her. That corporeality of his touch, the blanket-warmed fingers, shocked her out of her reverie.
“Mike?” she said softly.
“Who else?” he whispered, and she wondered if he was smiling.
She took in the familiar smell of his body.
He nodded toward the door. Then, holding on to one of her wrists, he drew her out of the room. In ghostly procession they drifted down the stairs, back through the kitchen, out the back door. Sammy picked them up at the door and followed close behind.
Out on the path, where they could hear the lapping of the lake, Mike looked at the knife, then at her face. Standing across from him she saw again how well they fitted together. It was as if their bodies had been molded exactly in reverse, so that her curves disappeared to accommodate the knobs and slopes of his physique. After a moment, while the breeze hushed and the sounds of the lake receded, she reveled in their mutual awareness. Breathing deeply a few times, she thought about the knife in her hand, not wanting to give it up.
“What’s the plan here?” Mike asked, sounding so much like his old self, she almost melted.
“No plan.”
“All action, no talk,” said Mike, teasing gently. “The knife, Lindy. Give me the knife.”
“No.”
“Lindy, if you don’t give me the knife, you’re going to have to use it. You don’t want to hurt me, do you?”
She didn’t know what to say to that. He stood there patiently, fearlessly, the breeze ruffling his robe, looking the same as he did in the ring years ago, not a care in the world in spite of the tough punk across the way wanting to rip his heart out. Deciding, she lifted the knife from her side and raised it so that the tip just brushed his stomach. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. This was the Mike she knew. She turned it around so that he could take it by the hilt.
He dropped it into a low bush beside the path. She buried her head in the scratchy wool, and his hand came up to stroke her hair.
“I’m having a hard time, Mike,” she said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Lindy,” Mike answered, like in the old days when they had just met. They went down to the beach, clear of the forest, while he half-supported her, and they crumpled to the sand together.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “So sorry. I think I was dreaming about you.”
“Won’t you-will you please-”
“It isn’t right-”
But her hand was pulling at the tie around his waist and the robe fell open.
“Please,” she said.
“Oh, Lindy.”
She put her arm around his neck and drew him onto her, and after lying there with her for what felt like a long time, his hands tugged at the zipper on her pants, then pulled them down to her shoes. He lay on top of her for a moment, his heavy weight lulling and comforting her.
Then he gave her his love, like he always had.
Afterward, when they were dressed again, sitting together and supporting each other, looking out at the lake, he said, “I’m ashamed. I should have known better.”
“Is there-any chance-”
“I’m marrying Rachel.” He spoke without malice, sounding almost as confounded by his own words as she felt.
“She’s so young.”
“It’s a fresh start. I looked around one day, and everything looked different. It was like another man was living my life, doing all the usual things, paying bills, making love, on the phone, and I was outside looking in through a window at him, mixed-up as hell. I couldn’t hear the words anymore. I didn’t like what I saw there, this old face and these wrinkled-up paws of mine.” He held his fists up. They both inspected them in the dark, until he dropped them again. “They were…” He thought, but couldn’t come up with the word he wanted.
“You remember? Like bowling balls, smooth to the touch, cruising down the alleyways… fast.”
“Oh, I remember.”
“Now, see that?” He tried to flex. “I can barely bend the fingers. I got arthritis in them, I think. I’m just so tired…”
“Of what? Of me? The business?”
“I don’t know. I don’t feel the same as I used to about anything.”
“I just can’t believe it.”
“I still care for you.”
“You have such an odd way of showing it.”
“Don’t leave yet, Lindy. We may never get to talk like this again. It’ll always be the lawyers, the reporters…”
“The money,” Lindy said.
“I’ll take care of you like I always have.”
“Was it you taking care of me, Mike? Or me taking care of you?”
He shrugged.
“We worked so hard. Remember when we started up the first exercise studio in Lubbock? I called everybody in town to find somebody, anybody for you to instruct. I got that phone slammed down in my ear so many times I still don’t hear right.”
“We put everything we had into it.”
“Why didn’t you ever marry me, Mike? I proposed to you lots of times.”
“I don’t know.” He lifted a handful of sand and let the granules sift through his fingers. “Were you going to kill me with that knife?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, thank you. That you didn’t kill me.” They both laughed a little. “You’re such a wild thing, Lindy. Remember what you did to Gil before the divorce, when you two broke up? Sixty-two stitches. I know I haven’t forgotten.”
“Don’t remind me. But he really had it coming. That shitheel married me for the sole purpose of getting his hands on my savings. He plotted to rob and humiliate me. Anyway, who knew that vase would break all over the place like that?” Lindy said.
“I guess that’s your biggest fault, and maybe the cutest thing about you, too. You’re just reckless, and I never knew anyone else that could blow a gasket like you do.”
“I do have a temper, but I’m not mad now. I’ve been thinking about the first year we were in the black. Now that was a Christmas. You in your Santa Claus suit, making love to me on the dining room table. You can be so funny.”
“You think I’m happy about what I did to you? And what you’re doing to me? Ah, Lindy. Things took a turn.”
“So you’re getting married.” Lindy blew into her hands to warm them. “You stupid bastard. I doubt she cares about you. She sees the money. She’s following the dollar signs.”
“She says she loves me. Maybe there will be a baby.”
“I gave you the business. That was our baby.”
“It was my business. I started it. My fists and my hands made everything happen.”
“My brains and my words. Both of us made it happen, and you know it.” She wanted to go on objecting but something held her back, some unquenchable faith in the future that told her not to say anything unforgivable. “What a waste, us talking like this,” she said. “It’s not going to change anything. It doesn’t mean anything. Might as well listen to Sammy bark.”
“I don’t want to string you along. You and me… we’re finished. Let me take care of you. I’ll send you a check every month.”
“Thanks for the offer. But I don’t want your charity. I want you to remember the two of us, what it was all about. Love for each other. Respect. A generous spirit. What has happened to you? Have you forgotten everything?”
“Speaking about that, Lindy, I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Get your lawyer off my back and get that receiver out of my company. You know how we’ve always done business at Markov. Our deals are based on trust, and we need to be flexible to take advantage of our markets. A receiver will kill us.”
“Nina explained that to me. He’s just there to oversee-”
“He’ll oversee us right out of business!”
“You won’t let that happen, Mike.”
“Please don’t let it come to that, Lindy. Think about what I’m saying.” He looked back toward the house. “I’ve got to go in before she wakes up,” he said, lifting Lindy’s chin with two fingers, his mood shifting as quickly as day had begun to break. “Isn’t it unbelievable,” he said, “us coming to this.” He didn’t point to the knife, but she knew they both had it on their minds. “Isn’t it crazy?”
“Crazy,” Lindy agreed. They stood across from each other, a matched pair of champagne glasses, bookends, socks. Two that belonged together.
He brushed his hand along her cheek with all the old tenderness, and for that instant Lindy remembered what a great couple they made.
Then, in the gray light, Rachel appeared, running toward them in a satin robe, her long black hair flying behind her like the wings of a raven. “What’s going on?” she cried, pulling up beside Mike, panting.
“Nothing. Lindy and I had to talk.”
“At this hour?”
“No,” Lindy said. “He’s not telling the truth. He’s trying to protect you. But you have a right to know,” she said. “Mike and I just made love, right there in that spot where you’re standing. And it was fantastic, Rachel. Better than ever.”
“What?” Rachel said, stepping back. “No. You’re lying. Mike?”
“Let’s go back inside,” he said, taking her arm and casting a furious look back at Lindy. “We’ll talk there.” He tugged her arm but she shook him off.
“No, we’ll talk now,” Rachel said. “Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
Mike had been standing almost exactly between the two women, but now stepped up to stand closer to Rachel. At the same moment, Sammy took his place beside Lindy. She put a hand down to pet him, but even Sammy’s warm fur was no solace. She watched Mike with Rachel. She saw by the way he looked at Rachel he was lost to her, enchanted.
Mike took Rachel’s hand. “Rachel, for as long as we’re together, I swear I’ll never touch another woman. This was…” His mouth moved, but he couldn’t articulate whatever it was he was thinking.
During the pause that followed, Rachel seemed to calm down. She appeared to be thinking. “I know what it was,” she said finally, breaking into a terrible smile. “A consolation prize, right, Mike? It’s only fair to offer a cheap consolation prize to the pathetic loser.”
“Now, Rachel, let’s just go. Don’t start something,” Mike said calmly, trying to pull her up the path to the house.
“He loves me,” Lindy said. “He has always loved me.”
“If he loves you so much,” Rachel said, “what’s he doing over here with me? No, wait. Don’t say anything. Let me answer that for you.
“He’s over here with me because he knows we’re just about to climb right back into that big bed upstairs for the kind of really hot sex you’re too worn out to give him these days. Yeah,” she said looking hard at Lindy. “My suggestion is you stick to dark beaches and rooms without lamps from here on out. The light is not your friend.”
“Don’t speak to me like that! Mike?”
But Mike had no control over Rachel. “Oh, come on,” she said. “I’m not saying anything you don’t notice every morning when you look in the mirror at those icky crowfeet and run for the makeup bag.”
“Stop this!” Mike tugged hard on Rachel’s arm, but she did not budge.
“If Mike didn’t have money you’d be out of here so fast we wouldn’t even have to smell the stink of your exhaust fumes!” Lindy said.
“Temper, temper, Lindy. I understand you get… kind of crazy when you’re upset. Mike warned me about you,” Rachel said.
“I…” Lindy said, unable to frame a sentence, the anger in her welling up so high and so deep it threatened to drown her.
“I have an idea!” Rachel said excitedly. “Let’s be friends. Let bygones
be bygones. That’s the civilized way to go about this, isn’t it? And as a token of our new relationship, I’m gonna invite you up to the house right now. Isn’t that a good idea, Mike?” she said eagerly. “Don’t you think that would be just lovely?”
“Well…” Mike said. He shuffled his feet clumsily on the ground as if he were trying to establish a foothold in quicksand.
“Really, how about that for fair?” She took Mike’s arm. “C’mon Mike. Let’s invite her right upstairs with us. Remind the old sow how it’s done.”
Lindy ran toward her and wrenched her away from Mike. “You wouldn’t know love if it bit you right in your bony ass!” She pummeled Rachel with her fists all too briefly before Mike flew up behind her, pinning her arms to her side.
“Sammy, get her!” she shouted, fighting frantically to free herself from Mike’s iron clench.
Sammy jumped. Rachel screamed as he knocked her flat to the ground.
“Get her!” Lindy cried.
Rachel continued to scream.
“Sammy, down! Down boy!” Mike roared at the same moment.
“Go Sammy! Bite her face off! Tear her eyes out! Sammy, go!” Mike’s hands gripped her. “Ow! Mike, that hurts!”
“Down, Sammy!” Mike commanded.
The dog, who had listened to this garble of incoherent commands with increasing agitation, looked at them. Confounded into paralysis, he stepped slowly off Rachel.
Rachel scrambled up. Bursting into hysterical tears she ran for the house. Sammy walked up to Mike and Lindy, wagging his tail tentatively. “Good boy,” Mike said. “What a good boy.”
He held on to Lindy until Rachel had made it back inside, then he dropped his hands from Lindy’s arms. “Don’t come around again,” he said. “Next time, we’ll press charges.”
“Mike,” she said. “Wait. Talk to me.”
Without another word, he turned and followed Rachel up to the house.
“He won’t marry her,” Lindy said to herself, brushing the sand off of her clothes and watching his back as he melted into the bright background of morning’s first sun. “One day he’ll wake up, and the devil that’s holding him will let go. He’ll feel his power again. And then he’ll want me back.”
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