“Thank you for coming,” she said at last.
“Of course I’d come. I loved him too.”
“I know you did.”
She stepped back and looked at me. Her eyes were red. I noticed a single gray hair. Barely perceptible lines on her face. I handed her my handkerchief, with which she dried her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said. “Always a gentleman. I must look awful.”
“No,” I answered. “Not at all. You look beautiful.” I meant it.
She smiled and moved a hair from across her face. “Oh, Wylie. I am so glad you’re here. It’s been hell. I’m sorry I didn’t call you myself. I was out of my mind. Carmen even had to give me a sedative to calm me down and help me sleep.”
“How’s your mother?”
“She’s been amazing. There’s so much to do when someone dies. I had no idea. The forms. The funeral home. We had him cremated, you know.”
“I didn’t know.”
She nodded her head. “It’s what he wanted,” she continued. “Today we’re going to scatter half his ashes over the water, and next week we’re flying to Barcelona and scatter the other half there.”
The rest of the guests began arriving. Esther came alone, a cane in her right hand. Paolo was not feeling well. A few other people I didn’t know, friends of Kitty’s. Aurelio’s dealer. Carmen’s boyfriend, who was Asian and also a doctor. He introduced himself as Jonathan and said he was a neurologist. They had met at medical school. We stood around in the living room chatting idly, but we were mostly lost in our thoughts while the bartender set up the bar, adjusting the folding table, laying out the heavy white tablecloth, pouring ice, unpacking the glasses. Carmen came out and joined us, standing next to Jonathan, who put his arm around her. Then Cosmo, who looked puffy and distraught. Roger and his wife, Diana. Finally, Kitty entered, head high, chin firm, like a queen in mourning. She had her arm around Lulu. Dot came next, followed by Randall and a haggard Ugo Bonet. On his arm was a handsome blond woman who held a little girl, also blond, by the hand. Last came Cesca, holding an urn.
Kitty stopped and addressed the small crowd. “My friends, thank you all for coming to show your love and support for Lio on this sad occasion. We will now go to the beach.”
At the sand everyone kicked off their shoes, and some of the men rolled up their trouser legs. Cosmo carried a guitar. I gave Esther my arm and helped her over the sand. No one sat in the white chairs that had been set out.
When she reached the water’s edge, Kitty stopped and said, “This is one of the places Lio loved most. When he was a child, he would spend hours in this very spot swimming or making elaborate designs or sand castles. Over the past few months, he kept saying he wanted to come back, but by then he was too sick. Now that he is gone, he can finally return here.” She paused and then, speaking with effort, continued: “What we’d like you all to do today is step forward and take a handful of his ashes, and as you scatter them say a little prayer. It can be silent or aloud. It doesn’t matter. Lio will hear you anyway.”
Cesca stepped forward with the urn. Cosmo began to play, a mournful ballad that I assumed was Catalan. One by one we took our turns. Carmen went first, wading into the gentle surf, lifting her dress with her left hand, holding her brother’s ashes in her right. She spoke in a soft voice, and I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Then she flung the ashes over the water. One by one, the rest of us took our turns. When I stepped up to take my handful, Cesca gave me a quick, private smile and a wink. I walked into the water up to my knees. The ashes in my hand felt so light and inconsequential. “Good-bye, Lio,” I said to the wind. “I will miss you. The world is a poorer place without you.” Then I scattered the ashes, watching them quickly disappear.
I watched Cesca wade into the water, could see her body contract as she cried, taking deep breaths, and when she was finished, she threw the ashes with a defiant shout as far as she could.
Kitty went last. It was heartbreaking to watch. Most of us were already in tears, overcome by the emotion of the moment. Cosmo had stopped playing. Kitty stood there, almost up to her hips, the bottom of her dress floating on the surface of the water, and began to sob. Large, uncontrollable outbursts, almost screams, naked in their maternal agony. Finally, Cesca waded back out and put her arm around her mother, comforting her. Kitty grew quiet and then with an effort released her son’s ashes.
Silently, we followed her back to the house, as Cesca supported her, stopping to retrieve our shoes but not bothering to wipe the sand from our feet. I had offered my arm to Esther. Cesca took Kitty inside, but the rest of us remained outside, subdued, staring back at the beach, alone in our thoughts.
“There is nothing worse than the death of a child,” said Esther after a while, grimly shaking her head. “Poor Kitty. Their lives will never be the same again.”
In the house, Roger came up, followed by a waiter, urging people to have a drink, something to eat. “We have lots of food and drink,” he said. “Please. Help yourself. Just give the waiter your order, and he’ll be happy to bring it.”
Gradually, the pall lifted, and we began to talk again. I chatted with Esther, a little with Carmen’s boyfriend. Helped myself to a ham sandwich. I had planned to return to the city but wanted to see Cesca before I left. Eventually she reappeared.
“Please don’t leave yet,” she said.
“I need to get back. I have work tomorrow.”
“Just a little longer. I need to talk to the guests.”
“All right.”
She reached up and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.”
Inside Cosmo was at the piano. Playing something sad yet beautiful, elegiac. Brahms maybe, possibly Chopin. The notes perfectly capturing the mood. While the others chatted in the dining room, where the food was, I sat to listen. Cosmo acknowledged me with a smile. There was nothing to be said. I stared at the objects around me. The sorts of beautiful knickknacks that the rich effortlessly acquire. Silver cigarette boxes. Beaten brass. Bronze Florentine sculptures of centaurs. A Murano glass ashtray. I picked up a small ivory netsuke and inspected it. It was of a boy, his hands bound, being fed by mice. I wondered what the story was behind it. How did he become a prisoner? What had he done to earn the mice’s friendship? My mind ranged idly about the room, allowing me momentarily to forget why I was here. It was comforting not to have to talk, to be allowed to look at Aurelio’s paintings and think about him, what he had been and what he might have still become.
Then Cosmo stopped and asked me: “Where’s your pretty girlfriend?”
“She’s not here.”
“Ah. Too bad,” he said and resumed playing.
Esther came over to tell me good-bye. Other guests were leaving too, hugging Kitty, carefully closing the door behind them so it wouldn’t slam. They waved wordlessly to Cosmo, who kept playing. The bartender stood idly behind the bar, her hands behind her back. Nearly a whole ham, baskets of bread, untouched food sat on the dining room table. The waiter moved around the room, collecting glasses and emptying ashtrays.
“I told Mare she was ordering too much, but she wouldn’t listen,” said Cesca, slipping into the chair next to mine and lighting a cigarette. She leaned her head back and rubbed her eyes. “God, I need a drink.”
“Can I get you one?”
“Would you?”
“What do you want?”
“White wine. No, make it a vodka on the rocks. A big one. It’s that kind of day.”
I returned with the drink. “Thank you so much.” She took a sip. “God, I needed that.” Another sip.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
She laughed. “You don’t want to know.”
“Your mother was incredible today. So were you. And Cosmo. And Carmen. Lio would have been proud.”
“He’d have told us to stop being so melodramatic because we were bumming him out.” She smiled. “Mare asked me to see if you could stay for dinner.”
“Yes. It would mean a lot to her—and to me as well. She knew how fond Lio was of you. I don’t think we’ve quite gotten used to him not being here, you know. The empty seat at the table. If you could fill it tonight it would be a great help.”
“Of course. I’d be glad to stay.”
“Good. Thank you. I’ll tell Mare. She’ll be so happy. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
I calculated the time. It was still possible that if I stayed for dinner I could drive back late. I would have to call Kate and let her know.
When Cesca returned, I asked if I could use the phone. “Use the one in the kitchen,” she said. “Come find me when you’re done.”
I called Kate at work. When she picked up, I said, “Sweetheart, it’s me.”
“Hi, baby. How are you? I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“I’ve been better. It’s been very sad.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Look, the reason I’m calling is that they invited me to stay for dinner. I hope that’s okay. I know we had no real plans, but I just didn’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“No, that’s okay. I was going to make you something nice for dinner because I figured you’d have had a rough day, but I can do it tomorrow. What time will you be back?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. Late. Midnight maybe. At least traffic will be light that time of night. Do you want me to come over, or should I stay at my place?”
“Call me when you’re leaving. If it’s not too late, come over. If it is, then maybe you should just go home.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hung up and went looking for Cesca. There was no one around except for the waiter and bartender, who were cleaning up. “Are you Wylie?” the bartender asked. “Miss Bonet asked me to tell you to meet her in the Playhouse.”
I thanked her and walked over to the Playhouse. I knocked and called out, “Hello? Cesca?”
“I’ll be right down,” she answered from upstairs.
A few minutes later, she appeared. She had changed out of her black dress and was now wearing a beach cover-up and carrying a towel. “Here,” she said. “Here’s an old swimsuit of Cosmo’s. It might just fit you. After you change, let’s go for a swim. I need to get out of the house. I’ll meet you on the beach.”
When I joined her, she had spread out two towels and was lying on her back on one. I sat down on the other. The folding chairs that had been set out for the ceremony had been removed. The beach was no longer a grave site. The water rolled gently up and back, eternal and impervious. The only indications of what had just happened here were faint footprints in the sand.
“Let’s get a little sun first and then go in,” she said. It was hot, and already her skin was glistening. She was wearing a bikini, her body toned and brown. It was impossible not to stare at her. She was presenting herself, like a feast, a gift. I would have had to be a rock to not be aroused. My eyes traveled over her breasts, where little beads of perspiration had formed in her cleavage, down to the navel I had kissed so many times and to the swell of her mons. She knew I was watching and took pleasure in it, a coy smile curving on her lips.
“Thank you for staying,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “I think I’d go crazy if I was alone right now. Mare has Randall, Carmen has Jonathan, and Cosmo never needs anyone. Normally, it would be Lio and me. He was always the one I turned to first. But now . . .” She sighed and sat up. “Fuck.”
There was nothing for me to say. She already knew. I just reached out my hand to her, and she took it. “Wylie, you’re always there for me when I need you. Why are you so good to me?”
“You know why.”
She let go of my hand and nodded. “Let’s go for a swim,” she said, grinding her cigarette out in the sand and standing up. “Race you!” She started sprinting down the short strip of sand to the water. I jumped up and ran after her, but she had too much of a head start. We both splashed through the shallows and dove in, the water cool and marvelous.
“Here we are again,” she said, coming up from the water, clearing her wet hair from her face. “That first night? The night of Gog’s party? Remember?”
“I could never forget,” I answered.
“That’s good. Would you believe me if I told you I never forgot either?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I never really seem to know what you think about anything.”
“We were both so young. You were so sweet back then. Cute too. What a lovely body. We had fun, didn’t we?”
“Until you left.”
She shook her head. “Yes, I suppose I had that coming.” Then, “That was stupid of me. I was wrong.”
“And Paris? And all the other times? Were you wrong then too?”
“Shit, Wylie. Don’t you understand what I’m trying to say?”
“I don’t know. What?” She was close now, impossible to ignore. I was no more invulnerable to her than when I was a boy. Like Ulysses, I wished I could have had wax in my ears too, been tied to the mast.
“Well, when you figure it out, you let me know, okay?” she said and then dove into the water, swimming with fine strokes out to the old floating raft. I followed. She was already up on the raft when I reached it, her legs dangling in the water.
“So how’s your friend? The pretty blonde.”
“Kate? She’s good.”
“Kate. That’s right. I couldn’t remember her name. She made a big impression on Cosmo.”
“She’s a fan of his music.”
“Are you going to marry her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why wouldn’t you? She’s lovely.”
I resented Cesca talking about Kate like that. I also felt guilty, and she knew it, daring me to say something, bring it out in the open. If anyone else in the world had asked me that question, I would have told them yes. But Cesca wasn’t anyone else in the world. As always, she brought my deepest desires to the surface, kicking over my carefully constructed fictions and half beliefs as if they were so many sand castles.
“Well, if you don’t know . . .” she continued.
“I don’t know. You’re talking about marriage. That’s a big step.”
“I know it is. I made the step, remember? And, boy, did I step in it.” She laughed.
“Why did you marry Gavin?”
“Why? I don’t know. I suppose I thought it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. So much of life is like that, isn’t it? Doing something and then regretting it later. I liked the idea of getting married. And he was successful, mature, handsome. On paper it looked perfect. In reality it was something else.”
“What happened?”
“Well, I just couldn’t make it work. In a way he was too perfect. I always felt as though I wasn’t good enough. Not smart enough. Not successful. He put me on the mantel like a little statue and just expected me to look decorative. That’s what he wanted from me. I had other ideas.”
“I’m sorry.”
“God, don’t be. I’m not. I felt trapped. Useless. Couldn’t really do what I wanted to do. It was always his friends or his plans. I couldn’t even decorate my house because it was already decorated, and he didn’t see the point in doing it over again. One day I just woke up and realized that if I stayed married to him for one minute longer, I’d go completely insane.”
“How did he take it?”
“Surprisingly well. He wasn’t what you’d call a passionate man. Everything was weighed. Analyzed like a business deal. Risk versus reward. When he realized it made more sense to cut his losses, he did.”
“Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”
“Why? Are you proposing again?” She smiled, daring me.
“No, what I meant was . . .”
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a knot, Wylie. I know what you meant. Just
having a little fun with you, that’s all. Anyway, we should be getting back. Mare’s expecting us for drinks at seven.”
She stood up and dove into the water, clean as a knife. Once again, I followed her. On the beach, she picked up her towel and started drying her hair, before wrapping the towel around her torso. I remember watching her. Even when she was performing the most simple acts, it was impossible not to be struck by her beauty. The angle of a knee, the muscles in her arm, the shape of her toes. Like that of a great athlete, her grace was inborn. We walked back to the Playhouse, passing Aurelio’s studio.
“Do you mind if we look inside?” I asked. “It would mean a lot to me.”
“Sure. I’ve been in a few times.”
“Was it strange?”
“No. It felt quite natural. It looks just the same. I still feel Aurelio there. His presence is so strong even though he hasn’t been there in months. Poor Lio. Oh shit.” She stopped talking and started to cry. I wrapped my arms around her, comforting her. Feeling her skin cool from the water, her wet hair, her closeness. I felt myself becoming aroused and shifted my hips so they weren’t touching her. When she had calmed down and her breathing returned to normal, I let go.
“Oh God. Sorry,” she said, wiping tears from her face. “It just hit me again that he’s gone.”
“We don’t have to go to the studio, if you don’t want.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’d like to go.”
The studio was dark, and, despite the still strong smell of turpentine and oil paint, it felt musty, like the room of a child away at college. Everything was left just so, waiting for the return. The brushes had been cleaned. The palettes scraped. I looked around at the sketches and photographs pinned to the walls, recognizing some from years ago, taking in more recent ones. The splotches of dried paint on the cement floor. The racks of canvases, some still primed and waiting for paint that would now never come. I searched through the older paintings. I found the one he did of me from years before.
“God, I look so young.”
“Mmm, you were. Almost too pretty for a boy.”
“What about now?”
“You’ve lost your prettiness. Now you look just the way you should look.”
Girl in the Moonlight Page 25