Tapestry of Fortunes

  “This thing isn’t going in,” Rita says, pushing at the tape in the slot. And then, as it slides in smoothly, “Oh. Never mind. There it goes.” She turns around, grins. “Now I know how the guy feels.”

  “Gross,” I say, through a mouthful of popcorn.

  “Just trying to get you in the mood for the movie.” Rita goes to the window to pull the curtains. The late afternoon sun lights up the edges of her bad perm. It really is a bad perm, reminiscent of the fifties’ do-it-yourself variety that left your hair looking like you’d had an accident with electricity; Rita said she was thinking about suing the beauty parlor. She’s put on weight; her hair looks terrible; but she’s still beautiful, still sexy, too.

  Now Rita falls into David’s recliner, leans back into the full recline position, and presses the remote. “Fasten your seat belt,” she says.

  The movie opens with a scene of a woman in a garden. Soft-focus blossoms blow in a gentle breeze. The camera focuses on them for so long Rita and I finally look at each other and start laughing.

  “Is that Mozart?” I ask.

  Rita nods, clearly disgusted.

  “Fast-forward it,” I say, and Rita does. A scene starts where a man dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt is unbuttoning the white blouse of the heroine. “Stop!” I say, and Rita looks at me. “I know.”

  And then we stare straight ahead, eating popcorn, licking salt and butter from our fingers, watching scenes of one kind of nature alternate with another. When the man and woman are taking turns moaning, working tastefully toward the inevitable conclusion, I hear a knock at the door, then see it slowly opening.

  “Quick, quick!” I tell Rita.

  She presses a button, the movie disappears, a football game comes on, and King appears in the family room.

  “Hi,” he says. “Am I early?” And then, seeing the screen, “Oh. You’re watching the Patriots?”

  “Who?” I ask.

  After dinner, the three of us are sitting in the family room again. Travis is upstairs talking on the phone, something he does a lot of lately. I suppose soon I’ll have to get him his own line. His own voice mail.

  We’re talking about David, about why I married him. “Oh, she just did everything too soon,” Rita says. “She panicked, and said yes to the first guy that asked her because she was afraid no one better would come along.”

  I would actually prefer it if Rita didn’t broadcast things like this, but one of the things I like most about Rita is her honesty—you just have to take the bad with the good.

  “But I’m the one who asked him,” I say.

  Rita halts her wineglass midway to her mouth. “Really?”

  “Well, I mean, we’d talked about it. I was the one to sort of … you know, formally say it.”

  “Wow!” Rita says. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, so what?” I say. “What’s the big deal? We’d talked about it.”

  “You know, King,” Rita says, “I had to stand by and watch her ruin her life. She was so damn stubborn, shining that ring in my face. I tried to tell her.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I say. “I wish you had.”

  “I did try, right at first. I don’t think you even heard me. And then I just gave up. Watched you … descend.”

  “Well, I’m on the rise again.” Saying this, I wonder if I believe it. Maybe I do.

  “She didn’t even sleep with anybody else. She didn’t—”

  “I did, too.” I say. “I slept with nine guys before David.”

  Rita shakes her head. “Can you imagine, King? In the early seventies? Nine guys?”

  “I don’t think nine is so bad,” I tell Rita. “How many did you sleep with?”

  “Oh, boy. I think I’d need a calculator. Let’s see.” She sits back, remembering. “It had to be … oh, I’d say … fifty or so.”

  “God!” I say.

  “That was normal! Don’t you think, King? For a woman? I mean, guys did it even more. For a guy, a hundred and fifty was probably normal. How many women did you sleep with in the early seventies? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “In the early seventies?” King asks. “One. One time.”

  “Oh,” Rita says. “Well. But you’re … you must be a few years younger than we are. So … you know, in the late seventies. In the late seventies how many women did you sleep with?”

  “None.”

  We are all quiet, and then King says, “None in the eighties and none in the nineties, either.”

  “You mean … Are you …?” I ask.

  “I’m not gay.”

  “One time?” Rita asks, and I have a nearly irresistible impulse to slap her. “Wow! You’re practically a virgin!”

  King shrugs.

  “Rita …” I say.

  “I don’t mind,” he says.

  A profound silence descends. Finally, King says, “So. Rita. Where exactly in Mill Valley do you live?”

  “I can’t believe it!” Rita says, after King leaves and we are in the kitchen washing out the wineglasses. “Have you ever met a guy who hasn’t done it a million times? I mean, I know they must be around, but—”

  “I think you embarrassed him,” I say.

  “I didn’t embarrass him. He said he didn’t mind.”

  “Maybe he was just being polite.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “How do you know? You don’t even know him.”

  I rinse out the last glass, start scouring the sink. Rita sits at the table, watching me. “Well, sorry,” she says. “Although I don’t know why I’m apologizing to you.”

  “I don’t, either. He’s the one you should apologize to.”

  “But I don’t think he was offended, Sam! He was fine with it. You’re the one who’s all worked up. Why?”

  “Well, maybe it’s on his behalf, okay? I mean, he should have been offended. You acted like he was a freak or something!”

  “No, I didn’t! I acted like it was a really unusual thing. Which it is!”

  I wipe off the dishwasher door, rinse out the sponge, wipe off the counter. How many days does she have left here?

  “You’re so mad!” Rita says.

  “No, I’m not!”

  “You are! What in the hell are you so mad about?”

  I stop cleaning, straighten, look at her. “I don’t know.”

  A long moment passes. Then Rita says gently, “I mean, come on. Don’t you just want to do it with him? You know, teach him some things? ‘Yeah, honey; right there.’ ”

  Something breaks and I laugh, resume wiping the counter, then move to the stove. “No.”

  “Really?”

  “No! I mean, who needs all that … ineptitude?”

  Rita shakes her head. “Boy, I would. It would make me feel really powerful.”

  “Well, you’ve got five more days here,” I say. “Maybe you’ll score.” I scrub at a stain on the stove that never comes off. And I know it.

  20

  Monday morning, the breakfast table is full. Lydia and Rita sit having blueberry pancakes with Travis while I make more at the stove.

  “Why don’t you let me cook?” Rita asks. “You need to go get ready for work.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I have time.” I flip a pancake. Perfect.

  “Come on,” Rita says, moving to the stove. “I’m stuffed. You eat.” She takes the spatula from my hand.

  I go to the table, drink some orange juice. “I’m sorry I have to work today.”

  “I don’t mind,” Rita says. “I don’t need a thing. I want to just read, relax. Maybe Lydia and I will go out.”

  “I have a museum tour today,” Lydia says. “But you’re welcome to come.”

  “You can come to school with me,” Travis says. “You can go instead of me.”

  “No thanks,” Rita says. “I hate math.”

  “I hate English,” Travis says.

  “Yeah, I hate that too.”

  “Really?” Travis asks.

  “Ye
ah, I hated everything except gym in school.”

  “Me too!” Travis says.

  Well, that’s it. They’re friends for life. Tonight, Travis will ask to speak with me alone and ask if he can move in with Rita, who will never make him do his homework and who will let him have a treehouse. Will let him build a tree house with the tools she buys him, including the band saw he found at Sears the other day and spent a good twenty minutes examining, while I stood around in the adjacent hosiery department deliberating over the three hundred thousand kinds of panty hose available. “Will you buy me this?” he’d asked me when I finally came to collect him.

  “What is it?”

  “A band saw.”

  “What do you need a band saw for?”

  Travis rolled his eyes, then turned for sympathy to a nearby male customer who was lovingly examining torque wrenches. I’d actually looked at the price before I told him no.

  I look at my watch, quickly finish a pancake. “I’d better get going. I’ll be home pretty early, about two.”

  “What are you doing today?” Lydia asks.

  “Answering phones at a law firm. Receptionist, I guess.”

  “Don’t make coffee!” Rita says. “Don’t make coffee! Tell them to make their own damn coffee.”

  “I don’t mind making coffee,” I say. “Why does everybody hate making coffee so much? I like to make coffee. It’s very satisfying. I like the smell. Plus you get to goof off, leave your desk.”

  “Well, it’s a symbol,” Rita says. “You don’t want them to assume you’re there to be their mommy, their wife. That’s what they do to women.”

  “It’s an all-woman law firm,” I tell her.

  “Oh,” Rita says. “Well. Bring in some gourmet grounds, then. And a dozen donuts.”

  “Just what I need,” I say, patting my stomach. I weighed myself this morning. I’m nine pounds up. Pretty soon my robe belt will be too short.

  At two-thirty, I let myself in the kitchen door, call out hello. I feel bad that I’m half an hour late. But I wanted to stop for groceries. Lasagna, we’ll have tonight. I’ll put some spinach in there so I’ll feel virtuous. And Lydia has promised to make her famous caramel apple pie.

  I put the bag of groceries on the counter. “Hello?” I yell again.

  Nothing. I go to the bottom of the stairs, yell, “Rita?” And then, “Lydia?” Nothing.

  They must have gone somewhere together. Well, that’s good. Now Rita will see what I like so much about Lydia, she’ll see what a great choice she was for a roommate. Although she will be gone soon, she and Thomas are getting married in two weeks. I sigh, thinking about it. I really should find another roommate to take Lydia’s place. The rent from Ms. Blue won’t be enough. And besides, she’s too quiet, and too weird—she’s gone a lot, and when she’s home, she stays by herself in the basement almost all the time. I want someone who’ll be good to talk to, as Lydia was. I’ve had a sign up in a few places for a few days, but there have been no calls yet.

  I’m putting the last of the groceries away when the door opens, and Rita comes in with King. “Hey!” Rita says, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed.

  Oh my God, she did it. She slept with him.

  “Hey, Rita,” I say, evenly. “Hi, King.”

  He nods at me, unwinds his scarf from around his neck. “We were ice-skating. At the rink, you know, that rink off Ninety-four?”

  “Yeah, I know it. You didn’t have to work today?”

  “No, tonight. Security, at the mall. Do you want to go skating? We came back to get you and Travis.”

  “No, I … don’t skate.”

  “We don’t either!” Rita says. We. “That’s why it’s so great! We spent all our time on our butts.”

  “I don’t think so. But if you guys want to go back, it’s okay. Just go.”

  I see Rita and King exchange glances, and then Rita says, “Actually, I think I’ve had about enough.”

  King looks at me, then wraps the scarf back around his neck. “Yeah, I’ve got some errands … I’ll see you later, Sam.”

  I nod tightly.

  “Good-bye, Rita.”

  She goes to the door, hugs him. “I loved meeting you.”

  I’ll bet she did. I pull a pan out of the cupboard. “Want lasagna for dinner?”

  “What’s the matter, Sam?”

  “What? I just wanted to know if you wanted lasagna for dinner!”

  “Are you mad about something? Again?”

  I get out the olive oil, the garlic.

  “Come on, Sam. It’s me.”

  I look at her. “I just … he’s my new friend. And you’re …”

  “What? Wearing him out? Using him up? I’m sorry, he called here looking for you; I didn’t have anything to do …”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I’m just tired. Forget it.” He called looking for me.

  “Let’s eat out,” Rita says. “All of us. My treat. Really, I wanted to take you all out at least one night. Let’s do it tonight.”

  “All right.” I come over to the table, sit down. “Rita? You didn’t try to seduce him, did you?”

  “Oh, Sam.” She leans over, starts tugging at her boots. “Jesus.”

  “Well, remember you were saying how powerful it would make you feel? How you wanted to—”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “So, tell me the truth, now. Did you try?”

  She stares off to the side, considering. “Well, no. I mean, I didn’t really try.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I just … I asked him if he wanted to do it.”

  Cartoonlike, my mouth falls open. I knew it.

  “But I wasn’t really serious!”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “Well … no! I mean, if he’d said yes, I—”

  “What? What would you have done?”

  “Well, I don’t know! I mean, maybe I would have done it.”

  I sit back in my chair, stunned. “What about Lawrence?”

  “Oh, Sam. We’ve been married a long time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, fifteen years. That’s a long time, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t mean how many years!” I say. “I mean … well, what do you mean? You’re married for a long time, so it’s okay to have affairs?”

  “This wouldn’t be an affair, Sam! It would be … you know, a friendly gesture, that’s all! A public service. Well, a private service.”

  “What about … disease?” This is not what I mean. Not at all.

  “He’s all but a virgin, Sam.”

  “And God knows you’re not.”

  A beat. And then Rita says, “I’ll just let that go, Sam. I think you know me well enough to know … Look. He didn’t want to. And anyway, you’re not interested in him that way! Are you?”

  “No! I told you!”

  “Yeah,” Rita says slowly. “That’s what you said.” And then, as Travis comes in the door, home from school, “Hey, buddy. Where would you like to go out for dinner?”

  “A place not fancy!” Travis says.

  “My man,” Rita answers.

  At the airport, Rita hugs me so hard it hurts. “I’m sorry,” she says. “This was not a good visit. I’m a bad person.”

  “You’re not a bad person. You’re just pathologically honest. Most of the time I like it. But it’s still a tense time for me. You know. I’m still sort of nuts. I miss David, I hate David … I guess I take it out on everyone.”

  “Do you really want him back?”

  “I’m supposed to say no, right?”

  “You’re supposed to say the truth.”

  “Well … I don’t know. In some ways, my life is better now. But David … Oh, I know you hated him. But I still feel so attracted to him. Or attached. Or something.”

  Rita looks at her watch, picks up her briefcase. “I know. I understand.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Look, I think you’re doing fine. I like
your life now. It seems … truer. More honest. I like your roommate, I like your friends.”

  “King, you mean.”

  “Yeah, King. And I wouldn’t really have—”

  “I know.”

  “Did I tell you his pants fell down at the skating rink?”

  “What! No, you didn’t tell me that!”

  “Well, probably because it was so … you know, when I came home. But yeah, his pants fell down! Right in the middle of the rink!”

  “You probably pulled them down,” I say.

  “No, come on, it was just … spontaneous! It wasn’t too bad, because his coat was long enough to, you know, mostly cover him. And he yanked them back up again really fast. I fell down again, I was laughing so hard.”

  “Was he embarrassed?”

  “I guess a little. But I don’t think too many people saw. His pants were just too big. He’s losing weight, you know. Over twenty pounds, so far.”

  “Yeah, I thought so.” His face looked a little different, last time I saw him, especially around the eyes.

  The final boarding call for Rita’s flight is announced. “I’ll call you,” she says, walking toward the Jetway. “All the time.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m glad I came.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I’m wearing my new shirt tomorrow,” she calls. “You wear yours.”

  “Okay.” We’d bought matching blue flannel shirts. An old tradition: each time one of us visits the other, we buy something alike. I wonder what we’ll buy in our eighties. I can see us standing together in some department-store aisle, holding up flannel nighties for each other’s shaky inspection. Probably asking each other if the gowns make us look fat.