“We killed ’em” was the way he put it later, when we were down on the beach at an open-air café.
“Fuckin’ A,” I said. “Miss Ross can sing.” I’d had a few margaritas by then.
“We should do funerals more often.”
“We should do something more often.”
“Hey.”
“Oh, c’mon. We’re washed up, Neil. Aren’t we?”
To my horror, he didn’t even bother to deny it. He just shrugged and twitched a little and shook the ice in his glass.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Things could change,” he said. “The whole economy’s lousy.”
“Yeah, right. Want another one?”
He looked down at his empty glass. “Well…”
“Waitron!” I made an elaborate semaphore signal across the deck at the girl who’d been serving us, then turned back to Neil. “I owe you at least a round or two.”
“What for?”
“The journal, remember?”
“That was a present.”
“You said I could buy you a drink sometime.”
He smiled. “That was a figure of speech.”
“Well, I, for one, plan to get shitfaced.” I polished off the tangy remains of my margarita and plonked the glass down. “That’s another figure of speech.”
He chuckled, studying me for a moment, then looked up as the waitress arrived.
“The gentleman would like another gin and tonic,” I informed her grandly. “And I’ll have my usual.”
“Coming right up,” said the waitress.
“I think that should be my last,” Neil said after she’d gone.
“Why?”
“I have to drive, remember?”
I snorted. “You couldn’t kill anybody with that dinky thing if you tried.”
“Just the same.”
“You wanna hear my theory?”
“About what?”
“Us,” I said. “The business.”
“OK.” He wove those long mahogany fingers through each other and laid them on the table in front of me.
I could never have said it without the booze, but I did say it: “I think the problem is me.”
“Oh, shit.”
“No, hear me out…”
“Look, Cady, we did a record number of gigs after you came on with us.”
I told him I was aware of that.
“Then, why would…?”
“Just listen, OK?”
“I’m listening.”
“I think the clients liked me at first because…it was a novelty, and everybody wanted to see what it was like. But the novelty has worn off now, and they’re just left with sort of, you know, a creepy aftertaste.”
“For Christ’s sake.”
He looked so annoyed that I winced a little. “It’s just a theory,” I said.
“Were you conscious back there?”
“Back where?”
“The Gliddens’ house. Those people adored you, Cady. You let them look into your soul, and they worshiped you for it.”
As much as I enjoyed hearing this, I felt compelled to remind him that it had been, after all, a funeral, that the audience had been emotionally primed for the moment.
He wouldn’t buy it. “They weren’t primed for the old lady. They barely clapped for her at all.”
“Well, her teeth fell out, for God’s sake. She lost the momentum.”
He threw back his head and groaned in exasperation.
“Besides, I wouldn’t exactly call that…”
“One margarita and one G and T.” Out of nowhere, the waitress had returned with our drinks.
We both thanked her sheepishly and waited until she’d left before resuming.
“Did it ever occur to you,” said Neil, more softly this time, “that business just might be shitty, period? It’s a big world, Cady. Everything doesn’t have to be about you.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No.”
“Well, that sucks.”
He laughed wearily. “I hate to be the one to break it to you.”
“I need a drink,” I said, grinning at him over the salty rim.
The boat back to the mainland didn’t leave for several hours, so we paid for an extension on our golf cart and took it out for a spin. Neil seemed relatively sober, thank God, but I was feeling very little pain. We followed the coastal road past the original pottery works, long ago demolished, then hung a right at the water conversion plant and climbed into the hills. There wasn’t another vehicle in sight, so the road was all ours most of the way. It snaked along through spicy eucalyptus groves and huge forbidding clusters of prickly pears, affording random glimpses of the blue-green water below. A fine red dust danced in the slanting afternoon light, so that everything around us seemed rendered in sepia.
“I wonder if we’ll see buffalo,” said Neil.
I gave him a half-lidded look. “Sure thing, kemo sabe.”
“They have them, you know.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Not here, maybe, but they’ve got them.”
“Real ones, you mean? Wild?”
“Yep. They just keep multiplying.”
I asked him how they got there in the first place.
“Somebody brought a few of them over for a movie and forgot to take them home. Back in the twenties.”
“I didn’t know buffalo went to movies.”
I thought this was a brilliant witticism, but all Neil could manage was a tiny smirk. “They used to shoot Zane Grey westerns here.”
“Aha.” In my drunkenness I conjured up my own version of a Gary Larson cartoon—a retirement home for aging buffalo actors, where the inmates sit around reminiscing about the big stampede scene that brought them their only fame.
“He lived here, in fact.”
“Who?”
“Zane Grey. His house is a hotel now, sort of pueblo style. Across the harbor there.”
“No kidding.”
He swung the golf cart off the road and parked it.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Stretch my legs. Wanna get out?”
I told him I was fine right there.
He climbed out and shook the stiffness from his limbs, then he fished a cigarette from the pocket of his blazer and lit it, took a drag, surveyed the picture-perfect scene beneath us. I wasn’t used to seeing him so dressed up, I realized. He looked nice like that. One more thing to thank Janet for.
After a while, he came and stood next to the golf cart, still holding the cigarette and staring down at Avalon.
“You know what?” he said.
“What?”
“There’s no way I wanna get back on that boat.”
I had no earthly idea what he expected to hear from me, so I kept it as pleasantly neutral as possible. “It’s pretty nice here, all right. I’m surprised.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Who’d’ve thunk it?”
He took another drag. “We don’t have to, really.”
“Have to what?”
“Go back.” He shrugged, then looked at me directly, those amazing eyes probing mine. “What’s the rush, anyway? It’s not like we’re working. I bet we could get rooms at the Zane Grey.”
Rooms. Plural. I can’t remember when a single letter has mattered more to me.
“Yeah,” I said carefully, drawing out the word to cover my confusion, “we could, but…” I didn’t manage to finish the thought.
“But what?”
“I’m broke, Neil.”
He laughed it off. “Forget it. It’s on me.”
“You’re broke too.”
He shrugged. “That’s what credit cards are for.”
“Don’t you have to get back to Danny?”
“Nope. Linda’s got him. She’s picking him up at the neighbor’s right about now.”
“She’s gone back, then?” I don’t know why I had to know this, but I did. Linda had vanished complet
ely after thanking me for my performance and spending an agonizingly inaudible moment or two with Neil.
He nodded. “Took the plane. Right after the reception.” He smiled ruefully. “After she helped ’em clean up, I’m sure.”
Surprised by how relieved I was, I kept from betraying myself by changing the subject. “How much does that cost, anyway? The plane.”
He rolled his eyes. “More than we’ve got, believe me.”
Oh, how I wallowed in the sound of that we, the way he’d lumped us together so casually, so naturally, as a functioning unit—in distinct contrast to Linda. And now, separate rooms or not, we had a whole island to ourselves. A whole night, too, and another whole morning.
The Zane Grey was so high up on a ridge that it looked across at the carillon we’d heard on our way into the harbor. A small parking space next to the road was as close as we could get to the place without walking, so I waited in the golf cart while Neil climbed the stairs through the cactus garden to inquire about accommodations. He came bouncing back down less than five minutes later.
“Two singles,” he said, beaming, “next to each other, just off the swimming pool. With a view you won’t believe.”
“Great.”
“It’s a climb.”
“Yeah, I see.”
“Why don’t I carry you?”
I declined this time, because the operation struck me as a little too public and undignified, and because I didn’t want him to think of me as helpless. Also, I’d begun to pit out my funeral frock. “You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll meet you up there. They don’t sell T-shirts, by any chance?”
“I think they do. Why?”
I told him I needed a new gown.
He smiled. “What size?”
“Large.”
“Coming right up. Any preference as to design?”
I shook my head. “Long as it doesn’t say ‘Eat Shit’ or something.”
“Right.” He started up the stairs, two steps at a time.
“Wait,” I said. “What’s my room number?”
He thought for a moment, then said: “‘Western Stars.’”
“That’s the number?”
“They’re all named after Zane Grey novels.”
“Cute.”
“It’s the row just past the pool. You can’t miss it.”
I asked if he’d take my purse with him and leave my door open and turn the shower on, please, medium warm. He smiled and said, “Yes, ma’am,” took my purse and bounded up the steps out of sight.
It took me almost fifteen minutes to get up there. In the absence of railings, I negotiated most of it on my hands and knees, cursing the faceless housekeeper who’d neglected to sweep the grit off the tile. Just before I reached the top, a pair of bare male legs appeared in front of me, white and unrecognizable and definitely going down.
“Lovely day,” I said.
“Uh…yes. Can I…?”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Just pretend I’m not here.”
So the poor, confused thing stepped around me and left me to manage the rest on my own. There was a low rail, thank God, where the steps ended, so I hoisted myself to my feet again and caught my breath. I was standing on a small poolside terrace overlooking the harbor. The view was spectacular, all right; it looked as if this might be the highest point in town.
Somewhat to my relief, the pool area was completely deserted, if you ignored the pride of house cats skulking around the AstroTurf. There must’ve been a dozen, at least, of every age and coloration, and they seemed to regard me with overt suspicion as I set off in search of my room.
“Nice kitties,” I murmured. “Just passing through. Stay the fuck away.”
The sound of showers running led me to a motel-style row of rooms perched on the very edge of the drop-off. The first shower belonged to Neil, I decided, since the door was shut. The second one shushed invitingly behind an open door that was indeed marked “Western Stars.” The room was hardly bigger than its double bed, adorned with southwestern murals and a huge plastic cactus stuck in a pot of gravel. A blue-and-gray plastic electric fan droned away on the bedside table. On the bed, arranged neatly next to my purse, lay my new T-shirt—an ad, not surprisingly, for this very establishment.
I pushed the door shut and shucked off my dress with a sigh of relief, then made a beeline for the bathroom. Neil, bless his heart, had thought to take the soap and shampoo off their way-too-high ledge and leave them on the rim of the shower stall. It felt wonderfully rejuvenating to wash away the grime of the journey, not to mention the sweat of my various exertions, both physical and mental. I never feel fully at ease in a new place until I’ve had a nice hot shower.
I was toweling dry my hair in front of the electric fan when he rapped on my door. “Hang on,” I hollered. “Almost done.”
“No problem,” said Neil.
I pulled on the T-shirt—which was white, with just enough green to do something for my eyes—gave my bouncy, apricot-smelling ringlets a final fluff, and made a hasty effort at applying lipstick.
“OK,” I yelled. “Entrez.”
Neil was wearing a T-shirt just like mine, only red, and the same khaki pants he’d worn with his blazer. “All riight,” he crooned. “A new woman.”
“We try.” I did a little curtsy in the T-shirt. “Thanks for the smashing ensemble.”
“My pleasure.”
I stuffed my lipstick and compact mirror back into my purse. “I think I’m ready.”
“You want me to turn off the shower?”
“Oh, yeah, would you? Thanks.”
When he came back from the bathroom, he said: “I made dinner reservations for us.”
Us. For us.
“It’s down on the water, and they serve seafood,” he added. “That’s all I know. I hope it’s OK.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“The guy at the desk recommended it.”
I smiled at him slyly. “It’s probably run by his brother-in-law.”
“Yeah.” He looked distressed, suddenly. “If you’d rather wait and…”
“Hell, no. I’m just kidding. I could eat a horse right now. A buffalo.”
He laughed and led the way out the door. As we passed the swimming pool, with its battalion of cats, he said: “Have you noticed how empty this place is?”
“I have, yeah.”
“The season must be over.”
“Yeah, probably. I don’t mind a bit. I like having it all to ourselves.”
“Same here,” he said.
This time I let him carry me as we went down the stairs.
The restaurant was very nice. I’ve already forgotten its name, but it was weathered and shingled and strung with lights and built out over the water on stilts. The food was nothing grand, your basic deep-fried seafood with iceberg lettuce and baked potato, but it tasted heavenly in the salt air, especially after two or three drinks with little umbrellas in them.
“This is all right,” I told Neil, twirling one of the umbrellas as I gazed out at the moonlit sea. “I am one happy camper.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think we owe Janet one.”
I smiled a little, tickled that we thought so much alike, then plunged headlong into the only subject still eating at me. “Linda seemed to like the song.”
“She did,” he agreed.
“I mean, a lot.”
He shrugged. “It’s beautiful the way you do it.”
“Yeah, but it seemed like it had…you know, some significance. Just the way she reacted when I told her I was doing it.”
Another shrug. “I didn’t notice that.”
“You didn’t? I did.”
“Lots of people like that song.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
He looked completely confused. I decided maybe I had been barking up the wrong tree.
“She was much nicer than I’d expected, by the way.” I didn’t mean a word of this, but it was the only way I could think of to tes
t him.
“Oh, yeah?” he said, tossing the ball back to me.
“Well, she was awfully sweet to the Gliddens.”
“Janet was her friend,” he said, as if that took care of it. “They were in the same sorority or something.”
“Yeah, but she was so helpful.”
“That’s her,” he said grimly.
I asked him what was wrong with being helpful.
“Nothing. Unless it’s a substitute for ever showing any real feelings.”
I closed the little umbrella, opened it, closed it again and set it aside. I’d wanted him to be philosophical about Linda, a little blase even. This maelstrom of unresolved emotions just beneath the surface was bad news indeed, confirming my worst suspicions.
“She’s a cold fish,” he added.
I nodded.
“What are you getting at?” he asked.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“No, but you’re thinking something.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does. What?”
“OK…just that…you don’t seem to be over her yet.”
“Don’t I look over her?”
I told him I wasn’t sure what that looked like.
“Like this.” He framed his face with his big pink palms and mugged at me.
I smiled at him faintly, unconvinced.
“Why would you even think that?”
“Just the way you’re talking now,” I said. “Your bitterness. If you didn’t still feel something, you wouldn’t resent her so much.”
He was genuinely aghast. “I resent her,” he said with calm deliberation, “because she’s still in my life. We share a little boy, and she’s been one lousy influence on him.”
Some people, I reminded myself, have kids in the equation. Neil loved his kid more than anything, so it was only natural to resent Linda for forcing him to subdivide that love. It made perfect sense. Of course he was over her. I felt like jumping off the pier in celebration. With one of those tacky little umbrellas over my head.
“How,” I asked soberly, “is she a bad influence?”