WHEN RICK WAKES, HIS FIRST THOUGHT IS: AGAIN. DOWNSTAIRS,
Slavic voices growl at one another and the sour aroma of latex paint wafts up to him. They’re down there. What day is it? Before Rick can think about the clinic, he thinks, Rena. His cell phone rings.
It could be Laura. It could be Rena. Seven forty-five
AM
. Laura is not calling me. Don’t answer. But I want to. Rick clicks on his cell phone.
She speaks before he can say anything. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Fuzzy voice. Cough. Try again. “Good morning.”
“Were you sleeping?” Her voice is low, soothing.
“No. I was listening to the painters working downstairs.”
“What painters?”
“Bunch of Polish guys who are here to paint my house. Supposed to be finished weeks ago.” I’m lying in bed, talking to Rena, and I have to get to the clinic. And I don’t care.
“How’s Billy?”
“Not so good. They’re real bastards over there.”
“I’ll see what I can do to give it a push.”
“Thank you.” A pause. “Are you still in bed?”
“Yes. No. I just got up. I’m moving.”
“Does the house look nice? All freshly painted?”
“Terrific.”
“Can I see your house? I want to see your house.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea, Rena.” He thinks, come see my house, come see my bedroom, get in my bed with me and never leave. That’s what we both want.
“Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”
“Umm. It’s a residential neighborhood. Filled with residents, i.e., neighbors. They do neighborly things like watch one another’s houses and gossip.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Actually, it’s not. It’s protective.”
“You know what, Rick? You worry too much about what other people think. What other people think about what you’re thinking. Basically, you think too much.”
“It’s a bad habit of mine. I’m gonna join a twelve-step group. Thinkers Anonymous.” Did I get fucked up again last night?
“Don’t you ever do just what you feel?”
“No.” In the bathroom Rick tries to piss along the inside of the bowl so Rena won’t hear the gurgle over the phone.
“Never?”
“If I did whatever I felt like I’d get arrested.” He weighs himself. Fat. Right. Last night, pizza with extra cheese and seven hundred beers. I can’t shave and talk to her at the same time. Make coffee. He wanders downstairs, cell phone, lifeline, in hand.
“How do you know?”
“I know.” The painters ignore him. When Rick catches the eye of one, the man nods. Do these guys speak enough English to know I’m talking to my girlfriend? Rick finds himself in the kitchen. No milk.
“Are you in bed?”
“I’m getting ready for work. It’s this funny thing I do every day. Don’t ask me why.”
“Why?”
“Because my patients have this odd codependent relationship with me.”
“You sound weird.”
Rick feels himself getting hard. How does she do this to me? “I’m hungover.”
“You get wasted because you’re lonely.”
“That might be true. Wait. Yes. That’s true. Where are you, anyway?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
“In the bathtub. We were working late. Then we all went out. I just got in now.”
“Wow.”
“How was the Cape?”
“Good. I took a bath up there. Bubble bath. You’re not the only one who knows how to bathe.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes, of course.” With you, actually.
“Well, that’s a good sign. You should do that more often. Take care of yourself.”
“Yeah.” Tell her what else you did in the bath, asshole.
Rena’s voice drops. “You should see me right now. I look pretty good. Little bits of suds floating around my nipples. Nice warm water all around my…you know…my thing. Oh, look! Time to shave my bikini line!”
“Rena.”
“What.”
“This isn’t fair.”
“How long will those Polish painters be there?”
“They leave at three.”
“I have an idea. Don’t go to work. Go back to bed. Doctors can call in sick, can’t they?”
“Easy for you to say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know. You’re a jet-setter. All you do is party.”
“Hey. Fuck you.” She hangs up.
Dreamy, Rick stands before the coffeemaker as the last drops of black liquid plop concentrically into the pot. We’re having spats now. Great. He finds the cell phone again but before he can dial the Cape the phone rings in his hand. He says, “I’m sorry.”
Silence.
“Rena?” And what if it isn’t? What’s if it’s Laura?
“Yeah?”
I can’t say it. I can’t tell her to go away. “Come by around four. I’ll make coffee.” The walls close in. So easy to say, to hit the first domino. And then what happens?
Just do it. Go in, make it a short day. See the people you have to see, move a few appointments around. Be back by three, beat the rush hour. Let go. Live. See what happens. Look at it this way: what would Dad do?
From the time he gets off the phone until he gets home at two thirty, the day’s life assembles itself in jump cuts. Rick’s consciousness barely touches down. He’s on his way back to the house before he realizes that he hasn’t checked in with Laura.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“How’s the sand and surf?”
“Rainy. The kids are stuck in the house. We’re cutting up construction paper. They’re making surprise cards to send to you.”
“Oh.”
“How’s the office?”
“Good. I actually, uh, knocked off early today. Some stuff I want to do around the house, so I thought I’d make a short day of it.”
“What stuff?”
“Well, the painters moved some things around. I want to clear up a bit.” She knows. How does she know?
“Oh. Cool. You deserve a short day. You’ve been working hard.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“Are you driving right now?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want you calling me when you’re driving. I’m gonna get off.”
“OK.”
“We can talk tonight.”
“OK. Have fun with the construction paper.”
“Thanks. Have fun with the painters.”
“Bye. Love you.”
“Love you.”
Back home, Rick bangs around the house like an eager kid, cleaning. Sorting. Throwing out the newspapers and OJ cartons and cereal boxes stacked by the back door. He takes a shower, dresses and sees that the painters are taking their sweet time wrapping up for the day. They lounge in the front yard, smoking and spitting flecks of tobacco on the Japanese yews. What are they blabbing about? Probably cussing out the dirty Jew they’re working for. When Rena shows up, I know what they’re gonna be talking about. If she shows up.
Quiet. Rick sneaks a peek out the front window and sees the workers’ gray commuter van finally arriving. A Lincoln Town Car passes the van and wheels into Rick’s driveway. Rick jumps back as if the windowpanes are on fire. He waits.
The doorbell rings. What am I doing? Why is this girl coming to my house? Don’t open the door. She doesn’t know you’re here. You’re not here, a madman is here. Wait. Don’t appear too anxious. Take your time. Smile. Open the door.
He opens the door and is overwhelmed. An angel stands before him, tall, perfect, her hair glossy and curling over her square shoulders. She waits a beat, letting him take her in, then says, “Hi.” This is what she does, makes an impression.
Looking past the girl in the doorway Rick sees the painters loading into the van. In the driveway next to the town car a dark-complexioned man stands gazing up at the maples as if trying to appraise their height.
“Come in.” Rena enters the house. She stands in the foyer, unsure. Rick closes the door, cutting off the view of the arbor-phile. “You have a driver.”
“Are you kidding? I never would have found this place. He’s Turkish. We don’t talk. I used to think it was fun to talk to drivers. Now I just say ‘get me there.’”
“Good. I mean, I’m glad you found the house. Come in, come in.” The world tips. Colors pour in and out of one another. Logic unlocks. Rick thinks, she’s in my home. Laura’s home. The door closes behind her and the deed is done. How could he ever explain her presence from this point onward?
Rick leads Rena back toward the kitchen. “We installed these bookcases after we moved in. Built the mudroom when the kids were little. The original owners installed wall-to-wall carpeting everywhere. Had to rip it all out. Sanded the floors, dust everywhere.”
“It’s a pretty big house.”
“We got it for a song. At the time we didn’t think so, but in hindsight, it’s amazing. Appraisal doubled. Actually, I wasn’t really into the place, but Laura saw the value right away.” Why am I explaining my life to this girl?
“Did Laura decorate it?”
“Uh yeah. Yeah. She did. Before we were married she was an interior decorator. Do you want something cold or coffee? Or…”
“It has good vibes.”
“Well, my kids were born here. I mean, they weren’t born in this house, but you know…” Rick opens the fridge and stares at the contents.
Rena steps up to Rick. “Hey, relax, it’s just me, Rena. Your pal.”
“Uh-huh. My pal.”
“What?” She touches his shoulder.
“I’m happy you could stop by.” My mouth is dry. If I kiss her she’ll think I’m disgusting. Besides, she doesn’t want to kiss me. She thinks we’re friends. Pals. That’s what we are. She just came by to visit her buddy the doctor.
“That’s what pals are for. To visit each other when they’re down.” Touch him. Keep touching him.
“Yes, that’s true.” I can’t breathe. What should I do? Nothing. Do nothing.
“Just me and you. We’ve never been alone before.”
“Can I say something here?” Rick removes a carton of OJ, shuts the fridge door and steps away from Rena.
“I love it when you talk.”
“First of all, I keep thinking you’re a kid and you’re not a kid. You’re a woman, a beautiful woman. Secondly, you know I like you. I mean, as a person and…this sounds idiotic, as a woman. It’s obvious. I’m not going to try to hide it. And, stop me if I’m hallucinating, but I think you like me. And I have to assume that part of the reason you like me is that you think you know me. But Rena, you don’t know me. You think because I’ve got a wife and kids and live in the suburbs that I’m a nice guy. But I’m not a nice guy. I’m not. And uh, wait, uh, see, lately, I’ve been trying very hard to be a good husband and a good father and, in short be a good guy…”
“A good guy who isn’t happy.”
“Wait. Wait. Let me finish. I don’t know if I’m happy or not. I don’t even think that’s the point. Happiness is, I don’t know what happiness is.”
Rena says, “Happiness is when you don’t want anything in your life to change. That’s what happiness is. Unhappiness is when you want everything to change.”
“Yeah.” This is the problem. She knows me. She’s not a bimbo. She’s smart. “But, let me finish, that’s true, but let me finish. I’m working hard at making my life work. It’s just the way it is. I mean, I’m twenty years older than you, different times of your life have a different rhythm…”
“But Rick, you’re always you. Deep down. Don’t you feel that? You know who you are, deep down. And you know who I am, deep down. And besides, why does life have to be such hard work? That’s depressing. I’m so sick of this therapy attitude to life, like we’re climbing some kind of mountain we’re never gonna get to the top of. I’ve worked hard enough.” Don’t be afraid of me.
“Yes, but listen, like I said. I like you. But I want to like you in a way that’s innocent. I don’t, how can I say this, I don’t want to make this…uh, friendship, into something physical. I guess that’s what I wanted to say. OK? I mean, I don’t mean to presume what your intentions are, but whatever, are you OK with that?”
“That’s what you want? Really want?”
“Well, I do. But I mean I’m trying not to think about it, us, in that other way.”
“But is that true, you don’t think about it that way?”
“Rena! Stop! Let me finish. I love spending time with you. More than anything. It’s crazy. But I do. Just standing here next to you is exhilarating for me. And uh, you know, just something as simple as holding your hand would probably drive me nuts. And that’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. That’s why it won’t happen.”
“Even though it’s what you want.”
“It’s wrong.”
Rena holds out her hand. “You can hold it if you want.”
Rick stares at her hand as if it’s a weapon pointed at his heart. A hand. That’s all it is. Touch it. Touch her hand. He reaches out and takes it in his. It’s warm and relief flows into him, like a drug. She carries his hand up to her cheek and caresses it. She says, “I like your hand.”
Rick steps forward and kisses her. He’s ten years old and jumping onto a sled on top of the highest hill in town. He’s flying downward with appalling speed toward an unknown destination, and he’s lost the ability to steer. Her lips are soft and her scent enveloping. She’s stronger than he expected. Farm girl. Cover girl. Everything surges. Just kissing her is more intense than sex.