Part 4 (1/2)
Sitting there, I sketched them again and again. We talked, they held hands, Saul told stories about life in London and the company he worked for there. Although the four of us got together for family reunions once or twice a year, this was totally different. We were all breathing relief, love, and apprehension as one. It warmed the emotional temperature of that room fifty degrees. Mom had almost left us forever, I'd had kidney stones, my father had turned over familial power to us and spoken of marriage, family, and lifetime love as things that killed a person in the end. Perhaps he was right to whisper. Perhaps we all should have.
In my mother's room one afternoon while she slept, I remembered the drawing Lincoln had sent of the man with the flower in his neck. A rose in the throat. Wasn't that what was happening here? Choking on life's good things if they went down the wrong tube, the wrong way? Roses are meant to be seen and smelled, not swallowed. My father's love for Mother turned instantly lethal when he thought she was dying. This way, not that. It made such sense. But what did the Aarons mean in saying it? It was ten in the morning in L.A. There was a telephone in the room but I chose to use the public one out in the hall.
”h.e.l.lo?”
”Lily? This is Max Fischer.”
”Max! I've been waiting for you to call! How are you? How's your mom?”
”Okay. She was in a coma but she's out now and they think she'll be all right. Listen, apropos of nothing, I wanted to ask you something. Remember that drawing Lincoln sent me? The one of the man with the flower in his throat?”
”The rose. Sure I rememberI told him to draw it! Exactly to my specifications.”
”Okay, but what does it mean?”
I could literally feel her smile through the telephone.
”Guess.”
”Excuse me?”
”You have to guess.”
”I've been guessing since I got it, but the only thing I could come up with was depressing.”
”No, it's not depressing! That I guarantee you. You know how sometimes you're sitting somewhere and, very faintly, you hear music coming from the next room? You sit forward and c.o.c.k yourears, trying to make out what it is? After a while you do , and you sit back like 'Okay, life can now continue.' That was me, Max. I figured out what music you are to me: you're a rose in my throat. Don't you love mixed metaphors?”
”But it's good?”
”Yes, definitely good. When are you coming back?”
I looked at the door to my mother's room and felt a slap of guilt. Now that she was better I wanted to leave and go back to my life, back to what might happen with Lily Aaron. ”Soon, I hope. As soon as they say she'll definitely be all right.”
”Let's go bicycle riding when you're here. The three of us.”
”Great.” I made a mental note to buy a bike the moment I set foot back in Los Angeles.
”Know what I've wanted to do for years? Ride a bicycle around Europe. Not with a backpack or anything. You have a car and you stay in hotels, eat good meals... but you have bikes too on top of the car and when you stop in a city or in the mountains, you only ride around or walk. No sightseeing from the car. Can you imagine how beautiful it would be to ride around the Alps?”
”Or Paris? That'd be a dream. Can I come?”
”I don't know. Come home and we'll check you out. Like a job interviewsee if you're made of the right stuff.”
Before he returned to London, Saul and I had dinner together. Although we have little in common, my brother and I get along very well. He loves business, women, traveling. When he's not working on a giant deal, he's either in bed with a beauty or getting on a plane to some exotic place. Our parents know only that he's successful and sends postcards or bizarre presents from the ends of the earth. His wife, Denise, is a stupid woman who used to be very beautiful before her stupidity and meanspiritedness wore the beauty away. They have no children and she's quite content to live well, spend money, and have an occasional affair when her selfconfidence slips. Saul told me all this but says he doesn't care.
When my brother and I chat it's always comfortable because we like each other but wouldn't for the world wish ourselves in the other's shoes.
”What does this Lily look like?”
”Short, long dark fluffy hair. She looks sort of French.”
”What's the last name again?”
”Aaron.”
”Is she a Jew?”
”I don't know.”
”And she's got a son?”
”Yes, he's nice.”
”Are you sure you want to get involved with a woman who has a kid just entering p.u.b.erty? Do you know how to skateboard? Are you ready for Little League?”
”Saul, my brother, f.u.c.k you. How many women have you been with who had children?”
”Different, very different. You're single. They always knew I was married. They were given that info before anything ever happened, bucko. I never gave any kid a chance to think of me as Papa. But 'cause you're single, the tighter you get with his mom, the more the boy will see you that way. Believe me.”
”That may not be so bad either. Instant family. No diapers or teething. He'll probably even like the same videos I do. Didn't you ever want kids? I'm sure Denise wouldn't, but I could see you jiggling a nice little one on your knee.”
”I could too, kind of, but then the idea of spending half a lifetime parenting exhausts me. Anyway, Denise would like kids if the only thing they did was serve the drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Other than that, she envisions children as little monsters who'd make her b.r.e.a.s.t.s sag and put runs in her silk stockings.”
”Do you ever think of divorcing?”
”Seventeen times a day I think of it, Max. But know what stops me? This is going to sound funny coming from me, but we have a life together. That counts for something. I mean yeah, I have a million girlfriends and she's had her share too. Plus she drives me crazy, and I'm not at home enough to makeher feel like she's got a fulltime husband. But despite that, there is this life we've made together. We like to poke around in the Burlington Arcade, and go to Tottenham soccer games. Denise loves soccer.
She's still the best lover I've ever had and... I don't know, man. Put all the good together and it counts for something. She can be dubious, but she's my wife and my history. She's the only one who knew what it was like 'way back when.' That means something.” He talked on and I loved him very much both for what he said and for what he implied. Marriage, even in the most difficult ”climate,” can be as st.u.r.dy and sometimes as beautiful as cactus. Because now and then it surprises you without warning by blossoming into the most delicate, vibrantcolored flowers. ”Who cares when a rose blooms, you know?
A rose you expect to do what it does. But when a cactus flowers and it's gorgeous...
”Listen to what happened the other night. I was getting into bed and on my pillow was a slip of paper. It said 'sweet red splendid kissing mouth' in Denise's handwriting. So I called out to her, 'Hey, Den, this is really nice. Did you make it up?' 'No, Swinburne.' 'Swinburne ? You mean the poet?
When'd you start reading poetry?' 'I didn't.i.t was inside the wrapper of one of those Baci candies. Isn't it sweet?' Christ, Max, did I love her more for writing it out and putting it on my pillow, or admitting right off she'd gotten it from a f.u.c.king candy wrapper!”
A woman waiting alone in public has a determined, closeddoor look on her face. To men it says, ”Yes I'm waiting, but not for you, bub. Go away.” To women it gives them the onceover, as if daring them to say something. When a woman is waiting for me I like to watch a moment, unseen, before making contact. Pretend I'm seeing her again for the first time with no prejudice or desire in my thoughts.
Lily was already through the gate, sitting in a blue plastic chair and giving ”the look” when I arrived.
Luckily I'd called Air France to make sure of the flight time and heard her plane would be arriving forty minutes ahead of schedule. A mad dash in the car down from St.PauldeVence and no traffic had made me only a little late. Little enough to take one good look before saying h.e.l.lo.
Her hair was shorter and curlier. Something else was different, but what? I was so glad to see her, so flatout grateful she'd gone along with my crazy, onechanceinamillion idea: Call a woman you hardly know. Ask her to drop her life for a week and fly to the South of France with the ticket you offer. If she wants to bring her son that's fine, but you'd prefer her alone. There is, was , a long pause on the other end of the phone, which naturally I take to be the beginning of ”No.” Instead she asks only one question”Have you ever done this before with another woman?” And you know she is saying yes once you've said no, you never even thought of doing something so whimsical and hopefully romantic. Before she answers you know your whole life is about to change. G.o.d bless her.
Her lips were green. Her lips were green .
”Max! At last! What? What's wrong?”
”Lily, are you all right? Your lips are green!”
She gave a little ”Oh!” and brought a hand halfway to her mouth. Then the ”Oh!” turned into a smile, then a big laugh. ”It's my stupid lipstick! That happened once before. It's this special stuff which when you put it on is green, then turns the red which most suits you. But that's right, the last time I put it on and it stayed green, I was nervous too. Oh, Max, isn't that dramatic? I fly all the way to Europe to show you nervous green lips.”