Part 10 (1/2)
I'm glad we're in the park, walking on gra.s.s instead of pavement. In case one of us faints dead away from something the other says or asks, the injuries won't be too bad.
”Since when do you look through your mother's things?”
”I don't, usually. I had an impulse, and I followed it.”
”What kind of impulse?”
”An impulse to know the truth.”
”Jake. I just had one of those impulses myself.”
”What about?”
”Well, your essay.”
He rolls his eyes. ”Are we still talking about my essay?”
”Just one thing about it. The bit where you said the right college was to the process what the o.r.g.a.s.m is to the s.e.x act.”
”Did you like that line?”
”Very much, but I couldn't help wondering.”
”Wondering what?”
”Wondering how you were able to write such a line with such...authority.”
”You trying to ask me if I've been laid, Dad?”
”Yes, I...yes. That would sum it up nicely, in fact.”
Our strides are just about identical as we plow westward, ever westward. Two joggers go panting past us, and the air is ripe with the lingering smell of hot dogs and pretzels, a smell that blends beautifully with the woodsy odors of nature that come alive in the park at the day's end.
Our feet are all but silent on the gra.s.s. The only sound is the distant wail of an ambulance, a sound that is to my son what the cry of an owl is to children growing up in the country.
When the sound of the ambulance fades to a whine he says softly, almost to himself, ”I never slept with Sarah. But I had s.e.x with Maya.”
I'm about to press for details, but it seems that I'm supposed to know who Maya is. Suddenly it hits me, and I have to stop walking and put my hands on my knees to keep from falling.
”Maya the cleaning lady!”
”One and the same.”
”Holy G.o.d.”
”Take it easy, Father.”
”Holy s.h.i.+t!” s.h.i.+t!”
”Dad. Please.”
”You had s.e.x with Maya?” Maya?”
”Only once.”
Maya the cleaning lady was a Czechoslovakian immigrant Doris had hired to iron clothes, wash windows, and swab the decks. When Jake was a toddler she was probably nineteen, maybe twenty, a slender, square-faced, flat-bellied girl who dreamed of becoming a fas.h.i.+on designer. While she worked toward that dream she toiled cleaning houses, and one of the sweetest things about Maya was the way she treated Jake. She squeezed his cheeks and tickled his ribs whenever she saw him, and even gave him a little feather duster so he could feel useful, following her around.
”My little helper!” she'd exclaim while hoisting him in the air, and then she'd rub noses with him in a way that made Jake giggle and made Maya's honey-blond ponytail flick from side to side like a horse's tail. When I saw that I couldn't help wondering what it might be like to grab that ponytail and ride Maya from behind, but I wasn't stupid enough to try and jump the cleaning lady. She remained a sweet fantasy, right up until this day my son speaks of her as a bittersweet reality.
Not bittersweet, exactly, but there's something sadly matter-of-fact about his tone of voice. Jake isn't ashamed of himself, but he isn't proud of himself, either. He's just telling me what's what, and only because I asked. And I'm not quite through asking.
”When?”
”A couple of months ago.”
”Where?”
”In my room.”
This staggers me. ”In the middle of the day? What the h.e.l.l were you doing home?”
”Teachers' conference. No school that day.”
f.u.c.king private schools, using any excuse to close the place! ”Does your mother know?”
”Not unless Maya told her.”
I wonder what Doris would think about it. She's a liberal, but she might not be this liberal. And the idea of her son f.u.c.king a grown woman who hasn't been to college could put Doris into a coma.
”Did she make the first move?”
Jake sighs. ”Does it really matter, Dad? She'd just been dumped by her boyfriend. She was upset. I saw her crying, and I asked her what was wrong. We got to talking, and it just kind of...happened.”
”Just the once?”
”Uh-huh.”
”Was it awkward afterwards?”
”Not really. She put her clothes back on and waxed the kitchen floor. A true professional.”
”Did you use a condom?”
”Of course!”
”You had them?”
”She did.”
”Then it didn't just happen, happen, Jake. A cleaning lady doesn't carry condoms. It's not something she packs up with the Ajax and the Lemon Pledge. She Jake. A cleaning lady doesn't carry condoms. It's not something she packs up with the Ajax and the Lemon Pledge. She planned planned this thing.” this thing.”