A Perfect Life: A Novel (6 page)

“He won’t. He admitted on camera tonight that he has three wives, and I’m older than he is, by about ten years.”

“So? That didn’t seem to be slowing him down, neither your age nor his wives. Besides, I think they’re allowed three or four, or five.”

“Don’t worry, Charlie, I’ll be home tomorrow. And this was good
for him too. It gives him great PR in the States. It was a win-win for us both, and I got a diamond bracelet on top of it. I’d say Dubai was a success.”

“Just get your ass home. I’ll feel better when you’re back in New York.” She would too, but she had enjoyed it and was pleased it had gone well. As it often was in the life she led, interviewing fascinating subjects, it was more than just work. Sometimes it was magic, when it clicked. And it had. Perfectly.

She didn’t hear from Mohamed bin Sabur again before she left, and she left her thank you note to him at the front desk to be delivered to his hotel, and she caught her flight back to New York. She felt a little bit like Cinderella after the ball. But instead of losing a slipper, she had a beautiful Cartier bracelet on her wrist and smiled every time she looked at it on the way home. She arrived in New York after the fourteen-and-a-half-hour flight, and she was back in her apartment three days after she had left. And both interviews looked fantastic when she saw them at work the next day. All of her producers were thrilled. It had gone particularly well. And Charlie made sure he checked out the bracelet when he saw her and looked impressed.

“I’ll bet you hear from him when he’s in New York.”

“I doubt it. Saudi men just give very generous gifts. Believe me, it doesn’t mean a thing.”

“I gave my wife a Cuisinart for our tenth anniversary,” Charlie said, looking at her. “I didn’t give her a bracelet like that.” She laughed.

“That’s why I’m not married anymore. I’d rather buy my own
Cuisinart. You’re not supposed to give household appliances, Charlie, after ten years.”

“She likes to cook,” he said, looking miffed.

Blaise’s first day back went well, but the time differences caught up with her that night. She went to bed at eight o’clock and fell asleep in five minutes, and she was up at five the next morning, in time to see the sun rise, as she went over some research for interviews she was doing the following week. She was still thinking about going to California to cover the UCLA shooting, but the story seemed a little cold now. Pat Olden was still in a coma, and the doctors were no longer sure he’d come out of it, nor what his brain function would be if he did. It was tragic but not necessarily newsworthy anymore, it was just sad.

And as she sat in her kitchen reading the newspaper online at seven, she thought of visiting Salima at school. She had said she might, and she wanted to see her.

She had no plans for the weekend and she had the time. She looked at her watch and decided to do it. She was wide awake for the three-hour drive to Springfield, Massachusetts. She could be there by ten o’clock that morning, spend the day with Salima, and come home that night, which was what she usually did. There was a bed and breakfast near the school, where Blaise occasionally spent the night, but she preferred coming home to her own bed, and Salima didn’t mind. They packed so much talking and hugging into a day’s time that one day together seemed like enough to sustain both of them until Blaise came up again.

She showered and dressed, got her car keys out of her desk, and
called the garage to get her car ready. She only used it occasionally on weekends, and to go out to the Hamptons in the summer. Mostly she used it to visit Salima. She was smiling as she left the building. It was a beautiful sunny day, and it had been warm when she got back to New York the day before, in typical Indian summer fashion. She loved this time of year in New York. She could hardly wait to see her, and it was always a pretty trip. She was feeling happy all the way to the garage, and as she started her car, she noticed the diamond bangle on her wrist again from the handsome Saudi man she had met in Dubai. She remembered what they said about her then, that she led a perfect life. And for once, she had to agree. It really was.

The drive to Springfield was peaceful and beautiful, and by the time she took the turnoff, three hours after she’d left New York, she felt happy and relaxed. Coming here was like going on vacation. It was another world, far from the stresses of New York. And when she came to visit her, she focused on Salima and nothing else.

She saw the familiar landmarks on the road to Caldwell School, where Salima had spent the last eleven years, and she noticed a new house that had been built, and a church that had been restored. But essentially, nothing ever changed here. Most of the houses had been built a century before. And Blaise turned into the driveway with a sigh, anxious to see Salima. The students lived in cottages of three or four, with a monitor living with them, since they were younger than Salima. The seniors were in two-person cottages. And Salima had the only single small house on the grounds. Blaise had encouraged her to stay on after she graduated. She went to a community college nearby and was driven there every day. Salima came home for vacations, but Blaise felt it was a
better life for her here, and Salima agreed. She didn’t want to live in New York anymore. She wanted to stay in the quiet rural community that had been home to her for eleven years. Blaise was hoping she’d stay through college. She was a sophomore now, and the community college she attended was small. It wasn’t challenging enough for her, but it was easy for her to manage. She had considered going to Dartmouth, but didn’t want to live in the dorms. And going to a community college, she could stay at Caldwell. She liked having her own cottage here, and she was getting straight A’s at school, which looked good if she ever transferred. She had gotten great grades and was a diligent student at every age.

Blaise drove straight to Salima’s house, at the back of the property with beautiful trees all around it, that were all turning scarlet. In summer, everything was a lush green. And Blaise had made a contribution that had allowed them to build an Olympic-size swimming pool years before. Salima was an outstanding swimmer, and had been on the swimming team all through high school, although she couldn’t compete anymore now that she was in college. But she was greatly loved at the school where she had been for so long. The younger students looked up to her, and the teachers were very kind to her. Abby, the monitor who lived with her, had been assigned to Salima for five years, now they were best friends. Abby was thirty-six years old, but living in the protected environment of the womblike school, she still acted and looked like a young girl. She wore pigtails most of the time, and she adored Salima.

Blaise stopped her car in the little parking area nearby, and walked down the well-tended path to the cottage. She could hear
Salima’s voice when she reached the door. She was singing, and the door was open, as Blaise quietly walked in, and saw Salima with her back to her in the living room. She and Abby were laughing at something while Salima tried to sing and finally collapsed, laughing, on the couch. She still hadn’t heard anyone come in, and Blaise took three steps across the old beams of the floor in the front hall, and the moment she did, Salima’s head turned.

“Mom?” She knew her step anywhere, and always recognized it the moment Blaise walked in. “Mom!” she said then, sure of it, and dashed across the living room to the hall, as Blaise smiled widely at her and held out her arms, knowing Salima would be in them in seconds.

“I missed you too much. I had to come up today,” Blaise said, as Salima threw herself into her mother’s arms and nearly knocked her down, and then spun her around. Abby watched them with a warm smile, and Blaise waved at her with a free hand. Salima looked as beautiful as ever, with features identical to her mother’s, down to the cleft chin. The only difference was her dark brown hair, which she wore long. She turned her face toward her mother’s, and felt her face. She felt the tears Blaise always shed when she first saw her. “You’re crying! Have I gotten uglier since last time?” Salima teased.

“Totally. It makes me cry just looking at you,” Blaise said with a smile.

“Then I’m glad I don’t have to see it,” Salima said, joking with her, as they walked into the living room together, with Blaise’s arm around her waist as Salima leaned close to her, and then flopped
down on the couch. She knew exactly where things were. Everything in the cottage was familiar to her, and she had no trouble getting around. She was blind.

She had been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when she was three years old, which had been the heartbreak of Blaise’s life. Her perfect baby had a severe case of juvenile diabetes, which could only be treated with insulin. And at first Salima had cried at every shot, and prick of her finger to check her insulin levels. They had eventually gotten her a pump, but she still had to be closely monitored. The pump kept her insulin levels at safe ranges for her, delivering the insulin over twenty-four hours through a catheter under the skin. And they clipped the pump itself to the waistband of her skirt or jeans. It had always worked well for her.

Her eyes had been affected by the time she was six, which they had been told was unusually early. She was too young to lose her sight, the doctors had assured Harry and Blaise. When she was seven, she could still see partially, when her retinas detached, and by eight she was fully blind. They had tried to keep her at home, but Harry lived in Los Angeles, and Blaise traveled all the time. She didn’t trust the caretakers they had with her, she was never sure they were monitoring her properly. And Blaise had had to face the decision of giving up her career to take care of Salima full time, or place her in a school for the blind where they were better equipped to supervise her, monitor her medically, and keep her safe. Her diabetes had to be carefully managed. There was a full medical staff at her school. And they had decided to try it for six months. Salima had loved it from the moment she got there and felt at home with other children like her. She didn’t feel different anymore, she had
friends to play with all the time, and Blaise could relax, knowing that she was impeccably cared for.

Blaise had continued working, and at the end of six months, it was clear that Caldwell was better for Salima, so much so that eleven years later, she had made the decision to stay on after graduation. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else anymore. Sometimes Blaise felt guilty knowing what a secluded life she led, and wondering if she needed more, but Salima was so happy here that Blaise didn’t have the heart to bring her back to live in New York, with all the risks it presented for her. And Abby wouldn’t have come with her. She had a mother who had been in poor health for years, and she wanted to stay nearby. So Salima had stayed on, and Abby went to the community college with her every day. Blaise had given her a car, and Salima was free to come and go. She had resident status now, and was no longer subject to all the rules that applied to the younger children there. And most of the teachers were her friends, but Abby was more like an older sister to her, or a mother. Thinking that always hurt Blaise a little, but Abby was so much better for her, and did everything Salima needed, at all times. Blaise knew only too well that she couldn’t have done it, even if she didn’t work. The responsibility of handling Salima’s illness on her own had always made her anxious and frightened her.

“So what have you two been up to?” Blaise asked, as she sprawled on the couch next to her daughter. The two young women were like Siamese twins, always together, inseparable at all times.

“I was trying to teach Abby to sing scales.” Salima laughed at her. Abby was plain looking but had a sweet face and was wearing jeans and a white fisherman sweater Blaise had brought her back
from Ireland. And Salima was wearing the designer jeans and a pink sweater her mother had recently sent her. They both looked like kids, far younger than either of them were. Salima looked about fifteen, and Abby scarcely older. “She’s hopeless,” Salima added about her caretaker’s singing skills. “She can’t carry a tune to save her life. She can’t even sing scales. I played some of the music for her that we’ve been studying at school, Renaissance music, and she hates it.” Salima had sung in the school choir all through high school. And in a local church choir on Sunday.

“That music is so depressing,” Abby said with a wry smile, looking apologetic.

“I think so too,” Blaise admitted. “Can’t you study something more cheerful? Christmas carols maybe? Then we could all sing along, or at least I could. I don’t know where your musical gift came from, but it sure isn’t from me,” Blaise said with a grin.

“I’m going to take Gregorian chants next semester,” she said, enjoying torturing both of them. She had been gifted with an exquisite voice. And she leaped at every chance to sing. She had the best voice in the entire school, and the purest. She could hit the high notes every time.

“I’m moving out if you start chanting,” Abby threatened, trying to sound menacing, but convinced no one.

“No, you won’t. I’m the only one who knows how to braid your hair. You’ll look a mess if you move out,” Salima warned, and they all laughed. Salima managed extremely well, especially on familiar turf. And she knew every inch of Caldwell and the grounds like the back of her hand. She was even able to get from one building to another sometimes without Abby, although Abby usually went with
her. Salima particularly hated using a white cane and wouldn’t use one. She just relied on Abby. And she had refused to have a seeing-eye dog ever since she’d gone blind. She hated dogs and didn’t want one. Abby met all her needs to perfection. And in the cottage, Salima almost appeared sighted, she knew the placement of everything so well.

“Do you want to go out for brunch?” Blaise offered, but Salima usually didn’t. She was happiest on the familiar school grounds, except for her classes at college, where she had no choice. It was why she had decided not to go to Dartmouth, despite her excellent grades. She thought it would be too hard to get around, and Abby couldn’t go with her. And Salima couldn’t manage without her. She was totally dependent on her, which was both good and bad. Blaise was well aware that if Abby ever left for any reason, Salima would be lost without her.