Night Swimming (14 page)

She would silently mouth the words through each scene and always cry at the end.
Don’t get on the plane, Ingrid, DON’T GET ON THE PLANE!

Most of the movies she went to were retro. Old-time black-and-white movies or big extravaganzas like
Gone With the Wind.
She knew so much about what went on behind the scenes while making the movie, and about the actors themselves, she couldn’t help but feel involved, a part of it. For instance, she knew Clark Gable didn’t want to play Rhett Butler and never made much of an effort to perfect a southern accent. Further, he didn’t like pictures where he had to put on a costume. But Blossom’s favorite fun fact about Gable was that Warner Brothers rejected him because of his big, floppy ears.

During the time Skip was gone, she spent every afternoon at the movies, testing her memory for trivia.
The Old Maid
was playing at a little theater in Sherman Oaks, and Blossom made a special trip out there to see Bette Davis. She felt an odd kinship with Davis. The star had been taunted mercilessly by Howard Hughes; he constantly referred to Davis as an ugly duckling. But she overcame those cruel and undermining insults by creating unforgettable characters. Where she lacked glamour and that certain feminine charisma, she created an on-screen persona that made her immortal. And Blossom knew that. While most saw Davis as the ultimate spinster, Blossom saw her as a survivor.
We could have been friends, Bette,
Blossom thought as she sat in the lonely dark.
We could have been good friends.

At long last Skip was back. Blossom sat under her usual tree, one eye on
People
magazine, the other surreptitiously following his shadow across the lawn.

“Hey, Blossom,” he said, looking wonderful and relaxed, as if he had just got in from paradise that morning.

“Hey, yourself.” Blossom was exuberant. “Where have you been?”

“Vegas, Sonoma, San Diego.”

“Wow. World traveler.”

“Had a couple of weeks coming to me. Jeannie and I spent some time together, and then I did some world traveling on my own... visiting friends.”

Jeannie?

“Was it great?” Blossom asked. But that’s not what she wanted to know at all. She wanted to know if he and Jeannie were back together.

“Yeah. It was nice. But all good things must come to an end. Back to work.”

She wished he felt differently. And still she was dying to ask him a million questions. But it was so damn inappropriate to grill him when he’d been back less than five minutes. Perhaps she could plan another lunch. Information was more easily given up over champagne.

“Oh, by the way, Blossom, I haven’t forgotten about your picture. But you’ve probably found someone else to help you with it by now.”

“No, not at all. I forgot about it myself.” Yeah, sure, and there’s central air-conditioning in hell.

“How’s Wednesday for you?”

“Wednesday’s perfect.”

“Great. Enjoy the afternoon, then.” And she watched him walk away, thinking he looked like someone who could walk on water.

“How does that look?” Skip asked.

The picture was finally hung and Blossom stood back surveying its evenness.

“Perfect, Skip.” As was everything about him.

“Well that only took three weeks.” He laughed.

“Have you had lunch? I’ve got a ton of food here.” Blossom struggled to sound casual as she issued this offhanded invitation, as if she weren’t desperate for Skip to join her.

96 ROBIN SCHWARZ “Sure, why not?”

Joy.

She laid out the breads and cold cuts, condiments, and chardonnay.

Food had helped them slide into easy chatter once; maybe it would again.

“So how are you and Jeannie doing?” Blossom asked, fearful of the answer.

“Okay...You know...we had an interesting time together. The truth is, I love her so damn much, but sometimes I just don’t know if we can work this thing out. I’m trying, but she’s just not receptive to it. I think maybe I should just back off. Give her a chance to come looking for me. At least that’s what I hope she’ll do.”

“It’s funny how that works sometimes,” Blossom replied. While her own experience was limited, she understood human nature. Not always her own, but others’. Pain had given her the inside track on how that worked.

“People don’t want what they can have, but they’ll fall on their sword for something that’s out of reach, beyond them, the very thing they can’t have.”
And you’re looking at her!

“Yeah,” Skip said, as though she had come over to him and put a light on above his head. “Why is that?” “I’m not sure. Could be, she needs to walk away for a while just to look back and see just how good the thing is that she’s got.”

“Thanks, Blossom...Yeah, that’d be nice.” But Skip said it in such a low voice, she wondered if he believed it. “What about you, Blossom? You ever been in love?” He paused. “If you don’t mind my asking?”

Blossom was surprised by the question. She didn’t think he would ask her something that personal. She didn’t think he’d even be mildly interested. But she was glad. He was genuine about it, and it made her see his kindness.

“Yes, I was in love. Three times. The first was to a boy in high school; his name was T. J.”—her voice lowered—“short for Trevor James. The second time was to a man named Tom. We had gone out for about six months. That’s when my mother got sick. I ended up having to take care of her, and the relationship sort of fell apart.” She didn’t want to tell him about MaryAnn, about how he’d been snatched away from her like a beautiful brooch from a jewelry case when the saleswoman looks away. It was too long a story, and she didn’t want to think about that now. Talking about it would just put MaryAnn back in the room with her, and MaryAnn was one of the reasons she had been happy to leave Gorham.

“And the third time?” Skip asked.

Blossom took a second before answering. She looked at him with a longing that could bring rain to the desert. She couldn’t say “now”; she couldn’t say “you.” All she could do was stare and fumble for an alibi.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. He could see she felt awkward.

“I’d like to tell you,” she said, and she would have, with every molecule of her existence. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

“Yeah, some other time,” he said.

Blossom shifted, trying to find a position to put her at ease, but comfort would not come by simply shifting in her seat. It was the conversation that had to shift. Away from love.

“So . . .” Blossom began, “what do you do for fun around here?”

Lame, Blossom, lame, lame, lame.

Skip could see her struggle and wanted just as much to move on and away from the
L
word.

“Let’s see, fun,” he said forcedly. “Well there are a lot of sights to take in. I mean, Hollywood and all. Have you gotten a chance to see anything yet?”

“No, not really.”

“No? Haven’t seen the La Brea Tar Pits or Universal Studios?”

“No.”

“Really! How about the Farmers Market?”

“No, can’t say I have.”

“Well, you must have at least gone to Disneyland.”

“Nope, haven’t gotten around to that, either.”

“You haven’t gone to Disneyland? Blossom, I’m shocked! People come from all over the world, and you’re a stone’s throw from Anaheim. Jesus, I’ve been there at least fifteen, twenty times in my life. For crying out loud, it’s
Disneyland,
Blossom!”

It was as if she had forgotten to take a very important step during the rites of childhood.

Blossom could barely visualize herself on a roller coaster, her tonnage swaying back and forth in the sharp turns.

“Jesus, Blossom, I’ll take you there myself if I have to,” Skip offered.

His eyes were big and happy, as if he were revisiting his own childhood and remembering something really wonderful.

Was this possible? The handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on (Tom Selleck did not count, because she had never actually seen him in person) was offering to take her to Disneyland?

“No!” she protested, with about as much conviction as a lawyer refusing to take money for his services.

“Hell, yeah. Let’s do it! Let’s go. You’ll love it.”

And so, miraculously, Blossom had a date on Sunday to go to Disneyland and ride the roller coaster with Skip Loggins. It didn’t get any stranger or any better than this. Wasn’t it Marlene Dietrich who said she could watch Robert Redford filling out tax forms for hours on end? Yes, it was, and that’s exactly how she felt. Yet at the same time, an odd camaraderie was clearly forming, lopsided as it was. For the first time in Blossom’s life, what she was giving was not being refused, given back or pushed away.
This,
she thought,
is what empathy means; this is what friendship means. I’d almost forgotten.

CHAPTER 22

M
AKLEY WAS GETTING TIRED
of waiting for Kelly to arrange a meeting with his brother-in-law, so he decided to pay him a visit at the bank. He hoped it would serve as a sort of exclamation point to the fact that he didn’t want to be jerked around—and cared less who knew or thought they knew that Kelly was mixed up in something bad. The time for protecting Kelly’s tenuous reputation had passed.

All eyes were on Makley when he entered the bank and passed desk after desk filled with the redundant knickknacks of life in Gorham. Baby pictures taken at Sears, all with the same blue velvet backgrounds, candy dishes, a box made out of Popsicle sticks someone’s granddaughter had created in art class.

A hush fell over the room. Tellers stopped their transactions, and customers turned and stared. Kelly saw Makley through the glass window that separated his office from everyone else. He closed the door quickly after Makley had gone in.

“Jesus, Makley, why’d ya have to come down here? It makes things look bad!”

“Look bad for who, Kelly?” Makley asked, eyes wide.

“Who? Me! Rumors are flying about that money. You know that. People think I had something to do with it. And then you walk in here! Jesus, Makley. Tact, where the hell’s your tact?” “Where the hell’s my meeting you were supposed to set up with your brother-in-law?” “I’m working on it. He’s busy. In fact, I think he’s even out of town.”

“One way to find out. Give me his number, Kelly.”

“What?” Kelly gasped, as if Makley were asking Kelly’s wife for the number of his mistress.

“Give me the number of your brother-in-law, Kelly or I’ll get a summons for it.”

“Jesus, Makley, cut me some slack here. Do you know how much pressure I’m under? Believe me, I’m not particularly high on my brother-in-law’s list right now. He just had two million bucks stolen under my watch. I mean, he’s not even returning my calls right now. Frankly, I think the guy wants to see me dead.”

“Only him?” Makley laughed.

“Yeah, very funny. Please, Makley, give me a couple of more days. If I can’t get anywhere, the number is yours.”

“What do you have to say to him that you don’t want me to know?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just feel responsible for this mess, like I stole his money. Let me cool him down. The cash is on the up-and-up. I’m just in the shit house right now. And I haven’t even begun to tell you what my relationship has become with my sister. She’s not taking my calls, either. I’m begging you, Makley. Two days. That’s all I need: two days.”

“Two days. But that’s it, Kelly.
Comprende?
”

“Yes, thanks, two days. Oh, and Makley, if you don’t mind, let me come by your office. This little meeting, well, it doesn’t look good, and now new rumors are gonna fly.”

Makley stood up. “Two days, Kelly, or I’ll move my desk into this bank.”

CHAPTER 23

B
LOSSOM BEGAN PUTTING
miles of water behind her, and imperceptibly the fat began to burn off. She had lost twenty-five pounds, but Skip didn’t seem to notice as he stepped aside and let her slide into the silver boxcar. It sped them into the pitch dark. There were screams, laughter, and pleas rising out of the blackness. Other than in the pool, Blossom had never felt so light. She felt she could reach out and catch stars in the palm of her hand. Whole universes fell behind her. She was a meteor shooting past new moons and Milky Ways toward heaven. She was falling like a star into life. And like a star that burns its brightest before going out, so was Blossom. She was heading fast and furiously somewhere to be happy, if only for a minute, before she died.

“Like it?” The ride was over. Blossom’s cheeks were flushed.

“Like it? I loved it.”

Skip was pleased. “I knew it. I knew you would. Don’t ask me why; I just did.”

“What about the ride we passed on the way over?”

It was a flume; they would both be drenched before it was over.

“No,” Skip teased. He couldn’t believe Blossom had it in her.

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“Yes?”

“Yes!!!”

And they were off, cascading into the resurgent back splashes of cool, undulating whirlpools. From one end of the park to the other, Blossom and Skip, two unlikely comrades, moved with one mission: to have fun. And they did. It was late when they finally arrived back at Blossom’s apartment. Skip walked her to the door.

“Wanna come in?” Blossom asked. There had been nothing awkward about it at first, but just the fact that Skip was saying good night at the door made him suddenly feel a little uncomfortable.

“No, I gotta get. Hey, it was fun, Blossom,” he said, turning on his heels. “Thanks.”

“No, thank you, Skip. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“I’ll be there, lurking in the bushes.”

She laughed and closed the door. But she was far from sleep when she looked into the mirrors surrounding her foyer. She was utterly happy and had completely forgotten that she was dying, had forgotten that she was fat, had forgotten that she still had that ridiculous Mickey Mouse hat on her head. She stood there laughing, thinking,
Yes, life is good....I think I’ll have some more.

It was Saturday, and Skip would not be at the pool. Weekends were eternal for Blossom. She dreaded Fridays with an anxiety that began as early as Wednesday night and settled into an awful countdown by Thursday morning. All she could do was wait for Monday, when she would at long last see him again. She never stopped picturing him, remembering the different clothes he’d worn to work, what time he got there, what time he left. She contemplated his body as if it were a cure. She obsessed about his cerulean blue eyes. Eyes that were so effortlessly blue, you might find such color on a rare plate...or out at sea.