Night Swimming (22 page)

Jesus, Skip, just say it already. You and she are back together. It was a wonderful night. You never expected it. You’re so sorry that you couldn’t even manage to call me, but the evening just slipped away.

“So anyway, we got to talking, and she asked me if I was happy. She asked how I was doing with the separation. I told her okay, but that I really missed her, missed being with her, waking up with her, going to sleep with her. She was quiet. I suddenly got the feeling that I had given her the wrong answer. My instinct was right,” Skip laughed wryly. Blossom looked on, surprised, unsure, waiting for him to continue. “She said she was sorry that was how I felt, because she had met someone. Someone she liked...a lot.”

“Oh, Skip...”

“I asked her if she was in love, and she didn’t say anything. So I asked her again and she said maybe.”

“Oh, Skip, I’m so sorry.” It was strange, but no part of Blossom felt happy. Her heart broke for him at that moment. She knew what it felt like to be told no, to be told it would not work out, to be told by the person you needed and loved that they didn’t feel the same way about you. She remembered when Tom Barzini told her the very same thing. And, of course, when she told T. J., even though it had been a god-awful, irretrievable lie in that case.

“So I asked her if it was over, if our marriage was completely over now, and she said she didn’t know. She said she needed more time to see where her feelings were taking her, and she didn’t want to say anything absolute yet, but that she thought it was important that I know. She didn’t want to keep secrets from me. We never did that with each other, and she didn’t want to start now.”

“Oh, Skip, it must have been a nightmare for you.”

“It was, Blossom. We ended up talking until three in the morning. We cried; we held each other. I had this awful feeling that it was the end. I’m sorry that I didn’t call. I know you must have gone to a lot of trouble.”

“No, don’t worry. There are always opportunities to have dinner.” She paused before continuing. “Maybe it’s not over, Skip. Maybe this is just something she has to do before coming full circle.”
Is this me? God, I sound so magnanimous. More normal than I ever have, even to myself.

“Part of me would like to think so, Blossom, but there was something about it that just didn’t have that feeling. And if we did get back together, could I ever really trust that Jeannie would not want to split again? I’m feeling so many different things, I don’t know what I really think. I do know if she called me up right now and said she’d made a mistake and wanted to work on it, I would be there in a heartbeat. I do know that.”

“Maybe she will.”

“She won’t. You know, I’ve tried to break down in my own head what it is I love about Jeannie. She’s completely rejected me, yet I still love her.”

“Sometimes you’re even more attracted to what you can’t have. It’s human nature.”
Ain’t that the truth.

“Yeah, that’s true. But there’s something else. Something I can’t put my finger on. When we got married, it was so wonderful. It seemed there were no major difficulties to overcome.”

“This is your first bump in the road?”

“Yeah. And it hurts me to think she can’t stick it out with me. When I was a lawyer, even an unhappy lawyer, she could hang in there. Now that I’m doing this pool thing, faraway is not faraway enough for her.”

Blossom didn’t know what to say, but fortunately, she didn’t have to. Skip wasn’t finished.

“And the thing that has me somewhat baffled is, what does that say about me, that I could be in love with someone who’s that superficial?”

Blossom understood Skip and could see why he had believed Jeannie was without flaws. At first sight of Jeannie, Blossom thought the same thing. But when Skip found flaws, flaws that were so glaring they blinded him, it made him feel he was incapable of making good judgments.

“Well, this is yet another reason to work at the pool. It’s not just the job thing I need to figure out. I need to ask myself some serious questions. Who’d have ever thought a pool job would be this hard?” Skip laughed ruefully.

“You’ll get there, Skip.”

“Lord, I hope you’re right.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Blossom struggling to produce some solution for her friend. Dolly had been so good at it. What would she say if she were here?

She would be coming up with a hundred explanations of why things happen, and two hundred ways to make Skip feel better. She longed to call Dolly over and point to Skip and say, “Tell him, Dolly; tell him all the good stuff you always say to me. Tell him how marriage takes many turns, how some people just grow differently. Tell him that stepping off a moving train is scary at first, but the good news is that if somehow he can manage to jump off, then he can begin living again, because in making that leap of faith, he’ll arrive at a much better place than where he was when he began.”

So Blossom tried to say what Dolly would say.

“You know when a train is going very fast and you decide to jump off...”

Jesus, Blossom, you sound like you’re suggesting suicide!

“But it’s okay because you won’t get hurt in the fall.”

“What?” Skip asked, looking utterly perplexed.

“Oh, nothing. I’m trying to say something but it’s not coming out right. Oh, Skip, I want to say something to you, do something. What can I do?”

“Nothing, Blossom, there’s really nothing you can do.”

“Listen . . .” She reached down as far as she could. “Mrs. Fein-gold—Dolly—gave me tickets to a Tony Bennett concert for Saturday. Why don’t you take them? Take a friend and forget about everything for the night.”

“Oh, Blossom, that’s really nice of you. But I don’t know...my head isn’t really in a place... Can I tell you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s no big deal.”
Do this. It’s a good thing to do. Don’t make it about you. Let him take whoever he wants.

“Thanks.” Skip turned to go.

“Skip, one more thing . . .” Blossom reached for his present. It looked perfectly wrapped in beautiful gold paper embossed with muted blue flowers and tied with a silver string.

“Oh, Blossom,” Skip said. He looked embarrassed. “I wish you hadn’t.”

“It’s not much, really. Just a little something.”

“It doesn’t look that little to me.”

“It’s just a token, that’s all.”

“Why don’t I leave it here and open it some other time in front of you?”

“No, take it. Open it later—it’ll be a little diversion on a gloomy day.”

Skip left with the box and the tiniest smile, which made her feel good. It surprised her to realize she did not covet anything else from him. It also surprised her that she was willing to part with her Tony Bennett tickets.

Something was changing within her, like a fault line moving ever so subtly to align itself with the rest of the earth. She didn’t want anything, wasn’t receiving anything, and yet felt compensated, happy. What was this tiny truth she was experiencing? What strange reality? And then it came to her, just like that. It was, simply and solely,
acceptance.

CHAPTER 36

I
’M GONNA TAKE YOU UP
on those tickets, Blossom, if it’s still okay.” Blossom was excited. Seeing her favorite singer of all time with Skip—what could be better?

“Fantastic!”

“Yeah, I mentioned it to a friend of mine, and she was thrilled beyond belief. I had no idea what a fan she was. Apparently, he has a big following.”

Blossom’s heart sank. She had forgotten she had given him both tickets. Somehow, the way he had said it, she thought ...she thought...

“Oh, no, he has a very big following.” Her voice softened. “I’m quite a fan myself.”

“Did you want to keep them?”

“No, absolutely not. I can’t make it actually. I have a date.”

“You do? Good for you. Who’s the lucky guy?”

Oh shit.
“Bill...Bill Bailey.”
Bill Bailey? What am I, an idiot?

“Bill Bailey? Like the song?”

“Yeah, I know, he hates when people bring that up.”
A nervous, stupid idiot.

“Well, I won’t break into song when I meet him.”

Meet him?

“You sure you don’t want to keep these tickets for your date?”

“No, we’re going to Morton’s for a big Thanksgiving dinner. He has a lot of friends in show business. We’ll be eating with them. Hold on a second and let me get them for you.”

Blossom went into the bedroom to get the tickets.
Bill Bailey? Morton’s? A lot of friends in show business? Why didn’t I just tell him I was going out with Brad Pitt or Steven Spielberg or Elvis? Jesus, Blossom.
“Here they are,” she said, handing them over. She watched him pocket both tickets as if he were taking the only transport papers that could get her out of Casablanca.

“Thanks, Blossom. I’ll give you a full report. He’s the one that sings that song about leaving your heart in San Francisco, right?”

“Right.” That was all Skip knew about Tony Bennett? He’d won Tonys and Grammys; he was Frank Sinatra’s favorite singer, for God’s sake!

“Have a great time,” she said, passing over the keys to the kingdom.
I’m just gonna go inside and kill myself now.

Blossom sat there thinking about the tickets. She was truly happy to have done something nice for Skip. She was. But she wanted to see that concert, too. And then it came to her. Why couldn’t she go to the concert? There was no reason she couldn’t call up the box office and get a ticket for herself. After all, Bill Bailey wouldn’t be that upset that she wouldn’t be able to attend his Thanksgiving soiree at Morton’s. So she picked up the phone and called.

She made sure her seats were miles away from Skip’s. The Hollywood Bowl was way too big ever to bump into someone you knew. Perfect. Everyone would get to see Tony Bennett.

Blossom put on a chiffony black muumuu with a belt that gathered up most of the overly abundant fabric. It was her only muumuu that could pass for a fancy dress if she accessorized it. She finished the look with six strands of long, fat pearls. Her hair was up, her makeup on, her eyebrows growing in nicely. It was crowded at the Hollywood Bowl, just as she had suspected. Thousands of people poured in, mumbling, laughing.

She found her seat way up in the stands. Nosebleed seats. She didn’t care—she was lucky to have even gotten a ticket. Most people had purchased them weeks ago. She peered through her binoculars to assess the stage. Not too bad. She would be able to see him quite well when he came out. She held the program tight in her hands. Maybe she could even get his autograph later.

The lights went down, the audience hushed, and the announcer began:

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the man of the hour, the man you’ve been waiting for, the only man whose artistry and talent get better year after year, please help me welcome to the stage this evening, the one and only Tony Bennett!”

The crowd went wild. People stood up and cheered and clapped and yelled, and in a moment the elation was broken with “Come Fly with Me” and “I Wanna Be Around.” Blossom was ecstatic. She hadn’t felt this happy since... since forever. The music filled her up like chocolate. It was sweet and rich and satisfying, and how she wanted more. “It’s the Good Life,” “Day and Night,” “Two for the Road.” She held her binoculars tight to her eyes, afraid of missing a single note. The audience loved it to. She scanned it to see that hundreds had come with the same zeal she had. And then he sang “Smile,” and she smiled as she slowly drew the binoculars over the crowd, smiled, smiled, smil—and then she froze.

There was Skip. Third row, center. Who was he with? A woman? Yes. Who? She couldn’t quite see her. She was half turned, leaning forward. “
Smile though your heart is aching; smile, even though it’s breaking...
” She was blonde. Was his arm around her? Yes. Was it Jeannie? Tony Bennett kept on singing: “
. . . That’s the time you must keep on trying; smile; what’s the use of crying?
” It wasn’t Jeannie. It was someone else. Someone just as pretty. Someone who was not Blossom. “
...You’ll find life is still worthwhile, if you’ll just smile...
”

Oh, God. Don’t go there. Listen to the music. Love the music just as you did one minute ago. Look at the stage and listen to the beautiful music.
“If you just smile.”

But she couldn’t. She excused herself down a long row of annoyed people and hurried out of the Hollywood Bowl, all the while hearing Tony Bennett’s distant voice rise over the walls, singing, “
. . . If you just smile...
” She got in her car and drove home.

The pool lay in front of her like an interlude that separated deliverance from devastation. She eased herself in gratefully.

Back and forth, back and forth she swam, stretching out along the pool’s full length. The water felt so good washing over her as she left the last hours behind her in their wake. One arm over the other, she swam. Oxygen infused every pore, drenched every atom of her being. And with the unnumbered refrain of each round, she began to breathe again. Deep breaths. Cool, energizing breaths, as invigorating as an open window in winter.

How could she have left the concert? She had waited her whole life to see Tony Bennett. It was love that drove her to the concert; it was jealousy that drove her away. Jealousy. If she had stayed with that feeling of love, she would never have left; she would have remained and listened to the music, embracing the moment.

Skip was handsome and kind, and she was drawn to him with a powerful magnetism, with that XYZ of attraction, the hard-wiring of love.

But he shouldn’t be the only reason to feel alive... and suddenly, from the mute bottom waters, she found her smile; from the lipless dark that had swallowed her whole came an unexpected surge of hope. She was healing. She was letting go. And promise poured over her like a christening. It was all right. It was all right. And it was going to be all right.

CHAPTER 37

A
S THE POUNDS CAME OFF
, so did the awful weight of despair that Blossom had been carrying around with her for so long. Even her obsession with Skip began to fade like a dream that loses its detail by the afternoon. And this particular afternoon found Blossom sitting at an outdoor café on Rodeo Drive, enjoying a double espresso and reading L.A.’s second-most-read magazine, a publication that informed people with money about what to do in Los Angeles. She had vowed to expand her interests beyond the pool— beyond Skip—so here she was, at a chic café, trying to look as though she belonged there.