Night Swimming (29 page)

Blossom was still changing, even as time was descending. It felt as if an apple press were squeezing out the last of its juices. She reveled in the reward, which was every last sweet drop life had to offer.

And she believed. While she was still here, life was limitless. She was believing in herself and, for the first time, witnessing the successes of that belief. Her own happiness. It was so simple. It stunned her. Dolly once told her we have everything we need to love inside ourselves. Why hadn’t she seen this sooner? Had it always been there? It seemed impossible that it could have been there the whole time. With all she’d gone through, how could happiness and love have been quietly waiting in the wings, waiting to be discovered? But every cell alive in her being was recalling the feeling so vividly that it must have been there all along.

All she needed to do was believe. Not with her eyes but with her heart. And there it was, as matter-of-fact as it was unexplainable: just the way people believe in something beyond themselves. A simple faith. Like... like when you’re in Wyoming and you swear that you can smell the ocean.

CHAPTER 48

T
WO NIGHTS LATER
Skip showed up at Blossom’s apartment around seven. She had mentioned she would put something together for dinner, but when he arrived, nothing was prepared.

“So listen,” she said in a conspiratorial tone, “I have a more interesting idea...I think.”

Skip sank into her plush couch and stretched his long legs out onto her coffee table. He looked good. You could see his strong muscles even under his khaki pants—this position pulled the fabric taut. All Blossom could think about were those fireman calendars back in Gorham that had raised so much money for the volunteer fire department.

Concentrate, Blossom, concentrate.

“So this is the thing, Skip. I made a list of all the things I want to do before I die.” Skip seemed taken aback by Blossom’s announcement, so she hurried on.

“And one of the things on my list is to sing a Tony Bennett song live and in person, like in front of a whole audience. Now generally, I would never dare to do anything like this. I would find a million excuses. I’d be too afraid, too self-conscious, etcetera, etcetera, and believe me, I am afraid and self-conscious; however, the thing is, what if I went through the rest of my life being this way? Well, then I’d never do anything. I’d just die without experiencing the best that life has to offer, and then, there I’d be, on my deathbed, looking up at the cracks in the ceiling and thinking, ‘Hell, I didn’t do anything I wanted. I didn’t sing that Tony Bennett song in public, and now it’s too late; now it’s over and now I can’t’...so I thought tonight we could go to a karaoke bar.”

Skip looked at her, wide-eyed and speechless.

“Well?” she said, as if she’d been waiting hours for a response.

“Why did you make this list?”

“Because there are things I want to do—like singing, for instance.”

“Carpe diem.”

“What?ª

“Seize the day.”

“Exactly. So what do you say?”

“I say absolutely.”

“Now, when we get there, don’t push me. I’ll have a drink...or two, to relax a little bit. Hum in my seat to get warmed up, maybe have another drink, hum some more, and then—”

Skip interrupted, “And then you’ll fall off your stool and I’ll carry you out as you sing ‘Show Me the Way to Go Home.’”

“No. Then I’ll see. Okay?”

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, smiling.

They arrived at Mr. Chokee’s karaoke bar on Eighteenth and Vine. It was seedy, both inside and out. The room was dark, and Blossom was grateful. She could hide in the shadows or, even better, face the wall when she sang. They took a seat at the bar, and Skip ordered a beer. Blossom ordered a martini.

“Nervous?”

“I am a little nervous, but now that you just asked me that, I’m much more nervous.”

“Sorry.”

“Can you see it in my eyes? Do I look like I’m meeting Hannibal Lecter for dinner?”

“A bit. Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. Once you get up there, you’ll...”

Blossom was staring at Skip with an expression that said, “Don’t push me.” He got it.

“Hey, that’s if you even go up. We can always come back. No pressure.”

The drinks came, and she relaxed back onto her stool, consuming her Stoli as if it were ginger ale.

“Can I see the karaoke book, please?”

The bartender handed it to her, and she flipped to the right section. Tony Bennett had several songs under his name. Good, she had some choices. Someone was already up at the microphone, bellowing out “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” It was a rather incongruous visual because the woman had to be in her seventies.

Oh, God, I hope I don’t come across like that.

Blossom stared at her as if she were witnessing dementia in its first stages.

On the other hand, she’s up there, isn’t she? She’s up there singing her heart out. Yes, she is.

“Can I have another?” Blossom asked the bartender, pointing to her glass.

“Blossom!”

“It’s okay, Skip. I don’t even feel it. I’m bulletproof tonight. I think that when the adrenaline is running this high, it’s hard for anything to penetrate the fear.”

“Yeah, but after you sing, you’ll collapse in a heap.”

“I just hope I can get to that point.”

“Why are you torturing yourself? Just because you put something on a list doesn’t mean you have to do it.”

“I hear you, but it’s bigger than that. It has to do with taking control of your fear instead of letting your fears take control of you. I know it all sounds like a self-help book, but I can’t tell you how long I’ve done that. And I’m just sick of it. You know that saying, ‘Sometimes you get the bear; sometimes the bear gets you’? Well, the bear always gets me, so tonight I wanna get the bear.”

Now someone else was up there, singing “YMCA,” arm gestures and all. Blossom was feeling better about her musical credibility as one shameless customer after another got up as if they were Aretha Franklin or, more torturous, Wayne Newton.

“These guys suck, Blossom. You have nothing to worry about. Jesus, even if you had strep throat you’d be better than this. Hell, I could sing better than this.”

Blossom thought she was better than these other fearless patrons, but still her nerves rattled like loose hangers in an empty closet. Performance anxiety.
Jack Benny had performance anxiety, too. He threw up every time he had to perform.
By her fourth martini her nerves were steadied.

“I’m ready,” she said, sliding off the stool.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.
No problema.
How do I look?”

“Like a torch singer. A pro. Move over, Barbra.”

Blossom straightened her blouse and made her way to the mike. She was thinking,
It ain’t over till the fat lady sings,
although the description was no longer apt.

“I’d like to sing ‘Fly Me to the Moon.’”

The young man cued the song.

“What’s your name?”

“Charlotte,” Blossom said by mistake, not even realizing it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome Charlotte to the stage tonight to sing ‘Fly Me to the Moon.’”

The intro played a few notes to ease her into the song, and then she began. Her voice rang out like pure water pouring over smooth white stones. It was light and lyrical and lovely. One by one, everyone turned toward her. Her phrasing was intimate and sure. It was as if she’d sung this song a thousand times before, and she may have, with all the times she’d sung it to herself. Even the bartender stood still, polishing a single glass and watching her.

In just three minutes she had transformed both herself and the people in the bar. And when she had finished, the room exploded with applause. They asked for more, but Blossom was grateful for her moment and anxious to get back to her seat. She had done it! She had honest-to-God done it! And she could do it again; of that she was sure. But most important, she had broken through that invisible wall of terror that surrounded her, and lived to tell the tale.

“You were great,” Skip said as he pulled the chair out for her. “Incredible. I didn’t know you could sing like that. You’re like a well-kept secret. You’re amazing.”

Blossom was blushing. “Thank you, Skip, thank you. I did it. I got up there and I did it.” Skip took her hands and squeezed them.

“You did, and you were spectacular.”

People were coming over and saying as much, too. Blossom beamed in her victory. It was like getting an A on a final exam.

“Well, I guess we can go now.”

“You don’t want to stay and sing another song?”

“No. Why ruin a perfect moment? Maybe some other night. I know I can do even better than I did tonight.”

They got up to leave.

“Blossom, I just have one question for you. When the guy asked your name, why did you say Charlotte?”

She couldn’t recall even saying it. She found herself scrambling for an answer.

“I didn’t want anyone to know who I was, just in case I was terrible. So I said Charlotte. Don’t you think I look like a Charlotte?” She was playing with fate.

“Truth is, I don’t think you look like Charlotte or even a Blossom, for that matter,” he said, studying her face.

“Really?” Blossom squirmed. While she had never quite felt like a Charlotte, she knew damn well she wasn’t a Blossom, either.

“Let me think about it,” said Skip. “There is a name that suits you, and I’m close to it, but it’s not quite formed yet. I’ll tell you when it’s all right there. But there is a name that belongs to you. And just you.”

Blossom wondered what that was. She wondered if Skip would truly one day remember this conversation and actually tell her the name that was uniquely hers.

“Don’t forget, will you, Skip?”

“Oh, I won’t. Don’t worry about that. All things have their time.”

CHAPTER 49

B
LOSSOM SAT AT THE POOL
, her eyes closed to the sun, when Skip cast a shadow over her face. She opened her eyes.

“So what else is on your list?” he asked.

“What?ª

“Your ‘to do’ list?”

It was a question from out of the blue, and Blossom had to focus. What was on the list? “Take a hot-air balloon ride, go sailing...” “Sail, as in a sailboat?” “Yup.” “Well, I can help you with that.” “You can?” “I’ve been sailing all my life. Used to take a sailboat out on the

Charles River back in Boston. We can rent a boat down at Marina del Rey and go out.”

“Really?” Blossom was excited. She had always wanted to sail, but the opportunity had never presented itself. And in the past she never would have gone anyway. Now she could cross two things off her list.

“Would you like that?”

“Yes, I would love that, Skip.”

“Good, I’ll pick you up on Saturday, then, at eight-thirty. Sound good?” “Sounds great.” She sat there thinking about the ocean and the wind, thinking

about the white sails breathing in and out. She could almost hear the clanking of metal against metal and taste the salt. In all of this, she wasn’t even imagining Skip. Her mind was on the moment, on the sea. For the first time, Skip had moved from her direct line of vision to someplace else. Someplace better. And now she could finally see the full view.

The day was bright as snow. Skip helped Blossom into the boat with a casual competence, while Vinny just jumped in and found his spot. Skip raised the sails, hauled the lines, impressing her with his nonchalant manner. She watched him, enjoying the authority with which he moved about the boat in his cutoffs and faded denim shirt. She was still too self-conscious to wear a bathing suit so she opted for baggy white linen pants and an oversized blouse.

Marina del Rey was like a parking lot of boats. She wondered how they’d find their way back to the slip, but Skip seemed to have it all under control. In a matter of minutes they’d cleared the harbor and were riding the vast expanse of the Pacific. The Palisades, loomed like ancient animals grazing along the shore, their round backs leaning out toward the sea as if to drink from it.

Blossom couldn’t take it all in fast enough. Light and weightless, moving effortlessly over the water, it reminded her of swimming. They slid over the silver Pacific, completely free.

“What are you thinking?” Skip asked, breaking the silence.

“I’m thinking that life is good.”

He winked, but Blossom’s eyes were closed.

The next hour passed in silence. There was so much transient beauty to absorb. Finally, Blossom turned to Skip and asked the same question he had asked her.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Soul mates,” Skip answered.

She was surprised. “Soul mates?”

“Yeah, soul mates, divorce, Jeannie, you.”

“Go on,” Blossom said, curious.

“I was thinking about Jeannie and how I was so taken by her beauty, the way she commanded the attention of a room, her charms. I really thought it was going to last forever. It amazes me now that I was so off the mark with it. Even if she came back now, I wouldn’t want her.”

Blossom was shocked to hear this admission. “Why?” she asked.

“She was never in my corner. You and Jeannie are complete opposites. Jeannie has no staying power. Depth, the ability to love on the most fundamental level, just wasn’t there. She proved it. What I find incredible is that I didn’t see it sooner.”

“You were in love.”

“I was seduced,” Skip said. “And Jeannie was seduced. We seduced each other because we thought we could give one another what we both so badly wanted. It came out of a place of need, of lacking. Not from a place of abundance or, more importantly, real love. Then the weirdest thought crossed my mind the other night. What if I was badly burned or something really awful happened to me? I know that’s sort of catastrophic thinking on my part, but it led me to wonder: Would Jeannie have stuck it out? Even if I were still a lawyer? No. I hate to admit that, but it’s true. Jeannie was more interested in pretense, rather than essence. Do you follow me, Blossom?”

“Yes, I do.”

“It’s not what I want anymore. Working at the pool gave me space to think about a lot of things. Jeannie just pushed it a little further. I wasn’t ready at the time, but now I’m glad it happened.”