The House (21 page)

“God, things are so complicated these days, aren't they? Everyone has such screwed-up ideas about relationships and how they want to live. Everyone has ‘issues.’ Nothing is easy. People don't just say ‘I do’ and walk off into the sunset together and make it work. We construct these crazy arrangements that sort of work and sort of don't, and maybe could work, but then again they couldn't. I wonder if it was always like that. I just don't think so,” Sarah said, looking thoughtful as she mused about it.

“We're probably all like that because none of us saw happy marriages at home when we were growing up. Our parents' generation stayed together and hated each other. Ours either doesn't get married at all, or gets divorced at the drop of a hat. Nobody tries to work it out. If it's not comfortable, and they get a wedgie and their shorts bunch up, they dump it,” he said, and Sarah laughed at how he described it. But she didn't disagree with him.

“Maybe you're right,” Sarah said, looking pensive. It was an interesting theory.

“What about your parents? Were they happy?” he asked, watching her. He liked her. He could sense that she was a truly decent person, with integrity and good values. But so was Marie-Louise, she just had very sharp edges. And she'd had a tough childhood, which impacted her still, whether she admitted it or not.

“Of course not.” Sarah laughed at the question he'd asked her. “My father was a raging alcoholic, and my mother covered for him. She supported all of us, while he lay around in the bedroom too drunk to move and she made excuses for him. I hated him for doing that. And then he died when I was sixteen. I can't even say I missed him. It was almost as though he'd never been there. In fact, it was easier once he wasn't.” And for much of her early life, she wished he hadn't been. And then felt guilty about it after he died.

“Did she remarry?” he asked with interest. “She must have been young when she was widowed, if you were only sixteen.”

“She was a year older than I am now, come to think of it. She sold real estate, and then became an interior decorator and made pretty decent money. She paid my way through Harvard, and then Stanford law school. But she never remarried. She's had a bunch of very temporary boyfriends. They're always alcoholic or dysfunctional, or she thinks they are. Mostly she hangs out with her girlfriends now, and goes to book clubs.”

“That's sad,” Jeff said sympathetically.

“Yeah, it is, although she claims she's happy. I don't believe her. I wouldn't be. That's why I hang on to my weekend guy. I don't want to wind up twenty years from now doing book clubs like my mom.”

“You will anyway,” Jeff said bluntly. “He's taking up real estate in your life. You really think he'll stick around for twenty years?”

“Probably not,” she said honestly, “but he's here now. That's the problem. I guess one of these days it'll fall apart, but I'm in no hurry to push it. I hate those lonely weekends.”

“I know. I get it. So do I. I don't mean to sound smug about it. I don't have the answers either.”

They left the restaurant after that. And they had come in separate cars, so they hugged each other and she drove home. The phone was ringing off the hook when she got in. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that it was eleven. She had turned her cell phone off during dinner.

“Where the fuck were you?” Phil was livid.

“Jesus. Relax. I went out to dinner. It was no big deal. I had sushi.”

“Again? With who?” He nearly came through the phone at her, and she couldn't help wondering if he was jealous, or just being an asshole. Maybe he'd been out himself and had been drinking.

“What difference does it make?” she asked, sounding annoyed. “You're not here during the week anyway. I went out with someone I'm working on a project with. It was strictly business.” That was true.

“What is this? Revenge? Because I need to go to the gym after work and get some exercise? Punishment? Christ, that's childish.”

“I'm not the one screaming,” she pointed out. “You are. What's the big deal here?”

“For four years you come home every night and lie on your ass in front of the TV, and suddenly you're out for sushi every night. What are you doing? Fucking a goddamned Japanese?”

“Watch your mouth, Phil. And your manners. I go out for sushi with you, too. This was business. Since when do we tell each other that we can't go out for business dinners during the week?” She felt faintly guilty, because she had enjoyed herself, and after the first hour or two, it had felt more like friendship. But it was true. It had been business, too. “If you're so hot to keep track of me during the week, why don't you try cutting your gym time short and hanging out here? You're welcome to do that anytime. I'd much rather go out for sushi with you.”

“Fuck you!” he said, and hung up on her. There had been no other possible response because she was right and he knew it. He couldn't have it both ways, total freedom during the week, yet be assured that she would be chained to a wall, waiting to see him on weekends. Maybe he'd like to give her a chastity belt, too. He was just damned lucky, Sarah told herself, that Jeff Parker was living with someone. Because she thought he was a hell of a nice guy. And all the assessments he'd made about Phil and the level of commitment he had to her were true. The relationship she and Phil had now was anything but ideal.

Phil called her back later to apologize, but she let the machine answer it. She'd had a nice time that night, and she didn't want to spoil it now by talking to Phil. What he had said really upset her. He was accusing her of cheating, something she never, ever did. Never had, and never would. She just wasn't that kind of person.

Phil called her back again while she was rushing to dress for work the next morning. It was Friday. He sounded nervous again. “Are we still on for tonight?”

“Why? Do you have other plans?” Sarah asked him coldly, but she was afraid to push it.

“No. I was afraid you did.” He didn't sound warm and cozy, either. It was going to be a great weekend.

“I was planning to see you, since we haven't seen each other in three weeks,” she said somewhat acidly.

“Let's not get into that now. I had to be in New York for a week, to take depositions. And I was with my kids last week. You know that.”

“Point taken, counselor. Now what?”

“I'll come by tonight after the gym.”

“See ya,” she said, and hung up. They were off on a bad foot. They were both clearly harboring resentments. She over the three weeks she hadn't seen hide nor hair of him, although he could have dropped by during the week. And he because he didn't like her being out for dinner and turning off her cell phone. And this was the weekend she was planning to tell him about the house on Scott Street and maybe even show it to him. Even Phil's temper tantrum hadn't put a damper on it for her.

She called Jeff on her way to work and thanked him for a delightful evening.

“I hope I wasn't too outspoken,” he said apologetically. “I have a way of doing that when I drink too much tea.” She laughed, and so did he. And he told her he had had some more ideas for her kitchen, and maybe even her gym. “Do you have time to get together this weekend? Or will you be busy with him?”

“His name is Phil. He always leaves by noon on Sundays. We could get together in the afternoon.”

“Great. Call me when he leaves.” She didn't tell him that Phil had had a jealous fit over him the night before. And she loved the thought that the house was going to keep her busy now. It would make things less depressing when Phil left on Sundays, and every night during the week. With a house that size to remodel, she was going to have a lot to do. It would take up all her spare time.

She stopped and bought groceries on the way home that night, and was thinking of cooking dinner, since they hadn't seen each other for so long. She was surprised to see Phil walk in just after seven.

“Didn't you go to the gym?” He never got to her place before eight.

“I thought you might like to go out to dinner tonight,” he said, looking slightly mollified. He rarely apologized verbally, but always tried to make it up to her in other ways, if he had offended her in some way.

“That would be nice,” she said pleasantly, and got up to give him a kiss. She was surprised by the strength with which he hugged her, and the fervor of his kiss. Maybe he really had been jealous. She almost thought that was sweet. She'd have to go out for sushi and turn her cell phone off more often, if it had this effect on him.

“I missed you,” he said lovingly, and she smiled at him. The relationship they had was so weird. Most of the time he didn't want to see her, and then when she fended for herself, he was jealous, had a tantrum, and said he missed her. It seemed as though one of them always had to be uncomfortable. One end of the seesaw had to be up and the other down. They could never be on an even keel at the same time. It somehow seemed a shame.

He took her out to dinner that night, at a restaurant she liked, and he seemed to be making an effort. And as soon as they got back to the apartment, he insisted he was tired and wanted her to come to bed with him. She knew what he had in mind, and she had no objections. It had been three weeks since the last time they made love. And she could tell when they did that night that he had been hungry for her. She had missed him, too, but not as much since she was distracted by the house. She hadn't said anything to him about it at dinner. She wanted to wait until after breakfast on Saturday morning. She somehow thought he'd be in a better mood. And she didn't know exactly why, but she had the feeling he'd disapprove. Phil hated change, and there was no denying it was an outlandishly big house.

She made him scrambled eggs and bacon in the morning, with blueberry muffins she had bought the night before. She even made him a mimosa, with champagne and orange juice, and brought him the paper while he was still in bed.

“Uh-oh,” he said with a sly smile, as she handed him a cappuccino with little flecks of chocolate on it. “What are you buttering me up for?”

“What makes you think I am?” she said with a mischievous smile.

“The breakfast was too good. The cappuccino was perfect. You never bring me the paper in bed. And the champagne and orange juice was outrageous.” And then he looked at her with worried eyes. “You're either going to dump me, or you've been screwing around.”

“Neither,” she said with a victorious look, as she sat down on the end of the bed. She couldn't contain her excitement any longer. She was dying to share it with him, and know what he thought. She was hoping to take him over to see it that afternoon. “I have something to tell you.” She smiled at him.

“No kidding,” he said, looking anxious. “I could figure that much out. What did you do?”

“I'm moving,” she said simply, and he suddenly looked panicked.

“Away from San Francisco?”

She laughed and was pleased. He actually looked frightened. That was a good sign.

“No. Just a few blocks away.” He looked relieved.

“You bought a condo?” He seemed surprised. “You told me you decided not to.”

“I did. I didn't buy a condo. I bought a house.”

“A house? Just for you?”

“Just for me. And you on weekends, if you like.”

“So where is it?” He looked skeptical. She could see that he thought it was a bad idea. He had already done the house thing, in his marriage. He didn't want anything more than the small apartment he had. All he had at his was one big bedroom, and a tiny back room with a triple bunk for his kids. They hardly ever stayed there, and it was easy to see why. They had to be contortionists to fit in. When he wanted to spend time with them, he took them away. The rest of the time they stayed at his old house with his ex-wife. He was perfectly satisfied just seeing them for dinner once or twice a week.

“It's on Scott Street, not far from here. We can go over and see it this afternoon, if you want to.”

“When do you close escrow?” He took a sip of the cappuccino as he listened.

“Tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding? When did you make the deal?”

“Thursday. They accepted my offer. I bought it as is. It needs a lot of work,” she said honestly.

“Jesus, Sarah. That's a headache you don't need. What do you know about fixing up a house?”

“Nothing. I'm going to learn, and I want to do a lot of it myself.”

He rolled his eyes. “You're dreaming. What were you smoking when you decided to do this?”

“Nothing. I admit, it's a little crazy. But it's good crazy. This is my dream.”

“Since when? You didn't even start looking till last week.”

“It was my great-grandparents' house. My grandmother was born there.”

“That's no reason to buy it.” He thought he had never heard anything so stupid in his life, and he didn't know the whole story yet. She was getting there slowly. And he was more skeptical by the minute. “How old is it?”

“My great-grandfather built it in 1923.”

“When was it last remodeled?” he asked, interrogating the witness.

“Never,” Sarah said with a sheepish grin. “Every-thing's original. It's never been touched. I told you it needs a lot of work. I figure it might take me a year. I'm not going to move right away.”

“I hope not. It sounds like you bought yourself a giant headache. It's going to cost you a fortune.” She didn't tell him she had one now, thanks to Stanley Perlman. Phil never asked her about money, nor she him. It was something they each kept to themselves. “How big is it?”

She smiled at Phil. That was the clincher. She almost laughed when she said it. “Thirty thousand square feet.”

“Are you nuts?” He shoved the breakfast tray aside and jumped out of bed. “Have you gone insane? Thirty
thousand
square feet? What was it? A hotel? It sounds like the fucking Fairmont, for chrissake.”

“It's even prettier,” she said proudly. “I want you to come and see it.”

“Does your mother know you did this?” As though that mattered to either of them. He had never even mentioned her before. He disliked Audrey as much as she did him.

“Not yet. I'll tell them at Christmas dinner. I want to surprise my grandmother. She hasn't seen the house since she was seven.”