The Owl & Moon Cafe: A Novel (No Series) (35 page)

The nurse’s phone rang. Lindsay pressed the button for speakerphone before she answered. “Country Day, nurse’s office.”

“This is Dr. Alvin Goodnough. I received a page from this number.”

“It’s me, Dr. G,” Lindsay said, picking up the receiver so only she could hear him. “You told me to call if I needed to talk. Well, I do. It’s important.”

“Lindsay, I’m with a patient right now, but she’s my last one today. How about I come pick you up and we spend the afternoon together?”

“I want to, but I’m afraid to ask my mom.”

“Why don’t you leave that to me? Just be ready in a half hour.”

“Um, Dr. G. There’s one more thing.”

“What’s that, kiddo?”

“I, well, I told the nurse you’re my grandfather.”

He was silent for a few moments, and then he said, “Well, I am, aren’t I? Now put whoever I need to convince to spring you on the horn.”

“G
OOD MORNING, SOON-TO-BE
Mrs. G,” Cricket said when Allegra walked into the kitchen. “I fix your little doggie breakfast and he eat it all up so good.”

Allegra hesitated, uncertain how to speak to Al’s housekeeper, a tiny Korean woman who could have been anywhere from sixty to one hundred years old. There were no hints on her smooth face, and her hair, thick and lush, was still mostly black, with a pretty gray ribbon beginning at her widow’s peak. She multitasked like a dynamo, washing clothes and cleaning blinds while cooking up dinners, but taking over Khan’s diet? “That’s so thoughtful of you,” Allegra said, keeping her voice soft and kind, “but don’t go to the trouble. I brought his kibble. It’s on top of the washer in the laundry room.”

“Trouble?” Cricket said, and fetched the food, which came in a plain brown bag supposedly one hundred percent biodegradable. “You ever look at ingredient in this stuff?”

“It says ‘all natural’ on the label,” Allegra said, bristling. “What’s wrong with it?”

Cricket rattled off five-syllable chemical-sounding words, and then damned them with a “bah!” as she emptied the bag into the garbage disposal and turned it on. Over the racket, she yelled, “This handsome fellow need good food just like you do. I fix him little egg yolk, some chicken liver, and the wheat germs. That what I fed my Chihuahua, Ming. She live to be twenty-four years old. Never sick. Took her for acupuncture last ten years of her life to help arthritis. Die in sleep. Good dog. I miss her every day, but now this little man come to live at Dr. G house, my heart happy again.” She patted Khan’s back and he licked her fingers as if they were covered in bacon.

Traitor, Allegra thought. Who knew you could be bought for the price of organ meat and half an egg? “Thanks, Cricket, but honestly, I don’t like him having people food. I have to brush his teeth as it is. And believe me, he lets me know he doesn’t like it.”

“Oh, let me try new diet. You see, Mrs. soon-to-be Dr. G. I never brush Ming’s tooth a day in her life. Strong white teeth until day she die, bless her spirit. Just let me try new diet. You see.”

Allegra watched Khan sniff his way across the kitchen floor—a warm gold and gray textured slate—and thought about breakfast. Maybe she’d try yogurt again. Sometimes she could get a few spoonfuls down. She opened the fridge and stared at the containers of yogurt, lined up so perfectly, labels facing front. She closed the door, and opened a cupboard to look for crackers.

“What you looking for?” Cricket said, her hands in a sinkful of steamy, bubbling dishwater. She scrubbed each plate, rinsed it in scalding water, after which she loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, which was set on Sani-cycle. “You want coffee?” Cricket asked. “Only take minute in fancy-schmancy coffee machine.”

“Thanks,” Allegra said, “but I drink tea. I can nuke a cup of water in the microwave.”

Cricket stripped off her dishwashing gloves and laid them down on the counter. “That not way to make proper tea! You, go sit down, watch, I teach you how to make tea. Green tea or black? You pick.”

“I usually drink Lipton in the morning, just to wake up.”

“Lip-ton!” Cricket said. “I make you a black tea so good you forget about Lip-ton. You watch, Mrs. soon-to-be Dr. G.”

“Please, call me Allegra,” she said, and sat down at the kitchen table, feeling cheered when Khan trotted over and begged to be picked up. She held him so his front paws rested on the windowsill, and he could look out. When birds raced across the sand, his little heart thumped beneath her hand.

Cricket handed Allegra a glass of juice. “Pear,” she said. “Easy on stomach.” Then she held out her palm, inside which rested two bright orange pills. Marinol. “Dr. G say make sure you take this first thing. He insist.”

Allegra swallowed them down with a gulp of juice. She wasn’t going anywhere today. If she felt stoned, she could zone out on television. She looked around Al’s kitchen, a modern, hard-edged room with the latest appliances and a pot rack filled with copper skillets. She’d always wanted a copper skillet, a Mauviel professional ten-inch skillet from the
Sur La Table
catalog, but they started at one hundred fifty, and that was for the small ones. And here was the entire set. Allegra wondered if she could ever take one in her hands and call it hers. The six-burner cook stove had two ovens. The fridge was the size of the bathroom at The Owl & Moon, the same Owl & Moon that was now operating without her.

Cricket banged pots around and unrolled a bamboo place mat on the table in front of Allegra. On it, she placed five white teacups without handles. “Tea set called
ch’a-gi.
Cups called
ch’at-chan.
”

“Why do you need five cups if there’s only the two of us?”

“Stranger might come by. Ancestor might visit in spirit. Only use bottle water. Tap water turn tea bitter.”

Allegra nodded as each bit of information was delivered. When the teapot was warmed, Cricket measured a scoop of black tea into the pot, added the boiling water and let it steep. She placed saucers under each cup, and when Allegra reached for one, Cricket pulled it back. “Not yet. Wait until ready. Only tea maker serve cups. Pass
by saucer
to person. Hold cup in both hands like this. Five steps to drinking tea, Mrs. Allegra. First, look at it so pretty in cup. Second, breathe in comforting smell, nice, huh? Third, sip and taste in mouth. Fourth,” Cricket said, and tipped her head back, “taste in throat. Tea have six tastes, sweet, salt, tart, two kind pepper, and bitter.”

“What’s the fifth step?” Allegra asked.

“Fifth step, remember family.”

After her tea lesson, Allegra took a shower, using all five of the showerheads. She washed her hair, which was definitely an inch long now. Khan lay on the thick, loopy bath rug waiting for her. Unwrapping herself from the obscenely thick bath towel, Allegra surveyed her paltry body in the full-length mirror, wondering if she could eat lunch. The Marinol had given her a bit of a buzz, but it also made her feel sick to her stomach. Maybe fresh air would help.

On the beach Allegra watched Khan race around the sand. The salt air revived her spirit. She watched the waves crash. She picked up a broken clamshell, rubbing her fingers over the grooved surface. So far as the future went, how could any sane person go back to an overcrowded apartment after this and not feel depressed? Hermit crabs changed their shells all the time.

Remission. In love with her one true love. Planning a wedding. Yet Allegra had never felt lonelier. Until now, her days had been filled with trying to keep Gammy from arguing with Simon, waiting until just after lunch to stand on a chair and tell her daily joke. She didn’t have the strength to anymore. All this opulence felt sinful, but dang it all, why shouldn’t it happen to her? She pondered going back inside to read a book, take a nap, or to ask Cricket to teach her to do the laundry ceremony. She could lie in bed all day, or drive whichever fancy car was in the garage, but what she wanted most was to sit here, listening to the waves.

Khan jumped into her lap and began to lick her hands. She kissed the dome top of his furry head. The only thing to do was to face Mariah, stand there and let her say all the terrible things she’d apparently been keeping bottled up over the years. Life was too short. Hadn’t she learned one thing from her illness? Allegra got to her feet, felt the rush of blood, the Marinol and not eating causing her world to shimmy. That was okay. Sometimes the world needed to be out of focus.

When the phone rang, Allegra was half asleep on the living room chaise. Cricket nudged her shoulder and handed her the phone. “Mr. Dr. G,” she said.

Allegra roused herself, and Khan, who’d been snuggled up near her belly, growled at having his slumber disturbed. “You be quiet,” she said, and then into the receiver, “Hello, handsome.”

“Why do I have to be quiet?” Al said. “Are you holding a séance?”

She laughed. “I was talking to the dog. You, my love, can talk as loud as you want.”

“I know we planned the afternoon together, but something’s come up. You should go on and have dinner without me.”

Allegra wanted to ask if that was supposed to be a joke, since her dinners were mainly cups of vegetable broth and Jell-O. Not enough calories to keep a lab rat alive, Al said. “That’s all right,” she said. “Unless…did you want to talk about it?”

“Actually, I do, but not just now. Later on, definitely. I shouldn’t be too late. Maybe seven-ish.”

“I love you,” she said into the phone, still thrilled at saying the words, feeling their tingle and newness.

“I love you right back, doll. Did you try your new dosage?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Al, it made me sick to my stomach. I’ll eat more, I promise.”

“We’ll find something else.”

“Try not to worry.”

After a pause, he said, “I’ve got someone waiting. See you later. Eat what you can. If you get a craving, call the market. I have an account and they deliver.”

“Sure,” Allegra said, knowing she’d never do it. She had schlepped her own groceries for as long as she could remember and planned to continue. She held on to the phone long after Al hung up, thinking about calling Mariah, but no, it needed to be face-to-face.

When Cricket finished her intense dusting and thorough vacuuming on this gray December day and packed up to go home, it was five, and the sky was a dusky blue, the fog already rolling in. Allegra moved to the couch near the fireplace, a black granite monolith Khan had barked at the first time he saw it. Cricket had laid a fire, which crackled and sputtered in the grate. Allegra looked into the flames and felt herself stuck in that half-dozing, half-waking state where memories surfaced and bobbed against the present. Her eyelids grew heavy, and part of it was the Marinol, because this was what it had been like smoking pot, time spooling away from you, feeling sleepy, in no hurry to go to bed. These days she needed ten hours of sleep, and she wanted to be fully aware for the remaining fourteen. She smiled, remembering how once she’d stayed up for three days straight, for the one and only 1967 Monterey Pop Festival.

“Three days, thirty-two acts, a lifetime of memories,” the concert promoters described it. Allegra remembered being fifteen minutes from home, but not even bothering to call. After all, this was her “summer of love.” She knew Gammy would take one look at her dirty feet and tell her, “Get outside and take a scrub brush to those terrible things!” She wasn’t up for that; she was up for three days of incredible music, and Doc at her side.

Monterey was the first time she saw Janis Joplin, who had sung her heart out, screaming into the microphone, stamping her feet like she couldn’t wring enough emotion out of mere words. She hadn’t been on stage five minutes before she brought Allegra to tears with “Down on Me.” That was why, when February rolled around, and she gave birth to Mariah, two middle names went on the birth certificate—Janis Joplin.

Allegra had hopes that Mariah would belt out whatever song her life handed to her. She supposed that for Mariah that had been teaching college. She’d never seen her teach. All she knew of the university was that Mariah lugged around a heavy briefcase and was continually rushing from one meeting to another, and then the bastards had yanked her job away after eight years of work. It scared her to think she might never hear her daughter hold forth on her passions.