This One Is Mine: A Novel (9 page)

“Oh man. You don’t get it.”

Violet walked toward him, still talking on their cell phones. “Frayed clothes?” she said. “Who doesn’t get it?”

“Maybe I get it on a whole other level that you don’t.”

“We can stipulate that. All I’m saying is this is one natty look.”

“Who you calling natty?” Teddy barked, as Red Foxx. “And whatchyou doing wasting my minutes, woman?”

Violet snapped her phone shut. “Hey, look.” A BMW had pulled into the space next to hers, about five cars down. A plump man had squeezed out and was writing something in the dirt on her window.

“What’s he doing?” asked Teddy.

L-E-A-R-N T-O, the hothead spelled in the dirt. “
Learn to park,
probably,” Violet said. “The car next to me was parked over the line, so I had to park over the line, too.” Indeed, the next word was P-A-R-K.

“There’s more,” said Teddy. They watched, side by side, Teddy leaning into Violet’s arm. It was all she could do to concentrate on the man finishing his sentence: Y-O-U-D-U-M-B A-S-S-H-O-L-E.

“That’s amazing,” Violet said. “Not only did he know I’m an
asshole,
but a
dumb
asshole, too!”

The guy got his golf clubs out of his trunk and stomped off. Teddy stormed over to Violet’s car and wiped the words off the window. “That’s not right,” he said, blackening. “Hacker with his brand-new Pings.” Teddy returned to his car, Violet at his heels.

“Once,” she said, “I worked on a show on the Radford lot, and my parking spot was outside the
Seinfeld
writers’ offices. They got so traumatized by my dirty car, which they had to stare at all day, that they wrote all over it ‘Eat more meat, I love chicken.’ Because I’m a vegetarian and they knew it was the only way to get me to wash my car.”

“What a fucking hard-on,” Teddy muttered. “I’ll meet him on the dance floor.” He pulled a ratty putter from his golf bag, then opened his trunk and threw the rest of the clubs back in. He choked the putter and headed toward the clubhouse, a wild look in his eye.

W
HERE
would it be? Sally had already scoured Jeremy’s dresser, medicine cabinet, and jacket pockets. She pulled open his bedside drawer, which was filled with loose earplugs and scraps of paper scrawled with variations of “H-H-H-T-T-T-H.” Jeremy had a habit of flipping a coin, then marking down if it was heads or tails. To what purpose, she had no idea. Why he kept them, still no idea. Sally sifted through the fluff and shuddered: it was like running her fingers through the bottom of a hamster cage. She returned to the living room and opened his desk drawer.

There it sat, a pink velvet cube. She cracked it. Inside was a diamond ring. She opened it all the way. Her spirits flattened. She had always imagined nothing smaller than a four carat, and this was barely a two. Sally bucked herself up. The ring was gorgeous. Classic. Tasteful. And if anyone gave her attitude about the size, she could say it had belonged to his mother —

“Sally?”

She spun around. It was Vance. She dropped the ring box on the desk. “Vance! Hi! I thought you were at lunch!”

“I wanted to see how you were.” He stepped closer.

“I’m dandy.” Sally hopped up onto the desk to block his view of the ring, and closed the drawer with a calf as she twisted her legs.

“I know sometimes Jeremy can be tough. Today — the thing with lunch. Well, that’s going to happen. But it’s nothing personal.”

“Couples disagree. It’s healthy.” She reached behind her, closed the ring box, and tented it with her hand.

“I know,” he said. “And I’m glad you do, too. I always knew he’d find someone who appreciates him as much as I do.”

“I’m an appreciator!” she said with a laugh.

Thump. Thump. Thump
. Jeremy’s big shoes pounded the stairs. His shadow rippled across the venetian blinds.

“Oh look, Jeremy’s home!” Sally pointed. Vance turned. Sally opened the desk drawer, dropped in the ring, and slammed it shut just as the door opened. “Welcome home, my love!” she cried.

V
IOLET
followed Teddy through the cheesy wood-paneled clubhouse and out to the putting green. The darkness that had befallen Teddy in the parking lot was still in effect. His jaw worked the toothpick; his lion eyes scoped out the scene. Then Violet understood: the man from the parking lot was practicing his putts on the far side of the green.

“That guy thinks he can buy game,” Teddy grumbled. “He doesn’t have game.” Teddy’s animal spirits were on the rise, and Violet rose with them. He reached into his pocket and removed a ball. In one sinuous movement, he let it roll down his fingers and onto the tight grass. He gripped the putter with one hand, then the other, then snuggled both hands to form a grip on his old familiar friend. Violet caught herself staring and had to remember to breathe. She looked up. Teddy had seen her hunger. Violet waited — forever, it seemed — for him to call her on her carnal desire, to sentence her, humiliate her. Instead, he winked.

“So?” He putted the ball. He was loose, confident, unbelievably sexy. “What about you?” he said, his eyes never leaving the ball.

“What about me?” She looked around, hoping all could see that he was hers, and she, his.

“What’s a rich husband doing letting you spend the afternoon with a guy like me?”

“
Letting
me?”

“No woman of mine would ever be allowed to eat at a restaurant like that with another man.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s my pimp nature,” he said. “If you were my woman, there’s no way I’d let you run around the way you do.”

“It’s lucky I’m not your woman,” she said. “Because I don’t like being told what to do.”

“You would with me, though.”

“I would not,” she said.

“Oh, you would like it.”

“I would not.”

“Okay, then, you wouldn’t.” Teddy pointed to a hole about thirty feet away. “You think I can make it?” He hit the ball. It stopped just short.

Violet followed him to the cup. “Wait a second. You
do
realize that no guy will ever break me of my independence.”

Teddy tapped the ball in and retrieved it. “I’ll give you that one.” He let the ball roll down his forearm, then snapped it high in the air. He spun around and caught it behind his back.

“Deal with it,” said Violet. “You could never break me.”

Teddy flashed a smile. “I already have.” He hit his ball and called to someone, “Whoa! Look out!” His crusty ball knocked into a gleaming one, causing it to ricochet off course.

“What the fuck!” It was the BMW guy. He dropped his putter and glared at Teddy.

“Sorry about that, bro.” Teddy made the putt.

“Are you done?” said the guy, yet to pick up his fallen club.

“I don’t know.” Teddy picked up the sparkling putter and returned it to its owner. “This hole is lucky for me. How about we putt for it?”

The guy picked up both balls and threw them fifteen feet away. “Happy to,” he said.

“Jesus, here we go.” Teddy shook his head. He putted his ball, and it swerved to the right. His rival made the shot. “Lucky shot!” cried Teddy. “Bet you a buck you can’t do it again.”

The guy reached into his pocket and rummaged through some bills. “All I got is a ten.”

“If we’re talking real money, I’ll have to use your putter.”

“Since when is ten bucks real money?”

“I’m not the only one playing at a public course. What, were there no tee times at Riviera?”

The guy took some phantom strokes, then lined up his shot and missed. “Fuck!”

He handed Teddy the overengineered putter.

Teddy marveled at its feel. “Sharp!”

Violet quickly looked away. The eroticism of Teddy handling another golf club was more than she could take.

Teddy putted; his ball rolled swiftly and directly into the hole.

Violet folded her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t spontaneously embrace him.

Teddy plucked the ten from the guy’s shirt pocket. “Thank you, ma’am.” He led Violet off. “I’m going to buy you something pretty with this.”

“Double or nothing,” called the man.

Teddy stopped. He smiled at Violet, waited a beat, then turned on his heels. “You
do
know this time we’re going to be shooting for that badass putter.”

“It’s an eighty-dollar Callaway.”

“I’m good for the money.” Teddy turned to Violet. “You got eighty bucks?”

“I got eighty bucks.”

“One putt,” said the man. “Eighty bucks or the putter.” He went through the usual tortured deliberations and stood over his ball. Just as he was about to hit it, Teddy said, “You ever watch
The Partridge Family
?”

“What?” asked the man.

“I used to love that show when I was a kid. Especially the end, where Keith would sing the song. Then, one night, I’m sitting there watching the one where they all go to SeaWorld. And at the end, the mom starts walking around Shamu’s tank, singing a love song about
whales
. The song ends, and I’m waiting for Keith to start singing, you know, the
real song
with his brothers and sisters. Then you know what happens?”

“What?”

“The show ends,” Teddy said. “That was the song! The mother singing to a goddamned whale!”

“What’s your point?” asked the man.

“It’s just fucked up, is all.”

The man took his shot.

As the ball swerved right, Teddy said, “Yippee kay yay!” The man hurled his club to the ground.

It was Teddy’s turn. He picked up the putter, then stood over the ball. He turned his head to either side to loosen up his neck. He took an exaggerated backstroke, froze, then looked up at Violet. “This one’s for you, baby.” He hit the ball. Violet locked eyes with Teddy. Her father, her education, her husband, her career, motherhood, it all molted away. For this, Violet had driven through red lights, eyes closed. She looked. Teddy didn’t have to. His ball was rattling in the cup.

“Jesus fuck me!” cried the man. He wheeled his bag away. “Fucking hustler.”

Teddy turned to Violet. “Jesus fuck me? I’ll have to remember that one.” He handed Violet the club. “My gift to you, Baroness.”

“In other words, you
do
know how to play golf.”

“I shoot low seventies. When I was a kid, I spent all day on the links. My uncle was a greenskeeper at a public course and got me on the Junior Circuit. I placed top ten in enough tournaments to earn a golf scholarship to USC.”

“I didn’t know you went to SC.” Violet sat down on a bench. “What did you major in?”

“I only lasted a semester. Not even. Couldn’t deal with all those rich assholes. By Thanksgiving I was shooting up every day and stopped showing up for classes.”

“But you could play professionally now, right? I mean, what was that?” She pointed to the putting green.

“That, my friend, was hustling.” Teddy stood with one foot on the bench beside her. “That guy, I watched him. He’s probably not a bad player. But when I asked him to putt me for the hole, everything about him changed. Sure, he made the shot, but I could tell he was feeling the heat. You want me to drop some science on you?”

“Go ahead, drop some science.”

“When there’s something on the line, when there’s real heat, I play better than my abilities. Good players, even world-class sticks, can’t do that.”

“Can I just say, that was one of the coolest things I’ve ever experienced. And this from someone who saw the Clash at Bonds in ’81.”

Teddy took a seat beside her. Their legs touched, and stayed touched. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” he asked.

Violet braced herself. What he said next would lock them into a marvelous adventure, their future together, with Teddy calling the shots. “What?” she asked.

“Do you know what I’m going to spend all night doing?”

“Tell me.”

“A tenth-step inventory.”

“A . . . what?”

“An inventory. The tenth step: ‘continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.’”

“But — you didn’t drink.”

“You don’t have much experience with alcoholics, do you?”

“My father was a drunk and died from it, if that’s what you mean.” Teddy threw his head back and laughed. Violet couldn’t help but be charmed by such a wildly inappropriate reaction. “Thanks for the sympathy.”

“I’m sorry. People like me and people like you . . .” Teddy trailed off.

“What?”

“We don’t mix. Or, should I say, we mix way too well.”

“Well, which is it?” she asked.

There was a long silence. “Hey, wanna see my track marks?” He held out his arm. There were some candle drips of scar tissue on the inside of his elbow. “First thing, when I meet people?” he said. “I check to see if they have track marks.”

“That seems a bit self-defeating, doesn’t it?”

“Meh?”

“You’re clean now,” she said. “You’re living an honorable life. That kind of thinking just perpetuates the junkie mentality, which you’ve clearly outgrown.”

“You may not believe it, but there are a few things I may be smarter about than you, Miss Violet.”

She ran her finger along his track marks. Teddy lifted her dark glasses and looked into her eyes. She smiled. “What?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”

“I’d like to kiss you,” she said.

“That probably wouldn’t be cool, though.” Teddy shuddered and scooched away.

“Oh —” Violet’s hand was stranded in the air. She tucked it under her leg.

“Don’t worry about it.” He was plastered to the far side of the bench.

Violet had to get away before the skin on her face peeled off from her scorching humiliation. “I’ve got to get home.” She stood up.

“Where do you live?” Teddy asked idly.

“Excuse me?”

“Where’s home?” It was true! He hadn’t a clue that he had just driven their budding affair into the ground. And with it, any hope of friendship.

“Up on Mulholland, with my husband and child.”

“Who’s your husband?”

“His name is David Parry.” Violet waited for the inevitable.

“Holy shit! David Parry, the Ultra Records guy?” There it was, the inevitable. The intellectuals had this reaction when they found out who her father was. Most others had it for her husband.