Alex is crisping down below near the pool. Tish is on our patio finishing up her homework.
It’s been a calm day and I’m grateful for that. When I left the house, Alex was out at the pool, and when I returned he was gone. I assumed he was with Rene, at his meeting. That has to be obnoxious, these meetings. Juliette had glossed over that a bit, telling me that Alex was usually at one in the afternoons. But to have to plan your day around a daily excursion to someplace, in the middle of the afternoon, that has to just bite into time. I wonder, for a very brief moment, why he chooses that time. I’m sure there must be other meetings at other times in this area; from what I know Hollywood is chock full of alcoholics and drug users, so there should be round the clock service. But then I remember who I’m dealing with. He’s not going to get out of bed early to do this before his golf game. He’s not about to cut into his evenings, or his sleep time, so that leaves prime time daylight hours for this, this task.
I wonder what they do there? More specifically, what does Alex do there? I can’t see him getting up in front of people and letting loose with a barrage of words. He seems like a quiet person. Well, when he’s not having a shouting match with someone.
I’m sort of surprised that he hasn’t turned his anger toward me. I’ve no idea if I’ve overstepped myself here, but I’m trying hard not to. I wasn’t so sure Friday night. He was genuinely surprised that I’d accumulated so many things into storage. I could see it on his face. But he hasn’t said anything about it, even when I brought it up today.
I have no real desire to get confrontational with Alex. None at all, although the remarks I’ve heard him sling are pretty, well, childish. A bunch of name calling punctuated with profanity. Not very original, although I must admit he far surpasses anyone else I’ve ever heard behave that way in sheer volume as far as the ‘eff’ word goes.
When I was around Tish’s age I used to swear like that. I had a little girlfriend whose parents were liberal about that. They made it perfectly clear that my friend, Amy, and I could use swears as much as we like, whenever we liked, as long as we behaved like perfect ladies in public. We took full advantage of that. Two twelve year old girls saying ‘eff’ this, and ‘eff’ that. It had the desired effect over time. For the year that I lived near her, I swore continuously, until the allure of it, the taboo, wore off. Now I think it’s just a cheap, lazy way to express yourself. Alex, though, he DOES have a certain panache with the word. It’s the quality of his voice, the gruffness, the gravely tone. It puts a lot of oomph behind it.
I like his voice.
When he’s just sitting, talking, the way he was with Mickie the other day, he has a nice way about him. Open. Friendly. He listens, too, gives the other person their space in the conversation. He seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. He seemed relaxed.
I didn’t think he was going to be relaxed after all that had gone on. I expected him to be his more morose self. That side of his personality hasn’t made an appearance since the epic argument with that ‘Sarah’. Go figure.
I turn the meat. It looks good. I put the tomatoes on the grill. Everything else is done, even the corn. It’s all set out on the table for a little dining al fresco.
I hope he likes it rare.
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I can smell the steak down here by the pool. What a freakin’ lazy day this has been. Again. I don’t think I did anything more strenuous than turn over since I got back from my meeting. Now I have to get myself back up to the patio. That’s gonna take a little doing. I’m sweaty, and the crutches are a bitch on my pits when I’m sweaty. I’d ask Shi for help, but she’s busy, I can see that. Damn, that smells good and damn, I’m hungry.
The meeting was interesting today. I got to talk a little, well, a lot. Talked about the weekend, and how I DIDN’T need a drink after everything that went down and how I DIDN’T need to medicate myself over the foot. Everybody was real sympathetic about the foot. And real encouraging about how I dealt with it. I feel encouraged myself. I mean, I really didn’t want to have to go back there today and have to start the fuck all over again from ground zero. I thought about that while I had nothing to do but sit in the sun. When I wasn’t asleep I was thinkin’ that, hell, I don’t need a drink; I don’t need a Percocet. I, like, may have WANTED one, but I didn’t ACT on it.
Hell, I’m proud of myself. Sounds stupid, but I am, ‘cause I damn well know that it woulda been real easy for me to slip this weekend.
Only I felt, hell, I FEEL too damn good. And I still can’t figure that one out. I mean, I just blew it big time, again, with this woman that I, well, I love her. And I don’t feel too bad about it. So my mouth flew? When doesn’t it? I’m always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Sarah knows that. Damn well knows that. We’ve had it out before, over less.
You know, I’m really surprised at her. Tossing that statue through the table. She was wiggin’. It takes a lot to get her like that, but Friday night she got bent REAL fast. Faster than I’ve ever seen her. Even when the shit hit the fan in January. There was some build up to that one. She’d been, well, I guess she had her suspicions. I guess I was gettin’ a little sloppy. And then she shows up at the meeting with the damn dog and there I am with my arm around someone else. After THAT it didn’t take long. She worked herself up on the drive home, and was batshit by the time we got here.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so angry. Not until Friday. That was about on a par, like, the same intensity, just not with all the windup.
On thing I’ll say for her, when she’s pissed, she’s pissed.
Ya know, I think I can walk easier without these fuckin’ crutches. They hurt. They rub me the wrong way. I know that it’s easier to balance and everything, but I think I’d rather crawl than rub my armpits raw. And I’m just gettin’ sweatier, and I’m starting to stink; I’m grossing myself out here.
Siobhan looks like she’s laughing at me. Must be a trick of the light, ‘cause the sun’s goin’ down. And besides, she’s not the type to laugh at a person. I don’t think she is.
I hope that steak is rare.
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“Camp?”
“Yeah, mom. Kim is going, too, and I’ve got all these brochures and stuff to look at.”
“Camp?” I cannot believe this child. She’s doing this to me on purpose. She couldn’t wait until we were alone, after supper. No, she’s whipping out brochures on camp. Sleep away camp, no less. Boating camps, swimming camps, PERFORMING ARTS camps, I don’t think so. She is slick, this child of mine. She’s spreading them out among the supper dishes.
“This looks cool,” Alex says, leafing through one of the glossy pamphlets.
“I’m sure it is,” I say, my voice imparting the fact that I don’t think there’s anything ‘cool’ about any of this. I can see that he’s ignoring me. He’s got his nose buried in the leaflet. And here I thought he didn’t read.
“They have some real intensive shit here,” he says, and I catch his eye. “Sorry.”
“I’ll look it over later, Tish.”
“But I have to know right away,” she says, a whine creeping into her voice.
“I can’t give you an answer right away.” I can tell you one thing, these are expensive places. Two thousand a week, three thousand, four thousand, are they kidding with these prices? I could run a camp for less than half the price.
“This one’s right out on Catalina,” Alex says. “That’s right out there,” he says, pointing to the ocean horizon. “You get the boat righ...”
“Thank you,” I say, and put my hand out for the brochure. We share a look and he finally gets it. I want him to shut up.
“Kim says that you have to get the applications in right away, a lot of these places are filling up fast,” Tish tells me. “Kim says that if you get on the wait lists you never get in. Kim says....”
“Look, I can’t just go enrolling you, Tish, that’s out of the question. I have to look all this over. I have to see the dates, I have to check these places out. Besides, you’ve never been to camp, not even day camp.” I’d ask her why the sudden interest but I already know the answer. Kim. Well, maybe Mickie and Dwayne can afford these places, but I can’t. I don’t have that kind of money to be spending on camp.
“But mom...” Here we go.
“Listen, Letitia, cut it out. This is not the time, nor place to be bringing this up. I’ll talk to you about it after I get a chance to look everything over. I’m not all that thrilled about sending you to a sleep away camp to begin with. And I have to look at our... well, I have to see about budget.” I might as well be frank with her. She knows enough about how we’ve lived, and how we’re living now, to understand that I can’t be throwing thousands of dollars around for camps. I’ve wanted to look into something for the summer, but I was thinking local, academic, and cheap. Something to fill her days, expand her mind a little more, and keep her busy. I’m not adverse to something entertaining, as well, though, and if there was nothing academic available, something that was sheer fun would do. Better a mix of both. But two week, pre-teen Rockstar Camp, yes, that’s exactly what the brochure for one place says, no, I’m not taking that seriously at all.
Well, now I’ve used the ‘L’ word, I’ve called her Letitia, and she knows how serious I am.
“Are you finished eating?” I ask her.
“Yes.”
“Homework done?”
“I still have a little left.”
“Then go do it, and we’ll talk about this later.” She’s as polite as she can be under the circumstances. She doesn’t stomp too much as she heads down the shallow steps to our living quarters, and she manages to say good night to Alex, who has thankfully gotten quiet.
I have to clean up the supper things. But first I want a cigarette. I don’t have any with me, though, and my purse is not on either arm of the chair I’m sitting in, it’s in the house.
“Here.” Alex hands me his pack.
“Thank you.” I take one, and he offers me a light, which I lean across the table to accept. For a moment the both of us are silent, smoking, watching the last of the sun dipping into the ocean.
“You know, she can hang around the pool this summer,” he says, his voice very quiet, as if he’s talking to himself. “But it might get kinda boring.”
“Thank you,” I repeat. I understand that, it’s what I’m trying to avoid. “I was thinking about summer school.”
“Oh, man.” He said THAT under his breath. He’s right, too, and I can’t stand that he is and that I know that he is. I don’t want her stuck in a classroom, but my options are limited. I HAVE the cash for her to do SOME things, maybe a week or two at one of the less expensive places, but it would put a dent in my savings. Errol in no way would be prepared to foot fifty percent of anything extravagant. I don’t even expect him to.
“It’s not glamorous, but it’s in my scope of do-ability,” I say.
“Do ya have to make a decision tonight?” he asks.
“I don’t think so, but she’s right, there’s not a lot of time.” I pick up a brochure. It’s the camp on Catalina. Looks wonderful, but then they all do. It’s a small fortune. I could put a down payment on a car. I could put it in T-Bills. I could...
“If it’s just about the dollars, I’ll float you,” he says, breaking into my train of thought.
“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t....”
“Just a loan. You could, like, pay me back over time. No interest.” He’s looking out at the ocean. He shrugs. “No big deal. Why should she get trapped in a classroom, for chrissake? Shit, it’ll be summer, it’s hotter than hell here. Hangin’ out by the pool, it’d get boring.” He snorts. “Gets boring for me, god knows it’d be boring for a kid.” He stubs out his smoke and hoists himself up on his crutches. “Ya know, these fuckers hurt more than my goddamn foot.” Then he cackles as he hobbles into the house.
I can’t take a loan from him. I can’t. I’ll work it out, I’ll work SOMETHING out, but I can’t take another dime from this guy. He pays me too much as it is. It’s ridiculous what I make.
I’ll figure out an alternative.
I always do.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
