Knitting Under the Influence (19 page)

III

K
nitting circle was at Kathleen's place that Sunday. (At Sari's the week before, Lucy had protested. “There are no chairs in her apartment. It'll kill our backs.” “Oh, stop being such a princess,” Kathleen had said, and Sari said, “It's her turn, Lucy.”)

When Lucy walked in the open apartment door, Kathleen called out, “Hey, Luce, come quick! Sari just told me she kissed Jason Smith!”

“No fucking way!” Lucy said, dropping her bag and running over. Kathleen and Sari were cross-legged and side by side on an airbed—the only furniture in the whole room—already knitting. Lucy kicked off her shoes and sank down on the floor in front of them.

“I didn't kiss him,” Sari said. “He kissed
me
before I could stop him.”

“Why would you want to stop him?” Kathleen said.

“Come on,” Sari said. “You guys know why this is weird for me. And it's just getting weirder. I mean, I see him with Zack almost every day, but I can't even look at him. I feel like he's waiting for me to say something. I think he thinks I’m screwing with his mind, but I’m not, I’m really not—”

“You should be,” Lucy said.

“I told him about Charlie. He said he hadn't remembered that I had a brother.”

“You think he's lying?” Lucy asked.

“No—he probably
doesn't
remember him. Which only shows how little he—” Sari waved her hand in the air. “You know. That even when he was mean to Charlie, he barely noticed him. Like squashing a bug or something.”

“Is he really that big a jerk?” Kathleen asked. “He seemed kind of nice.”

“I don't know,” Sari said. “He says all the right things. But don't forget—since high school, he's had a kid with autism. It changes people.”

“So maybe he's changed,” Kathleen said.

“Yeah, but does that count?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know …” Sari thought a moment, putting her knitting down on the floor next to her and hugging her knees to her chest. “Here's a guy who treated people badly when things were going well for him, and then this thing happened with his kid. So now he's more sensitive about other people and maybe even kinder … But, the truth is, if he'd been given the choice, he probably would have rather gone on having a perfect life and being a total jerk.” She looked up. “Can you really give a guy credit for that? If he's only a decent human being because it was forced on him?”

“I don't think you can ever really trust someone like that,” Lucy said. “I mean, if a guy goes around killing people and then his own mother gets killed, it's a little late for him to decide that murder is wrong—”

“Well,
murder?
Kathleen said. “Let's just compare him to Saddam Hussein and be done with it. Come on, Lucy—being a schoolyard bully isn't the same as being a murderer.” She stabbed her needles at each other, frowning in concentration. “Anyway, you can't really judge people on who they might have been if things had been different, can you? All you can do is take them the way they are and like them or not for that.”

“Right,” Lucy said, “and Attila the Hun was probably a great guy when he was on vacation.”

“Meaning—?”

“That if you know someone's done some shitty things, you can't just take them the way they are at any given moment. You have to use the information you've got, remember the history. Sari shouldn't forget what she knows about Jason—I bet she couldn't, even if she wanted to.”

“She could give him another chance, though,” Kathleen said. “I mean, I did some lousy things in high school—I was this jock and I had a lot of jock friends and we all hung out and we were kind of the cool kids, and I don't think we were all that nice to some of the other kids. I wouldn't want to be judged by all that.”

“But maybe you should be,” Lucy said.

“When did you get so rigid?” Kathleen said. “Haven't you ever wanted someone to
give you
the benefit of the doubt?”

“I’m not rigid,” Lucy said. “I can see both sides of a lot of issues. I mean, James is rigid. Compared to him, I’m the most tolerant person in the world.”

Kathleen raised her eyebrows. “First Saddam Hussein, then James. You keep going to extremes.”

“Are you saying my boyfriend is like Saddam Hussein?”

“No,” Kathleen said. “He's better-looking. But I want to go back to talking about Cute Asshole Guy. Sari, be honest—do you want to sleep with him?”

“Yes,” Sari said with a sigh. “So much. Physically he's everything I’d want in a guy. He has the most incredible body …”

“So …?” Kathleen said.

“You know why I can't.”

“What happened to the plan?” Lucy said, looking up from her knitting.

“What plan?”

“The go-out-with-him-and-ruin-his-life plan.”

“Oooo,” Kathleen said. “I like that plan.”

“Take it—it's yours,” Sari said. “I don't want a plan.”

“She can't have it,” Lucy said. “I made that one especially for you. Kathleen has her own plan. The marry-him-and-take-his-money-and-then-divorce-him plan.”

“I never said I was going to divorce him.” Kathleen took a swig of coffee. “That would be wrong. I intend to stay married to Kevin forever. Assuming, you know, we get married in the first place.”

“What was that?” Lucy said with a jump and a startled look around. “I just heard a noise in your kitchen. You don't have a cat, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then—”

They all turned toward the kitchen door in time to see Sam Kaplan emerge. “Oh, sorry,” he said, halting at the doorway. “Didn't realize you had company.”

“It's okay.” Kathleen dropped her knitting and scrambled to her feet. “Sari, Lucy—my upstairs neighbor. Sam.”

“The guy who owns the building?” Lucy said. “Does that mean you're allowed to come sneaking into people's apartments without knocking?”

“Actually, I did knock,” Sam said. He was dressed neatly in a pair of khakis and a blue polo shirt. “I always knock, but Kathleen never hears me. She usually has that iPod thing coming out of her ears. And, believe me, she has no great respect for
my
privacy.” He turned to Kathleen. “I was on my way to pick up the newspaper and get some coffee. You want anything?”

“We have coffee,” Sari said. “One of those big cardboard Starbucks thingies that hold like twelve cups. Please have some.

Or we'll be shaking all day.”

“There are donuts, too,” Kathleen said.

“I haven't eaten a donut in thirty years,” he said. “So what do you girls think of what Kathleen's done to the apartment?”

“Minimalist,” Lucy said and he laughed.

“This used to be a nice apartment, believe it or not.” He looked back and forth among them. “I thought Kathleen was the only woman under the age of sixty who liked to knit, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Shows how much you know,” Kathleen said. “Tons of girls our age knit. It's very hip.”

“Really?” Sam said. “Why? Sweaters are cheap these days— you can't possibly save any money knitting your own. And it takes forever, doesn't it?”

“You don't do it to save money,” Lucy said. “This yarn cost me more than five sweaters at the Gap. But that's not the point. It's therapy.”

Sam shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I don't get it. It would drive me nuts to do something like that—just sitting there, playing with yarn for hours.”

“It keeps our hands busy while we talk,” Kathleen said. “We talk a lot.”

“Then I really can't stay,” Sam said. “I can only imagine what three pretty young women talk about while they knit. No, actually I can't. And don't want to. Goodbye, girls.”

“I’ll be up later to read the paper,” Kathleen said.

“Of course you will,” he said and left, cutting through the living room to the front door.

“So that's the famous Sam Kaplan,” Lucy said once the door had closed behind him.

“Is he famous?” Kathleen resumed her place on the airbed.

“I had no idea.”

“You know what I mean. Strange guy.”

“No shit.”

“So you two just run in and out of each other's apartments, huh?”

“Sometimes.”

Lucy looked at Sari. “That's sort of an unusual arrangement, don't you think? Do you run in and out of
your
neighbors’ apartments, Sari?”

“Hardly. Sometimes we run into each other at the trash chute.”

“I’ve never even met my neighbors,” Lucy said. “Kathleen, what's going on here?”

“Nothing,” Kathleen said. “Absolutely nothing.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Why not?” Kathleen said. “When have you ever known me to be coy about my love life?”

“She makes an excellent point,” Sari said.

“Well, good,” Lucy said. “He looks old enough to be your father.”

“So?” Kathleen said. “I’ve gone out with guys that much older than me before.”

“I’m sure you have,” Lucy said. “Is there any age you haven't covered?”

“I try to stay away from the under-five crowd. They have this whole breast fixation thing I find very disturbing.”

“Plus they never pick up a check,” Lucy said.

Sari laughed. “Speaking of babies—” She held up the blanket. “I’m just about done with this. Where do you guys stand on fringe? For or against?”

“It would be pretty,” Kathleen said, but Lucy shook her head. “You can't put fringe on a baby blanket. They could choke on it.”

“No, they couldn't,” Kathleen said. “That's impossible.”

“How would you know?”

“How would
you?

“Let's face it,” Sari said. “None of us knows anything about babies. But I’ll skip the fringe, just to be safe. Do you—” She was interrupted by a loud ring tone of the first few bars of Gwen Stefani's “Rich Girl.” Kathleen shifted over and peered down at her cell phone, which was lying face-up on the floor.

“One of my sisters,” she said, settling back. “I’ll let it go to voice mail.”

“What's going on with them, anyway?” Sari said. “Are they still mad at you for moving out?”

“Not really,” Kathleen said. “I mean, how mad can you be that someone has stopped freeloading on you?”

“They didn't seem to want you to go, though.”

“I know. And they want me to come back. Especially my mom—Christa and Kelly don't get along when I’m not around.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know. It's a triplet thing.”

“You have the weirdest family dynamic of anyone I know,” Lucy said.

Sari raised her right hand. “Uh… excuse me?” she said. “I’m at least in the running on that one.”

“Actually,” Lucy said, “you're in a league of your own.”

IV

W
hen Kevin arrived at Kathleen's apartment to pick her up for dinner that night, he told her that he had run into Sam Kaplan in the lobby, and they had agreed it would be fun to all have dinner together. Kathleen wasn't sure who the “all” referred to but soon discovered that it meant that Sam's ex-wife, Patricia, was with him.

It had never occurred to Kathleen before how much of the time she'd previously spent with Sam Kaplan had been one-on-one, just the two of them alone in his apartment. Tonight they were with other people, and she almost didn't recognize her sharp-tongued and occasionally brutal upstairs neighbor in the sociable and relaxed guy who sat across the table from her, his arm casually resting across the back of his ex-wife's chair. If it hadn't been for the way he rubbed all his flatware clean with his napkin and occasionally rolled his eyes at things she said, she might have suspected that he, like her sisters, had an identical twin.

The wine was good, and the waiter and Sam and Kevin all kept refilling Kathleen's glass as soon as it was half empty, so she had probably had a lot more than she even realized by the time the conversation turned to Jackson Porter.

“It was wonderful seeing him and your mother at the benefit,” Sam said to Kevin. “It's been a while.”

“They just don't go out as much as they used to,” Kevin said. “Much as I hate to admit it, they're getting older and starting to slow down.”

“They may not go out
together
as much,” Kathleen said, “but your father certainly manages to get around.”

“Excuse me?” Kevin said.

“Oh, you know,” she said with a slightly inebriated wink.

“Those daily lunches with attractive young women in private hotel rooms.”

“Ah,” he said. “You've been listening to gossip.” He turned to Sam and Patricia with a smile. “Every once in a while, the office rumor mill comes up with an exciting double life for my father. I guess it's one of the ways people keep themselves entertained during a long day at work.”

“Offices can get boring,” Sam said. His eyes moved quickly back and forth between Kevin and Kathleen, assessing the situation without giving any of his own thoughts away. “And everyone enjoys a good scandal, even a fictional one.”

“But in this case it's true,” Kathleen said. She didn't really care that Jackson cheated on his wife, but she found it incredibly annoying that Kevin was making it sound like she was some kind of gullible stooge. “Half the office could tell you which hotel he uses. Which
room.”

Kevin looked at her, his brows drawn together. He drew his breath in.

“Kevin,” Patricia said suddenly, “do your parents still have that house on the beach in Santa Barbara? Or was it Montecito? We went out there once and it was just lovely.”

Kevin answered in the affirmative, and the talk shifted to beach houses and whether the Southern California real estate bubble was likely to burst anytime in the near future.

They all walked back to the apartment building together. Kevin stuck with Sam, talking shop with him, while the two women strolled ahead. He hadn't really looked at Kathleen since she had said that stuff about his father, and now she wondered if he was furious with her. The thought intrigued her. She had never seen him angry.

Patricia said, “It's a beautiful night, isn't it? I love the fall. I loved it more on the East Coast, but even here there's something special about a cool autumn night.”

“Are you from the East Coast originally?” Kathleen asked.

They were walking in rhythm together, their high heels clicking in sync on the paved sidewalk.

Patricia nodded. “I grew up on Long Island and met Sam in college. I never thought I’d end up a Californian, but we came here after we were married and never left. And as long as Joanna's at UCLA, I suppose I’ll stay. But if she settles down somewhere else, I’ll probably move. Even after all these years, it still doesn't feel like
home
to me.”

Kathleen nodded but she wasn't really listening. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“What's that?”

“I’ve never seen a divorced couple spend so much time together before. I thought once people divorced, they usually stayed away from each other.”

In the light of a street lamp, she could see Patricia smile.

“That's not a question.”

“Sorry,” Kathleen said. “I guess my question would be: why?”

“That
is
a question,” Patricia said, “but it's a vague one. Why what?”

“Why get divorced in the first place if you like being together?”

“Now that's a real question,” Patricia said. “But I’ll have to think about the answer.” They walked in silence for a moment, the men's voices suddenly audible behind them. Kevin was talking about a development he was overseeing that Sam seemed to have some concerns about—the land, he was saying, was known to have geological problems and several previous companies had tried building there and given up.

Then Patricia spoke again. “Sam is a wonderful man and I love him dearly,” she said. “But I find him absolutely intolerable in many ways. I wake up every morning delighted I don't have to live with him anymore.”

“Is it—” Kathleen searched for a delicate way to say it. “Do you consider yourselves still a couple?”

“Oh, we stopped being a
couple
when we got divorced,” Patricia said. “We have dinner together once in a while and that's enough for both of us. We always enjoy it but we're ready to say goodbye at the end of the evening. At least, I know I am.”

“Sam seemed happy tonight,” Kathleen said.

Patricia shrugged. “As I said, we enjoy each other's company.”

“It's unusual.”

“So you've already pointed out.” They had reached their destination. They stopped and waited for the men.

“What now?” Kathleen said to Kevin as he joined her.

“Let's go up to your place.”

She nodded, but wondered—without any real preference—if he wanted to come up to yell at her or to have sex. Or both. There was no way he could not be pissed off at her, not after what she'd said about Jackson.

He surprised her. As soon as they were inside her apartment, he went running for a soccer ball and dribbled it over to her. “Whoever makes the first goal has to do whatever the other says,” he said, smiling. “And I do mean whatever. Nothing off limits.”

“You're on,” Kathleen said, dropping her purse and kicking off her shoes.

She was a good athlete, but he was determined, and she wanted to give him the win. She suspected (and was proved right) that he had something in mind they'd both enjoy.

The air mattress wasn't comfortable for two, so, after all the games had been played, Kevin went back to his house to sleep.

The next morning, Kathleen put on her sweats and ran across Wilshire and then wove her way around the back streets until she'd run for a solid hour, finishing in Westwood Village, where she picked up some coffee. A cup in each hand, she walked back to her building, then took the elevator straight up to the penthouse. She kicked at the door and Sam answered it dressed for work.

“You have time for a cup of coffee?” she asked.

“A quick one.” He took one of the cups from her. “Come into the kitchen. Last time I let you drink coffee in here, you spilled some on the rug.”

“How'd you know that?” she said. He hadn't been in the room when it happened.

“I saw you wiping at it later, when you thought I wasn't looking. It left a stain.”

“Jeez,” she said. “You can't get away with anything around here.”

“No,” he said. “You can't.” A point further proven when they were sitting down at the kitchen table and he said, “That was a lovely choice you made—to publicly rub Kevin's nose in the fact his father's cheating on his mother. What son wouldn't enjoy that?”

“Shut up,” Kathleen said. She had insisted on keeping her coffee in its takeout cup for no reason other than because Sam preferred her to put it in a mug. She played now with the cardboard sleeve, pushing it up and down the bottom half of the cup. “I wouldn't be so obnoxious about it if he would just for once admit what everyone knows.”

“Jackson's been cheating on Caro since the day they got married,” Sam said. “Literally. He invited his girlfriend at the time to the wedding. So he wouldn't get bored if dinner went on too long, I assume.”

“You're kidding.”

“The person who told me that is usually reliable, and I don't see any reason
not
to believe it, all things considered.” He shrugged. “That's just the way it is with Jackson. He's a short ugly man with a lot of money and power who still can't believe that attractive women are willing to sleep with him. Caro must have made her peace with it years ago.”

“Or is just so stoned she doesn't care anymore.”

“I first met Caro twenty years ago,” Sam said. “She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

“Prettier than Patricia?”

“Yes, Kathleen, prettier than Patricia. And there aren't many women I’d say that about.” He took a careful sip from his pristine white coffee mug. “But she made her deal with the devil. She knew what she was getting herself into.”

“Then maybe she should let her sons in on the secret.”

He studied her from under his dark eyebrows. “You really think Kevin doesn't know?”

“No,” she said. “I totally think he knows. That's why it drives me so crazy that he won't admit it.”

“How angry was he last night?” Sam asked.

“He wasn't mad at all,” Kathleen said, jerking her chin up. “He didn't say a single word about it.”

“Well, that must have been frustrating for you,” Sam said. “Working so hard to get a reaction out of him and then not getting it.”

“I didn't want to make him
angry,”
she said. “I just wanted him to admit the truth for once. For his own mental health.”

“Oh, come on,” Sam said. “You don't point out to a guy that one of his parents is unfaithful and a liar unless your goal is to infuriate him.”

She opened her mouth to argue but had to close it again. He was right, of course. She had known that what she was saying to Kevin would make anyone furious—anyone except, apparently,
Kevin.
The truth was she had found his lack of a reaction anticlimactic. “Well, why
won't
he just admit it?” she said. “If I know it and he knows it and the whole world knows it. Why not just admit it's true?”

“If the Porters started acknowledging everything that's sick or wrong with their lives …” Sam didn't bother to finish the sentence. “They've found some kind of status quo in just ignoring everything. That's what works for them, I guess. And if you're going to marry into that family, Kathleen, you're going to have to learn to be as blind as the rest of them.”

“I don't think I could,” she said. “I mean, to sit around all the time pretending you don't know things you know—”

“It probably just takes a little practice, that's all.”

“I guess.” She twisted her mouth sideways, thinking. “So what else do you know about them?”

“Who? The Porters?”

“You said there's lots of dirt there.”

“There is,” he said. “But you're not going to hear it from me. Ask your husband-to-be.”

“He won't tell me anything.”

“No,” Sam said. “He probably won't.”