One Day at a Time (13 page)

He never bothered to rent a furnished apartment in L.A. He had decided to stay in San Francisco with Coco until mid-September, two and a half months from now. He was starting his next film in October and he had to be back for pre-production and costume fittings in September. He had ten days of shooting scheduled in L.A., and after that he was going to be in Venice for at least a month, and by the time he got back his house would be vacant again. He didn't need a place in L.A. for now. All he needed was Coco and the life and house they shared.

He suggested they spend the week in Bolinas over the Fourth of July, and asked if she could get a replacement for her dog-walking, so they could spend the whole week at the beach. She gave all her clients two weeks' notice, and found one of Liz's young gay friends who was happy to fill in for her with the dogs. Erin was a nice woman, needed the work, and spent a week following Coco around to learn the job. It was going to be the first time Coco went away for a week in two years. And they were both looking forward to it. Once they were in Bolinas, Leslie settled in as though he had always lived there. He even borrowed Ian's wet suit and went swimming in the ocean, although he was terrified of sharks. But the weather had been hot and gorgeous and he couldn't resist. It was an odd feeling for Coco watching him come out of the water in the familiar wet suit. His body was slightly different and she knew it wasn't Ian, but until he took the mask off, her heart fluttered a little. And the minute she saw Leslie's face, smiling at her, it soared. She realized then how much she loved him, and that she had put Ian in a special place. It was Leslie who owned her heart now. They lay together on the sand for hours, looked for shells, collected rocks, went fishing, cooked dinner together, read, talked, laughed, played cards, and slept for hours.

He spent some time working on her van, and much to her amazement, got it purring like a kitten. Jeff came out and consulted with him on it several times. And Coco laughed when Leslie came back into the house. His face was streaked with grease, and his hands were black. He looked thoroughly delighted like a small boy who'd been playing in the dirt all day. Leslie looked like a happy man.

Her other neighbors invited them to a barbecue on the Fourth of July, and Leslie wanted to go.

“What if people recognize you?” she asked, looking worried. They had been so wise and careful so far, and it had paid off. They were living an idyllic life of total anonymity and peace.

“Your neighbors already know who I am. They've been very discreet about it.” He sounded confident and sure, a little too much so for her.

“The rest of the neighborhood may not be.”

“If it feels weird or gets out of hand, we can leave. It might be nice to be part of the local pageantry for a change.” In the end, she agreed.

They went late, so it was dark, and slipped in quietly, helping themselves to two beers. Leslie sat down on a log and started talking to a little boy who was about the same age as Chloe. Eventually, his mother came up to retrieve him and stared in astonishment the moment she saw Leslie. Word spread quickly among the group after that. Jeff made no comment, but there were about fifty people there. They reacted to the newsflash that Leslie Baxter was drinking beer in their midst, but no one asked for autographs, no one annoyed him, and finally their fellow guests settled down again. Leslie had a very pleasant conversation with three men about fishing, and children seemed to love him. He had a nice way with them. Jeff looked at her and winked, and then sidled up to her for a chat.

“I like him,” he said simply in a soft voice. “The first time we met at the trash cans, I was a little taken aback. But he's a nice, normal, regular guy. He's not full of himself the way you'd expect him to be. You look happy, Coco. I'm glad for you.” Jeff looked genuinely pleased for her and was enjoying his friendship with Leslie, conducted in the backyard.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him. He hadn't seen her like that in years, and she had never felt this way in her entire life. So sure, so confident, so comfortable in her own skin, and of what she was doing and who she was with. It was a very grown-up feeling, and she loved it a lot.

“Are we going to lose you to L.A.? I hope not,” Jeff added, and she shook her head.

“No. I'm staying here. I think he might commute.” Jeff nodded, hoping that would work for him.

Leslie had talked about buying a house in the city at some later date, once word would be out about them and they figured out what they were doing. Nothing as fancy as Jane's, he had promised Coco, but something simple and cute, like an old Victorian. But he still wanted to spend time with her at the beach. It would just be an easier commute for him from L.A. to the city. It was too soon to tell, but he was keeping that option in mind. He was open to anything that would work. He was willing to invest a lot of time, effort, and money into loving her. All he needed was a little compromise in exchange from her, about his movie star life and its downsides, and the time he might have to spend in L.A. Coco still felt a little dazed.

The rest of the Fourth of July week went smoothly, and after the barbecue, a few people greeted him on the beach when they walked their dogs. No one focused on him unduly, tried to take his picture, or called the press. They were more respectful than that, and he just disappeared into the woodwork in Bolinas like everyone else. If he had looked for a place to hide out, he couldn't have found a better one.

Jane and Liz had been in New York working on their movie for six weeks, when Liz had to go out to L.A. to do some work. They still hadn't found a replacement house-sitter by then. They never mentioned it, and Coco suspected Jane hadn't even tried. But she was happy living with Leslie, so she no longer said anything about it either. Liz was planning to be in L.A. for a few days, and Jane couldn't leave the set. Liz called them from L.A., but had no reason to come to San Francisco, so she didn't. She knew that Leslie was still there, which was fine with them. It was company for Coco, if they even spoke to each other, which Jane doubted. She thought he was unlikely to befriend a girl her age, and there was no question in Jane's mind that she wasn't dating fodder for him.

Liz had suggested otherwise once or twice. They were, after all, both good-looking, intelligent, nice people, living in the same house. Jane had laughed.

“Stop inventing stories for screenplays and sitcoms,” Jane chided her partner, making fun of the idea. “Leslie Baxter isn't going to get involved with a dog-walker, even if she is my baby sister. Trust me. She's not his type.” Jane was so adamant about it that Liz backed off. But it struck her odd that now that his ex-girlfriend was living with a rock star and no longer threatening him, Leslie was still staying at their house. And she had more respect for Coco than Jane did. To Jane, Coco was still a child, and a rebellious one at that. Liz knew what lay beneath the surface. Jane never tried to find out. Maybe Leslie had. The thought had crossed Liz's mind.

And as she always did, Liz visited who she referred to as her “mother in love” when she went to L.A. It was a duty call, out of respect for her partner's mother, but one that she always enjoyed. And she was happy to find Florence in excellent form, and looking better than ever. It had not gone unnoticed by Liz, however, that as she arrived at the house in Bel-Air, a young man had left. He had smiled at Liz as they passed each other, and he looked about Jane's age. He got in a silver Porsche parked outside and drove off. Liz had no idea why, but she had the odd feeling that the young man was planning to come back as soon as she left. And there was a man's cashmere sweater hanging on the back of the door when she used Florence's bathroom, and two toothbrushes in the cup. She told herself she was too suspicious but teased Jane's mother about it anyway, over champagne in the garden, a ritual with her. Her new face-lift had finally settled in, and she looked fifteen years younger than she was. Her figure was better than ever.

“Is that your new beau I saw driving off in the Porsche when I arrived?” Liz teased her, and was stunned when she saw Florence go visibly pale and choke on her champagne.

“I… of course not… don't be silly… I… I…” She stopped talking in midsentence as she looked at Liz, and bowled over the younger woman as she started to cry. “Please don't tell Jane or Coco… we've been having such a nice time. I thought it was just a passing thing, but we've been together now for almost a year. I know it doesn't make sense. He thinks I'm fifty-five. I told him I had Jane at sixteen, which sounds awful, but I didn't know what else to say. He's thirty-eight years old, and I know it must sound disgraceful, but I love him. I loved Buzz while I was married to him, but he's gone. And Gabriel is a lovely man. He's very mature for his age.” Liz had to remind herself to close her mouth as she tried not to stare at her mother-in-law. Liz had always been more sympathetic and gentler than Jane, and Florence had often confided in her, but never about anything like this.

“If it makes you happy, Florence,” she began cautiously, not sure what to say, or what the man's motivations were for being with someone that much older. Liz was understandably worried about that. And she knew that Jane would have a fit, and more than likely Coco too. “What does he do? Is he an actor?” He looked like one, and was handsome enough to be, which made Liz suspicious of him too.

“He's a producer-director. He makes independent films.” She mentioned two that had enjoyed considerable success, so at least he wasn't a gigolo, only after her money. “We have a wonderful time together. It's lonely now that Buzz is gone, and the girls don't live here anymore. I can't write or play bridge all the time. Most of my friends are still married, and I'm always the odd man out.” Liz had understood for a while that it was hard, harder than Florence's older daughter wanted to admit. And Florence was still young enough to want companionship, and even sex, although it startled Liz a little to think about. And she knew Jane would want to hear nothing about that. “Are you going to tell Jane?” Florence asked her with a look of panic, as Liz thought about it.

“Not if you don't want me to.” Florence wasn't committing a crime, or doing anyone any harm. She wasn't mentally incompetent, or risking her health. She was having an affair with a younger man, twenty-four years younger in fact. But in the end, Liz thought to herself, why the hell not? Who were they to tell her she was wrong? Or that she couldn't? Or make her feel bad about it? Still, she was afraid that Jane would do all of the above. She could be very tough. Liz loved her anyway, but she was well aware of her weaknesses, flaws, and quirks, and acceptance of her fellow man had never been one of her strong suits. “I think you should tell the girls yourself,” Liz said gently.

“You do?”

“Yes, I do,” Liz said honestly. “When you think it's the right time. If it's a passing thing, it's none of their business. But if he's planning to stick around, you have a right to feel loved and accepted by your family. It's nice for them to know what's going on in your life.”

“I think Jane will have a fit,” her mother said miserably.

“So do I,” Liz said honestly. “She'll get over it. She has no right to tell you how to run your life. I'll remind her of that, if that helps.”

“Thank you,” Florence said gratefully. Liz had championed other causes for her before, successfully. But they both knew that this was going to be tough.

“I wouldn't worry about Coco,” Liz added. “She's a gentle soul, and not as critical as Jane. They both want you to be happy.”

“But they probably don't want me to have a young lover. There's no money involved,” she said, to reassure Liz, and indirectly Jane. “I told him he needs to get married and have children. But he's already been divorced and has a two-year-old. And we're very happy. I don't think we'd ever get married,” she said apologetically, as though she were doing something awful.

“You know, if you were a man,” Liz said, sounding suddenly angry on her behalf, and feeling sorry for her at her obvious embarrassment and shame, so much so that she had been lying to her daughters. “If you were a man, you'd be showing off a girl half his age at every party you could go to, you'd have her strutting her stuff at the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and bragging to your children, your barber, and your neighbors. You'd be married by now, and having a baby. In fact, if you were ten years older, and he were ten or twenty years younger, if your sexes were reversed, that's exactly what would happen, and everyone would stare at you with envy. Now
that
is what's disgusting, that double standard that makes you feel you have to slink around and lie and hide, and makes a man in exactly the same position feel he should shout it from the rooftops. Florence, this is
your
life. We only go around once. Do what makes you happy. I was married before I met Jane, and I probably could have stayed that way forever. I didn't want anyone to know or think I was gay. I was so busy being respectable and being who everyone wanted me to be that I was absolutely miserable. The best thing I ever did was leave my husband and move in with Jane. I finally have the life I always wanted. And you know, if Buzz were still alive, I'm sure he'd be doing exactly the same thing with an even younger woman.” She raised her glass of champagne in honor of the woman who was her mother-in-law by love if not by law. “To you and Gabriel, Florence. Long life, and only happiness ahead.” They both cried as she said it, and sat in a hug for a long time. And a moment later, Florence called him on his cell phone and told him. She wanted to introduce him to Liz, but Liz felt that it wouldn't be fair if she met him before Jane did. That smacked of a conspiracy to her, and she knew it would to Jane, although she could have reassured her. She promised to meet him next time, once Jane and Coco knew about him.

She left a little while later, and the two women embraced on the doorstep.

“Thank you,” Florence said, looking gratefully at her. “You're such a kind, decent person. My daughter is very lucky.”

“So am I,” Liz said, smiling at her, and got back into the town car that had brought her there. They headed down the driveway, as the Porsche was returning. Liz lowered her window as he passed them, and she smiled and waved, as he looked at her in amazement, and smiled back.