The Resort (2 page)

“That was months ago,” Margaret said, coming to sit beside Henry on the bed.

“He’ll be back here in a few weeks,” Henry said.

“We could rent a car in San Francisco, see Stanley, then drive down the coast on Highway 1. We could stop at Carmel, Big Sur, Santa Barbara, and fly home from Los Angeles. Everybody who’s ever done that trip says it’s marvelous.”

“I can’t take a week away on such short notice,” Henry said.

“Neither can I. Let’s do it anyway.”

“Insane,” Henry said. He had to admire her talent for electives. “California is like another country.”

“What’s wrong with that? Look at the weather here.”

“What makes you think the weather in California is going to be any better?” California, Henry told himself, is movieland and Disneyland, with pockets of elderly Neanderthals and drug-culture communes, surfboarding and tripping, lush groves and vineyards, the best and the worst of climates, the magnificent sierras and the valley of death. He’d been to a convention in Los Angeles. He’d visited San Francisco with Margaret long ago. Between them, he felt, would be like going up the river looking for Kurtz.

“Please?” Margaret said.

“It’s not to visit Stanley,” Henry said. “It’s for us.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Much later she was to think
I wished it on ourselves.

*

Their five-hour flight from Kennedy was uneventful. As they emerged into the San Francisco terminal, they were both startled to see Stanley behind the roped-off egressway. Quickly they came around to where Henry could pump his son’s hand, releasing its enthusiasm so that Stanley could put his arms gently around the woman who had been his first love. God, how much taller than Margaret he was. In fact, Henry noticed, Stanley was now a smidge taller than himself. If each generation was a mite taller, where would it all end? The field of genetics escaped him. He felt the wonder of a father at the miracle of a son who had so recently been a child leaning down to embrace his mother.

“Did Mom worry all the way?” Stanley asked.

“I’ll tell you about Mom,” Margaret said. “Mom is a completely rational human being except on Ferris wheels and airplanes, and I haven’t accepted an offer for a Ferris wheel ride since I was sixteen. I trust airplanes even less than most people trust doctors. I know what doctors don’t know. How do I know what airplane pilots don’t know?”

Stanley and Henry laughed, as they all headed for the baggage area.

“How did you know where to meet us?” Henry asked.

“You told me the flight number.”

“But how’d you get here from Santa Cruz?”

“The way I always do,” Stanley said. “I took a thumb.”

*

Margaret was thirteen, walking home from school when, in a sudden rain, she saw the pickup truck and the driver stopped for her. Her wet middy blouse made her feel almost naked. She apologized for getting the cab seat wet. He said
never mind
and patted her knee, leaving his hand there, a signal for terror. At the light she got out against his protests, running all the way home in the rain. She scrubbed her knee and thigh with soap and water over and over again to remove the memory, determined never ever never to hitch a ride again.

/

*

“It’s easy out here,” Stanley said, “and you get to meet people. You know, not everyone who drives a car is a child molester.” He laughed, hoping she wouldn’t deliver the lecture again. “Of course, if Dad would spring for a car…”

“You’d only drive around a lot and get yourself into an accident,” Margaret said. “They say half the drivers in California are crazy.”

*

At the Hertz counter an ambitious clerk saw the coded rating on Henry’s credit card and said, “We’ve got the Granada you reserved, Mr. Brown, but I thought you might be interested in the special we have on Mercedes right now. They’re very popular in California.”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” said Henry. “We’ll stick to the Ford.”

As they left for the parking lot, the men each carrying a bag, Stanley put his free arm through his father’s and said, “I reserved a tennis court for eleven a.m. Tuesday. Think you can drive down in time so we can play before I show you around?”

“Terrific,” said Henry, who always played tennis twice a week at home. From his friends Henry heard horror stories about their adolescent sons; Stanley seemed to have bypassed all the conspicuous pitfalls. So far.

*

When they checked in at the Highgate, the clerk behind the desk, a sixtyish stout man with a slight accent, asked, “You’ll be staying just the one night, Dr. Brown?”

“I’m Mr. Brown. My wife is Dr. Brown. It doesn’t matter. Yes, just the one night.” The clerk reminded him of someone.

“Will the young man be staying with you? We can provide a folding bed or…”

“No, no. He’s going back to Santa Cruz.” A Lillian Hellman play? Or was it the film? Maybe he used to be an actor.

“Will you need a reservation at your next destination?” the man asked politely. The Highgate really deserved its reputation for considerate service.

“We’ll be driving south along the ocean. First stop is Carmel.”

“As your second, may I recommend Cliffhaven in Big Sur? It’s a new place, excellent view, three-star restaurant.”

“Yes, yes,” Margaret said, overhearing.

“Good,” the stout man said. “I’ll leave the confirmation in your box.”

As they followed the bellhop to the elevator, Henry looked over his shoulder once at the desk clerk. He wasn’t paying attention to the next person in line. He was staring straight at them. Embarrassed, Henry proceeded to the elevator without looking back again.

“Anything the matter?” Margaret asked in the elevator.

“No, no,” Henry said.

Margaret, out of long experience, knew Henry was lying to spare her something.

*

If you asked any of Margaret’s patients about why they went to her, they’d say her self-confidence was catching, you felt better after visiting her, even if the news was bad. You felt whatever was bothering you was under control, hers and yours. As for Margaret, she took pride in being a perceptive diagnostician of emotional as well as physical needs, needing only the tiniest clues to give her insight that helped. And so when Stanley took them via cable car to Ghirardelli Square, she sensed her son wanted a private talk with his father. Ghirardelli’s wonders offered a perfect excuse; for Margaret, useless shopping was a perfect recreation, and here there were dozens of attractive shops beckoning.

“I’ll have a look around if you sports don’t mind.”

“Great, Mom,” Stanley said. “Dad and I can have a beer.”

So Margaret went off, while father and son settled themselves at a sun-shaded table in an outdoor café.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” Margaret cried from a distance. People turned to look at her.

“Take your time,” Henry said, but she was now too far to hear. Henry, for it was his nature to do so, wondered for a moment what their lives would be like if Margaret did not return. There would be a search, an investigation, nothing. Hundreds of people disappeared that way each year.

“Your mother,” he said to Stanley, “enjoys shopping more than anyone I know.”

“You might as well enjoy what you have to do.”

“No, no,” Henry said, “I’m not talking about necessities. It’s her way of making up for the past.”

“Because Grandpa was so poor.”

“You got it. She even enjoys window shopping, she says, because she
knows
she can buy what she’s looking at.”

“I’m glad you two like each other,” Stanley said.

“What makes you think that?”

“It shows. Dad, it’s real neat having you both
visit.” He nodded his head several times the way young people sometimes did.

His son, Henry thought, had evolved into an interesting looking young man, with Margaret’s best facial features. And yet one could easily see Henry in his son. Wonder where the reddish glint in the hair came from? Margaret’s mother? Wonder if it’s the sun out here?

“It’s good to be here,” Henry said. “I’m really pleased about the courtesy.”

“I wanted to meet you.”

“I mean the tennis.”

“De nada,”
Stanley said.

“You pick up a bit of Spanish out here?”

“Picked that up from Hemingway. Didn’t you ever read Hemingway, Dad?”

Henry was tempted to say
before you were born.
Henry let some silence settle between them so that Stanley could organize whatever it was that he had in mind.

“Pop,” he said finally in a form of address he always reserved for moments of feeling, “I’ve been hit.”

“What does that mean?”

“A girl.”

“A friend? How nice.”

“I’ve got lots of friends, you know, fellows I hang around with, and girls I see. This is different.”

“Not like Marjorie what’s-her-name?”

“No,” said Stanley. “Not like any of the others.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Actually, I met her when I was on line for registration. She was in front of me and I asked her a dumb question.”

“What kind of dumb question?”

“I don’t recall, but I remember she turned around—she is just sensational-looking—and said, ‘That’s a dumb question.’”

Henry had to laugh.

“Pop, I have been seeing her every day.”

“I hope it’s not interfering with your studies too much.”

“Yes and no. I think about her when she’s not there, you know what I mean?”

“Has she got a name?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m sorry. Her name’s Kathy. They call her Kathy Brown.”

“That’s a coincidence!”

“No, no, that’s not her name, just what they call her. The guys here have a thing—if a girl’s going sort of steady with a fellow they call her by his last name. It usually makes the girls mad.”

“I can imagine.”

“That’s why they do it. Kathy doesn’t mind too much.”

“You haven’t done anything hasty, I hope.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, Stanley, you haven’t secretly gotten married or something. Mother would…”

“No, no, Pop, it’s just a thing with the name. Wait’ll you meet her. She’s into ballet, and she likes the same music I do, and we like being together. Pop, I’m in trouble.”

Henry thought
abortion.

“You need money?”

Stanley nodded uncomfortably. “Sort of.”

“How much is sort of?”

“Sixty bucks. Please?”

“That’s outrageous.”

“I don’t want you to get angry.”

“I’m not angry. What kind of medical attention do you think she’ll get for sixty dollars? It’s got to be a first-rate hospital and a first-rate doctor. You have…”

He stopped because Stanley was laughing.

“Oh Pop, not that. It’s just, well, I buy her presents, little things. She used to refuse them, but I have to buy them even if I can’t squeeze it out of my allowance. I take her to different restaurants. It’s like an insane thing, a compulsion.”

First love, thought Henry, remembering.

“I borrowed sixty from two guys to cover myself and I’ve got to return it. I’d rather owe the money to you. I promise to pay it back out of summer work.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m writing an I.O.U. on the napkin.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s in case I forget.”

“I’d rather you remembered.”

Henry took three twenties from his wallet, folded them twice, and handed them to his son.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I know how irrational love can be. And how expensive. Just don’t do anything rash like getting married without at least talking about it first.”

“Not too many people get married just like that, Dad.” He put the still-folded bills into his wallet stuffed with papers and crammed the billfold into his jeans.

“Will we meet Kathy?”

“She’s got classes Tuesday morning, but I had an idea. You in a good mood?”

“Good mood,” Henry said. It was a ritual with them.

“We’re always talking about going down to Los Angeles. Kathy comes from there. We could fly down Friday after her class—PCA is real cheap—and we could all go out someplace together, she knows the spots, and then I could meet her family, that sort of thing. All I’d need is like…”

“The air fare,” Henry volunteered.

“Just for me. Kathy pays her own way.”

“And some spending money?”

“A little,” Stanley said. “I’ll repay all of it out of my summer job.”

“Can you cash a traveler’s check at school?”

Stanley nodded, trying to contain his joy.

“This is a hundred. I’ll endorse it to you.”