What It Was Like (31 page)

“This is the old closet that she gave part of to Herb, the creep,” she said as she ripped open the door and dove into the far reaches of the closet floor. Hanging above her, I could see a row of men's suits and sports jackets and lots of white shirts that looked like they'd come straight from the dry cleaner's.

“Look at this!” said Rachel, turning around, waving a big black gun up in the air.

“Hey! Put that down!” I yelled, alarmed at the sight of the revolver that looked absolutely huge in her hands.

“You know I know how to handle a gun!” she scoffed, admiring the gun from different angles.

“Be careful!” I said.

“I
am
being careful!” she said. “I'm being
very
careful. I've taken it out before. And I know how to put it back so he never catches me.”

She looked closely at the gun, turning it around to see it from different angles. “I think it's a thirty-eight.”

“Is it Herb's?” I asked.

“I told you he was in the Mob,” she said with satisfaction.

“Please put it back,” I said.

“Here!” she held it out to me, “Feel it!”

“No,” I recoiled.

She put one foot up on an ottoman and posed with the gun placed at her hip and said, “You think I look like Faye Dunaway?”

“Better,” I said, reaching to take the gun from her. “Much better. I don't like blondes. And I'm no Clyde. Why don't you put it back?”

She turned and held the gun high, trying to keep it away from me.

“No, let me hold it for a while!” she demanded. She really seemed to want to keep the gun, and I instinctively knew when to retreat.

“OK!” I said, my hands raised. “Just be careful, and then put it back.”

She pivoted and aimed toward the far corner of the room.

“Ka-CHKK!! Ka – CHKK!! Ka – CHKK!!!” she shouted, shooting at nothing. “Take that, Sharon Spitzer!” she yelled, blasting her imaginary target twice more.

“You really want to shoot Sharon Spitzer?” I asked, my eyes never leaving the gun.

“Well,” she paused. “You said you didn't like blondes . . .”

She put the gun down on the dresser – thankfully – and oozed into my arms for a long kiss. (I think the gunplay excited her.)

We kissed for a very long time as she molded her body to mine.

In a moment of breathing, I murmured, “Sharon Spitzer once told me that summer things never last.”

“Well, she was wrong,” Rachel whispered between kisses. “I'm glad I shot her.”

≁

We ordered in Chinese food that night.

“Why go anywhere when the whole idea is to be together?” she reasoned, and I agreed with her.

“We get delivery people all the time,” she said. “That's what they're for.”

She handed me the menu and said, “Pick out what you want. Order anything. Eleanor left me the cash.”

“Well, that was nice of her.”

“It's the only thing good about her,” Rachel shot back. “She certainly doesn't
cook
.”

“Do you like spare ribs?” I asked her, looking down the list of soups, entrees, and chef's specials.

“I like whatever you like,” she said.

“Right answer,” I responded. “Even if you don't mean it.”

That made her laugh.

“You think it's easy? Being this perfect?” she trilled as she drew the menu out of my hand. “OK. Leave everything to me.”

≁

We ate in the big back room with the hot, tropical wallpaper, in front of the big TV, next to the big rough-stoned fireplace. Everything about this house conspired to make me feel small and poor, but I resolved not to let it bother me. I had every right to be myself with Rachel, and now that I had her back, there was no reason to change.

We ate until we were stuffed. (I have to say that her take-out Chinese food was much better than the stuff we got from House of Chang, and it wasn't just because it was different. I know what “better” is. At least I was learning.)

I played with the controller for the giant TV while we ate. It was a very cool toy and saved lots of walks across the wide room, to and from the channel selector, going back and forth between
The Brady Bunch
and
High Chaparral
. My father would absolutely flip over a thing like this.

“Do you want any more pork?” Rachel asked me, carrying in one of the little white cartons from the kitchen.

“Is that a leading question?” I had to joke. I mean, her comment was just sitting there, in mid-air.

“Oh, you rude boy!” she gasped, faking outrage. “Can't a person say anything anymore?”

I had to laugh at her. It was good to put her on the defensive, where she had me so often.

“Yes, Rachel,” I said. “I would love more of your pork.”

With a smirk, she forked more pork onto my plate and said, “Say when.”

“When.”

And she stopped.

“Thank you, waitress,” I said. But as she turned and walked away, I had to add, “I always tip my waitresses.”

She laughed and said, “You better!”

≁

I helped Rachel clean up the kitchen. It had
two
sinks,
two
ovens, and a refrigerator the size of a small bank vault. I was good at wiping the counters off. My father was fairly fanatical about crumbs – “You wanna draw
bugs
?” – so I learned to be a good counter-wiper like him. I was also showing off how domestic I could be for Rachel, just as she was showing off for me, rinsing off the dishes and putting them neatly in the dishwasher, everything just perfect. Maybe someday we could just live like this, like normal people, with no conflict from the outside. We could just be ourselves, a couple in our own place. Maybe not this grand, but our own. Someday.

When we finished with the kitchen, we went back to the big room with the television and cuddled on the couch all the way through the end of
The Name Of The Game
and something called
Bracken's World
.

All day I hadn't mentioned anything about her promise (though I thought about it all day). Now was as good a time as any to bring it up.

“So,” I started casually. “Did you talk to Nanci today?”

“What do you mean?” she said. “I talk to Nanci every day. Almost.”

“So,” I said. “Did you set her up for tomorrow night? For, uh, you-know-what?”

“That depends on what you-know-what is,” she answered with a sharp cackle.

“You know what I mean,” I said, moving closer to her on the couch. “
You're
the one who suggested it.”

“What –” she said, turning to face me. “I'm not enough for you? Just me alone?”

“You're enough for any guy,” I said positively. “In fact, you're too much! But in a
good
way.”

“Too much what?” she goaded.

“Too much everything,” I answered. “Too pretty, too smart, too sharp, too sure of yourself, too everything.”

She considered what I said and liked it. As you can see, I was getting much better at love-talk, this time around. The thing is, I really meant it. Or else I would have added, “Too much trouble.”

But, honestly, getting her back made me feel
great
, and I didn't want to question or upset things. So I ignored the obvious.

“Well, I gave Nanci a general hint,” Rachel said. “But really, she'll do whatever I tell her to.”

“Everyone is your slave?” I teased her.

“Not
everyone
,” she smiled, turning away from me because I teased her with the truth.

“‘Boys are toys'?” I floated into the air.

She sputtered a little when I repeated those words –
her
words, which I first heard repeated on the lake at Mooncliff, bobbing in a rowboat.

“You know I never forget a thing,” I said.

She looked at me shyly and pleaded, “But you only remember the
good
things about me, right?”

And with that charming, sly smile slicing through me, what else could I say but “I try.”

“Promise? You've been so good and understanding,” she said. “About everything. So I'm going to give you a present.”

“Good, I love presents. When?”

“Tomorrow night,” she said in a low voice, coming closer. “With me
and
Nanci.”

“What exactly might this present entail?”

“That's up to you. It's whatever you want to do. Let's give her what she deserves. She's so damn nosey, and so in love with you.”

“She is not!”

“Oh please!” Rachel crowed. “That cow moons over you – or
moos
– every night. I can tell by the way she talks about you. Why shouldn't I let you have your way with her?”

“You're not jealous?” I asked her, still skeptical.

“You don't love her, do you?”

“Absolutely not!”

“So?” she shrugged. “Then I give you permission to use her for a night. I'll
give
her to you.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I think you might like it. Don't boys like stuff like that? . . . And because she deserves it. And because I've put you through a lot. I know.”

It was nice to hear her say that.

“Then afterwards,” she continued merrily. “You can be my slave.”

I had to laugh at her, she was so willful and wild. She might have matured some, but she was still Rachel.

≁

We slept in her canopy bed that night, our first night together in a real bed.

“This is what I've dreamed of, for so long,” she said, her head on the pillow close to mine. “You don't know how much I've needed you all this time.”

“Yes,” I said softly. “I do.”

“Good,” she said firmly. “We're going to have fun tomorrow. Promise.”

“Whatever you say,” I answered. The promise of “fun” from Rachel was something to contemplate in a leisurely manner.

She snuggled up close to me, falling asleep after a few minutes, and, rather than snoring, she was
purring
. She looked so young, her face all relaxed and angelic in the almost-dark.

After a few minutes I slipped my arm out from under her pillow without waking her, before my
arm
went to sleep.

I remember looking up at the lacey fringe of the canopy as it cast strange shadows on the wall, thinking how good things were.
All things come to he who waits
, I told myself as I fell asleep. But somewhere in the back of mind was a kernel of Worry, just waiting to sprout. I could never just “be happy.” I always knew that at any moment, somewhere, something could go wrong.

≁

That Saturday started out as one of the greatest days of my life. It ended quite differently, but the beginning was fantastic.

Rachel brought me breakfast in bed. Blueberry pancakes! In a sun-filled room, propped up on pillows, with a kiss for starters.

“It's the only thing I know how to make,” she said, putting the tray over my lap. “And coffee. And tea. And I know how to pour Tropicana.”

The whole day, I was happy and nervous at the same time. It was so forbidden for me to be there. We stayed inside all day because Rachel said she wanted to, but I also knew it was so that no one, no neighbor, even with the houses so far apart, would see me there and report back to Eleanor. Rachel seemed a little tense and distracted during the day. Yet sometimes she would giggle to herself.

“Why are you giggling?” I asked her, after I caught her for the third time.

“I'm…happy that you're here,” she said, her eyes shining clearly.

“And you're not worried that Eleanor will find out that I spent the weekend here?” I had to ask.

“No,” she said casually.

“Liar,” I caught her.

“OK, you're right. But I'm going to do what I want,” she declared. “I can't let her run my life. Not anymore; now that I have you back. Some things are worth the gamble.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said, trying to sound supportive, seeing how serious she was.

I wondered if she took any of Eleanor's pills but didn't ask her. I didn't want to upset anything.

“It's a gorgeous day out there,” I said, looking out the back window at the Princes' backyard. It was maybe ten times as big as my folks' backyard. My father would have loved the huge barbeque grill and patio.

“It's gorgeous in here too,” said Rachel, flashing me a look at her naked shoulder under her silky robe. (Did I mention that she stayed in her robe almost the whole day?)

“OK,” I said. “You win.”

We played the Young Marrieds all day, lots of time in bed, snacks in bed, and playing around in bed. We would go for long periods of time when neither of us said anything, and it wasn't uncomfortable for a moment. It was just . . . nice.

Nonetheless, I was already starting to think about what time I would have to get out of the Prince house tomorrow, in advance of Eleanor and Herb's return, and how to remove all trace of my presence before I left. And of course, all day, I never forgot about my schoolwork: that was a constant curtain of worry hanging behind my every thought, the cloud in every blue sky.

But no matter how skittish I felt inside at times, I still managed to ignore my misgivings and “force myself” to have a beautiful time in all this Prince-ly luxury. But I could tell that something was bothering Rachel, too, something deeper than I had seen before, despite all her vows of independence, defiance, and emancipation. Something was on her mind and was keeping her distant.

“Can you just tell me, what are you nervous about?” I finally had to ask her.

“Nothing,” she said.

“That's not true,” I replied. “Not even the little card game you've set up for us tonight?”

“Don't be silly.”

“Eleanor and Herb aren't coming home tonight, are they?” I persisted, thinking that was the thing most likely to worry her.

After a pause, she said, “No, of course they're not.”

“Are you sure?” I pressed her.

“No! They are definitely not coming home tonight! I wouldn't have brought you here if they were going to be around. I'm not deranged. When I'm ready to deal with Eleanor, you'll be the first to know.”

“So why do you look so preoccupied?”

“I'm not preoccupied; I just have a lot on my mind. Aren't I entitled to my own thoughts?”

“I guess so,” I admitted grudgingly.

She gave me a quick kiss on my cheek, chirped, “Good. You're sweet to worry about me,” and walked out of the room.

She always thought that she could just charm anyone at any time and escape the consequences of having to explain herself. And she could.

≁

I spent a lot of the rest of the day playing pinball on the
two
pinball machines that Manny had in the basement. It was an excellent substitute for thinking. Of all the luxuries that the Princes possessed, I think it was the
two
pinball machines – one cowboy-themed, one baseball-themed – that impressed me most. There was less of a thrill in winning an extra ball – since all the balls were free anyway – but I got over that quickly. After I conquered both machines, I went upstairs to find that Rachel was asleep in her bed. That made me feel somewhat relieved; at least she wasn't taking Eleanor's speed.

I tiptoed out and decided to go back downstairs to try to do a little studying, but something, some suspicion, made me take a detour into Eleanor's room. I opened the door and walked into the same heavy perfumed air, the same smell of “old.” But I was relieved: I looked on the top of the dresser and saw that the gun that Rachel had been playing with was gone. She must have put it away. Good.

I went downstairs and checked out the Princes' stuff in the living room: lots of knick-knacks and ashtrays and more dog statuettes, and very, very few books. Only what looked liked Book of the Month Club Main Selections, all in a row, all seemingly unread. Books as furniture – call me a snob, but that's pathetic.

But I have to say that it was very comfortable there. The big black leather Barcaloungers in the big backroom were so deep and enveloping that I fell asleep in one of them, watching the Mets win on the huge Zenith, with Max asleep in my lap. By then, she was my best friend. I didn't mean to fall asleep, but Tom Seaver was cruising, and the sun made the room so warm and cozy. I daydreamt what it would be like to have a house like this, all these rooms, all these
bath
rooms, all these deep, dark closets. It took a lot of money, a lot of work, a lot of something. Lumber yards, huh? . . . And I couldn't help but think about what Rachel had planned for that night. Strip poker? With Nanci
and
Rachel?
OK
, I remember thinking to myself,
that might be fun
. I wasn't sure I would know what to do when all the clothes started to come off, but I told myself not to worry. I trusted that Nature would take over. Nature and Rachel.

When I woke up from my Barcalounger coma-sleep, I took a shower. This was before Nanci came over. I mean, wouldn't you've? Rachel let me use one of the guest bathrooms, which was nicer than any bathroom in my house. And I have to admit that the Princes' towels were extremely fluffy.

As I was drying myself off, Rachel opened the bathroom door a crack and peeked into the still-steamy room, “What do you want on your pizza?”

I'm proud to say that I didn't even flinch when she opened the door.

Calm as cake, I said, “Whatever you want, sugar. As long as there're mushrooms . . . And pepperoni . . . And extra cheese!”

She laughed and closed the door with a click.

It felt good – and odd – to feel so at home at the Princes. What would Eleanor –
and
Manny,
and
Herb, for that matter – say if they knew I was there all weekend? And knew what we were planning? I couldn't wait for the night to arrive. I was nervous, but in a good way. I was ready for a good time.

≁

“Should we wait for Nanci?” I asked as I helped make up trays for the pizza.

“I guarantee you she'll've eaten,” Rachel said. Not maliciously: matter-of-factly. “Besides,” she added. “There'll be leftovers. We'll never eat all of this.”

I got down some glasses from a cabinet and some napkins from a drawer.

“You already know where things are,” said Rachel admiringly. “I don't even have to tell you.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“No! That's what I love about you! You don't have to be told things.”

That struck me funny.

“Well, that's one way to put it.”

“That's why we belong together,” she said calmly, as if she were stating a known fact. I loved when she said things like that – it's what I had been waiting for, all those long, lost, lonely weeks. Love definitely beats No-Love, by a Mooncliff country mile.

≁

We ate the pizza in front of the giant TV, watching one of my favorite movies from when I was a kid: Errol Flynn in
The Adventures of Robin Hood
featured on
Million Dollar Movie.
But I had never realized that it was a
color
movie! When I saw it as a little kid, we had a black-and-white TV at home, so I assumed that the movie was too. It was even better – if, oddly, somewhat more fake in color.

Rachel loved it as much as I did. (I haven't even bothered to write down all the instances when our taste in things was completely congruent, from
Gatsby
on. We loved almost all the same things, except when it came to the Beatles. She was a “Paul” person while I was obviously a “John” person, but that made sense. She went with “cute” and I went with “smart.”)

“Do you want anything else to drink?” Rachel asked as she took a second slice of pepperoni. Did I mention that the Princes had cases and cases of soda in the garage? Coke, Fresca, Orange Crush, Canada Dry ginger ale, Hire's root beer. Everything it seemed, but my beloved Nehi Grape.

“Later I'll make some whiskey sours, and we'll get Nanci drunk,” she said. “Eleanor has the greatest recipe, supposedly.”

During a commercial, Rachel, feeling frisky from all the Sherwood Forest swashbuckling, picked up the metal poker from the set of horse-head brass tools by the flagstone fireplace, next to a basket of cut wood.

“They used to teach fencing at Mooncliff,” said Rachel as she assumed the pose of a swordswoman, using the poker as her weapon. “I don't know why they stopped it. I really liked it. . . . Lunge!”

She showed off her fencing moves in quick succession. “Parry one . . . parry two . . . riposte! Advance . . . retreat . . .
lunge
!”

She straightened up and said, “I love sticking people. It's like ballet, but deadly.”

“Wow,” I replied. “You are lethal.”

“No,” she said, wiping a wisp of hair from her forehead, “I just want to rob from the rich . . . and keep it all for myself!”

She made me laugh.

“Come back and watch the movie,” I said. “What time is Nanci coming over?”

“Be patient,” said Rachel, leaning the black poker against the flagstone. “She'll be here soon. And I think we might have a little surprise for you.”

“I bet you will,” I agreed. “Come over here.”

Rachel giggled and resumed her place beside me on the couch. I held her close to me. She felt small and warm in my arms.

“You've been jittery all day,” I said.

She snuggled into my embrace, “Not jittery. Excited!”

Then she pushed herself away from me.

“You don't know how long I've been planning things,” she said. “Starting with getting you back. And then,
tonight
. I'll have Nanci.”

Her eyes sparkled with the thoughts running through her head. I loved to see her so alive and enthusiastic.

“This weekend is the beginning of everything. Everything is falling into place,” she continued. “I've gotten Eleanor to trust me. See how she went away this weekend? And I have you back. And now we'll get Nanci.”

I wondered exactly what she was thinking. In some ways, I didn't want to know. I was just happy to have her back and happy to see her making plans for us.

“Soon I will have you forever,” she said. “And have everything I want.”

Suddenly she jumped up from the couch again.

“Oh! I forgot to make the whiskey sours!” she announced, slapping her forehead and practically leaping over the coffee table on her way to the bar in the far corner of the room. “My head is not screwed on today!”

I watched her as she disappeared behind the bar and then came out with a few decks of cards and a carousel of poker chips, which she plunked on the counter.

“Here are these!” she said before going behind the bar again.

I saw the cards and poker chips and I thought to myself:
This is
really
going to happen. Strip poker, with two girls.
I had better keep my cool, maintain the Steve McQueen inside, and try not to make a fool of myself.

“I know how to make these,” announced Rachel as she lined up the ingredients in front of her: a couple bottles of different liquors, a big glass pitcher, and a little jar of maraschino cherries. “Right after I lock Max in the laundry room.”

“I'll be right back,” I said and went upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. I had to prepare for the night as best I could. I went straight into the bathroom and brushed my teeth – and tongue – hard. I had had the pepperoni too.

I splashed water on my face and dried it with one of the Princes' perfect towels. I combed my hair and checked myself in the mirror. Too late to shave, but my beard isn't very rough anyway. I looked OK for a “beast.” Maybe this could be a night of pure fun. Me and
two
girls? Why not? I'm young, and it's spring, and I'm back with Rachel. Maybe this was a good night for growing up and controlling the situation – not have the situation control me. I had been down-hearted for so long. Now, for a change, it was time to feel
up-hearted.

Then the doorbell rang. Nanci had arrived. The festivities were about to begin. My first impulse was to run downstairs and get the door, but then I controlled myself, remembering to be “cool.”

Let Rachel get the door and let them get themselves set up downstairs
, I told myself. I'd wait and make a grand entrance in a few minutes. Funny, I don't think of myself as being so calculating about how I appear to other people, but this was a special occasion. I didn't want to mess up tonight, not with everything going so well, and not with
two
girls. I had enough trouble handling one.