Love in the Present Tense (9 page)

LEONARD,
age
5:
the first perfect moment

Mitch carried me up to his loft, piggyback. He'd put on a pair of sweatpants but his back was still bare. I couldn't really wrap my legs around him because that big T-shirt came all the way down to my ankles. So I just sort of held on and dangled there. I was actually fine by then and he knew it. He just gave me the lift to be friendly and nice.

He lit a candle, because I was funny about him turning off the lights. Usually I wasn't all that scared of the dark. But I think I was still a little weird from waking up in a new place, and it had been dark, and I couldn't find my inhaler.

Mitch was lying in his bed with me. Barb came up and she was wearing a big long shirt that I think was Mitch's. She started picking up her clothes.

“Oh, no,” Mitch said. “You're leaving? Don't leave.” He begged her to stay for just a few minutes. “We'll just talk,” he said.

She pulled back the covers and got in beside Mitch. I had my hands clasped behind my head, looking up at the ceiling. Watching that candlelight dance around on the beams and plaster. I wiggled my head back and forth to play with the light, and I could feel the elastic strap of my glasses slip back and forth.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Barb had her hand on Mitch's chest. And Mitch had his hand on my chest. It was nice.

“Okay,” Barb said. “What should we talk about?”

I looked straight at that candle flame and I knew everything was okay. It was like…Pearl.

It was my first perfect moment.

“Tell Barb about the dog,” Mitch said.

“The one that gets walked down our street in the morning?”

“No. The one on the TV.”

“Oh, yuh,” I said. “You should have seen it, Bar. It was totally cool. This guy was walking his dog and the water got high and the dog was like dangling under this helicopter and I thought the guy was gonna drop him. Twice we saw it. I covered my eyes both times, just to be safe. I know I didn't really have to. It was just to be safe.”

“Yeah, you can't be too careful,” she said.

Then we were quiet for a long time. I closed my eyes. I was looking at the light from the candle through my eyelids, and even that was sort of still like Pearl. But then after a while I know Mitch thought I was asleep, because he took off my glasses and set them on the bedside table. It started to rain again, and I could hear it on the skylight over my head, and the rain was sort of like Pearl, too.

It was a really perfect moment.

LEONARD,
age
17
:
the first perfect moment

Question: How many angels can dance in the flame of a lighted candle? Answer: Only one but that's enough.

Some things I remember bizarrely well about that night. Little scraps of seemingly unimportant moments that will never go away. They are permanently engraved, a part of me now. Lots of other whole segments are gone. But certain things I remember. Only, maybe I don't remember the actual events anymore. Maybe I just remember remembering.

Then again, whatever.

Here's all that matters: I looked straight at that candle flame and I knew Pearl was with me in that light. It was my first perfect moment.

Then, after they thought I was asleep, they started to talk quietly, and I knew they thought I was sleeping, and I let them think that. Not that I wanted to snoop so much. I think I was at that age where it was hard for me to understand that the world kept going while I was sleeping. It was like cheating sleep—hearing what I'd missed every single night of my life.

Barb said, “Know what they call that guy dangling from the cable?”

Mitch said, “What who calls him?”

“Rescue personnel, dispatchers, police. It's kind of an inside language.”

“I give up,” Mitch said. “What do they call him?”

“Either a tea bag or a dope on a rope. Depending on how charitable they're feeling.”

“Why is he a dope? Because he wasn't supposed to be walking his dog in a flood basin?”

“We're talking two different things,” she said. “You're talking about the rescuee. I'm talking about the rescuer.”

“Now I'm really confused,” Mitch said. “Why is
he
a dope?”

“Because he's out there risking his life for some idiot who should never have been walking his dog in a flood basin to begin with. I'm telling you, Mitchell. Most people who need rescuing need it because they were doing something any fool should know better than to do in the first place. The older you get the more you see that. They're going to bill that guy for his own rescue. You watch.”

“I really feel sorry for the dog,” Mitch said. “He's just along for the ride and it's so completely out of his control.”

They didn't talk for a minute and then Barb said, “It doesn't pay to be the dog, Mitchell.”

I've thought a lot about what she meant by that, both then and since. It could be taken at face value, but that's not the way she said it. It didn't feel like a toss-off comment. It sounded like she was trying to teach him something, but I'm not sure what, because if you're the dog you just are, and nothing you learn will ever change that.

Then after a while I heard some sounds that I think might have been a kiss, but I didn't open my eyes. But I heard little soft breaths, and that wet noise like mouths coming together and then apart again.

“Oh, God,” Mitch said, and he was whispering. “Don't get me started.”

I didn't know at the time what he meant by that but I could feel his hunger. It felt needy and straining, like a tree that reaches over to get water or sun even though a tree can barely move. It felt strange that he should be lying right next to me feeling so much hunger when I was so content and so full. I couldn't understand how he could need so much and not see how perfect everything was.

Then after a while I heard Barb moving around and I knew she was getting dressed to go. And when she left I could tell that she took part of Mitch with her. I could feel it go, and I could feel how different he was without it.

I opened my eyes and I could almost see the skylight and I could hear the rain on the skylight, but without my glasses I couldn't see any rain. I had to imagine what it might look like. I had to know in my gut it was still Pearl.

Then Mitch blew out the candle but it was okay. She didn't go away.

It was perfect.

I know I was only five, and I know I'm not supposed to remember so much so clearly. But it was a real moment, the start of something, and it's etched in. I don't even care whether anyone believes I could remember so much, because I know I do. Maybe the words or details changed in the remembering, but I don't see that it matters, because the words and the details aren't what's important, and what's important didn't change.

MITCH,
age
25:
what pearl left behind

I pitched into the following morning underslept, over-stressed, underlaid, and really in no mood for Cahill.

He showed up at ten after nine. Took one look at me hobbling around on my taped-up ankle and howled with laughter. Cahill was always good for a laugh at my expense.

“Oh, geez, not again,” he said. “Another rough night on the battlefield of love? I swear one day I'm going to have to bury you after that woman is done with you. That little size four commando. Geez, Doc.”

Conversationally, he was getting harder and harder on Barb, heading for a line I was not about to let him cross. I didn't know exactly where it was, but somewhere near; we could both feel it approaching. The day previous he had called her “Mrs. Stealer,” and when I corrected him and said it was Stoller, he said it was merely a matter of tense. I'd almost jumped in his shit right then, but that wasn't quite the line. Just close.

“Jump off it, Cahill.”

He picked up on a tone.

“Ooh. My mistake. Maybe somebody didn't get laid after all.” It irritated me that both of his supposed shots in the dark had fallen right on target. “So, why is Leonard still here?”

“It's a long story.”

Hannah chugged in at nine-twenty, still halfway doing her hair. “Morning, Doc,” she said. “Morning, Cahill. Morning, Leonard. Wait. Leonard?”

She didn't ask if he had come early or stayed late because he was still in his little couch bed, in my T-shirt, with his glasses off, stretching and rubbing his eyes.

“It's a long story,” I said.

Graff rolled in significantly after ten. Like this was news.

“Graff,” I said. “You're late. Even for you.”

He sighed, rolled his eyes. Hopeless is the best word I can use to describe Graff. “Got a fucking ticket.”

“Language,” I said.

“Oh. Sorry, Leonard.”

“Speeding again?”

“California stop. You know. Rolling stop at a stop sign?”

Cahill's head came up. He rarely paid attention to Graff except to tease or express irritation. “We know what it is, Graff. Hey. Here's a thought. Maybe Doc can get that ticket fixed for you. He's got an in at city hall. Or is that a bad choice of phrasing, Doc?”

Graff, with his usual aplomb, said, “Huh?”

“Graff, Graff, Graff,” Cahill said. “Are you so blissfully, eternally out of the loop that you actually don't realize that Doc is boffing the mayor's wife?”

Hannah caught my eye and then looked away. Leonard was tucked safely—and, I hoped, out of earshot—in the far corner playing a computer game. It was designed for first graders, but he was a smart kid. I hoped he was concentrating hard.

Graff said, “Oh.” He looked a little confused. “Nobody ever tells me anything.” Another painful silence. Then he said, “Oh, yeah. She was in here a while back. Nice-looking woman.”

“Yeah, she's a real catch,” Cahill said. “If you happen to have a hard-on for your grandmother.”

Ah. The line.

I walked over to Cahill's chair. Spun him by both shoulders until he was sitting facing me with a look of mild surprise. I took two good fistfuls of his shirt and pushed his chair back until his head hit the glass of his monitor with a solid thunk.

“Ow,” he said, reaching back with one hand to rub the spot.

“We're friends here, Cahill.” The flat coolness of my voice surprised even me.

“Right,” he said. “We are.”

I still had him by the shirt, a point clearly not lost on him. “Do I treat you with respect?”

He rolled his eyes. Tried to stand. I pushed him back again, and his head thunked the monitor again. He held still, looking away like a belligerent schoolchild. “Usually, yeah.”

“So, have I earned your respect in return, then?”

“Yeah. Okay. Enough.”

I thunked his head once more on purpose, just to underline the point. “Then don't ever give me less than my due. Okay? Get the hell out of here if you can't act like a friend.”

I let go. Stepped back. He rose to his feet, and we stood almost nose to nose for an awkward length of time. Maybe the count of five. You could hear the silence radiate. Even the Avian Americans were quiet. I could feel my teeth grind together. In my peripheral vision I saw Leonard's head pop up over his computer.

I waited for Cahill to hit me, or for me to hit him.

Then he took a step back. Brushed off his shirt like I'd left germs on it. “Fuck you, Doc,” he said, hit the door, and kept going.

I breathed it out a minute, then looked around. Everybody was staring at me. “Business as usual,” I said. I sat down and pretended to get back to work. Really I had no idea what was even on the screen in front of me.

After a few minutes of this Hannah brought me a cup of coffee with a generous splash of half-and-half. She put her hand on my shoulder, tentatively, not sure if I would bite. When I didn't she said, “Doc? Is Cahill coming back?”

“Fuck Cahill,” I said. “Oh. Sorry, Leonard. Cahill can go work for somebody he respects.”

“Want me to finish the account he was working on? I think it's kind of ASAP. That new appliance store downtown. We promised to finish their Web site by Friday. I think that's the day they run ads for their big sale.”

“Yeah, thanks. That would be good.”

The whole room began to breathe around me again.

I got up and took my coffee and walked over to where Leonard was playing his computer game. I put one arm around his shoulder, and he stopped playing and looked up at my face and then let his head drop back onto my arm.

“Sorry you had to hear that,” I said.

“What's boffing?”

“Oh. It's, uh…something you don't have to worry about for a long time.”

“But it's something to worry about?”

“Well,” I said. “It's not supposed to be. But everybody
I
know worries about it. How are you doing on this game? You like it?”

“Yuh,” he said. “I found the worm three times.”

For the first of many moments, it struck me as touching that he hadn't asked when his mother was coming to take him home.

About ten-thirty that night, I was sitting staring at the TV in the dark when Cahill came back. I hadn't locked the door yet. He stuck his head in.

Leonard was asleep on the couch beside me, and Zonker was perched on the armrest, playing with that weed-hair and occasionally stroking the side of his beak against Leonard's face.

If you'd asked me what I was watching on the tube I couldn't have told you. Actually it was just an excuse for staring. I'd just been staring all day, since the rest of the guys took off, a longneck beer sitting on one leg, sweating through my jeans, the cold neck tilted in my hand.

“What?” I said.

“I
am
your friend, Doc. I'm the best friend you got.”

“I'll cultivate enemies,” I said, but I didn't put much behind it. All my wrath had abandoned me, leaving me stunned and tired and mildly drunk.

He came in, slamming the door too hard behind him. I looked down at Leonard, but he didn't wake up.

“I'm down on her because I want you away from her. I want her out of your life.”

“Let's take this in the kitchen,” I said. “I got a sleeping kid here. I just got him to sleep.”

Cahill looked down at the little lump on the couch. “Holy shit. Leonard is still here? Isn't she ever coming back for him?”

“Let's take this in the kitchen,” I said.

I hobbled in behind him. While we were in there I got another beer.

“You have any idea how old she is, Doc?”

“I don't care. Get your mind on another track.”

“I think you do care. I think you care plenty. So tell me. How old is she?”

“Like…I don't know. Mid-thirties.”

“You don't even know.”

“And you do?”

“Her fucking biography is on the Web site we designed for the mayor's office.”

“I didn't do that part.”

“I know you didn't. I did. Forty-two. Four-two.” My stomach went cold. Don't be a jerk, I told myself. It's just a number. “And you do care. You know as well as I do this is a dead-end street. I mean, I've seen some guys lose it over love, but you take the prize, Doc. Look what she's doing to you.”

“What's she doing to me? She makes me happy.”

Cahill let out a snorting sound, spun around, walked to the other end of the kitchen, banged his head on the wall, and walked back. Like he had all this energy and could not contain it in the face of what I'd said. “Happy?” he said. “Happy? How many minutes out of every week is she making you happy? Look at yourself, Doc. Look what's happened to you.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about. You want a beer?”

“When we started this business—”

“We?” I said.

“Okay, when you started this business and I got in on the ground floor with you, we did all kinds of shit. We went dancing. Hung out with girls. Got laid. You were a fun guy. You cared about all kinds of things. You cared about this business.”

“I still care about this business.”

“Do you, Mitch? Do you really? He's the biggest account we've got. The biggest account we've ever had. What do you suppose he's gonna do when he finds out—”

I heard a little noise from behind him. “Mitch?” Leonard was standing there pulling the elastic strap of his glasses into place behind his head.

“Shit,” I said. “Now you woke up Leonard.”

Leonard said, “I was sleeping but then you guys yelled. Why are you yelling?”

Actually, I hadn't known we were. I'd thought we were exercising a certain restraint. “Sorry, buddy. Just working some stuff out. Come on. I'll put you to bed.” I carried him back to the couch, trying to limp as little as possible, and tucked him in.

“Whatcha watching?” he said. I had no idea. I looked up and a mummy lumbered across the screen in black and white. “Monster movie,” he said. “Cool.”

“You going to get scared if I let you watch?”

“Prob'ly, yuh.”

“Just a few minutes.”

Cahill was standing in the corner near the birdcage. Looking out at the street. He looked lonely. He looked as if he'd lost his best friend.

“If you felt this way, Cahill,” I said, “you should have come to me and spelled it out like you're doing now. Not sniped it out in front of our co-workers.”

“I realize that,” he said. “I know that now. I'm sorry.”

We all just stood our ground quietly for a minute. Zonker had found his own way back to the cage. Pebbles reached out and picked at a seam on Cahill's shirt, but he didn't seem to notice. The mummy came back on-screen and Leonard cupped his hands over his glasses.

Cahill said, “So. Do I still work here?”

For some strange reason, for just an instant, I felt something hard at the back of my throat like maybe I wanted to cry. “Nine a.m.,” I said. “Be here or you're fired.”