One Day at a Time (8 page)

“I can't even imagine having children,” Coco said honestly, “at least not now.” And even when Ian had been alive, she had felt too young to think about having kids, even with him. “Maybe when I'm in my thirties,” she said vaguely as they drove along. He admired the way she handled the curves in the road with the ancient van. It made some pretty scary noises, but it chugged along. Leslie mentioned that he loved working on cars. It was a boyhood passion he had never outgrown. He was impressed by the hairpin turns that followed the cliffs along the coastline, which she negotiated with ease. She seemed competent and calm and in control of her life to him, no matter what her mother and sister thought. He felt certain they were wrong. And the closer they got to the beach, the happier Coco was.

“I hope you don't get carsick,” she said, glancing over at him with concern.

“Not yet. I'll let you know.” The weather was gorgeous and the scenery fantastic. Both dogs were sound asleep in the back of the van, and after twenty minutes of sharp turns, the road dropped down to Stinson Beach. Half a dozen shops sat haphazardly next to each other on either side of the road. An art gallery, a bookstore, two restaurants, a grocery store, and a gift shop. “This has to be one of the lost wonders of the world,” Leslie said, looking amused at the quaint town, if you could call it that. It was over in two blocks, and they rounded a turn, passing some narrow roads with falling-down shacks.

“There's a gated community over there.” She gestured vaguely past a lagoon. “And a bird preserve on our right. It's pretty unspoiled here.” And then she smiled broadly. “Wait till you see Bolinas. It's a time warp and even less civilized than all this.” He loved the ruggedness of it, and the simplicity. This was no fancy beach town, and it felt as though it was a million miles from any city. He could see why she lived here. The feeling he had as they drove along the unmarked road was one of ease and peace. It was as though one could leave one's burdens far behind just by coming here. Even the harrowing drive over had relaxed him.

Coco took an unmarked left turn ten minutes later, and they rose onto a small plateau. There were houses that looked more like old farms, huge ancient trees, and a tiny church.

“I'll show you the town first,” she explained, and then laughed as she said it, “although that's somewhat euphemistic. It's even smaller than Stinson Beach. Our beach isn't as good, this is more rural, but that keeps the tourists away too. It's too hard to find and too hard to get here.” As she said it, they drove past a ramshackle restaurant, a grocery store, the head shop, and the ancient dress shop with a tie-dyed dress of some kind in the window. Leslie looked around with a broad grin.

“This is it?” He looked vastly amused. The stores were tiny and from another era, but everything around them was pretty and green. There were big, solid old trees, and they sat on a slight elevation above the sea. It looked like country more than beach.

“This is it,” Coco confirmed. “If you need incense or a bong, that's the place to go.” She pointed, and he chuckled.

“I think I can manage without, just for today.”

She drove past the cluster of stores then, and down the road dotted with old-fashioned mailboxes, picket fences, and the occasional wrought-iron gate. “There are a few really lovely houses here, but they're a well-kept secret and tucked away. Most of the homes are just cottages, or old surfer shacks. In the old days, a lot of the hippies used to live in broken-down school buses near the beach. It's more respectable these days, but not much,” she said with a look of peace on her face. It felt good to be back.

She left the van parked outside her house, let the dogs out, and they followed her and Leslie through the weather-beaten wooden gate. Ian had built it for them. She unlocked the front door and walked inside, as Leslie came in cautiously behind her and looked around. She had a perfect view of the ocean from her living room, although the windows were old and not particularly large, unlike the floor-to-ceiling picture windows in Jane's house in the city. Nothing here had been built for show, it was just a cozy place to live, and Leslie could see that. It looked like a dollhouse to him. There were books stacked up on the floor, old magazines on the table. One of her watercolors was propped up on an easel in the corner, part of the curtains had come unhooked. But despite the friendly disorder that resulted from her living alone, the place was inviting and looked well lived in. She used the fireplace every night.

“It's not much, but I love it,” Coco said happily. There were some framed watercolors on the walls, and pictures of her with Ian on the mantelpiece and on the shelves of the overstuffed bookcase. The kitchen was open and slightly in disarray but clean, and behind the living room was her tiny bedroom with a cozy comforter on the bed, and a faded old quilt she had found at a garage sale.

“It's wonderful,” Leslie said, his eyes lighting up. “It's not a shack, as you said, it's a home.” It had a hundred times the warmth of her sister's elegant digs on Broadway, and he could see easily why Coco preferred it. He glanced at a photograph of her and Ian looking happy and young in wet suits on his boat, and then he walked out onto the deck behind her. She had an extraordinary view of the ocean, the beach, and in the far distance the city. “I think if I lived here, I'd never leave,” he said, and meant it.

“I don't, except to go to work.” She smiled at him. It was a lifetime away from the mansion in Bel-Air where she had grown up, and now this was all she wanted. She didn't need to explain it to him, he understood it, and looked down at her with a gentle smile. He felt as though she had just shown him her secret clubhouse, her hidden garden. Being in the house with her was like looking deep into her soul.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” he said softly. “I feel honored.” As he said it, the dogs came bounding up to them, already dusted with sand, and Jack had a branch with some leaves on it tangled up in his collar. The big dog looked elated to be there, and so did Sallie, as Coco smiled up at Leslie.

“Thank you for understanding what this means to me. My family thought I lost my mind when I moved here. It's hard to explain to people like them.” Leslie found himself wondering if she would have stayed there if Ian were still alive, or someplace like it in Australia, and he suspected that she would. Coco was someone who wanted desperately to let go of her origins, the values she found fault with, and all the trappings of that world. This was the outer manifestation of all she had rejected when she came here. The falsity, the obsession with material goods, the fight to get ahead, the sacrifice of people for careers. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she offered, as he let himself down into one of the two faded deck chairs.

“I'd love it.” He noticed the old statue of Quan Yin then, which Ian had given her. “The goddess of compassion,” he said softly as she handed him a mug of tea a few minutes later and sat in the deck chair next to his. “She reminds me of you. You're a kind woman, Coco, and a fine one. I saw the photographs of your man. He looks like a good man,” he said respectfully. Ian was a tall, handsome blond, and the couple looked carefree and happy in the photo. For a moment as he walked by the smiling images, Leslie felt envious of them. He suspected that in his entire life he had never had what they had shared.

“He was a good man.” She looked out to sea and then turned to smile at Leslie. “Everything I want in the world is here. The ocean, the beach, a quiet, peaceful life, this deck where I watch the sun come up every morning, and a fire at night. My dog, books, people I care about in houses nearby. I don't need more than this. It works for me. Maybe one day I'll want something different, but not now.”

“Do you think you'll ever go back, to the 'real' world, I mean? Or perhaps I should say the unreal one, where you used to live?”

“I hope not,” she said firmly. “Why would I? None of that ever made sense to me, even when I was a child,” Coco said as she closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sun. Leslie watched her closely. Her hair shone like freshly polished copper, and both dogs had gone to sleep at their feet. It was a life one could get used to, an absence of complication and artifice. But he could imagine that it would get lonely too. It was a life for the most part without people, or strong attachments for her right now. But his was no better. He was hiding from a woman who was trying to kill him. Without question, this made more sense. Leslie loved everything he was seeing here, but he wasn't sure he could live here. Although thirteen years younger than he was, Coco seemed to have found herself long before he did. He was still looking, though closer to knowing what he wanted than he had been in years. At least he knew what he didn't want. Coco had figured that out sooner too.

“I have to admit…” He chuckled softly as Coco opened her eyes and looked at him again. Everything about her was centered, solid, and peaceful. She was like a long drink of pure water from a mountain stream. “I can't see your sister here.” Coco laughed at that too.

“She hates it. Lizzie likes it more than she does, but it's not their thing. They are women of the city. Jane thinks San Francisco is a village. I think they both prefer L.A., but they love their house here, and Lizzie says it's easier to write here than there. There aren't as many distractions.”

Leslie was still smiling. “I remember when I met Jane. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was in her mid-twenties and she was a knockout. She still is. I had a huge crush on her for about a year, I kept taking her out, and she kept treating me like a buddy. I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong. I finally lost it completely and kissed her one night after we had dinner, and she looked at me like I was insane and told me she was gay. She said she had done everything she could think of to let me know, including wear men's clothes from time to time when we went out. I just thought she was eccentric and it made her look sexy. I felt like the biggest idiot you can imagine, but we've been great friends ever since. And I really like Liz. They're perfect for each other. Liz softens her somehow. Jane has mellowed a lot over the years.”

“That's a scary thought,” Coco commented. “She's still pretty tough. On me, anyway. As far as she's concerned, I never measure up. And I don't think I ever will.” The secret was to stop trying, but Coco knew better than anyone that she hadn't gotten there yet. She still tried too hard to win her sister's approval, even if she lived in Bolinas.

“She probably wants the best for you, and worries about you,” Leslie said reasonably, as they sipped their mugs of tea. Coco liked sitting next to him, staring out at the ocean, and talking about life.

“Maybe. But not everyone can be like her. I don't even want to try. I'm headed in the opposite direction. Away from all that. My mother doesn't understand it either. I'm just different. I always was.”

“I think that's good,” he said peacefully, relaxing in the deck chair.

“So do I. But it scares most people. They think they have to be the same as everyone else, and accept lives and values that don't fit. Theirs never fit me, even when I was little.”

“I can see that in Chloe, even now,” he said thoughtfully. “She doesn't want to be an actress, like me or her mother. She'd rather drive a truck. I think that's her way of saying she's who she is, and she's not us. You have to respect that.”

“My parents never did. They just ignored it, hoping it would go away. You're way ahead of the game if you already respect who she is at six.” Coco smiled as she thought about it. “My mother wanted us both to be debutantes. Jane had recently come out and was militantly into gay rights. She got off the hook because I think my mother was afraid she'd show up in a tuxedo instead of a dress. She got a lot more pissed off at me eleven years later. I said I'd rather cut my liver out with an ice pick than make my debut. I thought it was wrong and elitist, a throwback to another era where the whole purpose of it was to find a husband. I went to South Africa for Christmas that year instead, and helped build a sewage system in a village. I had a lot more fun than I would have had at the cotillion. My mother had hysterics and wouldn't talk to me for six months. My father was cooler about it. But he wouldn't have been when I dropped out of law school. I guess they each had their dreams for us. Jane doesn't quite fit, but they overlooked it because she's a big success, which was always the gold standard for them. I never bought into that and I never will,” she said, sounding sure of herself in a way that he admired.

“Your family will get used to it eventually,” Leslie said in a quiet tone, but from what she'd said to him so far, he wasn't sure they would. Coco was not someone who wanted to meet another person's expectations if they felt wrong to her. She was totally true to herself and all that she believed, whatever the cost to her. He respected that in her immensely. “I like your watercolor on the easel, by the way. It looks very peaceful.”

“I don't do those much anymore,” she admitted. “I usually give them away as gifts. They're just fun to relax with.” He could sense that she was talented at many things, and enjoyed them all, even if she hadn't yet discovered her final goal. In some ways, he envied her the exploration. He got tired of acting sometimes, and all the craziness that went with it.

They sat for a while in silence, lost in their own thoughts, and finally he dozed off. She took their mugs inside, and packed a few things to take back to the city with her. And when she came back out on the deck, he woke up.

“Does anyone ever swim here?” he asked, feeling lazy and sleepy in the sun.

“Sometimes.” She smiled. “There are shark attacks occasionally, which discourage the faint-hearted, and the water's pretty cold. It's better with a wet suit. I have one about your size if you want.” Ian was about the same height as Leslie, and a little broader and more athletic. She still had his old wet suits in the garage, and his diving gear. She had thought about giving them away, but never did. She liked seeing his things there, it felt less lonely that way, and he seemed less gone, as though he might come back and use them.