The Interruption of Everything (21 page)

Chapter 20

L
eon is off to his party, but left behind the brochure for his resort on the kitchen counter. It’s a picturesque place to say the least. There are no phones in the individual bungalows. Messages can only be left at the front desk. There is golf. The spa looks like it couldn’t possibly be real. I see what is apparently a hot waterfall gushing from nowhere and people standing under it. A rain forest or jungle surrounds half of this hilltop compound. Crashing waves from an emerald green sea seal off the lower side. I wish I could jump inside these photographs for just a few hours.

At least twenty different kinds of “workshops” are offered at this place and Leon has circled the ones I suppose he’s planning to take or maybe he did this just to impress me: “Managing Your Stress, Your Heart, and Your Life” (this one lasts seven days); “Rekindling the Spirit” (five days): for those who no longer find their careers rewarding. This course offers suggestions and guidance on how to consider starting new ones; “Accepting Life’s Transitions” (five days): this one’s got my name all over it. It’s hard to believe he’s circled these last two: “Essential Peacemaking: Women and Men” (seven days) and “Not Quite Paradise: How to Turn a Troubled Marriage Around” (seven days).

Wait a minute. I see one that makes me wonder why he and Frank didn’t think to consider inviting Joyce and me: “Exploring the Power of the Midlife Journey: A Women’s Retreat” (five days). As big as this place looks, we wouldn’t have even had to see them. Oh, who cares? It’s not like I would’ve gone anyway. And Lord knows I would not have wanted to get stuck in a room with motormouth Joyce who last I heard had gotten her stomach stapled and had lost a hundred and thirty pounds. As far as I can tell, I’m already on the Journey. I’m just trying to find a more reliable mode of travel.

I spend most of the evening reading over the MFA course descriptions again and literally get chill bumps at the thought of being able to take any of these classes. I’m not even sure when they’re going to let me know that I’m not getting accepted. It doesn’t matter, because I can still take classes without being enrolled in a degree program. Thank God. In fact, I’ve already decided to take another one over the summer—something more than the beading class—regardless of what happens. I’ve narrowed it down to three to choose from: metal arts/jewelry, welded and fabricated sculpture, or neon/illuminated sculpture.

Leon gets home around midnight. I pretend to be asleep. He smells like wine again. I’m sweating so much that I kick the comforter off of me. I wake up an hour later freezing and pull it back. At five a.m. Leon gets up. I don’t. Not even when Spencer and Brianna come in to say good-bye. They bend down to kiss and hug me. In fact, Spencer doesn’t even ask what happened to all the food. Not even the bread pudding. He does mention that the Lakers won by eighteen points. That Kobe and Shaq were awesome. That the after-party was off the hook.

I go to church with Arthurine. It’s a good sermon. She holds my hand on the way out. We have brunch in Jack London Square, which is on the water. We watch the sailboats and yachts cruise by. I tell Arthurine that I need to go the bookstore and I’ll drop her off at home first. But of course she wants to go, too. But I might be a while. She says she’s in a browsing mood. I look down at her beige pumps. I can see where her bunions are forcing the leather to crack. What about when your feet start hurting and I’m not ready to go? They have chairs in that café. I’ll sit and wait. I do not feel like arguing with her.

We go our separate ways once we get inside. I ask the clerk at the information counter where the art section is. Could I be more specific? Books on jewelry design and working with metal and clay and everything in between. He points toward the back of the store. Are there any books that might give me some insight into the business side of selling and marketing fine art and crafts? He points to the same area. I take out my water bottle and sit on the floor for more than an hour, going through book after book.

I’ve made most of my stuff by imagining it looking a certain way, and through plain old trial and error. But I am awestruck by how much beauty can be squeezed into a book. On the cover of one is a woven basket made of cocobolo wood. I put this on what is the beginning of a pile. On top of it I place another in which fifty artists share their techniques on how they “introduce” color to metal. I just love the “introduce” thing. One cobalt blue and orange object looks like a giant snail: just
one
example of new ways of glazing ceramic art. Copper and pewter satin roses cluster around a hat. I could learn how to make hats, not just decorate them. But I don’t want to make them, so I put this one back. I keep the ones on wire magic and fiber art and finally, quilting like I’ve never seen in my life. I am so excited. I feel like a child who’s been allowed to pick out anything they want in the store. For good measure, I add to the pile a book that tells how to sell and market whatever you make with your hands.

The clerk offers to carry them because they’re too heavy, and we spot Arthurine in the café. She’s drinking tea and nibbling on a giant cookie. I motion to her and she limps over. Says her feet swelled up from sitting here waiting for me for so long. I just cannot apologize.

I refuse to watch Leon pack, so I drop Arthurine off and head for the mall where I spend hundreds of dollars on colorful workout clothes that I don’t bother to try on. I pray that the Ls are big enough or at least don’t shrink before I do. The salesgirl asks if I’m starting a brand-new program or just gearing up for summer. I tell her it’s an old program but with a whole new approach. She wants to know what the name of it is. I tell her it’s called exercise. She laughs. Asks me if I’ve ever thought of trying yoga. Funny you should ask.

Across the aisle is an entire carousel of nothing but Arthurine’s nylon paisley jogging suits, but I cannot bring myself to walk over there. Instead, I go downstairs to the Savvy Department and pick out three very nice peach, lemon, and mint green 100 percent cotton outfits with matching pants, T-shirt, and sweater. I pull the pants diagonally to make sure there’s at least 5 percent Lycra in them. There is. I buy them for Arthurine because she really needs to update her look and she’ll look vibrant in these colors. She just doesn’t know it yet.

It’s around eight when I get home. Leon’s been waiting for me. Wants to know if I’ll drive him to the airport. No. I can’t. Why not? Because I don’t want to. But you always take me to the airport when I’m gone for longer than a weekend. Get a ride with Frank. But his wife is taking him. Yours isn’t, I say. Call a cab. Which is what he does.

Just as I’m leaving for work, I hear the phone ringing but I don’t feel like going back inside to answer it. I wonder if it’s Leon. While I wait a few more seconds before dialing my voice mail, the cell vibrates in my hand. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Marilyn. What time is it there?”

“Close to nine.” I have nothing to follow this up with, so I wait to see what he has to say.

“Well, we made it.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“It’s really quite breathtaking.”

“You knew that before you left, Leon.”

“I know. But it’s different once you get here.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Anyway, how are things there?”

“Everything is fine.”

“Well, look, I just wanted you to know I made it here safely.”

“I thought you might be dead and calling me anyway.”

“Marilyn,” he sighs.

“What?”

“How’s Mother?”

“She’s packing.”

“Packing for what?”

“She’s going to Reno for the weekend with Prezelle and a whole busload of senior citizens.”

“And where’s she staying?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, would you at least find out?”

“She’s sixty-eight years old, Leon. She’s a big girl.”

“That’s not the point. Is she sharing a room with someone? It better not be that old fella.”

“It’s none of my business or yours.”

“For Christ sakes, Marilyn. You’ve certainly become apathetic these past few weeks.”

“I’m just numb, Leon.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. To try and thaw out.”

“Do they have microwaves over there?”

“Look, I just wanted you to know I’m here. Our schedule is going to be jam-packed and pretty hectic, so you might not hear from me until I’m on my way home.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“To be honest, they encourage us not to communicate with our loved ones or our jobs at all.”

“Say no more.”

“Seriously, Marilyn. I told you there are no phones in our cottages, didn’t I?”

“I read the brochure, Leon.”

“Good. Then you’re aware that the only way to reach me is by leaving a message at the front desk.”

“I know that.”

“And only in case of an emergency.”

“No problem. And I hope that you and Frank are able to get as enlightened as you possibly can.”

“Me, too. I’ve gotta go. The first session starts in two minutes. I still love you, Marilyn.”

“What? I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up,” I say and hang up. “I don’t like the way you love me,” I say to the dead phone and then dial the voice mail. It’s Dr. Merijohn. He says that Lovey’s blood tests look good, but as he suspected, her cholesterol is too high: 290. He’s going to increase the dose of her medication but begs me to help her change her eating habits. He’s already sent the test results and copies of her medical history to Dr. Richardson, who’s looking forward to seeing Lovey in a few weeks. If for whatever reason I’m not able to go with her he asks that it be another responsible family member. I’m praying for it.

I’m surprised at just how glad I am that Leon’s gone. I’ve been going to work early and staying late. Trudy is becoming quite knowledgeable and even skillful in a number of departments. She asked if I’d ever finished that necklace I was making and I was embarrassed but admitted that I hadn’t. “Why don’t you leave it here and let me have someone have a go at it? I know exactly what you’re after. Don’t worry.” So I don’t.

I even drove out to Bunny’s health club and got a brand-new membership knowing it was her day off. I signed up for those yoga classes in Berkeley. I treated myself to one of those day spas but left before the “day” was over. On the phone they sounded like an infomercial on how much pampering I was in store for. The massage therapist seemed afraid to use much pressure and after thirty minutes, I gave her a tip and told her I had to go to the bathroom and I felt refreshed. The manicurist’s pager kept going off and while I sat in that pedicure chair that was broken, they had to pour the hot water in and then started vacuuming up all the loose toe and fingernails. So much for “self-care,” magazine-style.

Every evening before dinner I check in with Joy, who’s still sounding good and after dinner I help Arthurine study for her driver’s test. She’s skipping Bible study this week because she says she can’t study two things at once. I can’t believe it’s Thursday already, and here she comes limping into the house with a Nordstrom’s shopping bag full of mail. “Most of this look like it’s for you. I think I saw something in there from one of those colleges but I don’t have on my glasses, so I could be mistaken.”

My ears are ringing. But maybe it’s my cell phone. Or the second line in my workshop. “Arthurine, do you hear that?”

“What is it I’m listening for?” she asks, leaning toward me.

“Do you hear a phone ringing?”

She tilts her head so her ear points toward the ceiling. “It ain’t coming from my room, my phone is turned down so low I can’t hardly hear it when I’m in there.”

“Is there a TV on somewhere?”

“Not that I know of, but I ain’t been in your room.”

“Never mind,” I say. “I don’t hear it now.”

“You might want to get your hearing tested because you don’t wanna look up one day and be deaf.”

“I just thought I heard something ringing, that’s all.”

“That’s how it starts. A little ring here. A little ring there. Then no ring at all. I know what I’m talking about. And speaking of ringing, I forgot to tell you your sister called and said that that neurology doctor had a opening so she’s taking Lovey to see her this Tuesday instead of two weeks from now.”

“That’s great! How did she sound?”

“Like she was your sister.”

“Did she seem happy?”

“She wasn’t exactly bubbling over, but she certainly didn’t strike me as being depressed. What are you driving at?”

“Did it sound like she could possibly be drunk?”

Arthurine pauses for a minute to remember. “No, not at all. But she was chewing on something which I thought was rude.”

“Then I’ll call her later.”

“She said not to worry. She’ll call you after they get back from the doctor.”

“But that’s five whole days from now!”

“So? What you so worried about?”

“My mother.”

“The girl is taking her to the doctor, Marilyn. You think she’d let something happen to Lovey?”

“Not on purpose.”

“Oh, chill out, girl.”

“Chill out? When did you get so hip?”

“They say it a lot on BET. Oh, shoot. There was another message you might not want to know about but I think I should tell you anyway. Your doctor said that if you’da had the baby, it would’ve been a little girl.”

“Thank you, Arthurine, for being such a good secretary.” A little girl? I rub my arms up and down to brush the chill bumps away and to erase the image of a baby girl.

“You’re welcome. Anyway, did you get the mail yesterday?”

“No.”

“Me neither. Did you get it on Tuesday?”

“No.”

“Me neither. Well, here. You go through it. I’m going on upstairs to pack.”

“Did you tell me you get back on Sunday night or Monday morning? I can’t remember.”

“I don’t think we ever discussed the coming and going part. But they said we should get back here on Sunday night somewhere between eight and nine. They have to leave a window open because the brochure said the tour company cannot be responsible for the weather or heavy traffic.”