The Invaders (7 page)

If my father let me, I could have this life, and I would make it good. I wasn't weak. He just didn't know what I was capable of. No one did.
I had a leg up and that made it easier to slack off. I didn't have to work at the feverish pace that new guys worked when they came from nothing. I knew I was lucky. When my father used to take me to his office, I could pick them out. They worked like it meant something and never took vacations. They were trying to surpass their numbers. They picked up the proper sales keywords quickly: opportunity instead of problem, scalable sales implementation, and even that rah-rah shit about seizing your future and all the bullshit that led you to believe that anything was possible. They were always the brightest with the firmest handshake. The guys like me, who came from where I come from, had a little bit of a wrinkle in their shirts, and sometimes they decided Top-Siders counted as proper office attire. Those were my people.

I looked into the lit windows of the Captain's Lounge at all the guys a decade or more older than me and I knew most of them worked for this life. I already had an advantage, because I was a legacy. Did it feel good? I don't know. I sure didn't feel bad about it. The women stood in packs, away from their husbands, and none of them looked appealing to me. Well, that's not true. Some of them did—young-looking moms like the woman I'd just met in the bathroom. I had accidentally peed on the toilet seat and was cleaning it up when I heard a click-click-click and thought to myself, Some old lady, a lady who lunches, had wandered into the wrong bathroom, and I considered jumping out and scaring her, but then, you know, they're so hopped up on Chardonnay and Xanax, one false move could end it all.

So I finished wiping the seat, because cleanliness is key, and opened the door to the stall. And there she was. She wasn't old at all, just teetering a little bit. After she informed me that I was, in fact, in the ladies' room, she chased me into the hallway and made me shake her hand with my unwashed hand and told me her name was Jill.

I looked for her in the crowd of older, more successful versions of me but didn't see her. Leaning back, I stared out into the sky and heard
the patio door open. Then there she was, my Jill, like she knew I was thinking about her. She was teetering more now, but not enough to make her look sloppy.

She swayed close to me and sat down. She said something like “Hey you,” and I smiled back, happy that she remembered me.

But she didn't remember my name, so she leaned in close and asked me to introduce myself again.

“Teddy,” I said.

“Like the bear?” She giggled.

No, that shit never gets old. I wish she knew that she didn't have to search for that thing that she thought would put me over the edge. I was just happy to have someone to talk to who didn't have some bullshit preconceived idea about me. She could find out the truth from the other club mothers tomorrow.

She looked familiar, like I'd seen her around here before, maybe on my school breaks. But I didn't tell her that. I just nodded and smiled.

She laughed and told me that she was only teasing. She smiled extra-long while she said it, like she was trying to be sexy. I understood what she was trying to do and I tried not to be sad about it.

“Did I see you wearing a bat-wing thing earlier today?” I asked.

“You mean the Earlywine ladies' poncho? Yes, that was me.”

“I don't even understand how you would put something like that on. Where do you put your arms?”

“You can put them anywhere. You can put them down your pants, up your shirt, no one would know.”

“Damn,” I said.

“I bought it.”

“Good idea,” I said.

I lay back and closed my eyes and she asked what was wrong. I told her that I didn't feel well and maybe I should go. She asked me if I wanted her to take my temperature and I wasn't sure how to answer
anymore. The game was already old. I wondered if my mother had ever gone around bored and talking to strangers like this. If my dad allowed it or encouraged it. I thought about it for a second and then decided I never wanted to have that thought again. She wasn't around to defend herself, anyway.

“Is your husband in there somewhere?” I asked.

“How do you know I'm married?”

“Because they don't let single women in here,” I said.

“They don't, huh?”

“Bad for morale,” I said.

She smirked and said she guessed it would be. I considered her age and how many children she might have, or how long she had been trying. This was a family place, so people who weren't starting families, like me, made everyone uncomfortable.

“Why don't you tell me something about yourself?” I asked.

“Like what?”

“I don't know. A secret,” I said.

She closed her eyes and slid down in the chair and giggled. “I don't know you well enough to tell you my secrets.”

“That's the whole point. I don't know who you are, so I'll never tell.”

She kept her eyes closed and said, “Maybe I had too much to drink.”

I knew it was time for her husband to come find her. I wanted to go down to the dock, anyway. I slipped down the stairs. The bells on the boats jangled in the wind and some had their cabin lights on. If things got rough, I could live on the boat, I thought. I passed the big ones first, the Last One III and Ruthless for the guy who bought his boat after his divorce from Ruth, a real ballbuster of a woman who watched everyone out of her bedroom window.

And then my favorite, Dr. Luewken's boat—Sir Osis of the River. How did these old fuckers come up with these names?

I found my dad's small boat next to these monsters. Simply named
Joanne after my mom. I'm sure Cheryl loved to see that, Joanne in big sweeping cursive letters, when she climbed in. My dad had wanted to change the name, but I wouldn't let him. She had loved to sail, the water. When I was younger, I had convinced myself that some part of her was still down there. Shifts of light off the side of my boat told me she was. I used to take the Sunfish we had out and spend hours tooling around in the water, just talking to her like she was ever going to say anything back. My dad never dealt with the boat, just left it to drift around in the slip year in and year out. I was pissed at him for letting it fall into disrepair like this. It looked so small and weak next to these other shining boats, each a measure of its owners' girth.

Pauline had found out I was home and texted saying I could come over if I promised to fuck her; it seemed like as good a place as any to go. I knew that I could do better, because she treated me like I was something really amazing. We both knew I was doing her a favor and she let me do whatever I wanted to her, which was nice.

She was all right looking, but what she really had going for her was that she had an amazing assortment of painkillers. Her dad suffered from some kind of degenerative knee thing and he always got top-shelf stuff. It was easier to fuck on Percocets than drunk and it just seemed like more fun. Less labored and I could go for longer. If it were up to me, I'd always fuck on painkillers. She whispered “Teddy” in my ear when we fucked and it sounded accusatory. So I said, “What?” And she started pouting and said, “Nothing.” And then I realized she was just trying to be sexy, but it wasn't working.

Pauline was sort of chubby around the waist and when she was lying down she looked flat and thin, but when she'd get on top her belly would hang over and hit my stomach as she bounced up and down. It was somewhat disconcerting. Equally fucking weird was her need to exercise on the elliptical machine in her parents' bedroom after we had sex. She always did it and her thighs rippled with every step. I closed
my eyes and listened to her huffing on the machine as I was lying there, naked and surrounded by fake ivy plants. She shook me awake and told me I better get dressed, I couldn't stay over because her parents were coming back early in the morning. I felt like a child again and knew that I had to find a girl who had her own place.

Her parents' bathroom was repulsive, with clashing floral patterns on the wallpaper and shower curtain. Her father was obviously ball-less. I would never stand for this shit. I shook my head as I rifled through his medicine cabinet. Along with the usual Percocets and Vicodins I found some really great shit: Dilaudid. Mr. Kemble had turned into quite the pill popper. Thirty dollars each on the street last time I checked. I took five. No, I decided to take six. I thought about taking more. I probably wasn't going to see Pauline for a while and did I really even care if she got into trouble? Dilaudid was golden, not something you find in everyone's medicine cabinet. I wondered what was wrong with him. Maybe he was dying. Then I felt bad. If he was in that much pain, I probably shouldn't take all of it, so I put four back. It would give him enough time to get a refill. I wasn't an asshole.

I kissed Pauline on the way out and promised to call. I always did, but she always ended up calling first, never giving me a chance not to. Maybe this time she wouldn't call. I always thought that and never got lucky.

I went back to the Joanne to sleep in the cabin.

Tomorrow, when I woke up, things would be different,
I thought to myself. I would get my life in check, maybe sail somewhere first to clear my head. I could go to the Cape or even farther up to Maine. I needed to know I could do things like this—be alone and self-sufficient. I had gone as far as Fishers Island at the mouth of the Long Island Sound in high school once. I was proud to have gotten there on my own and I wanted to keep sailing, go on forever, but for some reason I got scared. Like I couldn't do it, like it was a mistake to go in the first place. The
open ocean looked choppy and I chickened out. I had spent the afternoon watching bigger boats with waving families sail past me into the Atlantic as I sat hunched over, drinking beers, wishing I had the guts to run away.

•  •  •

I woke up and didn't know what time it was, but it was so nice out that I decided I would go sailing and save the pills for later. No one was on the water yet, but I saw the sailing instructors readying the Sunfishes for the little kids. In the daylight, I could see the boat was in worse shape than I'd thought. From the looks of it, seagulls had spent months dropping oysters and clams onto the deck of the boat, scattering seashells everywhere. I picked them up and threw them overboard, uncovering the grime underneath. Why did my father even bother keeping it in a slip if he was just letting it waste away? I went back into the cabin, looking for cleaning supplies.
Poor Joanne,
I thought. I would bring her back from the dead. I spent the morning cleaning every part of the boat until she glistened. No one paid any attention to me as they wandered around the docks, and that was just fine with me. Men in deck shoes and white shorts showed off their boats to their friends, talked about the Cape, the Vineyard, and sailing down to Florida.

I pulled at the sail and started the engine, motoring out of the small harbor past the kids who had started crowding in around the Sunfish boats in their life preservers. I could hear them complaining as I floated by—it was too hot, their life preservers were itchy, one even pointed to me and said, “He's not wearing one!” I gave him the finger.

They all turned to look at me and I waved at the annoyed instructors as I passed. Once out in the sound, I cut the motor and opened the sail. It felt good to be out here alone, just listening to the water.

I was happy it wasn't that choppy and I hugged the edges of the islands trying to get a closer look at the houses. I took my shirt off and raced along the waves, trying to get to my favorite island. When I got
there, I hung back and stared at the Tudor house and watched three little girls all dressed in white chase one another in circles. I would have thought they were ghosts if I hadn't seen their nanny, sitting up by the house with a book, not paying any attention to them. I sailed around the island, stared at the tennis courts, at this world cut off from the mainland and seemingly cut off from time. I sailed out farther, away from the small cruise ship calling out state history and the power boats with guys drinking beer and looking for rocks to jump off of. I didn't recognize any of the guys yelling off the side of their boat, but I knew the Coast Guard would probably roll up on them soon enough. I held the rudder tight and sailed away from all of them. I ran my hand through the water and thought if this was all I ever had to do I would never complain.

WHEN I WOKE UP
in the middle of the night, I noticed that Jeffrey was not next to me. His side of the bed was clean and made. As I snuck down the stairs, I could see him asleep on the sofa, a pillow crammed under his head. I got the familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach of having done something wrong. I had put on a lace nightgown last night just in case, but it hadn't mattered. Jeffrey hadn't seen me. I could walk around like a nudist and it wouldn't even register with him. Now, when I returned home from my morning walk, the sofa was empty and I folded the blanket that he had tossed aside. There was no point in being melodramatic.

The club phone directory lay open on the counter. I stood above it and ran my fingers along the numbers. I flipped the pages, closed my eyes, and pointed.

Tuck. I wasn't going to call him. He'd recognize my voice, tell someone. I closed my eyes and chose again. I didn't recognize the name and I dialed *67 to block my number, then I took extra care dialing, listening
to the beep with each numeral. I listened to the phone ring and when a man picked up, I said a breathy hello, waited for a return of the favor, and got nothing. He hung up. That was the problem. Often I was mistaken for a telemarketer or someone begging to change political parties. I wasn't. I just wanted to get us off.

I tried to phone my mother. It rang and rang, with no answer, not even a voice mail or a machine picking up. I considered driving over to see her, just to see if she was okay. I decided I would do it after another walk. I needed to clear my head and think of how I would approach her. I knew she wouldn't be happy to see me. The last time I had seen her I'd told her I was ashamed of her. I used to watch my mother float through the house at night in her lace see-through nightgown, unashamed as we watched her. She was the most beautiful woman in the world to us. We wanted to be womanly like she was. I wanted to be looked at and desired. As I had been gangly and young, it had seemed to me an impossibility. I'd had to wait years to fill out.