The Rabbit Factory (24 page)

Hugo let out a loud joyful hoot, then started clapping his hands. His laughter bounced off the walls. As we wound our way down the corridor, all the nurses, doctors, patients, and parents within hearing distance stopped

to smile and watch us go by. Joy of this magnitude does not go unnoticed in a place like the kids' cancer ward at Valley General. Diana blew me a kiss. I hadn't felt this good in a long, long time. I

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I

/ / Ś % e you, be you, be you," I chanted as I followed l~~ Diana's Jeep Cherokee along Ventura Boulevard. It

J sounded lame. "Be Tom Cruise! Be Tom Cruise! Be

Tom Cruise!" I yelled. Better. I just wasn't sure how to pull it off.

We turned into a little strip mall on Ventura. "I couldn't decide between this or the hospital cafeteria," Diana said, as we walked up to a door that said Giorgio's. "But this place definitely has the better wine list." She had changed from her uniform into a tan skirt and a pale blue sweater with a matching cardigan. She looked soft and warm and accessible. As I held the door I caught a light lemony fragrance as she brushed past me. I was fantasizing about wrapping my arms around her when another guy beat me to it. "Buona sera, Signora," he said, as he and Diana exchanged double cheek kisses. She introduced him as the owner, George Imbriale, who hugged me like I was a long-lost relative. He sat us and said he'd be right back with the vino and a special antipasto with all of Diana's favorites.

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"All your favorites," I said, after he left. "I guess you're a regular here." "I try to come as often as I can on a nurse's salary." "Well, tonight you're here on a cop's salary." "Absolutely not. I asked you out." "No, you asked me to visit Hugo. I invited you to dinner. I'm paying. I'm very old-fashioned that way. And you may also recall that I am armed." "Oh my God," she said. "Did I look horrified when I walked in and saw Hugo with that gun?" "I thought you handled it very well. I don't normally let young children play with my weapon, but..." "I know. Special circumstances. I can't thank you enough for spending time with him and for promising to come back." "Actually, you have thanked me enough. Three times before we even left the hospital. If you keep on thanking me, I'll have to keep apologizing for being such a jerk the other night. It wasn't about you. I was pissed at Big Jim." "You think my father is any easier?" she said. "What does he do?" "He's a rabbi."

"Rabbi TrantanellaT

"Rabbi Silver, which is my maiden name. My husband was Italian." "Do you have children?"

"Just the cat."

"Blanche, right?"

"You have a good memory," she said.

"That's because I'm still waiting to hear what Blanche thinks about me."

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The Rabbit Factory

"I haven't mentioned you to her yet, but I will tonight. Promise."

We talked about her job and my job and the relative plusses and minuses of each. We shared how difficult it was to lose a spouse. Joanie's death had been a slow agonizing process, but at least it gave us time for closure. Diana's husband Paul had blown her a kiss from a ski lift one sunny Saturday morning. Two hours later he was being carried off the mountain in a body bag.

Finally she asked me how long I waited to start dating after Joanie died.

"I waited till about seven o'clock this evening," I said.

"This is your first date?" she said, genuinely surprised.

"I'm amazed that Big Jim hasn't briefed you on that."

"I'm... I don't know, I'm honored. Thank you for asking me."

"Thank you for accepting. I don't think I could have handled rejection."

Dinner was fantastico, and the service was attentive, without In-ing in our face. We ordered espresso and one tiramisu for Ivvo. The waiter offered us an after-dinner drink "on-dee-owza," which Diana explained meant "on the house." I passed, already lnt< >xicated with half a bottle of Chianti and two hours of gazing mi ross the table at Diana.

A few days ago, I would have sworn I wasn't ready to date, I Mil now I had to rethink my decision. This was a woman I wanted to see again. There was something about her that waned to fill an emotional void I didn't even know existed. M.iybe it was her concern and compassion for others, which liiid been Joanie's most endearing quality. Then again, it just Milglil be that I was one of the loneliest heterosexual men in

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Southern California, and I would have fallen for a fat lady with chin whiskers and a bad haircut.

She graciously let me pay the check, and I tipped too much, because I knew that even if I never came back, she would. The night was cool, so we walked briskly to our cars. Ten feet from the Jeep she pressed the electronic clicker and the door locks thunked up. "Thank you one last time for visiting Hugo, and thanks for a lovely evening," she said, and kissed me on the cheek. "I can't wait to get home and tell Blanche all about you." She opened the car door. "What are you going to tell her?" I asked, all the while wondering if that little peck was the only goodnight kiss I was going to get. "I'm going to tell her you're the real deal."

"I don't speak cat. What exactly does that mean?"

She took her hand off the door handle and turned to face me. Then she snuggled her body close to mine, put one hand gently behind my neck, and lowered my face to hers. Her lips were soft and sweet and tender, and it was all I could do to keep from wrestling her to the ground. The kiss was long and slow, but it ended about thirty or forty years too soon. "Stop asking so many questions," she whispered.

I watched her get into the car and drive off. I didn't move from my spot until her taillights blended into the ribbon of red on Ventura Boulevard.> The voice inside my head cleared his throat. "If you dream about Amy Cheever tonight," it said, "I will personally step outside your body and shoot you with your own gun." Fair enough, I replied.

I

Ś

I was back on the 101, thinking about Hugo and fantasizing about Diana. But someone else kept cluttering up my head. Ike Rose. Something bothered me about him. Something he said; something he did. Maybe it was something he didn't say, or didn't do. I called Terry at home. "I didn't expect to hear from you tonight," he said. "What's

up?" Ś";':

"I was just wondering...is anything gnawing at you about Ike Rose?" "The only thing gnawing at me is why you'd be calling me about Ike Rose in the middle of your date with Diana." "The date's over." "It's not even 10:30," he said. "When I heard your voice I figured you were calling me because you forgot how to unhook a bra. What went wrong?" "Nothing. She's bright, attractive, charming. You'd like her." "I'd like her? How about the kid in the hospital? Would I like

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him too?"

"Yeah, he was terrific."

"So then you had a good time."

"I had a fantastic time."

"Great. You can tell me all about it tomorrow. Good night."

"Whoa, whoa. You don't want to talk about the case?"

"Not tonight, Mike. And neither do you. You can play detective in the morning. At the risk of repeating myself, why don't you spend the rest of the night being you. Good night." He hung up on me. I was about to call him back, but the little voice inside my head stopped me. "Terry knows you better than you know yourself," it said. "It's only six months since Joanie died. You haven't even finished reading the letters she wrote. You feel guilty about your attraction to Diana, so you want to quickly crawl back to the comfortable misery of a double homicide." But Terry wouldn't let me. Which meant I had to spend the rest of the night being Mike. There was a message on my machine from my father. It was uncharacteristically brief. "Hi. Frankie's doing okay. I told him you're coming tomorrow." He paused. I know Big Jim. He was editing himself. "I'm glad you went out with Diana tonight. Hope you had a good time. Goodnight," Something cold and wet touched my hand. Andre wanted some attention. "Did you hear that message?" I asked him, as I scratched his ears. "It was the shortest, least annoying Big Jim message in history." I went to the bedroom and took the wooden box off the top of Joanie's dressing table. I had decided from the moment I watched Diana's Jeep drive out of sight that I had to open

Joanie's next letter. I couldn't wait another three and a half weeks for her seven-month anniversary.

I opened the box and took out the envelope with the seven hash marks. "Forgive me," I said, as I opened it.

My darling Mike,

I lied. I said that I would write letter #7 tomorrow. That was three weeks and two relapses ago. I'm getting physically weaker and mentally less able to construct sentences that make any sense. It's a combination of the pain and the drugs.

I just re-read my first six letters, so I'll spare you the "How can we not be together" guilt trip that I've been laying on you. It's not your fault I'm dying. My life won't go on, but yours should. I think I went through the grief process they tell you happens when people die. When I first learned about the cancer, I went into denial. Then bargaining, then anger, and now, finally, I've come out the other side. Acceptance. I'm dying; you 're living; and that's how God has planned it. Who am I to argue? I have to accept the fact that He has more information than I do, so I'll accept whatever He has in store for me.

I do wonder what He has in store for you, and my fondest wish is a long and happy life. When this all _ started I couldn 't deal with the thought of some other woman replacing me after I'm gone. But I'm over that. I know she won't replace me. I also know you need someone to help you pick up where we left off. The other day while you were at work Bigfim and Angel came to visit me. I adore them, and I'm so happy that Jim has

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found someone to share his life after your Mom died. They asked me what everybody asks me. "Is there anything we can do?" I always say no. But this time I ashed them to please help Mike get on with his life. Jim wasn't sure he knew what I meant, hut Angel did. So don't be surprised if they fix you up with some nice woman one of these days. And don't be mad at them. They have my blessings.

It's now time for my confession. I told you in the last letter that I had a secret I've been keeping from you. It's about Frankie. Two years ago he came to me in desperate trouble. You can guess the details. He needed money. $20,000.1 had it from the money my mother left me, and I gave it to him. No strings attached. I told him he didn't have to pay me back, but he could never ask me again. Jim found out (how the hell does he know everything?) and he was a little pissed at me and a lot pissed at your brother. The reason I'm telling you is to apologize. I know it wasn't the best thing to do for Frankie, but I love him, and he was so pathetic when he asked that I had to.

Please forgive me and forgive him. He's going to need a lot of help to get over his addiction, and he's running out of people who give a shit. Please, please, please don't be one of those people. Don't stop loving him. Don't stop trying to get him better.

Long before I got sick Jim told me something he heard on his favorite television show. When somebody close to you dies, you lose a friend here on earth, but you have an angel in heaven. I'll do what I can for Frankie from heaven, but he still needs help down here. Don't give up

on him. Be his angel here on earth.

I'm too exhausted to keep writing. This is only the seventh monthly letter, and I hoped to write at least twelve. Not sure I'm going to make it. Just in case this is the last one, I want you to know that I've said everything that's been on my mind. If I die in my sleep tonight, I'm ready. I'll wait for you in heaven. Take your time. I love you for eternity. Joanie

I lowered the letter to my lap and looked up at God. I opened my mouth. But I couldn't think of anything to say.

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enina Benjamin held hands with her six-year-old son Dov as they walked along the tree-lined street toward the synagogue. Ari, her ten-year-old, had long ago given up public handholding. "Eemah, can I go ahead?" Ari asked his mother. "Yes," she said. "Don't run."

Ari ran. Dov pulled away from his mother's hand and chased after his big brother. The two boys bounded up the steps of the synagogue, raced through the open double doors, find entered the building. "I win," Ari said. "You cheated," Dov said.

The brothers stood in the open doorway and looked around the lobby. It was a typical, modern-day Southern California synliKogue. Five-thousand-year-old traditions expressed in a conIfinporary chrome-and-glass statement that the architect convinced the Building Committee would have the look of their It-wish heritage without feeling so old-fashioned. Several ushers, men with white carnations in their lapels,

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I stood at the doors to the sanctuary on the opposite side of the lobby and smiled at the boys. One beckoned with his hand, but the two brothers didn't move. Penina entered. She was 6 feet tall with the beautifully proportioned body of an athlete, shoulder-length black hair that picked up the luster of her crimson silk blouse, and dark eyes that were filled with concern for her young sons. She was a magnet, and all eyes immediately shifted from the boys. "Eemah," Dov said, looking upset. "There's no soldiers, no security."

Penina squeezed his hand. "It's alright. Things are different here. It's safe."

Three ushers made a beeline to the door to greet the beautiful woman.

"I got it fellas," said the man who had first waved to the children. He clarified his statement by elbowing them out of the way and reaching his hand out while he was still ten feet away from Penina. "Shabbat Shalom," he said. "I'm Jerry Goldstein." Penina extended her hand. "Shabbat Shalom. Penina Benjamin. These are my sons Ari and Dov."

Goldstein was about sixty, a short compact man, with a full head of hair, most of which was still the original reddish-brown. But the Wilford Brimley mustache that accented his toothy smile was heavily peppered with gray. "Welcome to the best Jewish Congregation in all of Costa Luna, California," he said. "Also the only one." "There's no security," Ari said. "No metal detectors. No soldiers."