A Song in the Daylight (39 page)

Snatches of time, dammed, damned with the shackles of time. Was it easy to live this way? Was it easy for him not to see her at night, to be alone Friday nights, Saturdays, weekends? To wake up alone. To go to sleep alone. They couldn’t have pancakes together out, couldn’t go shopping at the mall, couldn’t go for a ride on his bike except up and down Glenside in an infinite spin of a dead-end loop. Couldn’t spend a night together at the Madison Hotel! Couldn’t go on vacation, couldn’t go swimming, couldn’t fly.

They could go on like this, but Larissa felt that this was beginning to sully the very soul Epicurus swore she didn’t possess. Is this how she wanted to live, is this how he wanted to live, like outlaws? She didn’t dare ask him in the dread that he would say
no
.

She was sure Dominick the UPS man saw her car parked in driveways not her own, because every time he gave her a package and said, “Have a nice day,” what she heard was, “You trollop. You lying slut. You heartbreaker.”

She felt, one way or another, this couldn’t continue. Jared would soon find a speck of a price tag off a silk Cotton Club camisole bought for six hundred dollars, gorgeous like black diamonds, draped around her afternoon body. She left it with Kai, in the drawer he emptied for her in the dresser of his life. She bought slinky things, brought them here, left them here. But every once in a while in her purse, she’d find a tag from another flimsy fandango chemise bought in haste, used in haste, repented not at all, dreamed of in leisure. One of these days even Jared would stumble upon it. Even a broken clock was right twice a day. Even a blind man would eventually trip upon the one obscure door in his life that opened onto another world.

Larissa had.

And then what? There’d be railing and false apologies and even falser remorse, and she’d have to grit every nerve ending in her body, but the chasm between synapses would open too wide for speech, and to keep the outer shell of her existence, she would have to let Kai go, and repent repent repent. And go on.

Without him.

She would have to turn her back on the impossible vivid dream next to her naked heart and go back to what she left behind. The ceiling couldn’t help her here: after it all crashed to a hideous end, the exposed rafters could not beam sugarplum visions of her looking out of her Georgian sash windows onto the golf course and the mall in the distance and the sunshine, planning another vacation and camp for the kids, and maybe some summer school for Asher since he was doing so bad in math. She’d figure out when best to exercise. Maybe in the
mornings she could swim in her pool for weight loss. Surely she’d need to do something. In the afternoons she could cook. Bake from scratch maybe.

The girls could come over and she could show them how to make rubbed-down jerk chicken with cracked pepper sauce. On the weekends, they could ride in Doug’s Jaguar to South Mountain.

There was no exit. There was no way out.

Oh my God, Kai, what do we do?
she whispered helplessly.

“It’s 2:30, Larissa. Your son is up on a hill at Woodland.”

Dear Larissa,

We are in so much trouble, Lorenzo and I. All that protesting meant nothing until it meant something, and as soon as it meant something, everything else went ruined and run down.

When we did it for money, we protested anything. But as you know, you cannot serve two masters.

But suddenly our life came down to one thing: Catholics against MILF. After what happened to his parents, it was the only thing Lorenzo cared about. Suddenly he was going to protests and meetings, and then he needed to buy a typewriter, and even Father Emilio complained about how often he was using the rectory copy machine. He was out of the house
all
the time too, but the money stopped coming in. Like one minute there was money, and the next there wasn’t. I don’t know if you know what that’s like, Larissa.

I asked him what he thought he was doing. He said he had never cared about nothing before, except drinking and having a good time. But MILF was taking over Mindanao. And we had to stop them. I wanted to ask who “we” was but was too afraid. Mindanao cannot be MILF island. This
country is ninety-five percent Catholic. For forty years they lived side by side with us, but not peacefully. The government wanted to end once and for all the Christians being killed daily on Manila streets, and also to stimulate the tourist trade in Mindanao, which had vanished because of the unrelenting attacks and burnings and deaths. So the government agreed to something called the Memorandum of Agreement on Ancestral Domain, a long-standing MILF demand. Lorenzo said the government simply surrendered the island of Mindanao to the MILF in return for peace. “But they don’t understand that they’ll have neither,” Lorenzo said. This meant war.

I said, (I may have yelled) Lorenzo, what are you talking about? What war? We are going to have a baby.

He said our baby will not be safe. Like his parents, apolitical fishermen in tiny Zamboanga, were not safe. No one is safe anymore, he said.

Two weeks ago he joined the Peace Brigade, which is another name for street fighters, and he’s taken to the streets in full riot gear—a flak jacket, a helmet and weapons! Of course, the MILF rebels are raising even more trouble than the Peace Brigade, to make the government ratify the agreement faster.

I don’t know what to do. I have no one but Lorenzo, and he’s gone mad. He won’t even go to Father Emilio to be helped. All the work he does now he does
pro bono
for the Catholic League, and they feed him in return, and Father Emilio feeds me, but we live in a shack that costs three thousand pesos a month, and Lorenzo no longer makes
any
money. This is my pregnancy. He’s insane with grief and rage, he talks like I’ve never heard him talk, of nationalism, of separatist insurgencies, of continued clashes and protests on Manila streets until the government stops negotiating with terrorists, of what’s right, of revenge.

And the worst is, Father Emilio is not on my side! He thinks Lorenzo may have a point! He says, how can the rebels consider themselves autonomous when ninety-eight percent of their operating revenue comes from the Philippine government? After fifteen years of having an autonomous region, they haven’t created any other significant source of sustainable revenue, and yet they want
more
autonomy? And they’re killing Filipino civilians every day as if it’s their right. “Lorenzo is fighting for justice,” says Father Emilio.

Larissa, help me. I’m lost. What do I do?

3
Chris Chase

A
ttempting to forge an occasional evening for her and Kai, Larissa found a new colorist in the city on 21st and Ninth. She scheduled an appointment for the evening and told Jared that was all they had. He looked miffed, and when she pressed him, he said, “Yeah, I’m ticked off because hair color for you is once every six weeks, and I don’t want to get into a crazy habit where you’re going into the city every month at night when you can get color at Kim’s until 2:30 every day.”

“Kim, Kim,” said Larissa. “Paul at Chris Chase is the best.”

“Okay, where did you read that?”

“Allure.”

“
Allure
. Swell. You’ve been going to Kim for seven years, and now suddenly you’re going to the city for
hair color
? Honestly, Larissa. If you were meeting Bo for dinner, if you and Maggie were going to see a show, if you were doing something fun, I’d say, absolutely, by all means.”

“Would you?” she said quietly. “Well, what’s the difference?”

“To go in at night to get your hair done? It’s odd. It’s not normal.”

Gritting her teeth, turning away, Larissa said with her back
to him, “I already made the appointment.” It was obvious this was not going to be the success she’d hoped for. She was trying to work it out so that once a month she and Kai could go have dinner together. The colorist really
was
supposed to be great. She scheduled him for Wednesday, which was Kai’s early day; he finished at six and agreed to meet her in the city by seven.

She was done with her hair a few minutes before seven and waited for him, ridiculously excited on the corner of 23rd and Ninth, decked out in a sea-green clingy cashmere tunic over black leggings and high patent leather boots. She wore her shearling coat open, her jewelry sparkling, her breasts rising and falling with anticipation. She stood on the sidewalk near a short fence, looking at her watch, flinging around her beautifully done head of hair, long, silk straight and smooth, with red lowlights and blonde highlights on a base of light brown; it looked fantastic;
Allure
was right, Paul
was
a magician. She licked her lip gloss, eagerly impatient in the cold, fluttering like she was seventeen going on her first date, and bitter-sweetly realizing that aside from sitting in the car or being in his apartment, this was indeed their first time out anywhere, and even through her excitement feeling a pang of sadness for Kai that he spent his weeks and days, his months and hours waiting for her to grace him with an hour of her presence, and she was still standing, tapping her heels on the pavement when she heard a female voice say, “Larissa?”

Paling, Larissa stepped slightly away from the wrought-iron fence and turned in the direction of the voice.

It was Kate, Doug’s wife.

Doug Grant, Jared’s co-worker, accountant, office manager, second financial officer, friend, and there was his wife, on a New York City street, smiling at Larissa, just as it was falling dark and 7:10 and Kai would be upon them any minute.

“Hi, Kate, what a surprise! What are you doing here?” said Larissa shrilly, stepping forward to kiss her hello.

“My law firm is on 23rd and Tenth. I walk this way every night to catch the subway.” Kate smiled. “The surprise is to see
you
here.”

“Oh, I’m—I just got my hair done.”

“I was going to say it looks smashing.”

“Thanks. So how are the kids?” Larissa desperately tried not to fidget.

“Good, everybody is good.” Kate looked Larissa over. “All of you is looking pretty smashing tonight,” the woman said. “I’m impressed. You dress like this to get your hair done?”

Larissa laughed loudly. “You’re funny. So how’s Douglas?”

“He’s great.” Kate rolled her eyes.

“And the new car? You enjoying it?” Larissa willed herself not to turn to the busy street to scan the crowds of faces. Maybe he would be a few minutes delayed and Kate would leave soon. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

“The new car is all the rage. It was supposed to be for me, except I never see it. Doug takes it everywhere, like a purse.”

Larissa fake laughed again. “You must put your foot down. I didn’t even know you worked in the city, Kate.”

“Of course you did. You just forgot. Legal secretary. Been with the same firm fifteen years. Any minute now I’m going to get a gold watch.”

“Hey, better than a golden handshake. And who takes care of the kiddies while you’re away?”

“Oh, we have a lady from Nepal. She’s our third one. We like the Nepalese. The language skills aren’t great, but they’re wonderful with babies.”

Larissa tried hard not to glance down the street, not to look for him, not to look like she was about to have a heart attack, fall down. She stepped closer to the fence, to grasp one of the wrought-iron poles in her cold white hand.

“Are you taking the train back?” asked Kate.

“I am, yes.”

“Great. You want to walk to Penn? It’s not too cold out. We can bundle up, burn off a little lunch, ride home together.”

“Um, yes, that would be wonderful…I meant I’m taking the train later. I’d love to walk with you, but the thing is, I’m meeting a friend for dinner.”

“Oh.” Buttoning up her big down coat, Kate smiled at Larissa’s black shiny boots. “Well, listen, the four of us must go out to dinner and spend all evening arguing about the various merits of our respective Jag models.”

“Yes, let’s,” said Larissa. “There’s supposed to be a great Italian place in Madison.”

“Madison? A little far, but okay. Doug will be happy to drive, no doubt.” They kissed, they hugged, and Kate was about to walk away from Larissa when she said, “Kai? Kai Passani?”

Oh my God. She knew him! Of course. He sold Doug and Kate their Jaguar. What a nightmare.

Larissa was forced on a darkened street to endure watching Kai shake Kate’s hand, express surprise at seeing her, and answer her exclamations.

“Yes, nice to see you, too. Oh, you’re welcome for the car. My pleasure. Thank you for the Cristal. Much appreciated. Yes, of course; I put it to very good use. What? Oh, just meeting up with a couple of friends. And how are you enjoying your new vehicle, Mrs. Grant?”

Kate spent three minutes telling Kai how much her husband was enjoying her new vehicle, and all the while Kai expressed vocal amusement while Larissa stood nearby and pretended she didn’t know either of them, didn’t speak English, was like the lady from Nepal, just standing on the corner, waiting for the truck to run her over or take her back to the old country.

“I’m sorry, how rude of me. Kai, do you remember Larissa Stark? You sold her a convertible!” Kate was ebullient. “She’s the reason we came to see you. The way she
raves
about that vehicle.”

“Well, she’s right to. It is a fine car indeed,” Kai said, slightly tilting his head to Larissa. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Stark.”

“Yes, you too,” said Larissa, barely moving her numb lips.

The three of them stood for a long moment, and Kai said, “Well, ladies, have a wonderful evening. Enjoy your cars.” He bowed his head to Kate and walked past Larissa, who clenched her mouth in mute acknowledgment of his passing her by, but didn’t otherwise allow herself even a blink at his leather jacket, at his jeans, at the profound look of condemnation and distress in his eyes as he walked by her, not six inches away from her on a busy street, turned his body toward her instead of away from her to pass, and said, “Excuse me,” in a bark too cold and clipped for a stranger, while Larissa stood motionless, speechless, but when she turned her head to wave goodbye to Kate, she caught the woman watching them, and there was an odd glint in Kate’s frowning puzzled expression, imperceptible if only it weren’t so tangible, like a darkening realization of something untoward and electric right in front of her tired eyes.