I’m Losing You (45 page)

Rachel contacted its makers, and the International Watch Company FedExed a cassette along with a small hardback catalogue. Within the latter was an inventory of prices—a “moon phase skeleton model” pocket watch available in yellow gold, at sixty thousand; a Da Vinci wristwatch, for over a hundred. There were Portofinos, Novecentos and Ingenieurs—and, of course, the rather modest looking eighteen-carat rose-gold Destriero, a grande complication that stood, trěs grande, at a cool quarter of a million.

The watch itself was crafted in the village of Schaffhausen on the banks of the Rhine.
Destriero
was the name given to a jouster's steed; one easily imagined such knightly trials unfolding hard by the medieval castle—built from plans designed by Albrecht Dürer—that overlooked the town. Just what
was
a “super complicated” watch? The
voice on the tape explained a mechanism could only be classified as such if three elements came together in its movement: chronograph, perpetual calendar and minute repeater. Among collectors, “minute repeaters” were the most coveted. They were the watches that chimed the hour, quarter-hour and minute, an action originally devised for the blind.

Perry lingered over a bit of text: “Firmly secured inside the movement is a replacement century display slide, which can be installed at the end of the twenty-second century and will continue showing the correct year until the end of twenty-four ninety-nine
A.D
.” Heady stuff, though he wasn't exactly sure what it meant. There were other details hard to fathom, such as the Destriero's unique ball-bearing-mounted “flying” tourbillon (eight vibrations per second) that was described as a kind of cage made of anti-magnetic, ultra-light titanium. The tourbillon was invented right after the French Revolution, its function being to improve accuracy by counteracting the earth's gravitational pull on the balance.

The catalogue ended with a flourish. “Fin de Siěcle: The Grand Finale—This Is What Will Happen at Midnight on 31 December 1999. At precisely this moment, the most complicated wristwatch the world has ever seen will come into its own, as a multitude of functions start taking place simultaneously.” The final paragraphs walked one through the horological ballet, ending with the changing of the millennium guard. “A figure ‘twenty' replaces the ‘nineteen' in the date display of the II Destriero…and the twenty-first century since the birth of Christ has begun.”

Tovah called, wanting drinks at the Bel Air. He opted for breakfast at the Four Seasons instead—that felt safer. He wasn't going to cry himself a river and he wasn't going to fuck his brains out behind the cancer blues. Not his style.

What she proposed was a “special project,” a television movie about the remarkable life and death of his son, Montgomery. Perry felt trivialized, ready to be offended. Tovah stiffened. Then he laughed and the agent smiled.

“I hope it's all right, my—”

“It's fine. It's fine,” Perry said, suddenly emotional.

“Rachel told me the story. I just thought it was so
amazing
.”

“A lot of people did.”

“And I wondered why no one ever—did anyone
ask
if you and Jersey—”

“I think Aaron and I talked about it. And Jim Brooks—we played a lot of basketball together. But I don't think Jersey and I were up for it. It really took the wind out of us. The idea of revisiting…”

“I'm sorry—”

“No no no. Maybe it's time,” he said, tapping his glass with a fingernail. “Maybe it's been long enough.”

Ursula Sedgwick

“She's not coming,” said Sara.

“Shit,” said Ursula, disappointed. “Why not?”

“Because,” said Phylliss, “I'm a crabby cunt.” She padded to the kitchen and retrieved a carton of Merits from the old Amana.

Sara Radisson was a casting agent who had worked on a movie of Phylliss's that never happened. There was money from a divorce. After the split, Sara took the baby and lived awhile with her mom in Minnesota. It was a hard time; Phylliss was going through changes of her own. When the producer discovered Eckankar, she ordered Sara to visit the Temple of ECK, in Chanhassen—right near her mom's place. Phylliss said that was no coincidence. There had to be a reason she wound up so close to the source.

Sara was a seeker. She found plenty of
chelas
, students of the Mahanta. She chanted Hu and was initiated on the Inner. One night, the ECK Master Rebazar Tarzs came to her in a dream and said it was time to stop running. The ECK Master (a pure blue light) said she should return to Los Angeles and complete unfinished business with two women she knew from a past life. When Sara awoke, Phylliss Wolfe and Holly Hunter hung before her like illuminated cameos. She got on the phone to Venice and the tears poured out in a stinging, soulful rush. Within a week,
Sight Unseen
had been sold to Lifetime, with Holly and Phylliss committing to star and produce.

“We
know
you're a crabby cunt. But you still have to go.”

“I didn't even hear about this thing.”

“I told you last week.”

“My womb is tired and bleeding.”

“So
that
's it.”

Ursula was stumped.

“phyll thought she was pregnant.”

“By who?”

“Some Abbot Kinney bimbo.”

“Is it serious?”

“Of course, it's serious. He's a selected donor.”

“She means, selected at Hal's—from the bar.”

“Is that safe, Phyll? I mean, has he been tested?”

“Yes, Mother. And I'm telling you,” she said, hands to crotch, “this model has
got
to go. If Larry Hagman gets a new liver, Phylliss Wolfe sure as shit wants a new womb.”

“
Annie, Get Your Womb
.”

“You need a transplant.”

“The girl from
Baywatch
.”

“No! From
Friends
—”

“Amateur hour, baby. I need me a
professional
womb, a Meryl Streep —Mare Winningham model, industrial-strength. I want me a
litter
.”

“How many does Meryl have?”

“Four, at last count. Mare has, like, twelve.”

“Meryl has four? I thought it was three.”

“Don't quibble.”

“Come on, Phyll,
please
come.” Ursula rubbed her neck. “It'll be
fun
. It'll get you out of your mood. Pretty please?”

“You guys go. I just want to sit in bed and watch
Bewitched
. I have an inclination to see Dick York, pre—dementia.”

“Oh all right,” said Sara. “I guess
someone
has to baby-sit that big bratty uterus of yours.”

“Damn straight. And that's ‘cervix' to you.”

Ursula gathered up her things. “Tiff, do you want to come with us or do you want to stay with crabby Phylliss?”

“Go with you!”

“See?” said Phylliss. “Kids instinctively know to shun a barren woman.”

Sara asked if it was okay to leave her baby, and Phylliss insisted. “It's high time,” she said, “that Samson bonded with Dick York. You know, a little imprinting couldn't hurt.”

On the way to the ECK Center potluck, Sara talked about
Sight Unseen
. She was becoming another person, she said, and the book was part of that transformation. She talked about the divorce and what it was like to live with her mom again—the bond between mothers and daughters. Ursula reached back and grabbed Tiffany's bare foot, almost the size of her own.

“Are you writing the movie too?”

“No way! We're trying for Beth Henley—she wrote
Crimes of the Heart
. There is
no way
I could write a script. I could barely do the book!”

“Phyll's writing one too, huh.”

Sara nodded. “We have the same editor. But Phylliss is going to have a best-seller—she's a
real
writer. Mine's just a compilation of letters.”

“It must be so exciting! Is Eckankar going to be in it?”

“I'd
like
it to be but…Phyll and I are kind of at loggerheads about that. I just want it to be universal. I don't want critics saying there was anything—
cultish
, or whatever. I'm already thinking about critics!” She laughed, remembering how Phylliss said she wanted their “movie of the weak” to be special.

The Center was filled with kids and tons of Tupperware food. Sara pointed out seven H.I.s—Higher Initiates—those who'd been around ECK some twenty years and more. They were plain folk, down-home and grounded. Ursula talked to a writer who got turned on to ECK by his shrink, and a horse trainer from Rancho Cucamonga who married a non-ECKist. (He was into reincarnation, she said, so they got along just fine.) There was a shy young man with a bright smile—a boy, really—who looked a little ragged. Two of the H.I.s asked how he'd heard of the Center. Once they realized he was possibly homeless, they made sure his plate was full. Ursula was touched.

After a while, everyone sat in chairs and the cabaret began. The horsewoman read a poem about the Mahanta, then a trio sang songs about Light and Sound and Soul. The boy took a seat beside Ursula. A sticker on his shirt said
HELLO, MY NAME IS TAJ
. His knee touched hers and she moved it away, then moved it back. He smiled a bright, disenfranchised smile.

An H.I. who cheekily called herself “the Living ECK Master of Ceremonies” introduced a sketch called “Motorcycle Man.” A girl
around Tiffany's age slipped into a makeshift bed onstage. As narration began, a bearded, friendly-looking biker roused her. The girl brushed sleep from her eyes and climbed on his back while he revved the high handle of an imaginary Harley. “Now this girl was visited every night by the Motorcycle Man,” said the H.I., “and they cruised the city streets, then up to the sky. He told her many, many things. But every morning her parents wanted to convince her it was just a dream.” The upshot being that when the child grew up, she realized the Motorcycle Man was none other than a Living ECK Master. After the applause and laughter ebbed—the girl was a natural-born ham—the H.I. thanked “the father-daughter comedy duo of Calvin and Hobbes.” Everyone knew that “Calvin and Hobbes” was the Mahanta's favorite cartoon. The sketch was taken directly from Sri Harold's parables, she added.

The afternoon ended with everyone chanting Hu. “Gather your attention in the third eye,” whispered Ursula to the ragged boy. “Hold on to your contemplation seed.”

That night, Tiffany stayed with Phylliss. Ursula turned around and picked Taj up at the place she said she would, over by the Center. He was waiting there like a kid, after school.

They went to Bob Burns and listened to jazz. Taj ate some more. He'd pretty much been homeless the last few months, he said, begging for change outside Starbucks and the twenty-four-hour Ralph's. She brought him back to United States Island and plunked him in a bubble bath. Then she lit the candle of her earthquake preparedness kit, slipped into a robe and put on Gladys Knight. Taj came to bed sopping wet, and she ran to get a towel to dry him off. He seemed perplexed, a dreamy colt, sweet and wobbly. He let her roll on a condom. She got on top, and when they were done, Ursula started to cry; she was thinking of Donny and everything, wanting out of her own skin. Taj got flustered. He said she was crying because of the transmitters in his mouth that made people sad when they kissed him. That scared her, but he laughed his bright laugh and she punched him. They wrestled awhile, then chanted Hu.