Night Swimming (12 page)

Kelly had rehearsed the answer to this question a thousand times.

“Okay, okay. I knew you’d come around to asking me that. Fact is, my brother-in-law had some assets from a portion of a strip mall he sold in Columbus. He had to put the money somewhere while he

was deciding where to invest it again.”

“What about his own bank?”

Kelly paused. “Good question. Never even thought to ask.”

“But my understanding is that it’s not the first time this kind of cash has turned up in your vault.”

“Who told you that?”

“Seems to me I’m the one asking the questions here,” Makley said evenly.

“Well, my brother-in-law is always turning over some deal or another. So I offered him a place to put his money. I didn’t think I was breaking some big federal law. Or that it was anyone’s business particularly. I mean, what’s the big deal?”

Makley could think of several reasons that this was a big deal, but he didn’t want to discuss them with Kelly. The less Kelly knew what was going on in Makley’s head, the closer Makley was to nailing Kelly. “I think I need to talk to your brother-in-law.”

“Why?”

“Because I still have some questions that are troubling me a bit.”

“Like what?”

“I’d like to ask him, if you don’t mind.”

“Jesus, Makley, don’t you think you’re overreacting here a bit? Calling my brother-in-law in is like impounding Chitty Chitty Bang Bang for overdue parking fines.”

Makley laughed. “The only reason I can see for not talking to him would be that you don’t want me to. And if you don’t want me to, then I have to wonder why that is.”

“Christ, Makley, I don’t care if you talk to him. I mean, he’s a busy guy and he has to come up from Boston. But I’ll call him. Hell, what do I have to hide?”

Plenty, Makley thought as he walked Kelly to the door. Plenty.

CHAPTER 19

B
LOSSOM’S BURN
took a few days to heal, but as soon as she could move without wincing, she returned to the pool; this time she took up her vigil under a tree. She watched Skip move around the grounds like a cloud, softly and gently. She waited for him to approach. She was determined to talk to him beyond the general courtesies of weather and salutations. And she had to find out if he was married.

However, the whole day went by before he wandered into her tiny circle of surveillance. “You keeping cool?” he asked, disentangling the green hose from its own embrace.

“Oh, yes. I learned my lesson two days ago,” she said.

“Why? What happened?”

Hasn’t he noticed that I wasn’t at the pool...or that I got this terrible burn? Blossom’s face fell.

“Nothing really. I just got myself too much sun, is all.”

“Oooo, watch out. Burns can be nasty out here. Been there myself.” She glanced over covertly to see if he had a ring on, but his hand was in his pocket. “Do you live around here, Skip?” Blossom was getting bolder. Questions began coming that she hadn’t even planned on.

“I live in Venice.”

She waited for him to offer something more, but he didn’t, so she persevered. “Isn’t that the place near the beach with all the canals?”

“Yes, it is,” Skip laughed. “You aren’t from California, are you? Where are you from, Blossom?”

She hadn’t been prepared for that question. Further, she was flabbergasted when he said her name. The combination rendered her speechless once again.

“I’m... I’m from ...Well, originally, I was born in New Hampshire.” Oh, Jesus, Blossom don’t tell him that; it’s way too close to the truth. Think, where can I be from? How can I not know where I’m from?

“And then?” Skip asked. “Then my family moved to...to...” “To?” “To Louisiana.”
Yeah, that’s right, Louisiana. That state does seem to come up a lot.

“Whereabouts?”

“Near New Orleans.” Please don’t have any relatives there. Don’t tell me you know it well and ask me if I know the Lafittes or if I’d ever gone shrimping as a kid.

“Louisiana?” he said. “Never been there, but I’ve heard it’s nice.”

Thank God.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Blossom gushed like an expert. “It’s wonderfully exotic. A perfect place to live.”

“Then why did you move here?”

Another trick question. “When the last of my family died, I just didn’t see any sense in staying. I wanted a new beginning and thought that California might give me that. I was left a nice inheritance, so I didn’t have to worry about my future in terms of income. I could settle wherever I wanted to.”
Not bad, Blossom. And, after all, California
is
a new beginning, so that’s not really a lie. And you don’t have to worry about money. All in all, a good cover.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Skip offered apologetically.

“About what?”

“Your family and all.”

“Oh,” she said, mindful again of the fictions she was recklessly inventing. “Yeah, it was sad, but that’s all water under the bridge.”
The Point of Pines Bridge, to be exact.
“Thank you anyway.”

Skip took his hand out of his pocket to give Blossom a sympathetic tap on her shoulder before moving off to spray the sunparched peonies.

In the blur of that gesture she saw that he was not wearing a ring.

“Skip,” she said, watching him drag the hose across the grass, “I have a picture I need hung, and I was wondering if you might be able to help me with it at some point or another.”
Now, that’s brave, Blossom...in fact, it’s beyond brave. It’s downright plucky.
“I’ll pay you, of course.”

“Sure, no problem. You don’t have to pay me, Blossom. Happy to do it. Would tomorrow be okay?”

“Absolutely. Tomorrow would be perfect.” And he disappeared behind a crush of shrubs. Now all Blossom had to do was go out and buy a picture.

That very night Blossom hurried over to the Beverly Center to find a painting. Any painting would do except for velvet paintings of cats with big eyes, or those that you could plug into electrical sockets. She once saw a painting that had street lamps that actually lit up, and she swore she’d never be brought down to that level of taste no matter how long she lived in Gorham. MaryAnn would make a pilgrimage to a nearby Sheraton where they would have their yearly sale of “famous paintings.’’ Van Goghs, Picassos, Monets— MaryAnn always acted as if she were getting a masterpiece.

“But, MaryAnn, masterpieces are not nineteen dollars.”

“They say right on the TV commercial that all paintings are at a fraction of their retail price, Charlotte.”

“Their retail price? That would be somewhere in the neighborhood of ten million dollars.”

“I know they’re not the real thing, Charlotte, but who can tell the difference? You have to be some kind of art expert.”

“I just think you’d want a painting that doesn’t have a sign at the door of the exhibit hall that says prices are being slashed, everything must go. I would think you’d want an original.”

“But then no one would recognize it.”

Charlotte cringed just remembering, and settled on a signed print. Yes, it was from the Beverly Center, but at least it was a limited edition.

The next day, she did not go down to the pool. She waited expectantly for a knock on her door. For Skip to be standing there, happily waiting to hang her picture. When five o’ clock rolled around, he still had not appeared, so she ventured out.

“Hello, Blossom,” he said as she entered the garden. “How are you?”

“Fine.”
No, not fine. Hurt.
He had obviously forgotten. She had planned her whole day around his coming to her door to hang the print, and he didn’t even remember. She decided to mention it.

“Think you can get to that picture today, Skip?”

“Damn, I forgot all about that, Blossom.”

Obviously.
“No problem.”

“Could I do it tomorrow? I’m running late and have to be somewhere by six.”

“Tomorrow’s fine,” she said, smiling graciously, although the exact opposite was simmering in her brain.

She was dying to know what plans he had at six, but felt funny asking him. After all, she didn’t know him well enough. A question like that could be construed as invasiveness instead of mere idle chatter. And she had zero interest in idle chatter.

She wondered if he was taking a beautiful woman out for dinner, followed by a long romantic ride up Highway 1 to watch the sun go down over the water. She was jealous of all that she didn’t know about him, and all possible combinations of love that were his to be had.

Later that evening she sat by the window, staring blankly out at the gardens, listening to the quiet. The insect zapper with its purple fluorescent glow was silent; the gardens were silent; even the Japanese maples stood elegantly hushed without a whisper of wind.

The calm seduction of the night lured Blossom down to the pool. She gazed at the flat blue water. It seemed like a seal that begged to be broken. And so she obliged by lifting a large stone from the garden and hurling it down into the waiting water. It was as if the

rock had smashed a pane of glass, shattering the night. A flock of sleeping birds nestled in the bushes rushed out like applause.

Blossom had made life change its course simply by throwing a rock into the water. Just that simple motion and suddenly everything was different. She shook her head in wonderment, then slowly submerged her own endlessly buoyant body into the dark water and, like the stone, settled into a place of peace. Yes, the pool became her solitude, like an anchor at the bottom of the bay, like that stone.

The first night, all she did was float like a whale that had surfaced after its demise and involuntarily undulated its way onto a beach.

The next day she decided not to wait for Skip to knock on her door. Instead, she headed straight down to the pool. Life was too short to wish for hopeful encounters that would change the course of the world. Even her tiny world.

Skip would have to take a lunch break. Everyone had to have lunch, so lunch became her opportunity. And at noon, throwing caution to the wind, she asked him if it was a good time to hang the print, and he said yes. All he had to do was remove a rock some nincompoop had thrown into the pool. Blossom blushed.

“Of all the nerve!” she said. But her guilt was quickly assuaged by her excitement at having him in her apartment. In anticipation, she had prepared an extravagant spread of smoked salmon, caviar, and champagne. She had read about such gourmet repasts in
Los Angeles
magazine. It named famous stars who took food like this on picnics, and while Tom Selleck was not one of them, it still seemed like a good idea.

“You eat this for lunch, Blossom?” asked Skip.

“Oh, only two, three times a week,” she lied. “Sit down before it gets cold.”
Dumb, Blossom, dumb. It
is
cold. Laugh, like you made a joke.

“What about the picture?” he asked.

“Oh, that? That can wait. We can hang it after,” she said, pulling her chair as close to Skips as was appropriate. “So what do you do for fun, Skip?” she asked nonchalantly.

“What do I do for fun?” he repeated. “Well, I’m on a committee in Venice to improve and restore the town’s architectural antiquities Not that Venice has that many old buildings. But architecture has always been a sort of a hobby with me.”

It’s wonderful that you like buildings. I know nothing about buildings. I don’t even care about buildings. I gotta get this chitchat going in another direction.

“Oh, that’s nice. I like buildings—the leaning tower of Pisa, Buckingham Palace...”

Skip laughed.

“So, got a cat or a bird...or a girlfriend?” she continued, as if that were the next likely question.

“Let’s see,” he said. He was as unsuspecting as prey leaning over to get a drink at the river while a lion, feline and treacherous, hid in the bushes, making ready for her pounce.

“No cat, no bird...no girlfriend.”

Relief.

“Do have a wife, though.”

Blossom was paralyzed with grief.

“You do?”

“Yup. We’ve been married for seven years. No kids yet.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s an actress. Of course.”

Blossom had visions of a tall, gorgeous blond with cheekbones that could support books. She imagined a perfect Barbie doll running in slow motion toward Skip when he came home at night.

“We’re sort of separated right now.”

Separated?

“She says she needs time to figure stuff out. I tried to get her to do it in the relationship, but she said she just needed some space for a while. She moved in with a girlfriend a couple of blocks from where we lived.”

If a whole chorus of Bible-toting Baptists had risen in one great heavenly voice and sung hallelujah to the Lord Jesus Christ at that moment, it wouldn’t have approached the joy and glorious cries of exultation going on in Blossom’s head.

“Separated—oh, that’s a shame,” she said.
A crying shame.

“I know. But I haven’t given up on us. We have a lot of good things going. I like to think of this period as a sort of time-out, like in football. Sometimes you need that to get your focus back. Teams have come from behind taking that kind of breather. I like to think that Jeannie and I are at half-time.”

Hearing Jeannie’s name and all those meaningless football metaphors confounded Blossom. She didn’t know what to say, so she said something irrelevant.

“Does Jeannie like football?” Who cares? Who cares what she likes?

“No, but that’s okay. We have to work on things we can both like together.”

“I love football,” Blossom lied.

“You do?”

“Yup. All my life.”

“You root for the Saints, then, I guess.” Blossom didn’t have a clue what Skip was talking about.

“Yeah... love those Saints. Go, Saints.”

Skip looked at his watch. An hour had passed. “Uh-oh, Blossom, I better get going. I lost complete track of time. Get me talking about myself and I don’t shut up. One of Jeannie’s complaints, I must admit.” As he made his way to the door, it occurred to him that he hadn’t even gotten around to hanging the picture.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’ll be here. You can do it when you’ve got more time.”