The Humanity Project (30 page)

He didn’t like the idea that if his son was living off a rich woman, he might be living off a poor one.

Dawn wasn’t the best cook in the world—meals involved lots of carrots and beets and other gnarly things that grew in the ground—but at least it was cooking. Most of what he’d been eating were things that didn’t require preparation, bread, mostly. She seemed OK with Sean being here—that is, she didn’t tell him he had to leave. It was a funny feeling, being in the same room with somebody who from time to time seemed to forget you were there. As much as you could get tired of women who talked and talked, the ones who wanted to know what you were thinking, which meant, were you thinking of them, with Dawn there were silences like blank spots, like a record skipping. It made for a lonesome time.

“Tell me about your kids, your kids back in Utah,” he said, and she said she didn’t think they were in Utah anymore. She was petting the skinny cat. The skinny cat was long and narrow, and it bent around corners like it was a sheet of paper.

“All right, where are they? Where do they live now?”

“I don’t know.”

Sean waited, but she wasn’t saying more. “Were they boys or girls?” he asked.

She shook her head, fast, as if trying to get what was left of her children out of it. She said, “Can animals be vegetarians? I mean, cats and dogs.”

“That cat’s already too skinny,” Sean said. “Don’t start feeding it a lot of vegetable slop.”

“It could eat fish. I guess that still counts as vegetarian.”

What kind of woman didn’t know or care about her kids? It wasn’t human. It wouldn’t even do credit to a cat.

This morning, the third in a row he’d woken up in a bed, he heard a car pass by on the driveway. He and Dawn were enjoying some private time together, and Sean was disinclined to interrupt it. Later, he looked out the window to see a sporty red car, a BMW, parked up at the larger house uphill.

“Is that your pal Roberto’s car up there?” he asked her, in case Roberto was anybody he ought to be prepared to say howdy to.

Dawn was in the bathtub, squeezing water over herself with a big sea sponge, the kind that looked like it might start crawling around on its own. “He has a lot of cars,” she said.

“Well, somebody’s up there,” Sean said, trying to sound serious and important but getting distracted by the view. Naked, Dawn was saggy in some places and worn down in others, but he didn’t mind, not one bit. In one way at least, he was a lucky man.

He was so grateful that she put up with the complications of his own beat-to-shit body, the ways in which he had to labor and arrange himself, all the worry and relief. He’d been afraid that after so much time of doing without, and so many insults to his system, his poor old dick was going to hide between his legs and refuse to come out, and that no woman would look on him without pity. Maybe she was brain-damaged, simple-minded, but thank God for her.

“Hey, look.” Dawn raised herself up in the tub until her nipples broke the surface of the bathwater. “I’m a mermaid!”

“You sure are. That’s a great trick. Do you have any more tricks? I want you to practice them. I’m going out for a while, OK?”

He whistled to Bojangles and they set off down the road to the beach. Already he’d established something of a routine: park himself in front of the waves for a time. Next head into town and equip himself with some small purchase—mints, a nail clipper, a can of dog food, anything to give himself the pleasant sense of spending money—then end up in the saloon where he drank one beer, making it last a long time. Then, in the late afternoon, feeling like he’d accomplished, if not a day’s work, then at least something close to a day’s occupation, he’d collect his dog again from the sidewalk outside and head back up the hill to Dawn’s. He could get used to living like this. He was already used to it.

But this time as he approached he could see a man standing in Dawn’s yard. He was a big man with heavy shoulders, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans. He was studying Sean’s truck, taking it in, moving to one side of it, then another. Sean quickened his step as best he could. “Hi there,” he said, once he was within hailing distance. Keeping it cautious, ready for things to go either way.

“This your truck?”

“That it is.”

“Mind if I ask what it’s doing here?”

“Mind if I ask why you want to know?”

They looked each other over. Big tub of tripes. His belly riding the front of his T-shirt. The T-shirt was red and featured a picture of a cowboy on a bucking bronco. He had a lot of wiry black hair going gray, and a gray mustache and beard trimmed so as to make a hole for his mouth. He said, “Because I take a particular interest in who parks in my driveway.”

“I bet you’re Roberto. Hi. Sean. Sean McDonald. I’m a friend of Dawn’s.”

Sean offered his hand. Roberto took a step forward and shook. “Friend of Dawn’s. You must be a new friend.”

“That I am.”

“Well, well,” Roberto said. “She does get around, our Dawn.”

Sean didn’t say anything. It didn’t seem like a conversation that was going to end up in a good place.

But then Roberto laughed and pointed to Bojangles, who was lifting his leg on the garbage bins. “That your hound?”

“Yeah, he’s mine.”

“That’s gotta be the most pitiful-looking dog I’ve ever seen.”

“Ha-ha,” said Sean politely. Though he didn’t appreciate having his dog insulted.

It seemed to put Roberto in a fine mood. “How about you come up to the house, I’ll cook us a little dinner. You object to steak?”

“No, steak’s good.” He didn’t want to say yes or no. “I should talk to Dawn first.”

“She’s already up there. She’s doing her laundry. You have anything you want to throw in the machines?”

He sure did, but he wasn’t going to get that chummy yet. “Thanks, but I guess not.”

“Or maybe what you really need is a car wash.” Roberto leaned in to run a finger over the truck’s tailgate. “Honestly? You should try to keep your vehicle in a little better shape.”

“Yeah, I keep meaning to take it in somewhere.” Roberto had already turned his back and started up the drive. Sean stumped after him.

At the front door, Roberto waited for him. “You are one slow motherfucker. You must not be that hungry.”

“I’ll be hungry enough by the time I get there.” He was getting pretty tired of all the grief he was getting. But if he was going to keep hanging out at Dawn’s, he figured he had to go along with it, Roberto being the landlord, he guessed. “Hey, nice place,” he said, hoping that didn’t sound too bootlicking.

Because it was a sharp house, with walls of windows and one of those giant fireplaces that was designed to look like a rockslide. Sean went over to it and ran a hand over the large and small boulders. “What you got here, river rock?”

“It’s Chief Cliff stone. Dry stacked. With a reinforced wall behind it, earthquake-proof to 8.5. Get you a drink?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks. Beer, if you have it.” Roberto had started off down a hallway, but Sean lingered, taking in the view from the oversized windows. It was one of those houses designed around a view. Here was Bolinas Bay far below them, the line of breaking waves, and the sun lowering itself into the water, flooding the sky with gold. He wondered how much it cost to buy yourself a piece of ocean like this one.

Where was Dawn? He nosed around a couple of the rooms, which struck him as expensive and uninteresting. They all had things that you were meant to admire, like the black leather lounges or the oil painting slashed with colors. All of them huge, enormous, the same as the fireplace. It was like walking into the giant’s house in the fairy tales, though he couldn’t remember which one. The Fee-fi-fo-fum one.

Sean found the kitchen because of all the racket Roberto was making, banging around with pots and pans. He had two steaks the size of city phone books out on a butcher-block island and he was rubbing them with different dusty-looking spices. The kitchen was all stainless steel and black tile. There were pools of light on the black countertops from the discreet undercabinet fixtures. The kitchen sink was a tub of stone with a Japanese-looking faucet that would probably take him ten minutes to figure out how to turn on and off. “You must be quite the cook,” Sean said.

“There’s your beer.” He’d set a Sierra Nevada Ale next to him on the butcher block. “And, if you don’t mind, use the coaster.”

“No prob.” He took a long pull of it. Cold. Good. “So, where’s Dawn?”

“She must have finished up and headed home. I expect she’ll come around later. How about I put a couple of big-ass potatoes in the oven? Bake em up, then mash them with garlic and cheese.”

“Sounds excellent.”

“You want tofu or soy or bean sprouts, you go get your own. I expect you got your share of healthy eating at Dawn’s place.”

“She does like her vegetables, yeah.”

“Here.” Roberto was using a long thin knife to trim up the steaks. He heaped a pile of fatty ends onto a paper towel. “Why don’t you give these to your scrawny dog? No, the back door.” He used the knife to point.

“Thanks.” Sean thought the guy could lay off about the dog, but he wasn’t really in a position to complain. He carried the meat scraps out through the kitchen, onto a big outdoor deck set up with a gas grill, wet bar, fire pit. Everything new-looking, like the tags had just come off. There was an ocean view from here too, the water more distant across a shoulder of land. Ornamental bamboo grew in huge glazed pots. He whistled for Bojangles, who came skulking around a corner. Sean threw him the scraps one by one and the dog gobbled them.

Roberto came outside and stood behind him. “This is the life, huh? The beauty of nature. The comforts of home.”

“Yeah, it’s real nice.” The breeze had picked up as the sun was going down, and even though Sean had his jacket, he wouldn’t have minded an extra layer. “Scram,” he said to Bojangles, but out of the corner of his mouth.

Roberto went to the bar, filled two highball glasses with ice cubes, and poured from a bottle. “I’ll get those potatoes working in a minute. Soon as I have me a little cocktail time. Here, try a bourbon chaser with that beer.” He set both glasses on a low table, then sat on one of the upholstered lounges. “Come on, take a load off.”

Sean sat too. He’d lost track of his coaster, and even though Roberto hadn’t used any coasters himself, he put his beer on the ground next to him. He waited for Roberto to pick up his drink before he did so himself. They both drank. “Whoa,” Sean said, putting it down again. The bourbon whomped him upside the head. “This is some firewater.”

“You like? It’s Booker’s. Small batch, aged six to eight years.” Roberto took another sip and set the glass down. He had a face like a statue, with a jutting nose, craggy eyebrows, and a red, fleshy mouth. “Bet you don’t usually drink hooch this good.”

“I’d have to say you’re right about that.” Sean took another careful sip. He was getting hungry, and he didn’t want the alcohol to start eating through his stomach lining. Roberto didn’t seem to be in any hurry to start cooking. “So,” he said gamely, trying to keep the small talk going, “what line of work are you in?”

“Entrepreneurship. I’m self-employed. Self-made. I’m involved in a number of ventures.”

Sean waited for him to say what kind of ventures, but Roberto didn’t elaborate. “I’m self-employed too,” Sean offered. “I’m a contractor. Home repairs, remodeling, that kind of thing. New construction.”

“A jack-of-all-trades,” Roberto suggested. His belly rippled and the cowboy on his shirt disappeared into a fold of fat.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“From time to time I need a few things patched up around here. General maintenance. Taking care of the leaks and squeaks. You available for that sort of thing?”

“I sure could be.”

“It’s not too small-scale for you? You being used to, I’m sure, running bigger projects?”

Roberto’s nostrils, Sean noticed, were furry with black hair. Somebody ought to tell him to trim that shit. It was really kind of disturbing. “Well, it’s a recession,” Sean said, “and that’s made for a slowdown in the building trades. You have to roll with the punches.” His bladder was cresting urgently. Ever since his accident, he had trouble holding it. “You mind if I use your restroom?”

“You can use the one off the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” Sean shifted his weight, leaning on his good hip and pushing off with his hands. He didn’t like looking all crippled up in front of somebody he didn’t know, especially if there was the possibility of getting some work thrown his way. “Hey, while I’m up, you want me to bring those steaks out, anything?”

“You can take the potatoes that are sitting out and put them on the rack in the top oven. You think you can handle that kind of executive, command-and-control mission?”

“Right.” Sean headed inside, found the bathroom, relieved himself, and washed his hands. The guy was kind of a prick. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t worked for pricks before. In the kitchen, the oven was already turned on. He found the potatoes and put them in the center of the rack. He looked around in case there was any food lying around, a box of crackers, maybe, found nothing. He guessed it wouldn’t be a good idea to go cruising the fridge. The steaks had blood pooling on their surfaces.

He went back out on the deck. “Done,” he said. “Maybe I should run down to Dawn’s, make sure she knows I’m up here.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that. With Dawn it’s out of sight, out of mind.”

“Yeah.” That was exactly what he was afraid of. He needed to get his ass down there.

“We ought to talk about Dawn, you and me. I try to look out for her welfare. Because she has a piece or two missing upstairs, you know what I mean? Sit down, OK? I don’t want to have to keep turning around to talk to you.”

Sean sat. The sun had dropped into the ocean by now and the shadows on the deck were cold. He said, “Well sure, you can’t help noticing a thing like that. When something’s wrong with a person.”

Roberto finished his drink and got up to pour another one. “You want that freshened? You sure? I don’t regard Dawn as having anything ‘wrong’ with her. In some ways, she’s lucky. She doesn’t worry about the crap everybody else does. Global fucking warming? Collapse of the international banking system? What does she care? As long as she can dance on the beach and find somebody to spread her legs for when she’s in the mood.”