A Song In The Daylight Part 23

Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for theea

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,

List while I woo thee with soft melodya

They lay on their backs, counting their fingers and toes, counting their minutes and their blessings. He kissed her between the shoulder blades and whispered murmurs of l.u.s.t into her back, and she tried to listen, but the uncooperating body was keening, arching to find him, searching for him.

"Okay, tell me the first time you wanted to sleep with me," she said, turning over to lie on his chest, threading her fingers through his. Tick tock, the clock by his bedside went. Tick tock, tick tock.

"Hmm, lesseea" He pretended to think, looked at the ceiling. "If I had to guess, I'd say it wasathat time in the supermarket parking lot."

She shook him, tickled him. "Come on. Be serious."

"What? It was."

"Kai, I don't have all day."

"No kidding. Okay. The first time, well, I guess if you're forcing me to tell youait'd be that first day I saw you."

"What?"

"Of course."

"That can't be true."

"Why? Of course it is. Don't you know anything about men and women?" He tried to sound wise. "Sheesh. All guys, not just me, but all guys, and when I say all guys, I mean all guys as in every guy you've ever met, know within the first five minutes of meeting you if they want to sleep with you. To give you credit where credit is due, I probably knew with you after the first ten seconds."

"Come on!"

"It's true. But usually? Five minutes, tops. We don't need to figure it out. We have it all figured out. We don't need to look deep inside ourselves and say, she's a good friend, but do I like her in that way? We know immediately. Either we want to see you naked or we don't."

"Oh, so romantic."

"Romantic? You're the one who asked that prosaic question. When did you want to sleep with me?" He mock-huffed. "And I'm not a romantic."

"All right, all right."

"Soawhen did you first know you wanted to sleep with me?"

"I'm still deciding, lover-boy."

"Ahh. Of course you are. Well, you are a woman." His mouth bent deep into her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, to her swollen nipples. He cupped her, fondled her. "Is there anything I can do to help you make your decision quicker? Because I don't know if I can wait much longer."

She moaned.

"You know what I got? A flame Ducati, baby," he said, opening her softened body with his kisses, on his arms over her. "It can go one forty an hour, and it does, and it won't stop till it runs out of gas after it does things to you six of which I'm certain are illegal in the state of New Jersey. Decision: Yes?"

"G.o.d, oh yes. Please, oh yes."

4.

Jared and Larissa's Dry Week

I*m not singing to an imaginary girl, Kai sang to her. But I am, Larissa whispered. I am imaginary. When I'm here, it is as I would like to be, wish I could be, wish I had been. But not as I am.

That's not true. This is how you are.

No. No, this is how you are. I'm only this because of you.

But, Larissa, my delight is not imaginary. Remember acting out a motorcycle on stage, the pale rendition of what it is really like to be on a Ducati? Same here. My joy is real. And my joy is you.

I've never known anyone like you. No one who loves like you, who comes like you. No one who touches me like you. No one who wants to be touched by me like you. I simply don't understand how you exist. Is this what all women are like at forty?

No. Only me. Is this what all young men are like at twenty?

Yup, pretty much.

It's not that she didn't believe him. It's that to say those words, pressed against full soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s, a bare stomach, with white legs wrapped around you, with adoring eyes on you, with a mouth that's crying, chest against a heart that's weeping with ecstasy, all could be said at those moments. And all was.

It was a breath in her day. The other twenty-three hours Larissa spent doing nothing but ensuring that she could continue to take that one breath with which her lungs were filled, her soul was filled.

She made sure not only that she was punctual, but that she was a couple of minutes early everywhere. When Michelangelo was doing his homework at the island, she returned every phone call she missed during the day. She scheduled to be at play rehearsals on Sat.u.r.days, on Tuesday lunchtimes and Wednesday afternoons, and made sure she was always present. She drove to Pingry every morning at ten o'clock and helped with the sets, she oversaw construction and painting, she drove to Sherwin-Williams and bought the paints with her own two hands. She repainted the columns herself, she redesigned the discovery s.p.a.ce underneath the balcony, and went to a curtain store to choose the curtains. Every dispute over teenage costumes she presided over, and she made sure that before she fled school, she sat down in Ezra's office with a coffee for him and went over the day and the play.

Preempting Tara's calls to go walking, Larissa called her herself. She called during times she expressly knew Tara wasn't going to be there. "Tara, darling, I've got to run to the school, but do you want to have a walk now?" she would leave as a message, and then Tara would call back and leave a message on Larissa's machine. Thanks so much for calling and inviting me for a walk. So sorry I missed your call. I was taking Jenny to playgroup. Maybe tomorrow?

And at home, Larissa became more of a mother. To make it easier on herself, she bought prepackaged brownie mixes, pre-made cookie dough, ready-made biscuits. But every day in the early evening, something sweet emanated from the hot oven, as Larissa poured a lemon marinade over her chicken, and helped Asher with his three-dimensional paintings and talked to Emily about the importance of dressing appropriately for formal occasions like the NJSSMA auditions. Larissa ran the rest of her life like clockwork, so that the one moment of undisturbed chaos would continue to be allotted to her. It was almost as if she were saying, look how good I am. I'm doing everything I'm supposed to, I'm excelling at my life. I'm juggling it all, keeping all the b.a.l.l.s in the air, I'm not mixing my whites and colors, and I'm not pouring bleach over dry towels. I'm not forgetting ice cream in my trunk anymore, and I'm not learning words to the wrong play. I'm fresh-smelling and happy, my children are well-tended, their needs taken care of, and Jared is taken care of; I'm not forgetting him. I'm not forgetting my friendships. I remember to listen to my close friends about their problems. And for this, for being so good, I get one little tiny thing for myself. It affects nothing. Except the way I feel about my life. It's the thing that makes everything else so much more worthwhile. Nothing wrong with that, is there?

There was only one thing Larissa could not do, and the silence of that omission screamed louder than the noise of all her other actions.

Larissa could not write to Che.

"Close your eyes."

"No, why?"

"No questions, justaclose them." Kai met her outside his place on the gravel, down the steps and at her car before she barely turned off the ignition.

"I don't want to close them. I'm afraid."

"Oh, be afraida" he lowered his voice to corn-husky. "Be very afraid. But close your eyes anyway."

"No."

He kissed her. In the driveway, in full view of the world, leaned in and kissed her against the car, smiling, happy, holding her hand. "I've got a present for you upstairs."

She looked up to his windows. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise. Why so much talking? Close your eyes, and in ten seconds you'll see."

"Is it a puppy?"

"No." He put his hand over her face. Closing her eyes finally, she allowed him to lead her across the courtyard to the steps.

"Is it a boat?"

"A boat? Careful, hold on to the railing here."

"Is it aatelevision?"

"You need a television, Larissa?"

"Is it aapair of shoes?"

"Yes, because that's me. A shoe shopper."

"Is ita?"

"Just go on up, two more steps. You'll see."

"Will it make me happy?"

"Well, I suppose you'll let me know in about five seconds. Keep *em closed. We're almost inside. It's very important you keep them closed. Otherwise you'll ruin the surprise."

"Is the present in the surprise, or in the actual present itself?"

"I don't know how to answer that. In both?" Not trusting her, he put his hand over her face as he led her across the threshold, past the entryway, slowly across his wood floor.

"Will it make me cry?"

"You tell me." The backs of her knees. .h.i.t the side of the bed. "Without opening your eyes, lie down."

"Lie down where?"

"On the bed."

She lay down.

"No, all the way, like you're on the bed. Feet, too."

She lay down on the bed, feet too. He climbed on top of her, nestling, grinding her, kissing her neck, her mouth. Her arms went around his neck.

"No," he said quietly, "Reach up with your arms over your head."

"Why? I can't touch you?"

"Just reach up, Larissa."

She reached up with her arms over her head anda Bra.s.s rails!

She opened her eyes, tilted her head back. "You got me a headboard?" It was a high, curved, sleigh-bed-design bra.s.s headboard with nice thick strong bra.s.s rails.

He was beaming. "I got you a headboard. And a footboard. Just in case." He laughed, raising his eyebrows. "What do you think? You like?"

"Oh, Kaia"

"Does this make you happy? A big bra.s.s bed?"

"Oha"

"Does this make you cry?"

"Oha"

"Grab on, baby," he whispered. "And hold on tight."

What is it like to spend your hours in deceit? There is no gesture big or small, no word big or small, no thought, no breath that can be made with a clear, unmanipulated heart. The vigilance is 24/7. There is nothing that can, or must, escape your attention.

She was afraid of Kai's smell in her car. What if someone had seen her on the back of his bike like a skull and cross-bones flag flying down to the Deserted Village, wind in her hair? What if she bought something in a place she wasn't supposed to be in? What if she bought something she shouldn't have bought, a see-through bra Jared had never seen, a black silk thong to drive a man to distraction? What if she was gaining weight from the sushi she kept having in Kai's bed, and the ice cream from his freezer, and the sugar in the two cups of coffee with cream she drank with him? What if she left a receipt for the sushi, a wrapper from a gum she didn't chew, a piece of candy she didn't eat on the floor of her car? What if a CD in the changer was one she never listened to?

What ifa"and this was a frightening what ifa"Jared opened the statement from her gynecologist and examined the details more thoroughly than usual and saw that in addition to an exam and a blood test and a cervical smear there was also a script for a six-month supply of birth control, matched by the billing statement for the prescription account they paid into? How could she explain to Jared that suddenly at forty she decided to go back on the pill as if she were a s.l.u.tty college student without a boyfriend? What did married women who hadn't been on the pill in seventeen years need to be on the pill for? Last time she was on the pill was before Emily was born. Now, she kept that pink wheel of 28 mother's little helpers hidden deep inside her cosmetic drawer, in a blue silk bag that contained the suede brush.

Can you hide? Isn't anyone watching? Thank G.o.d no one was watching, and you could maintain the sh.e.l.l of what was, though all the things that made you you had gone, replaced by another heart that beat and pumped blood for someone else.