A Song In The Daylight Part 35

"And do what? Snoop?" He grinned naughtily. "That's so hot. What are you looking for? Naughty things?"

"Well, I don't know."

"What do you want to find? Old love letters?"

More like new love letters, she replied quietly.

His mouth was in her neck, his hands in her hair. "Well, tell me," he murmured, husk, husk. "Have you been writing me much?"

So now Larissa waited. It had been snowing and freezing for two months. Yesterday they had their ninth snowstorm. Today was fifteen below. After another minute, she heard his Ducati revving up on Samson. He pulled up next to her in the driveway and hopped off, helmet still on, a ski cap under it.

"Man, it's freezing out. Come on," he said, smiling. He kissed her through the open window. "You're like my good luck charm. I sold three Jags today, last one just five minutes ago. That's why I'm late. Couldn't leave. I have another appointment with the couple right after lunch." He worked full days at the dealer in the frigid winter, taking a break from masonry. From his small trunk he produced a large paper bag and a bouquet of supermarket-bought flowers. "For you," he said. "Also the sushi."

"I have things for you," she said.

She had a box for him, beautifully wrapped at Neiman's.

She had a cake for him, his favorite, a cheesecake. She wanted to make it, bake it with her own hands, but since that was out of the question, she went to the best bakery in Chatham, bought the cheesecake and left it in the back seat of her Jag. She brought candles, and matches to light them.

They didn't eat first. They never ate first. Afterward they ate, still in bed, naked, the sheets pulled up over her, pulled down on him.

"Now," she said, taking the matches from her purse. "You're finally old enough to drink."

"Isn't that awesome," he said, popping open the Cristal. Champagne and strawberry cheesecake for his birthday lunch. She bought him an Armani jacket, cla.s.sy greige, size 42 long. She thought with jeans and a white shirt he would look splendid.

"Blow out the candles with me," he said when she asked him to make a wish. The cake was on the bed, between their legs. And after the blowout, with champagne on his lips, he asked her what she had wished for.

"It's not my birthday." She was lying in his arms, rubbing her hair against his chest. Seventeen minutes left. "What did you wish for? To be able to shave?"

He pinched her. "I do shave, smarty-pants. If you ever saw me in the evening, you'd see my five o'clock stubble."

"No, wait, I know. You wished to be able to rent a car."

He pinched her again.

"My mistake. You have to wait four more years for that."

"Extra funny today, are we, Mrs. Stark." He tickled her, not allowing her body to tighten. "You want to know what I wished for? There's a town, in New Mexico, off Route 66. To call it a town is almost unfair, it's a street with no name, a gas station, a general storeaI want you on my bike behind me, and I want us to see it. I want to stay in a tiny bed and breakfast, all dusty and strange, and wake up where the sun is out three hundred days a year."

"That's a fun wish."

"You on my bike, Larissa," he whispered, climbing on top of her, "holding on for dear life to my leather jacket."

"Okay." Like a breath out.

Twelve minutes left.

"Or," he said, his body gently rubbing up and down against her, rubbing his naked chest against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, "I want to show you Maui. The red flame trees that grow in the spring on the black volcanoes. We'll get up at dawn and take our bikes up the mountain, into the Maoloa."

"Will you take me for a demon ride too, Kai?" She moaned, the nerves in her body raw with him, from him, spine tingling, skin burning.

"If that's what you want. Would you like that?"

"So much." She closed her eyes, not to see the merciless clock. The blue birthday balloon burst over her head.

I wish we could go to the movies, she said to him. I wish we could go to dinner at the sw.a.n.k Italian place down the street, and then bar hopping. I wish we could stay at the Madison hotel, white like a wedding, like a dream. I wisha Don't be sad, Kai whispered to her. I told you, I'll take you any way you want to give yourself to me. And if this is how you give me you, then that's how I will take you. Is this ideal? Many things are not ideal. What is ideal, though, he said, is you. To have you, I will have this. If you said to me, it's either this way or it's nothing, I would choose this over nothing. It's not s.e.x with you I want. Don't you understand? All I want is you.

All I want is you.

Eight minutes.

Six.

Three.

She got dressed as she was. She washed at home.

Kai put on his faded jeans, black boots, a white crisp shirt, the Armani jacket. He looked splendid.

Wetting his hands in the sink, he slicked back his growing-out kinky hair and smiled at her, ruefully.

"That is what I wished for, Larissa," he whispered to her back, as she was running out. "I wished for you."

Emily had a cello lesson at four and voice at 4:30. Michelangelo trooped along for his karate at 5:00 in Chatham. Asher was playing with his buddies in a bas.e.m.e.nt band until six. On the way home, the kids discussed a teacher who pushed a kid, and Emily had forgotten her lunch and was starving hungry, and Michelangelo forgot his karate robe and they had to go back. The kid on the morning bus was, apparently, "simply vile" and Emily didn't know how he was still living.

That night they had take-out Indian for dinner; Jared was happy to eat Tandoori and talk to her about Jan at work, who was just promoted to deputy company secretary, and Jared didn't know what that was about, declaring Jan not yet reliably off the sauce, but whatever. They talked about their plans for the weekend, which apparently included going to South Mountain Reservation with Doug and Barbara on Sat.u.r.day ("For some reason, Doug's insisting we drive in his car. I think something may be up"), and on Sunday driving to Greenwich to have brunch with Jared's boss, Larry Fredoso and his new wife.

The kids were in bed by ten, and Jared had some work, thank G.o.d. Larissa sat in the den with her cup of tea, her hands shaking, and closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the fire Jared built, or her books, or the house. She sat on her couch, legs drawn up, head thrown back on the pillow, squeezing shut her eyes so tears wouldn't spill down her face like rain.

"Larissa?"

Opening her eyes, she found Jared standing, staring at her with concern. "You *kay? What's the matter, tush?"

"Oh, nothing. Just tired." She tried to smile.

"What?" he perched next to her. "Did the kids do something?"

"Of course not."

"Did I do something?" he chuckled, with the giggle of a man who says the most ridiculous thing he can think of, because he knows he is beyond reproach.

Reaching to touch his face, Larissa shook her head. "Of course not, darling."

"I'll be just another couple of minutes; almost done paying the bills. Want to watch Seinfeld at eleven?"

"Very much."

And they did. She didn't laugh once. Upstairs, Larissa spent so long in the bathroom that Jared was asleep by the time she stepped into the bedroom. She lay down, careful that no part of her would touch any part of him, and stared at the ceiling to find some answers there.

She had no one to turn to. All her friends had drifted away one by one, departed from her, detached. With them she had the regular things. My kid is flunking math. Do you want to see a movie? Can I borrow an iron; mine broke. I'll tell you if your dress looks good, if you've got a tag sticking out, if you've got lipstick stuck to your teeth. This is what friends do. But when you come to me because you actually need my help, I stop hearing you. I become deaf. You're talking too low and asking too much of our friendship. I've got my own problems. You want to complain no one listens to you? Boo hoo. No one listens to us either. Join the f.u.c.king club.

That's what it was. No one listened to anyone. At the heart of our life, we all walked around with our head hung low, or our eyes raised high, begging for someone to hear our prayer, to hear us speak to the deepest sorrow in us, to our deepest longing.

Dear Larissa, my friend, I want to tell you about my life.

I'm sorry we got cut off the first time in years I got to hear your voice. The card ran out of money.

I was floating on happy clouds for three weeks. Nothing troubled me. Nothing could.

Lorenzo became the most protective of boyfriends.

He didn't want me to work with him anymore. He said it was too dangerous. So I asked Father Emilio if I could help him out at the orphanage for a few pesos, and he let me, but the kids were always getting sick with stuff, and soon I got sick. I caught some awful fever swamp thing and started to bleed, and couldn't work at all. I couldn't do anything but lie in bed, and Lorenzo said he would work for both of us, and did. He was gone from the house morning till night. He never slept anymore, and you remember how much my Lorenzo loves his beauty rest. He distributed pamphlets, sold trinkets, was a cycle messenger and then a rickshaw driver. Lorenzo made us money, and Father Emilio came every day on his walkabouts and brought me fruit.

I was feeling better. And then the most awful thing happened.

Lorenzo was hired to protest against the Manila/MILF agreement. MILF is a faction group, a breakaway paramilitary organization, the Moro Islamic Liberation Front. For years they've been raising Cain in Mindanao, where Lorenzo is from, claiming the island is theirs, wanting independence from the Philippines, but, Lorenzo's parents live there, and millions of other native Filipinos. After years of arson and a.s.sault and street attacks, the Philippine government finally agreed to give part of Mindanao to the Muslims. You'd think that would be the end, but no. MILF kept asking for more. To get peace, the government has been giving them more. And more. More land, more resources, more autonomya"and still no peace. Over two hundred thousand lives have been lost in the fighting. So Lorenzo goes to protest handing over 712 more villages in Mindanao to the Muslims, and not two days later, his mother's uncle comes down to Las Pinas, finds San Agustin, finds us, and tells Lorenzo that both his parents, both his parents!, died a month ago when their village was torched during an occupation by the MILF rebels. They were killed at Sulu Sea on their boat in the early morning, while rowing to sh.o.r.e.

The rebels surrendered to the Filipino commander, and there were many other civilians killed but what good is that to Lorenzo? He has lost his mind. He is completely inconsolable. And raging at his poor Papi and Mama too, because he's been begging them to leave Zamboanga for years, ever since the worst of the troubles started, but they kept saying it was their home and they wouldn't go.

I don't know what to do. My poor Lorenzo. Just at the time when we should be so happy. Instead, he is sick with grief. I draw a little sad face on my letter. Hope you're doing better. Can't imagine you could be doing much worse.

I keep praying there won't be any more trouble, but when I look at Lorenzo's stricken face, I get so afraid, like all the trouble is still to come.

Thank you for your package, the clothes, the money. Money was most appreciated. The clothes, don't be mad, but I think you forgot how tiny I am, they were all too big for me. Plus, they were winter maternity. And it doesn't get cold here. I sold them, and made some money from your top-of-the-line American merchandise. I paid my rent for two months with those clothes. I love you.

5.

Doug's Jaguar

"I want to show you something, man! Come look."

Jared was sitting at his desk at work, sorting through his bank and credit card statements. Something in them vaguely bothered him.

"Come downstairs for a sec."

"Doug, downstairs where? Like outside? We've got a board meeting in fifteen, and we still have to go overa""

"It'll just take a sec. Come on." Doug was like a kid.

Out in the parking lot covered with mounds of snow, Jared saw what Doug was so excited about. It was a gray Jaguar sedan.

"Oh, man, I can't believe you did it!" Jared walked around the car. "You took the plunge!"

"Yeah, baby! Will you just look at it! XJ8. Vapor Gray metallic. Are you seeing it with your eyes?"

"I'm seeing it. It's amazing."

"No f.u.c.king kidding. I got tired of you going on about Larissa's Jag, so over the weekend the wife and I went to check it out, see what all the fuss is about. Well, one minute, we're windowshopping, and the next I'm forking over the whole Christmas bonus for the down payment and signing on the dotted line. I don't even know how it happened!" He opened the doors, had Jared touch the soft black leather. "You wanna go for a ride?"

"Doug, what about the board meeting in ten minutes? How about we go at lunch? I'll let you take me out."

"Done. I can't believe you bought your wife a convertible Jag," Doug said, his hands on the hood. "I didn't know what that meant until we drove this one, which is already like a s.p.a.ce ship and the salesman said, yeah, but the sports model has 420 horsepower. Did you buy Larissa the regular or the supercharged?"

"What do you think?"

"Oh, man, you're nucking futs!"

Jared shrugged. "It's what she wanted. Might as well have the best, if you're going to go all out. Otherwise what's the point?"

"Yeah, well," said Doug, "we didn't want to spend that kind of money and not let the kids inside it. I bet Larissa never lets hers in."

"You bet correctly."

Doug shook his head. "See, we didn't want that, Kate and I. Sedan seemed so much more practical."

Jared studied Doug. "Douglas, you're my friend, and we go back a long way, but what the h.e.l.l are you talking about? It's a f.u.c.king Jaguar. Who wants to be practical? This is supposed to be a mad car."

"Not when you have kids. You have to be a little bit sensible. We're not teenagers anymore."

Jared just shook his head. "I guess. And like you could afford this when you were a teenager."

"Too true. But isn't it incredible?"

"Beyond belief. Congratulations."

"I know. I'm excited like I had another baby or something! Should I pa.s.s out some cigars?"

Jared laughed. "Absolutely. But what I don't understand is, did you buy the car for yourself or for Kate?"

"For Kate; why do you ask?"

"So thenawhat are you doing driving it?"

"Well, just look at it. Do you even need to ask?"