Oliver
EVEN FOR NEW York it’s unusually hot. But I’m feeling the deep freeze. There’s been no word from Piper, not a call or a text or an email. I haven’t received an eviction notice, so I guess things could be worse. Three days of attempts to contact her have gone unanswered. Fuck. I may have gone a little too far with my ‘you’re making an ass of yourself’ comment, or maybe it was the apology to my girlfriend thing. But she was and she should. At least I spoke my mind and stood up for Stori. I wasn’t about to let it slide. Just don’t want my temper to blow my chances.
“Come on girl,” I say to Louise.
It’s an unnecessary prompt. She’s already halfway to Prue’s door and barking her hello. This is the first chance I’ve had to talk with her since I left for the cruise. After she dropped Louise at my place Saturday, she headed upstate for a family wedding. She’s always going somewhere since Ty moved in. Didn’t think that was going to last, but she’s proved me wrong. Her “sort of homeless” guy with great eyes has found himself a home. Hope he’s a good guy, because she could use a little magic in her life. Her goodness deserves reward.
The door opens before I have a chance to knock.
“Hello, my favorite friend!”
“Who you talkin to, the dog or me?” I tease.
“Her, of course.”
I follow Louise in and take a seat on Prue’s couch. It’s hot in here, so I angle myself right in the path of the floor fan.
“Want a popsicle?” She asks.
“No. I’m gonna meet my mother for lunch. I just came by to pick up Louise’s toy.”
Prue grabs the timeworn stuffed banana she forgot to bring to my place when she dropped off Louise. She tosses it to the dog, then picks up her half eaten popsicle from the cup sitting on the table and takes a seat next to me.
“Oh, I love that. Just you and your mom? Come up here, girl.” She pats the pillow next to her.
Louise jumps up with her toy in her mouth and tucks herself against the pillow. She rests her head in the crook of Prue’s legs all the while never letting go of the banana.
“My father’s with Grace at her new therapists. She’s doing better.”
“I’m glad to hear that. New meds?”
“That, and I guess this doctor has gotten closer to an actual diagnosis. I’m going to hear more about it today.”
We proceed with the small talk of catching up, and I tell her the highlights of the cruise. I leave out all the really interesting details. Those memories are mine alone. But halfway through the telling she gets this shit-eating grin.
“Christ! Are you in love?”
There’s no stopping my smile. “What did I say to make you think that?”
“Are you kidding? It’s the way your face looks when you talk about her. Man, you’re the friggin’ white knight. Just like I predicted,” she laughs.
I stay silent because confirming it would be stating the obvious.
“I’m so happy for you, babe. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” she says, taking chunk from her popsicle.
“Yeah, yeah. Hey, I need your advice.”
“Tell her! Tell her you love her. Don’t waste any time.”
“I don’t need advice on my love life. I want your take on something that happened with Piper.”
I lay the whole story out, the lead up to the confrontation, what she said, what I said. When I get to that part Prue grimaces.
“You think that was over the top?” I say, hoping she’ll strongly disagree, and tell me I should have been firmer.
“It could have been handled better. You don’t have to say every fucking thing that comes into your mind. You do that when you’re mad.”
“Shit.”
“You’ve gotta learn to pick your battles.”
A low moan escapes me.
“Mind you, I’m not blaming you for feeling that way. She’s a tough bitch. But she’s a successful, smart tough bitch. And she’s the one who recognized your talent.”
“So I should just let her talk to Stori like that? No, that’s not going to happen,” I say, humphing out the last word.
Prue stays quiet for a few beats, the points a finger at me.
“See that right there. You’re getting pissed just thinking about it. If you calm your voice and expression, you’ll be able to make your point without alienating your greatest cheerleader. You could have said the same thing but calmly, and it wouldn’t have blown up in your face.”
I roll the idea around in my mind and admit she has a point.
“She’s not answering my calls. And I’m not going to apologize.”
“You don’t have to. But somehow you should let her know you take her efforts seriously.”
I lean over and give her a kiss on the cheek. Louise lifts her head and I give her one too.
“Okay. Thanks for the session Dr. Prudence. Let’s go to lunch, girl.”
Louise hears the word lunch, and she’s off the couch waiting for me to put her leash on. Prue gives me a last bit of advice.
“You’re holding the golden ticket Oliver. Don’t let it fly the fuck away.”
It’s a run through the sprinklers kind of summer day, and all the way to the café I’m imagining what Stori would look like if she were doing that. My fantasy plays in slow motion as she comes toward me smiling. Her ridiculously perfect boobs bouncing with every step while the droplets of water run slowly down her torso into the bottom of her yellow bikini. I feel the tug. Wait, that’s the leash. Louise has spotted my mother.
In the puzzle of life, today’s piece fits. I had a reality check from Prue, now followed by the soothing conversation of a mother in whose eyes I can do no wrong. I don’t tell her about Piper, or the fact that we haven’t spoken in days, because I know what she’d say. She wouldn’t dwell on the lost money or celebrity. It would be ‘Do what makes you happy’. So instead I spend time telling her about Stori and our days in France and Italy.
“Oliver, I’ve never seen you happier,” she says touching my hand.
I nod my agreement. “I guess there’s something to this love business.”
“It’s love then?” she says. I hear hope in her voice.
“It is.”
Tears well in her eyes and she purses her lips together holding back I’m not sure what. A scream? A sob?
“You okay, Mom?”
“I’m so happy! I’m just so happy for you,” she squeaks out.
“I want to bring her to the house. Is Sunday all right?”
You’d think I told her Barbra Streisand is going to be dropping in for a visit and a private concert.
“Yes! Sunday is perfect. We can have a nice dinner. Or lunch. Would you rather have lunch? Oh, Grace is going to be happy. Remember, she liked Stori.”
Her enthusiasm is touching.
“Lunch or brunch. Whatever. I don’t want to overpower Gracey with too much of the unfamiliar. We can’t be sure how she’s going to react.”
“True. But Oliver, Dr. Burns has really connected some of the dots for us. In just the first four therapy sessions.”
“Like what?”
“Remember how Grace was when she was a young girl? She seemed perfectly normal. Life got harder for her to navigate starting when she was about twelve, thirteen. She became anxious. And then eventually depressed.”
“I remember.”
“What else happened about that time?”
I think back, but I’m not sure what I’m looking for.
“I don’t know. What?”
“9/11.”
I go back in my memories to that day. Grace was in seventh grade, at the school three blocks from ground zero. It was a horrible experience for her, for us.
“You’ve heard of PTSD? What some soldiers get after enduring war,” she says.
“Of course. Is that what happened to Grace?”
“It’s what happened to lots of young people who were there. Especially the ones around Grace’s age. They were less resilient than adults, who have better coping skills, and more vulnerable than children who were too young to process what happened. But it’s taken years to play out and identify.”
She tells me the story, and it makes sense. More importantly it makes sense to Grace, who reacted positively to the idea. She’s being weaned off some of her meds and her doctor’s tweaking others. The multiple diagnoses of severe anxiety, depression and bipolar issues have a new light shining on them. The doctor doesn’t believe she’s bipolar. Many more sessions will be needed to determine what’s true and what isn’t. Maybe whatever she has isn’t a life sentence.
Other treatments besides medication will be in play. Soon she’s going to start meditation therapy and down the line a support group with people who suffered the same trauma. With time the therapist thinks the quality of her life can greatly improve.
“For so long we haven’t had hope,” I say.
“I know, honey. And for the first time in a long while both my little chickens have a chance to be happy.”
Our entire lives my mother has called us her little chickens. I reach back to my childhood to imitate the sound effect I’d make whenever she did.
“Cheep, cheep,” I tease.
After lunch, Louise and I make a trip to the pet store two blocks east of Fifth Avenue. This is Piper’s favorite shopping experience. As much as she loves the latest in eccentric clothes and shoes for herself, she enjoys buying for Hercules best. I’ve got to find something that’ll make her laugh. Or smile, I’d settle for that. I’ll pick up some flowers at that florist she likes. She’s so fucking particular.
When I describe Hercules to the salesman, it doesn’t take him long to figure out whose pet I’m buying for.
“Ms. Mann is one of our best customers. And Hercules, oh he’s adorable! I know his personality well. Hers too. Let me find you the perfect gift.”
“I want to buy her something she may not have seen before. Something funny. Maybe a T-shirt?”
“Let’s see what came in this morning.”
He takes off for the back room. Louise is in a spin sniffing all the foreign smells in here. Shit, she squats and pees on what looks like a very expensive dog bed before I can stop her. I think of moving away, but when the guy returns with some samples I cop out to my dog’s indiscretion. I think I’m forgiven so easily because of Piper’s business. It probably keeps this place afloat.
In the end, I narrow it down to Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, and I’m an angel . . . So was Satan. But as I give the room a last glance, I see the perfect choice, Silently judging you. It works because that’s the expression on Hercules’ face 100% of the time. The poor guy is only guilty of one thing. He’s got bitchy resting face. Just like his human.
I buy that one and the plastic mask of a bulldog that looks exactly like him. Next stop the florist. I’m firing off a text to Stori as I walk out of the pet store.
Me: On my way to Piper’s. Going to resolve our issues. Expect to be back by 6:00. You distracted me today as you ran through the sprinklers. O
I snicker a little at my tease. Ten seconds later my cell sounds with her response.
Stori: Good. Make things right. Don’t bite. See you then. Have you been fantasizing again, and did I live up to your dream? S
Oh baby, you exceed them all.
Forty minutes later Louise and I are standing in front of Piper’s gates. I have a bouquet of her favorites, lilies, wrapped in teal satin. I lift the dog mask to my face, make sure I’m in the cameras line of sight and ring the bell. Nothing. I call her cell. It goes to message.
“Piper pick up. Come on. I’m outside and I’ve got something for you. And Louise misses Hercules. She brought him a gift.”
Crickets. I’m about to walk away when I hear the crackle of the speaker. It’s not Piper’s voice but her housekeeper.
“Ms. Mann asks that you meet her on the rooftop, Mr. London.”
The gate swings open.
“Okay. Thank you.”
I make the journey from front door to rooftop like a convicted felon. Defiant dead man walking. I fucking hate this kind of confrontation. Prue’s words keep repeating in my mind. Stay calm. Say what you want but lose the pissed-off look.
She’s on her phone and watering the flowerpots at the same time. Hercules goes crazy at the sight of Louise. In other words, he gets off his ass, snorts, and saunters towards us. I’m standing with flowers and the mask in my hand like a fool. The mask only works as a surprise. Now it’s stupid. I toss my offerings on a chaise and squat down to pet Hercules. Piper’s taking her sweet time getting off her call. It’s her father. The prick.
“Sounds good, Dad. There’s something I want to tell you. Think you might be interested. We’ll talk about it then. Yes. Bye-bye.”
She disconnects and turns to me.
“Strike one, you ignore my texts and calls. Strike two, you talk to me like I’m doing your bidding. I’m not. You work for me, not the other way around. You’re very close to striking out.”
Fuck your baseball metaphors. I’ve got one for you. There’s other scouts that would be interested now that they see what I can do. I think it, I feel it, but I don’t say it. I center myself for a few beats and smile.
“I guess I could have handled it better.”
That’s about the biggest mea culpa she’s going to get. I don’t think she was expecting that reaction. There an actual look of surprise on her face. And then it softens into a smile.
“Okay. I guess I could have too,” she says. And for the first time since I’ve known her she reaches out and touches my arm.
What? Didn’t see that coming.
“Now let’s sit and talk about the fact that you almost missed the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”