Going Home Page 7

“What are you doing this weekend, Chris? It’s a holiday.”

  “Yeah. I guess it is. I’m moving out of town as a matter of fact.”

  “Very funny. But I get the message. I was just asking.” I picked a blade of grass next to where we lay and tickled the side of his face with it, wondering when he’d get rid of the girl he lived with. He hadn’t yet.

  “I wasn’t kidding, Gill. I am moving. Out to Bolinas for the summer. Want to come?”

  “Are you kidding or are you for real?” This was the first I’d heard of it, other than vague mention two months back that he usually spent his summers in Bolinas. But with Chris very little was “usual” and nothing ever seemed to be planned.

  “I’m for real. I thought I’d move out tomorrow or Saturday. I meant to tell you. Why don’t you and Sam come and stay?”

  “And after that? She’s already so attached to you, Chris, if she gets used to having you around all the time it’s going to really hurt when we come back to this. She’s already had that once, with her father . . . I don’t know. . . .”

  “Don’t be so stuffy. She’ll be happy with us, and you said you were going to send her East to see him anyway, so that’ll wean her off me.” . . . But what about me? . . . “When’s she going to see him?”

  “Middle of July till the end of August. Roughly six weeks.”

  “Okay. So what’s the sweat? She’ll spend six weeks with us and six weeks with him. And we can be alone for a while . . . Gill, please . . . I’d really like you to.” He turned to me with the expression of a starving, lonely child, and my heart melted. I didn’t know whether to laugh or jump at the chance. It would be so nice to live with Chris . . . but what then?

  “We’ll see . . . anyway, what would I do about work?” That was a lame reason not to do it, and we both knew it.

  “Don’t be a jerk. I work out of Bolinas, so can you. There’s a phone over there. You’ll get your calls . . . oh hell, if you don’t want to, screw it.” Suddenly I was the bad guy, and he was hurt. But he hadn’t even told me he was moving. That was so like Chris.

  “I want to, I want to, for chrissake . . . okay, I’ll come. I’m just afraid I’ll get used to you that’s all. Can’t you try and understand that? I love you, Chris, and I want to live with you, but when we come back to San Francisco at the end of the summer I go back to my place and you go back to your roommate.” I hadn’t mentioned it in a long time.

  “As a matter of fact, Gill, you’re wrong. She’s moving out next week or something. I gave her notice.”

  “You did? She is? . . . Hey . . . wow!”

  “That’s right, little lady. Wow. And I thought that if it works out this summer you and Sam could move in with me in September. The house is big enough for all of us.” . . . But what about your heart, Chris? . . . It was a dumb thing to think. I knew he loved us. And I was thrilled the girl was leaving . . . at last.

  “Chris Matthews, do you know what? . . . I love you. And Bolinas is going to be super. Take me home, I want to pack.”

  “Yes ma’am. At your service.”

  It dawned on me as we drove back to the Marina that I had never seen his house in the city. I knew it was on Sacramento Street, but that was all. I had a sudden urge to see it, to take a long drunken look at the place where we would live in the fall, but that could wait. He had said “if it works out this summer.” But why shouldn’t it? I couldn’t see any reason why it shouldn’t. No reason at all.

  8

  Chris! . . . Sam! . . . Lunch is ready!” A large red enamel plate was buried under a dozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a pitcher of milk stood next to it. We were going to eat under the big tree behind the tiny house Chris rented every summer, which had become our summer home. It was a gem. He had painted it the year before, and everything was a bright, sunny yellow, and there were splashes of color everywhere. It was simple and rustic, but comfortable, and it was close to the beach, which was all we needed.

  “I’m coming, Mommy. Uncle Crits said he’d take me riding this afternoon.” Samantha staggered to the lunch table under the weight of the cowboy holster Chris had given her and shoved a sandwich into her mouth with a look of satisfaction.

  “You want to come too, Gill?”

  “Sure.” I looked over Sam’s head at Chris for a long moment, and we shared a secret smile. Things were working out. Beautifully. We had been in Bolinas for a month, and it was like something out of a fairy tale. We went riding and swimming, we sat outside at night, and we were so in love with each other we could hardly see straight.

  Sam was supposed to leave in two weeks to spend the rest of her vacation with Richard, and for once I felt less badly about Samantha leaving. I was looking forward to being alone with Chris. Even though I couldn’t see how things could get any better than they were.

  “Hey, Gill . . . what’s the matter?” I suddenly felt ill, and it must have showed. My stomach rolled slowly toward my throat and then down again, in a kind of slow-motion roller coaster feeling.

  “I don’t know . . . must be something I ate.”

  “Peanut butter? Can’t be. Maybe too much sun. Go lie down. I’ll keep an eye on Sam.” I followed his suggestion, and half an hour later I felt better. “You still want to ride with us, love?”

  “Maybe I’ll skip it. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Oh shit . . . I forgot to tell you. I’m going into town tonight. I have a job tomorrow.”

  “Lucky you.” I hadn’t had a job in almost three weeks. Summer was slowing things down. But it didn’t matter much. We were living cheaply in Bolinas. “When will you be back?” It didn’t make much difference, we never had any plans, and we were leading a lazy life.

  “Tomorrow night, or the day after. It depends how long we take to shoot. This is a documentary for the state.” He smiled at me for a moment. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  But he wasn’t back the next night, or the night after that. He came back three days later, and I had been worried. I had called the house on Sacramento Street and had gotten no answer.

  “Where the hell were you, Chris?”

  “I was busy for chrissake. What were you worried about? You knew I’d come back. So what’s the big deal?” ’

  “The big deal is that something could have happened to you, that’s all.”

  “You worry about you, and I’ll worry about me.” And that’s the way it was. End of discussion.

  “Fine. I’m going into town tomorrow myself. Joe Tramino called me for a job at Carson.”

  “Great.” Yeah . . . great . . . but you were still gone three days and what the hell were you doing? You didn’t even call. . . . But I didn’t want to ask.

  That evening, he acted as though nothing had happened, and I left him in charge of Sam the next morning as I set out to drive across the mountains in his car. I was due in town at nine. And Joe had invited me to lunch if the shooting was over in time. It was. He took me to a late lunch at Enrico’s, on lower Broadway, looking down Montgomery Street toward the newly built up financial district. We sat outside, and it was warm and sunny, with a nice cool breeze that rustled through the trees out front.

  “You did a nice job today, Gill. How’s life been treating you?” He looked concerned. He knew.

  “Fine. Everything is really fine.”

  “You look like you’ve lost some weight.”

  “And you sound like my mother.” But he was right, I hadn’t felt really well since the day the peanut butter sandwich had gone sour on me at lunch. That had been almost a week, but it was probably just worry over Chris’s absence.

  “Okay. I’ll lay off. But I was right. I’m still kicking my ass in for introducing you to that guy . . . and I am crawling my office walls in a jealous frenzy. Haven’t you heard?” We both broke into a laugh, and I shook my head.

  “You’re full of shit, Joe. But you’re good for my ego. And just for the record, Chris and I are really happy. You did a nice th
ing for both of us. All is well.” I felt silly having to reassure him, but his concern seemed genuine and I meant what I said. He had done a nice thing for all of us, including Sam.

  The lunch was pleasant, we talked about the shooting and a variety of other things, and when we rose to leave I was sorry. He was good company, and it was pleasant to just sit there, watching people come and go, and talking about nothing in particular.

  I stopped at my apartment on the way back, picked up my mail, a few odds and ends, like a new kite for Sam, and then I went back. I was a little earlier than planned, but it would be nice to get back into sloppy clothes and go for a swim. The day had gotten hot.

  “Hi troops, I’m home.” But it appeared that no one else was. It was after five, but they were probably at the beach; they might even have gone to Stinson. “Hello! Anybody here?” But it was obvious that there wasn’t or Sam would have come screeching out to meet me.

  I kicked off my shoes in the living room, headed toward the kitchen for a glass of something cold, and then noticed that the bedroom door was closed. Closed doors were unusual in our house in Bolinas, and for some reason it suddenly made me wonder if everything were okay. Some maternal instinct spoke up deep within me . . . Sam? . . .

  I walked to the bedroom door with three deliberate steps, stopped, took a deep breath, and turned the handle. But what I found was not Sam. It was Chris. Making love to someone else in the bed we shared.

  “Ohhh . . . I . . .” I stood rooted to the spot, my mouth frozen into what felt like an iron “O,” and my eyes began instantly to blur with tears. Chris turned his head to look at me as I opened the door, and the only thing that struck me was that his face was as expressionless as his buttocks which stared at me from the bed. No dismay, no horror. Nothing. The girl had leapt beneath him as I entered, murmuring a horrified gasp, and looking around the room with terrified eyes, as though she might have wished to escape through the window. I couldn’t blame her, I felt precisely the same way. Perhaps that’s what we should have done, both left together via the window, leaving Chris alone. But we didn’t. She lay there, pinned down by Chris’s firm grasp on her arms, and I slammed the door. What could I say? But then it occurred to me that there was something I had to say, and anger welled in me as never before. I spun around on one heel and flung the door open again, addressing Chris.

  “I don’t give a shit what you’re doing or who she is, but where’s my daughter?” Another gasp emanated from the bed, and Chris turned to me with a look of fury on his face, but it was no match for my own.

  “What the fuck do you think, Gill? That I tied her up and put her under the bed? The Gillmours picked her up for a picnic hours ago. I said I’d pick her up at six.”

  “Don’t bother.” The girl was squirming under Chris’s viselike grip, and the ignominy and horror of the entire scene struck me like another blow. “I’ll be back to pick up my things in an hour.” I slammed the door again, picked up my shoes in the living room, grabbed my handbag, and ran barefoot toward the car. To hell with Christopher Matthews. If this was what it was going to be like, he could take his lousy life and do anything he damn well pleased with it. I didn’t want any part of it . . . no, thanks . . . the rotten . . . lousy . . . cheating . . . miserable . . . Tears streamed down my face and sobs choked me as I drove toward the Gillmours’ place. All I wanted to do was get Sam and then get the hell out of Chris’s house. For good. I was suddenly relieved that I hadn’t given up my apartment in the city. Sam and I could go back that night and make believe nothing had ever happened. Chris had never existed . . . Chris was gone. . . .

  The tires squealed as I drove into the Gillmours’ driveway. I pulled up behind their station wagon, put on the brake, turned off the ignition, and wiped my face. I felt as though the world had just come to an end, and how was I going to face Sam?

  Elinor Gillmour came out as I got out of the car and waved as she stood barefoot in the doorway.

  “Hi, Gillian. How was your day?” . . . How was my day? Are you kidding?

  “Fine. Thanks for taking Sam on the picnic. I bet she loved it.” The Gillmours had five children, two of whom were close enough in age to Sam to make an outing with them really fun for her. Visiting them was like going to a playgroup.

  “Hi, Mommy, can I stay for dinner?” Sam had come thundering out at the sound of my voice.

  “No, sweetheart, we have to go home.” You bet . . . home . . . San Francisco, to our place in the Marina.

  “Awww . . . Mommy.” She wound up for a good long whine and I shook my head.

  “I’m not kidding tonight, Sam. We’re going home. Thanks, Elinor. Now, let’s go.” I took her firmly by the hand and led her to the car, as we waved a last wave to the Gillmour brood trickling out of the house. “Did you have a nice time?”

  “Yes. Can we do something special for dinner? Like have a picnic with Uncle Crits?”

  “No, you just had a picnic, and I have a surprise for you. We have to go back to the city for a few days, so Mommy can do some things.” A few days seemed like enough explanation, I had decided. She was going off with her father in a week anyway.

  “Why? I don’t want to go back to the city. Is Uncle Crits coming too?” She seemed cheerier at the thought.

  “No, sweetheart. He has to stay here.” You’re damned right he does. I was absolutely livid by the time we got back to Chris’s house. I didn’t even feel hurt anymore. I just wanted to kill him. But I didn’t want Sam to know that there was trouble underfoot.

  “Gill. . . .’’ He was waiting for us outside the house when we got there.

  “Hi, Uncle Crits. It was a nice picnic.”

  “Hi, Sam. Would you do me a big favor and go water my plants for me again. They look thirsty as a cowboy in the desert. Thanks.”

  “Sure, Uncle Crits.” She looked delighted with the errand, and ran off behind the house to comply.

  “Gill. . . . He followed me into the house as I headed for the bedroom.

  “Forget it, Chris. Don’t bother saying anything. I’m not interested. I saw what was going on and I don’t dig that scene. I’m going back to the city tonight with Sam. I’ll see that you get the car back somehow tomorrow.”

  “Fuck the car.”

  “That too? My, my . . .” I was yanking drawers open in our room by then, and most of my things were already lying in a heap in my suitcase on the unmade bed. The bed. Where he screwed that girl. The bastard. “You could have at least made the goddam bed.”

  “Look, Gill, please. . . .”

  “No. No ‘please.’ Just nothing. I’m getting the hell out. Now.”

  “Look, it was no big deal. I don’t give a damn about her. It doesn’t change anything between us. She’s just a girl I picked up in town.” He sounded desperate.

  “Oh? Is she? I’m thrilled. Just thrilled, to know that she doesn’t mean anything to you. But it seems to me that neither do I. The whole time I’ve known you you’ve been living with some girl. You come, you go, you arrive for dinner, spend the night, and then disappear for three days. And now you fuck some girl, just for the hell of it. In our bed, and hell . . . it’s your goddam bed, but I don’t give a shit. We’re supposed to be living together. And I don’t do stuff like that. That’s probably my big mistake.”

  “No, Gill, it’s not your mistake. I love you the way you are. But I’m a man for chrissake, and I need to have some fun.”

  “Then what am I?” My voice seemed to shake the rafters.

  “You’re not just fun, Gill. You’re for real. I love you.” His voice had dropped to an almost whisper, and he looked at me earnestly from across the room. “Please don’t go, Gill. I need you. I’m sorry this happened.”

  “Well so am I. But I’m going anyway.” But my resolve had been shaken . . . I was for real? But what did that mean? “Chris, it’s going to happen again and again, I can smell it. And I just can’t take it. I’m sorry.” . . . Sorry? . . . Why the hell should I be sorry? . . . But I was.

&
nbsp; “Why do you have to turn it into such a goddam major happening? Because it just isn’t. It really isn’t.”

  “Maybe not to you. But it is to me. Do you have any idea what it felt like to walk in and see you pumping your prick into her, your ass staring me in the face, and her legs spread fifteen yards apart.” The mental image made me sick.

  “You make it sound terrific.” He had calmed down and he wasn’t letting me get to him anymore.

  “Well, maybe it was terrific. What the hell do I know? It sure looked like it from where I stood. Do you know what I feel? I feel stupid and inadequate, and like I’m not enough woman for you. If you’re not happy with us, then tell me. But all I know is we ball our asses off, and the minute I turn my back you go off and screw somebody else. Joe Tramino was right.” I regretted that the instant it was out of my mouth. I should have left Joe out of it.

  “And what did that little dago fart have to say about me?” Chris was suddenly livid.

  “Nothing. Forget it. He just said you’d make me unhappy, and it looks like he was right.”

  “Bullshit. We’ve been plenty happy. And the fact is if you’d come home when you said you were going to you’d have found me and Sam eating dinner in the kitchen, and nothing would have changed. You wouldn’t have known. And if you really cared about me, you’d understand, and nothing would be changed now that you do know.” . . . Huh?

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No, I’m not. It could happen to you too, Gill. And I wouldn’t walk out on you. You’re right, we live together. And I love you, and I understand how people work, which is something you don’t.” I was beginning to wonder if he was right, and it shook me. There was something so cool and knowledgeable in his voice. Maybe those things did happen all the time. But why to me? . . . And why did I have to see it? “Gill, will you spend the night, and see how you feel in the morning? This is silly, and you’ll get Sam all shook up going back into town now. I have a job in town tomorrow; if you still want to call it quits, I’ll drive you in.” I didn’t want to sleep on it, but he had a point about Sam. I was wavering, and he knew it.