HERE’S NITA’S LATEST STORY:
CORRECTION
I was pleased to learn that California has a Corrections Department,
with an office in San Francisco. I gave them a call.
“Hello, Department of Corrections? I’d like to have a correction
made on my driver’s license. I’ve changed hair color since this was
issued…”
“You’ll need to call the Department of Motor Vehicles.”
“Wait a minute, this is the Corrections Department, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, this is a very simple correction. I used to have black hair,
now…”
“I’m sorry, this is where you call if you’re on parole from prison.
You need to call Motor Vehicles.”
“You can’t make this correction for me?”
“No.”
“What do you correct?”
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
“I told you: this is the number to call if you’re on parole.”
“I see. Have you ever thought about changing your name?”
“No, have you ever thought about calling the Motor Vehicles
Department so they can help you?”
The line went dead.
Oh well, I’m sure the DMV will fix me up in a snap. You
know, come to think of it, my address has changed, too.
—ANITA CHAN
The funniest part is that Nita’s editor likes the story so
much he decides to finally hire her and pay her and
everything.
139
Big Man
SPENCER AND I ARE already on the court when Marty
shows up, riding in the passenger seat of a new Q37
convertible. Jackie, who I haven’t seen since the skirmish
in the park, is behind the wheel. She kisses Marty before
he gets out and watches as he walks toward us, admiring
his swagger.
“You back with Jackie?”
She honks, waves, and drives away. Marty grins.
“Funny how a new car can turn a girl’s head.”
“That was your car?”
“What can I say? Business is good.”
I toss him the ball and he throws up a brick that hits
the backboard but not the rim. From the look on his face,
though, you’d think he just scored the winning basket in
game seven.
Spencer shakes his head, sinks a twenty-footer.
“You must be turning out a hell of a lot of
cappuccino,” he says, “to buy a ride like that.”
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
“Company vehicle,” Marty says. “One of the perks of
being your own boss.”
“I thought Fredson was the boss.”
“Nope, silent partner.”
141
Blue Station Wagon
WE ARRIVE IN SANTA CRUZ in my ancient silver Sirocco
and breathe a sigh of relief to be off the highway at last.
Then a woman in a small blue station wagon changes lanes
and nearly sideswipes us. As we approach the next
intersection, the light turns red.
“Oh, good,” I say. “I’ll be able to flip her off.”
“I already looked at her.”
“So did I.”
We pull up beside her.
“She won’t look now, she’s too… Oh, look, there’s a
dent in her car. Wonder how that got there.”
YOU PROBABLY DON’T FIND that terribly amusing. I do. I
don’t know why, really. Maybe it’s just that it makes me
feel close to Nita. Like we see things the same way. Like
we could be some old married couple or something.
Is that what I want?
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
Maybe. I don’t know. Probably.
143
Explains a Lot
MY MOTHER TRIED TO abort me with a stick so my dad
would never know she was pregnant again.
I know this because my mother later confided in one of
my sisters, who confided in me.
I don’t blame my mother. She was thirty-five and
already had three kids.
I don’t know why my sister decided to tell me about it.
She wasn’t being mean, if that’s what you’re thinking. I get
along well with all three of my sisters. Always have.
They all doted on me when I was a tyke.
Which probably explains a lot. I don’t know. You tell
me: Am I spoiled? I think I probably am in some ways.
I’m like a puppy who wags his tail and expects
everyone to love him and pet him. Except my earliest
unconscious memory (the bottom of the iceberg, deep
below the surface) is of someone trying to kill me.
The Other Half
BY THE TIME WE find a place to park, we have to walk
three blocks back to the house, then follow the curving
driveway to the top of the hill. From there we can look
down on 280 (the world's most beautiful highway, if you
can believe the signs) and see the flow of white and red
lights moving in opposite directions.
The house itself is much bigger than I would have
imagined.
“This is where Marty lives?” Nita asks.
None of us can quite believe it.
Tiki lights illuminate the path to the backyard, and we
follow along, all smiles, Nita and I in step behind Spencer
and Naomi, who is wearing a little strapless dress, white
with big red polka dots, and red pumps.
“Do you ever think about Naomi when you
masturbate?” Nita asks.
“What? No!”
“Hmm, I do.”
AL RISKE
She takes my arm and rests her cheek against my
shoulder.
“If that’s supposed to turn me on,” I say, “it’s
working.”
WE ENTER THE BACKYARD through a Bougainvillea-
covered archway. A band is playing Beck covers over
waves of small talk and drunken giggles from a hundred
guests we don’t recognize.
A young woman in a black skirt and white blouse
offers us champagne, and we all take plastic flutes from
her silver tray.
“Welcome, my friends!”
It’s Marty, who has suddenly appeared behind us with
Jackie on his arm. She smiles and leans against him, her
face flushed.
“So this is how the other half lives,” Naomi says.
Spencer shakes Marty’s hand and then so do I.
“I guess this beats sharing a bunk bed with me, eh?”
“Got that right,” Marty says. “Come on, I’ll give you
the tour.”
We catch a couple going at it on a king-size bed in the
first bedroom. They keep going as if we’re not there, but
with maybe a little more intensity. Athletes responding to
146
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
the crowd. We’re only murmuring, though, not cheering.
Not that they aren’t phenomenal fuckers.
Naomi looks as if she’d like to join them. She nudges
Spencer. He smiles but shakes his head.
Marty tries to show us the main bathroom, but the
door is locked, so we move to the kitchen, where caterers
surround a massive marble-topped island. They’re
replenishing trays with prawns, crab cakes, caviar, brie, and
bruschetta.
“Bring us a tray in the living room,” Marty says.
An older
blonde looks up and says, “Right away, sir.”
The living room is dark and quiet (off limits to other
guests) and has an expansive view of the darkening valley.
Jackie excuses herself and rushes off in search of an
unoccupied bathroom, her six-inch heals click-clacking
against the tile floor. I think she’s going to be sick.
“The couple who own this place are spending the
summer in Tuscany,” Marty says. “Fredson and I are just
looking after it for them, but he really wants to buy the
place. He’s going to make an offer if his latest deal pans
out.”
“Speaking of Fredson,” I say, “where is he?”
“Upstairs, talking to a couple of Sand Hill suits.”
I ask about the deal, but Marty won’t talk about it.
“Fredson is super secretive,” he says. “He doesn’t want
anyone stealing his ideas.”
147
AL RISKE
We all nod, nibble hors d’oeuvres, and admire the view.
148
The Other Guy, Revisited
SPENCER AND I ARE shooting hoops in the park, and he is
sinking everything. He’s not even trying, just flipping the
ball toward the basket and watching it drop through.
I’m lucky to hit one in three.
Pretty soon I just station myself under the net and feed
him the ball. He sinks five in a row, six, seven. I’m
dumbfounded; he’s down in the dumps. I ask him why.
“Why do you think?”
“Naomi?”
Spencer nods. Eight in a row.
“What now?”
“What do you think?”
I take a wild guess.
“Jason?”
“Is there someone else?”
I shake my head, pass him the ball.
“Doesn’t he live in Boston? What’s he doing out here
again so soon?”
AL RISKE
“Her brother lives in Bean Town. This joker lives in
Lala Land.”
Nine in a row. He wasn’t even looking.
“Tell her to make up her mind,” I say.
“Yeah? What if she chooses him?”
“Then you move on.”
“You don’t get it. She’s like a drug, man. I’m hooked. I
need that next high.”
“What about her mood swings?” I say. “You can hardly
stand to be around her then.”
Spencer finally misses; I chase down the ball.
“You know what?” he says. “That’s a small price to
pay.”
I pass him the ball once more.
“Really? You didn’t seem to think so at the time.”
“I can hardly remember the last time she got like that.”
He starts pacing, dribbling back and forth around the
perimeter. After a minute, he looks at me.
“Think you could do it?”
“What?”
“Say no to Naomi.”
I shrug.
“Don’t kid yourself. You wouldn’t last five minutes
with her if she wanted you.”
He drives in hard for a layup.
“Ha!” I say. “I bet I could go six.”
150
Three Surprises
NITA WALKS OVER TO the jukebox and puts on a song by
this band called Camera Obscura.
The thing about the Backstreet Bar & Grill is (in
addition to stellar brews and killer sandwiches) it has this
crazy-cool jukebox, with songs by Jack Johnson, Johnny
Cash, B.B. King, Madonna, The Beatles, Bruno Mars,
Alicia Keyes, Foster the People, Van Morrison, Taylor
Swift, The Beach Boys, Bad Religion, and the
aforementioned Camera Obscura.
The song Nita picks is really dreamy stuff, makes me
feel like I did when my heart was new.
Then comes the first of three surprises:
Nita stops by the table where Ariel and a fellow cougar
are having a couple of pints and scoping the place out
(which has been distracting me all night). She then takes
Ariel’s face in her hands and kisses her full on the lips. She
does this briefly, a little longer, and a lot longer.
The second surprise:
AL RISKE
Just as we’re all about to fall off our bar stools, Nita
takes Ariel’s hand and leads her toward the exit.
The third surprise:
Halfway to the door, Nita turns to me and says, “Are
you coming or what?”
152
After
I MAKE IT HOME sometime after noon.
“So,” Spencer says, “you, Nita, and Ariel. Good
times?”
He and Marty are sharing a joint in the living room.
I just smile.
Marty inhales and holds the smoke in his lungs as long
as he can. Finally, he lets it out.
“What’s this? Did I hear right?” he says. “You have a
three-way or something?”
I flop down on the carpet, shake my head.
“You dog! You did! Don’t lie to me. I can tell you did.
Now, we want to hear all about it.”
“No way.”
“Come on, man. Spill it.”
“I did. With Nita and Ariel.”
details.”
“It’s none of your business.”
AL RISKE
“Did you both do Ariel and then…”
“I’m not telling you anything, Marty.”
“I bet Nita sat on your face while Ariel rode…”
“Look, we are not talking about this.”
Finally, Spencer interrupts: “Let it go, Marty.”
“I need to know,” he protests. “I need to know so I
can be all worldly and shit when I get my chance.”
“Yeah, right, that’ll happen.”
“It happened to Luke.”
“You’re right,” Spencer says. “Could happen to
anyone.”
154
Ravenous
NO, I’M NOT GOING to tell you about that night either. But
I will share this:
We slept late and eventually gathered in Ariel’s kitchen.
I was the first one there and started making coffee. Then
Nita came in and started cracking eggs into a bowl. Finally,
Ariel got the bacon going.
No one said a word, but we were all smiling.
The kitchen seemed small with everyone in it. We slid
past each other silently, sleepily, rubbing up against one
another “accidentally,” Nita in her T-shirt, Ariel in a silk
chemise, me in my boxers.
We all made ourselves busy setting the small round
table in the breakfast nook, but never too busy to squeeze
a bending booty or fondle a passing pair of ta-tas. There
was a lot of kissing, too. If I kissed Nita, I needed to kiss
Ariel as well, who then had to kiss Nita.
At some point, Nita and Ariel decided my boxers no
longer looked comfortable, so they removed them for me.
AL RISKE
“That’s better,” they said in unison.
Then we ate.
156
Backstory
ARIEL MARRIED YOUNG AND had a daughter, Nadia, who
died when she was sixteen, texting while driving.
They had given Nadia the smart phone for her
birthday, so she could always call home if she had car
trouble or drank too muc
h at a party or some jerk was
hassling her or whatever.
She knew better than to use it while driving, and yet…
That’s as much as I have ever gotten from Ariel. She
doesn’t like to talk about it, which I totally understand, but
I have always felt like she doesn’t talk about it at least in
part because I so clearly don’t know what to say.
Ariel once told Nita, who later told me, that she would
never have another child, which drove a wedge between
her and her husband, who did not believe her when she
said she was too old now.
Ariel did want sex, though, and lots of it, the kinkier
the better. That kept her husband happy, for a while.
We all do our best not to think about it.
Tickle Coaster
KAYLA HAS DISCOVERED TICKLING. She especially enjoys
being tickled.
Now, whenever I stop by, she waits for me to sit down,
then climbs into my lap, and says, “Tickle me.”
Sometimes I pretend not to hear and go on talking to
Nita, but before long my fingers find their way into
Kayla’s ribs and peals of laughter fill the air.
She squirms away but soon comes back.
After she falls off my lap this time I insist that she
fasten her seatbelt, which consists of my arm draped
across her torso, my right hand snapping into my left with
a reassuring snick from my teeth and tongue.
“Now,” I say, “are you ready to ride the Tickle
Coaster?”
She is. Again and again.
The Fourth Convertible
IT’S A HOT DAY and we’re sitting at a table on the sidewalk
sipping lemonade and waiting for our burgers to arrive.
Nita says, “That’s the fourth convertible I’ve seen go
by.”
“So why should that bother you?”
“It shouldn’t,” she says. “And it doesn’t.”
“I didn’t think it would.”
“Bastards.”