“If you can call it that,” he apologized. “I'm not very good.”
“Neither am I.” She laughed, longing for another piece of apple pie, but she didn't dare go and get it. He was going to think she was a real pig if she ate any more, but the whole dinner had been delicious. The “cleaning-up” crew was putting things away, and it had grown dark as they sat by the pool. The crowd had thinned out even more, but she was enjoying his company and she hated to leave, although she was beginning to think that she should. And then suddenly, high in the sky, the fireworks began. They were being set off in a park nearby and they were beautiful as everyone stopped and watched, and Adrian watched, too, like a delighted child, as Bill smiled at her. She was so beautiful, and so warm and so gentle. She looked like a little girl with her face turned up to the sky, but a very pretty one, and he had an overwhelming urge to kiss her. He had had that urge before, but it was becoming more acute each time he saw her.
The show went on for half an hour and exploded finally with a wild shower of red, white, and blue that went on and on and on, seemingly forever. And then the sky went dark again, with only the stars high above, and the black powder left from the fireworks and the little wisps of smoke falling slowly to earth, as Bill sat close to her and caught a whiff of her perfume. It was Chanel No. 19 and he liked it.
“Are you doing anything this weekend?” he asked hesitantly, not sure how proper it was for him even to ask her. But they could be friends after all. As long as he controlled himself, there was no real reason why they couldn't be together. “I thought maybe you'd like to go to the beach or something,” since she had already told him that she liked beaches.
“I …well …I'm not sure …my husband might be coming home …” She was embarrassed, and yet she wanted to go, and she wasn't sure how to handle the invitation.
“I thought he was in New York … or Chicago …until next week. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. I'm very respectable. And it's better than sitting around here all weekend, as long as you're not working. We could go down to Malibu, I have friends who let me use a house there. They live in New York, and they just keep the place for the hell of it. I keep an eye on it for them. You'd enjoy it.”
“Okay.” She smiled at him, not sure why she was doing it. But there was something irresistibly comfortable and appealing about the man, and she stood up then, and prepared to go back to her own apartment. “I'd like that.”
“Does eleven sound about right?”
She nodded. It sounded perfect. But also a little scary. “I'll walk you back to your place.” He had taken the apron off long since, and he looked nice as he walked her back to her town house. And when she got to her front door, she unlocked it carefully, and opened it just a crack without turning the light on. She didn't want him to see how empty her place was.
“Thanks a lot, Bill. I had a wonderful time. Thank you for inviting me tonight.” It was a lot better than sitting at home, feeling sorry for herself and wondering what Steven was doing.
“I had a good time too.” He smiled, feeling happy and relaxed and contented. “I'll come by tomorrow around eleven.”
“That's all right. I can meet you at the pool.”
“You don't need to do that. I'll pick you up here.” He sounded firm and she looked nervous, as she prepared to leap through her front door before he could look inside it.
“Thanks again.” She gave him a last look, and then suddenly disappeared, like an apparition. One minute she was standing in front of him, and the next, she was inside, and the door was closed, and he wasn't sure how she'd done it. It was one of the fastest good-byes he'd ever said, and he walked slowly back to his own place, smiling.
BILL PICKED ADRIAN UP THE NEXT DAY AT PRECISELY eleven o'clock, and she was waiting outside when he came, in jeans, a big floppy shirt, a sun hat, and sneakers. And she was carrying a beach bag full of towels and creams and books and a Frisbee, and he laughed when he saw her.
“You look about fourteen in that outfit.” The shirt had been Steven's, but she had always loved it, and it covered the fact that her jeans were getting a little tight, but Bill seemed not to notice as he watched her.
“Is that a compliment or a reproach?” she asked comfortably. She was completely at ease with him as she started to follow him across the complex.
“A compliment. Definitely.” And then he stopped, he had forgotten something, as he turned to her. “Do you have any sodas at your place? I'm fresh out.” And everything was closed. It was Sunday. Sure.
“Why don't we grab some, in case we get thirsty.” She started back toward her place and he followed her, but when they got to her front door, she stopped, and glanced over her shoulder.
“I'll just run in and get them. Why don't you stay here with our stuff?” She acted as though she thought someone was going to run off with her beach bag.
“I'll come in and give you a hand.”
“No, that's okay. The place is a mess. I haven't had a chance to clean since Steven left …the other day, I mean …when he went to New York …” Was it New York or Chicago, Bill wondered, but he didn't say anything, because it was obvious she didn't want him to go in, so he didn't.
“I'll wait for you here,” he told her at the front door, feeling a little foolish. She left the front door unlatched, but closed so he couldn't see in. It was as though she was hiding something in her apartment. And a moment later, he heard a tremendous crash, and without thinking twice, he dashed inside to help her. She had dropped two soda bottles, and they had sprayed soda all over the kitchen. “Did you get hurt?” he was quick to ask with a worried glance, and she shook her head as he grabbed a towel and helped her clean the mess up.
“That was really stupid of me,” she said. “I must have shaken them without noticing, and then I dropped them.” It took them two minutes to clean it up, and he hadn't noticed anything unusual about the place, until she brought out more sodas and he realized there was no furniture in the kitchen. The place where a kitchen table might have been was empty and there was a lonesome stool sitting near a phone at the other end of the kitchen. And as they walked through the living room, it was almost eerie. There was no furniture anywhere, and there were marks on the walls where paintings had been, and then he remembered Steven loading furniture into a van almost two months before. She had said they were selling everything and buying new, but in the meantime, the apartment looked bare and depressing. But Bill didn't say anything, and she was quick to explain it. “We ordered a lot of new stuff. But you know what it's like. Everything is a ten- to twelve-week delivery. It'll be August before this place looks halfway decent again.” In truth, she hadn't ordered anything. She was still expecting Steven to come home with the old stuff he'd taken with him.
“Of course. I know how that is.” But something didn't ring true, and he wasn't sure what it was. Maybe they were too poor to buy furniture. Maybe it had all been repossessed. People in Hollywood lived like that. He had a lot of friends who did. And it was obvious that Adrian was embarrassed about something. “It's a nice, clean look,” he teased. “And it's easy to take care of.” She started to look embarrassed again and then he teased her gently. “Never mind. It'll look great when all the new things come.” But in the meantime, it certainly didn't. The place looked somehow abandoned.
And as soon as they left, they both forgot about it, and they had a wonderful time at the beach. They stayed until after five when it started to get cool, talking about theater and books, and New York and Boston, and Europe. They talked about children and politics and the philosophies behind both soap operas and news shows, the kinds of things he liked to write, and the short stories she had written in college. They talked about everything and they were still talking as they drove back to the complex in his woody.