He’d be back on Friday. He urged her to stop calling him Mr Weyerhauser (she toggled back and forth between Lucas and the former) “because it makes me feel a bit beyond my years.” What a smile he had! Then he pulled a box of expensive chocolates from his briefcase and said, “Of all my Blind ones, you’re the teacher’s pet. I’m not supposed to say that but I don’t think I’ve broken any federal laws.”
After walking him to his car — the nice black chauffeur stood in readiness — she went next door to check on Cora. She was always slightly concerned that her neighbor would see Lucas through the window; the old woman hadn’t yet concocted a story to explain him.
When Cora opened the screen, she began to babble, without Marjorie having said a word.
“Oh, Pahrump’s just fine! The clinic is wonderful. It’s like the Mayo! They said he won’t be there but a few days…did you know that as little as a few years ago, the poor veterinarians used to sneak sick dogs into UCLA at night to use the radiation machines? Those men are living saints. You don’t have any idea what goes on, Marjorie — but everything’s different now. The world has completely changed when it comes to animal care. Thank God! There is an entire oncology department, and the nurses—angels from heaven!”
She invited Marj in. As they settled onto the living room couch, a toilet flush startled. Stein came in from the bathroom, still drying his hands.
“Hi, Mrs Herlihy,” he said.
“Oh, hello!”
“I oughta get you a Toto, Ma.” He turned to their visitor. “They’re from Japan — I just got 3 for the house. They’re like car-washes for your tushie.”
“Oh, Steinie!”
“How are the kids?”
“Fine!” said Marj. “They’re fine.”
Cora gave her son a look, telegraphing that “the kids” never came around, and the topic might be best left unexplored.
“I was just telling Marj about the marvelous hospital Pahrump is in.”
“The tumor’s out and they don’t think it’s spread.”
“Tumor?” said the guest.
Cora shot Stein another look.
“Let’s not talk about it! My son has already taken me to a variety of boarding schools, for when Pahrump gets out.”
“Boarding schools?” said Stein, with an indulgent smile.
“He’s not coming home?” said Marj.
“Well, no — not right away.”
“He’s going to need close looking after for a few weeks,” said Stein. “I didn’t want to put Mom through that.”
“You should see the place we went to, for my Rump!”
“Watch your language, Ma! It sounds like you’re talking about my Toto! But it was pretty amazing. It gives that convalescent home in The Sopranos a run for its money. You know — the one Paulie put his mom in? I think she turned out not to be his mom. They go so long between seasons, I get confused. Anyway it’s like a palace.”
“The dogs watch television.”
“On plasma. I kid you not. There’s even a little beauty salon, and a spa. It was written up — in Los Angeles magazine, I think.”
“And if you pay just a bit more,” said Cora (her son playfully interjected, “You mean if I pay just a bit more”), “those wonderful people sleep in the bed with them! If that’s what your dog is accustomed to…”
Marj couldn’t get a grip on what they were talking about.
“Each program is individually customized.”
“If the pet is lonely or frightened the ‘tenders’ climb right in!”
“Yeah, they tenderize. Our insurance picks up a lot of it.”
“Insurance?” said Marj. She was getting an education.
“Oh yeah. It’s only a few hundred a year. You can get coverage on potbelly pigs and chinchillas. I’m serious. Google employees get it automatic. A lot of big companies are doing it. One of the partners at my firm has insurance on his gecko. I kid you not. He has a gecko called Gordon. By the way, Mrs Herlihy, that check you gave my mother was above and beyond.”
“Oh! Yes!” exclaimed Cora, silently clapping her hands. “You dear heart! I didn’t even thank you! But we can’t accept it.”
“You must,” said Marj.
“Mom, I already told you. We’ll give it to the Humane Society.”
“Yes,” said the old woman. “That would be marvelous.”
“But you shouldn’t have, darling.”
“Very thoughtful and very generous,” said Stein. “The donation will be made in yours and Hamilton’s name.”
“That is lovely! Whatever you feel is best.”
“Maybe we should use the money to buy Pahrump that bed,” said Stein, in jest. “Or a Toto!” He turned to Marj. “These doggie palaces have custom mattresses. They’re Posturepedic, or whatever — made from that NASA material that ‘remembers’ body shape. I mean, it’s like a miniature of what you get at the Peninsula. The last place we visited had a bed that looked like a Mies van der Rohe — you know the chaise Amber and I have in the den, Mom? I asked them and they said it cost 2 grand! I kid you not. These dogs live better than we do.”
“Pahrump loves his own little bed just fine,” said Cora, worried that Marj might think her son had been serious about how they were going to apply her donation.
“Just don’t be surprised if he comes home spoiled. Amber and the kids dragged me to that store where Paris Hilton outfits her Chihuahua. You can get a Sean John sweatie with your dog’s name spelled in diamonds. 25 hundred. But the best is what we’re going to do for Pahrump when he’s back home with Mama.”
“No, no, no,” said Cora.
She was spirited now, enjoying her son’s antic attentions.
“We’re gonna get him a masseuse.”
“We are not,” said Cora. “He’s teasing.”
“Mrs H, I kid you not. There’s a pain management clinic for dogs with the Big C. I’m talking certified canine massage therapists! The hospital referred them. Ma, I am tellin ya, we are gonna do it.” He turned to Marj. “Mrs H, do I look like a kidder?”
SHE heated some chicken soup.
Marj didn’t know what Stein did, but thought maybe he was some kind of attorney. There was a piece on 20/20 about a lawsuit against the sweepstakes company Ed McMahon worked for, and the old woman remembered Cora saying her son had something to do with that. Evidently, they were no longer allowed to send letters to people saying they were winners when they weren’t really winners at all.