"Ted and I went to Wigwam."
"I know."
"I didn't realize it was the same place."
Barth comes back, showers, and leaves the bathroom looking like a flood area.
Richard takes one look and bellows the boy's name. "This is not a hotel and it's not a lake… We do not leave towels on the floor, we do not leave puddles of water — and I'm assuming it's water — on the floor. We put it away, bathmat up, spread the shower curtain so it doesn't get moldy, and make sure everything is clean and neat and ready for the next person."
"I get it," Barth says to Ben loudly when the boys are in their bedroom. "Your father's gay."
"I'm not gay," Richard shouts and then hates himself for responding.
From his bedroom, he calls the ex-wife. "Barth," he says, exhaling. It comes out sounding like barf.
"Ignore him," she says before he can say more.
"They ate a week's supply of food for dinner," Richard says.
"It's about portion control. You're the adult. Ben's finally under control; don't you remember how pudgy he was at his Bar Mitzvah? I had to buy him a husky suit."
"What's a husky suit?"
"It's the same as plus size — fat people's clothes."
"Really?"
"He outgrew it."
"The suit?"
"And the chubby phase."
Richard remembers the Bar Mitzvah — he doesn't remember Ben being "husky." Richard sat with his parents, his brother, and his sister-in-law and felt like a complete outsider. He sat with his parents while she and Ben sat with their two hundred best friends, and he paid the bill. He should have been angry, and yet he felt grateful to be invited at all.
"You have to set limits."
"I would have figured that at seventeen he would know what he wanted or needed."
"That's why he eats all the tuna."
"Too much tuna."
"That's why I get turkey also."
"He doesn't look fat."
"He's not fat — he wants to be perfect."
"You sent him to my old camp?"
"Yes."
"On purpose?"
"Yes."
"Did I like camp?"
"I don't know. Ben did. He went back every summer for eight years."
RICHARD lies on the bed, exhausted. He thinks of calling his brother to ask him about camp, but is afraid he'll inadvertently say something nasty about Barth.
In the distance, he hears a dim ringing — his pants are calling him. It's Cynthia calling on the cell. "Your regular phone has been busy for an hour."
"I was talking to Ben's mother."
"Did he get there? Do you like him?"
"He reminds me of myself, and the other kid, my nephew, I want to smack him. All I can say is that now I understand what you've been through. The cooking, the cleaning, the worrying. It's exhausting."
She doesn't say anything for a minute. "Sixteen years, twenty-four hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year."
"I can only imagine," Richard says. "How was your day? How's the roommate?"
"I like the job program. I'm thinking something retail, something high-traffic. I like a lot of activity. The roommate is nuts, but I don't think she's dangerous."
"Maybe one night we can go out for dinner or something — the boys ate all the food. What's that noise?" Richard says — he hears something in the background.
"It's her. Either she's banging her head against the wall, or more likely I'm not allowed to talk on the phone after ten p.m. We'll talk tomorrow. P.S. — I looked in her room — she keeps a teddy bear on her pillow."
HE LOCKS his bedroom door and takes out his stash. He tugs at himself. Were women's breasts always that large? He closes his eyes and thinks of the women he dated when he first got to L.A.: women waiting to get married; some already had been married and were living off the profits, hoping to land someone richer the second time around. They were all very attractive in an all-too-perfect way. He remembers one in particular — the hills and curves of her ribs, her hips. He made love to her once, thinking there would be more — she made love to him once knowing that would be it. He remembers her on her knees in front of him — how he exploded into her mouth. She said he gave her butterflies, and so he did — ordering her a box of live ones sent overnight. He thinks of Cynthia, Cynthia and her husband fucking, and finds that perversely inspiring. He thinks of Cynthia on her knees, the husband behind her. He thinks of the meditation masseuse, with her finger up his ass. He thinks of his ex-wife, and suddenly everything is in gear — he comes quickly, surprising himself.
IN THE MORNING, meditating, he remembers what Joseph said — about tolerating discomfort, not feeling the need to act to relieve it. He'd like to do that again — a silent retreat. He could see himself spending one week every month just sitting.
There is a noise — the knob. And then a knock at the door. Richard lets Ben in — thankfully Ben doesn't ask about the door being locked. In his underwear, Ben climbs into Richard's bed. Despite everything, there remains a familial intimacy, a comfort level. Richard pushes the porn to the bottom.
"I feel like I walked in on something," Ben says.
"Like what?"
"Dunno — your mid-life crisis."
"Well, as you know, about a month ago, I woke up not feeling right, and I'm trying to get a handle on it."
Ben nods. "Did they find anything wrong with you?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary. At a certain point, things change, work differently. I may have to get my prostate biopsied."
"All men have prostate cancer."
"No, they don't."
"That's what I heard. All men die with, but not of, prostate cancer."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"One of Mom's friends."
Does Ben walk around in his underwear in front of his mother? He's wearing knitted boxers; Richard has seen them in the store, but never knew how they really fit. They look good on Ben — he's well built, muscled. Richard imagines the girls go crazy for him.
"Do you want to come for a ride with me? I'm going to see Cecelia."
"The cleaning lady."
"She had a hip replaced."
"I sort of forgot about her."
"I'm going to visit; I thought you might want to join me."
"Where's your car?"
"In the shop. I had a little accident last week — I've been borrowing from the guy next door."
"Can I think about it?"
"Sure. Did you call The Agency yesterday?"
"I left a message."
BARTH is in the bathroom with the door open.
"Close the door," Richard bellows.
And he does.
RICHARD goes to ask Nic about borrowing the car. Nic is at his desk, staring at the sea, wearing the headphones.
"I've got to see someone in Los Feliz. You need anything? You want to get out, visit Fred? Your kid?"
Nic shakes his head — "I'll pass."
"OK if I borrow the car?"
"Please, take the car."
"I'LL GO WITH YOU, if you want company," Ben says.
"Can you drop me at the pier?" Barth asks.
Richard is glad for the time alone with Ben. He doesn't explain about the car, doesn't tell them it belonged to John Lennon — he doesn't want Ben to think he's showing off, and for some strange reason he just doesn't want Barth to know. He also doesn't call Cecelia ahead — she'll talk him out of it. He figures he'll call from along the way — pie in hand — and she won't be able to refuse him.
They take the 10 into town, get off at Fairfax, and stop at the Farmers Market. "She likes pie," Richard tells Ben, getting a raspberry-peach and giving Ben a tour of the market — which used to be a place where real farmers brought their produce and goodies into town and sold them, and now it's kind of a tourist attraction.
Ben nods. He buys postcards. From a parking lot off Vermont, Richard calls Cecelia; she tells him there's no need to come.