Nic tucks Fred's comb into his own back pocket, and he puts Fred's radio in the arms of a man who can barely lift his head.
"Fred asked me to be sure this made its way to you — he said you loved music," Nic lies.
The man mumbles something.
"We'll have transportation and pie, because you know how Fred felt about pie," Nic tells everyone. The residents are excited: not only have they received gifts, they have something to look forward to — pie.
"What about drinks? Can we get a decent cup of coffee?"
"Yes, coffee, tea, whatever you want."
NIC RENTS two minivans and hires a couple of off-duty aides from the nursing home. Richard calls Cynthia and asks her to come. "We need chaperones — some of these people have a tendency to wander."
In the morning, Nic and Richard and Barth and Ben and Cynthia and thirteen residents make the trip to the Farmers Market.
"What do you call this place?" one of them asks.
"It's the old Farmers Market," another says.
"Look, Brussels sprouts; we used to grow those in our garden, on the stalk, just like that. Can I hold them, just for a minute?"
Richard buys the woman a stalk of Brussels sprouts for two dollars. Barth of course is filming the whole thing, the loading and unloading of the old people.
At the memorial service he sits next to Cynthia. "Thanks for coming; how's the roommate?"
Cynthia shakes her head. "Not good — she's still in the hospital."
"Are you going to get a new one?"
"No. I'll keep the second bedroom open and start inviting the kids over — one at a time for overnights or weekends. I'm missing them."
Richard nods. "That would be nice."
"Well, I am their mother."
While they're talking, Richard notices one of the old people peeing on a chair.
Nic begins. "As far as I know, all Fred had was a bowling ball, his wife's dentures, and a couple of old pairs of shoes from when they used to go dancing. He liked pie, a nice big slice of pie, and he liked people. He liked each one of you, and you could tell from the way he would just light up as soon as anyone spoke to him. Is there anything any of you want to say about Fred?"
"When Fred came to the home, he could still walk — with a walker, but, boy, he made tracks down the hall," one of the residents says.
"I remember Fred," another one says, and says nothing more.
"When I die, can we have Chinese food?" one of the men asks.
When they return them to the home, Lillian grips Nic's arm and pulls him towards her. "Does this mean I'm not going to see you again?"
"No, Lillian," Nic says. "It means that from now on every week I am going to come and visit you."
"Thank you," she says.
"I'll see you on Wednesday," he says.
"Oh, and I like lemon-meringue."
"Good to know," Nic says.
AFTER FRED'S FUNERAL, Richard calls Sydney — he's craving comfort, and he got good news back from the doc, just some sort of irritation, nothing infectious. They make a plan to drive to Santa Barbara for dinner; it's neutral territory. On the way up, she gives him a blow job while he's driving, and at the big moment he nearly rear-ends a tanker truck ahead of him on the highway. In Santa Barbara, they go for a walk along the beach, and at a certain point she commands, "Make love to me, here, now."
Her sexuality is robust, overwhelming.
For the reason of simply wanting to try it, Richard took a Viagra before he left home — he ordered it online. He is hard as a rock and he is on top of her — thinking he's having chest pain, or maybe it's just the position.
They're screwing and screwing and he doesn't come, and at a certain point it's practically painful; she's already given a couple of really big war whoops, and he's at it all the more just trying to finish so they can stop. It's like an itch that he can't stop scratching; there's no end in sight, and he starts thinking that even if he comes now he's so overexcited, so aerobically energized, his heart will actually explode.
Finally, fear gets the better of him and he pulls out, puts it away, stiff, sopping wet, hoping it will surrender on its own.
They walk; he thinks she's starting to fall for him and feels himself backing away, and then she tells him that she doesn't know how he feels about her but that she has to be honest, she doesn't want to mislead him, and the other day, at PC Greens, she met someone.
He's a little let down but mostly feels the pressure is off, and now he feels it relaxing, and suddenly he has to pee like nothing else. Richard excuses himself and does it farther down on the beach, where someone sees him and yells, "The world is not your toilet, fuckhead."
SHE ARRIVES without warning — his former dearly beloved. "I'm in the car, on my way in from the airport — caught a late flight. I'll be at the hotel."
"You're here?"
"I told you I was coming. Oh God, I'm ringing."
"You said you'd try."
"Well, here I am. That's the office calling, I gotta go."
"Should we meet for breakfast?" Richard asks.
"I'm double-booked."
"Lunch?"
"Double again."
"Dinner?"
"I'm trying to stay on New York time. Six?"
"Fine, good, we'll see you then."
He goes to tell Ben.
"I already know," Ben says. "Dinner at six."
"I never told her I bought you a car; I didn't want her to say no."
"I told her; she said it was the least you could do, and she didn't understand how you could buy a car for a woman you're not even sleeping with. The trick is getting Barth to give back the Volvo."
Richard laughs. He calls the hotel and orders flowers to be sent to her room; suddenly shy, he signs only Ben's name on the card — "Welcome to L.A."
He flashes on the last family vacation they took: Ben was about three, they went to St. Barts. He took Ben swimming every day, and she spent most of the time editing a manuscript. He remembers Ben with water wings, Ben naked, peeing in the pool, the thin arc of yellow spreading through the clear water.
It's been almost eleven years since they were all in the same place at the same time. He's looking forward to it. When he goes to the newsstand to pick up the morning papers, he stops at the barber shop. Trimmed; the barber dusts his neck, pushing prickly shards of hair deep down into his shirt.
In the middle of the afternoon, the concierge calls him at home.
"Excuse me," he says. "For calling behind the back."
"Yes," Richard says.
"I am calling because there has been a little accident — she was bitten by a dug."
"By a dug?"
"Yes, a dug."
What is a dug? A person named Doug? "A bug? She was bitten by a bug, like a bee sting?"
"No, a dug. DAWG."
"Is she all right?"
"She is with ice; I thought you should know. This is her son, yes?"
"Yes," Richard says, because it is easier than saying no.
"I remember you," the voice says, and Richard wishes he hadn't heard that part.
"Yes," he repeats. "I'm on my way."
It takes him an hour to get there — the traffic is horrible. He calls her from the car. She doesn't mention the dog bite, and he starts to wonder if maybe it was some sort of setup by the concierge to get Ben there. He floats an idea.
"I'll be near the hotel this afternoon; how about I stop by?"
"Oh," she says, "that would be nice."
He passes through the lobby unnoticed, rings the bell to her room. "Come in," she calls, "it's open."
Does she look the same? Different? Older? He has no idea. In his anxiety he sees everything but her.
The room itself is familiar — this is where he stayed with Cynthia the night the house sank. She is in the living room, her shoes off, foot up on the coffee table wrapped in ice.