Read Online Death Gets a Time-Out by Ayelet Waldman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ayelet Waldman
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admire anyone who can keep a single houseplant green, not to mention an entire solarium. I can’t even keep a dozen roses alive long enough to get to a vase.
“Yes, Chloe would certainly have adored San Miguel,” he said. “Those days of youthful freedom, of exploration and irresponsibility.” He smiled at the robed assistant with the beard. The man smiled back and raised his eyebrows.
Polaris turned back to me. “We were very young, Trudy-Ann and I. We lived on the occasional check from our parents, and that was enough to meet our simple needs and pay our bar tab at La Cucaracha, the local bar. Don Chucho, the owner of the bar, was the first person to know when the checks from home made it to the post office. It was quite a scene in those days. Everyone made it to San Miguel, and to the Cuc, sooner or later.”
“Everyone?” I said.
He looked at me, and for some reason I blushed. I had no idea why. What
was
it about this man? “Everyone. The Beats were regulars. Neal Cassady died there after a particularly inebriated night. Back in 1968, before we arrived, the entire cast of the musical
Hair
had their heads shaved by the localpolice. I’m not sure why, but the story was famous.”
“And Jupiter? What did he and his stepsister . . .” I made a show of looking through my notes for her name. “. . . Lilly, do in San Miguel? Did they go to school?”
He shrugged. “The children were too young for school. Jupiter wasn’t more than two when we got down there, and Lilly was perhaps a couple of years older. They amused themselves at the house. It was, I think, rather a bucolic life.”
I tried to imagine my kids, Ruby and Isaac, having fun hanging out with a bunch of random grown-ups while Peter and I drank with Neal Cassady and the cast of
Hair.
I couldn’t. And I couldn’t imagine Jupiter and Lilly as children enjoying themselves, either. I’ve always found children to be somewhat less liberal in their views than your basic snake-handling Baptist minister. Children like order. They like routines. They like to be and do exactly what everyone else is and does, and they expect their parents to live up to some imagined ideal of domesticated mundanity. Every once in a while, when I manage to put on a skirt instead of my usual jeans, you should see Ruby’s face. She smiles so hard it hurts my own cheeks to look at her, and she employs positive reinforcement. It’s really quite humiliating. “Look at how nicely you’re dressed, Mama. You look lovely.” Once, she even told me that I looked like “a real woman.” According to my three-and-a-half-foot-tall arbiter of gender classification, a pair of overalls does not a female make.
“When did you return to the States?” I asked.
“We stayed just a little over a year. Jupiter must have been about three or four when we returned.”
“And why did you come back?” I asked. At that moment the rustling of the bearded assistant’s robes caught my eye. I glanced over at him. He was sitting quite still, his face wiped clear of any expression.
Polaris looked down at his hands and carefully adjusted his thick gold ring so that its flashy diamond rested in the dead center of his finger. “We came home after Trudy-Ann transitioned,” he said, his voice much softer than it had been before.
“Transitioned?”
“Died,” the bearded assistant interrupted.
“How did she die?” Al asked. It was the first time he’d opened his mouth in quite a while and everyone in the room turned to look at him. He looked up from his notebook and raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.
“There was an accident,” Polaris said.
“What kind of an accident? A car accident?” I said.
He didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “Something like that.” He glanced over at the sundial in the middle of the room. I knew he couldn’t possibly have read it. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve got things I must get done today.” He looked
“Yes, Chloe would certainly have adored San Miguel,” he said. “Those days of youthful freedom, of exploration and irresponsibility.” He smiled at the robed assistant with the beard. The man smiled back and raised his eyebrows.
Polaris turned back to me. “We were very young, Trudy-Ann and I. We lived on the occasional check from our parents, and that was enough to meet our simple needs and pay our bar tab at La Cucaracha, the local bar. Don Chucho, the owner of the bar, was the first person to know when the checks from home made it to the post office. It was quite a scene in those days. Everyone made it to San Miguel, and to the Cuc, sooner or later.”
“Everyone?” I said.
He looked at me, and for some reason I blushed. I had no idea why. What
was
it about this man? “Everyone. The Beats were regulars. Neal Cassady died there after a particularly inebriated night. Back in 1968, before we arrived, the entire cast of the musical
Hair
had their heads shaved by the localpolice. I’m not sure why, but the story was famous.”
“And Jupiter? What did he and his stepsister . . .” I made a show of looking through my notes for her name. “. . . Lilly, do in San Miguel? Did they go to school?”
He shrugged. “The children were too young for school. Jupiter wasn’t more than two when we got down there, and Lilly was perhaps a couple of years older. They amused themselves at the house. It was, I think, rather a bucolic life.”
I tried to imagine my kids, Ruby and Isaac, having fun hanging out with a bunch of random grown-ups while Peter and I drank with Neal Cassady and the cast of
Hair.
I couldn’t. And I couldn’t imagine Jupiter and Lilly as children enjoying themselves, either. I’ve always found children to be somewhat less liberal in their views than your basic snake-handling Baptist minister. Children like order. They like routines. They like to be and do exactly what everyone else is and does, and they expect their parents to live up to some imagined ideal of domesticated mundanity. Every once in a while, when I manage to put on a skirt instead of my usual jeans, you should see Ruby’s face. She smiles so hard it hurts my own cheeks to look at her, and she employs positive reinforcement. It’s really quite humiliating. “Look at how nicely you’re dressed, Mama. You look lovely.” Once, she even told me that I looked like “a real woman.” According to my three-and-a-half-foot-tall arbiter of gender classification, a pair of overalls does not a female make.
“When did you return to the States?” I asked.
“We stayed just a little over a year. Jupiter must have been about three or four when we returned.”
“And why did you come back?” I asked. At that moment the rustling of the bearded assistant’s robes caught my eye. I glanced over at him. He was sitting quite still, his face wiped clear of any expression.
Polaris looked down at his hands and carefully adjusted his thick gold ring so that its flashy diamond rested in the dead center of his finger. “We came home after Trudy-Ann transitioned,” he said, his voice much softer than it had been before.
“Transitioned?”
“Died,” the bearded assistant interrupted.
“How did she die?” Al asked. It was the first time he’d opened his mouth in quite a while and everyone in the room turned to look at him. He looked up from his notebook and raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.
“There was an accident,” Polaris said.
“What kind of an accident? A car accident?” I said.
He didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “Something like that.” He glanced over at the sundial in the middle of the room. I knew he couldn’t possibly have read it. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve got things I must get done today.” He looked
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