Exes and Ohs Page 14

  I was dying to know the answer to this because Cesca and I were unlisted for exactly this reason. Therapists, as a rule, take a very dim view of clients showing up at their residence midnap.

  “I asked Nell.” He stuffed three more grapes into his mouth, his cheeks ballooning like a chipmunk’s.

  I waited for him to finish chewing, reminding myself as I did that this entire conversation—this entire event—was impossible. Four-year-olds cannot make phone calls independently. Everyone knows that. Everyone.

  “But your nanny doesn’t know where I live either,” I pointed out.

  He grinned, displaying a mouthful of masticated grape pulp. “She got Mommy’s re-keep.”

  “What’s a re-keep?”

  He pushed his crown back on his forehead and regarded me like I had the IQ of a slug. “You know, a re-keep. Like from the store.”

  And the light flickered on in my head. “You mean a receipt?”

  “Yeah, a re-keep. From Matthieu. Do you know Matthieu?”

  “Yes.” I was about to ask how he knew Matthieu when I realized that a woman who let her child arrange her car service probably also let him go out club hopping with her hairdresser, her personal stylist, and her astrologer.

  “Nell found Mommy’s re-keep and I gave it to the man driving the limo.”

  “But why would Nell…you know what? Never mind.” I decided to stick to the point. Such as it was. “So the limo driver brought you here? To an address you can’t even read, scribbled on a piece of paper? And then let you walk in here alone?”

  He grabbed another fistful of grapes. “Uh-huh.”

  I leaned back against the oven door. “What is the matter with people?”

  “Do you want to hear a joke?”

  “Um. Okay.”

  “Why did Tigger put his head in the toilet?”

  I braced myself. “I don’t know. Why?”

  But he was giggling so hard he could barely get through the punchline. “Because…because he was…he was looking for Pooh!”

  And as he collapsed into my lap, laughing hysterically and spewing grape seeds on my track pants, I started laughing too.

  His crown fell off and rolled across the floor. When I glanced down at his face, he looked relaxed and happy. Like a healthy preschooler ought to look.

  “So, um, Leo?”

  “What?”

  “Thank you for telling me how you got over here. I was worried that something bad might have happened.”

  “No.” He shrugged, totally blasé.

  “But your mommy and daddy don’t know where you are. Don’t you think they’re worried about you right now?”

  His mouth snapped shut and he sat up. “I don’t wanna live with them anymore.” He kicked out with one foot, catching the paper crown with the toe of his sneaker.

  I stacked my hands under my chin and tried to stay neutral. “I bet it’s hard to live at your house right now. With a new dad and everything.”

  “Yeah.” He drummed his heels on the floor.

  “But I bet he’s nice to you.”

  He picked at the old linoleum curling up under the stove. “Yeah. He says he’s gonna take me to Disneyland.”

  “Well. There you go. That’ll be fun.”

  “Yeah. And last night, me and him got tacos. Mommy was mad. ’Cause red meat is bad.” His eyes were huge and perfectly round. “Like, worse than bread. Worse than noodles, even!”

  “Wow.” I managed not to roll my eyes. “How could anything be worse than noodles?”

  “They fight a lot.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Quiet fights.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Quiet fights?”

  “Yep. When Mommy fights with Matthieu or her friends at work, they scream and yell. But my dad just whispers to her.”

  “Does she whisper back?”

  “Yeah. And then she calls our car service and goes to work and doesn’t come home until late, late, late.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “Last night she didn’t come back until I was sleeping. And I’m five.”

  This kid needed to work on his conversational segues.

  “You’re five?” I glanced at the paper crown with the big 5 sparkling on the front. “It’s your birthday?”

  “Yuh-huh.” He was flat-out bawling now. “But I run away!”

  Gasping for breath between sobs, he flung himself into my arms. Finally, when the outpour died down to a trickle, I said the only thing I could to coax a smile. I told a joke that I had heard from Timmy Komatsu, age eight, just last week.

  “Hey, Leo, what’s brown and sticky?”

  He dragged the back of his hand across his nose. “What?”

  “A stick!” I tried not to laugh too hard at my own joke.

  He stared at me. You could practically hear crickets chirping in the kitchen.

  I sighed and fell back on the tried-and-true.

  “Okay, then…Why was the letter O in the toilet?”

  His smile crept back into the corners of his mouth. “Why?”

  “He was looking for P.”

  This, of course, killed.

  I called Harmony to let her know where her child was, but her voice mail picked up immediately, which could only mean that her cell phone was turned off. I left a short message, then tried to contact Alex. Another dead-end voice mail box. And when I reached his office, the world’s brusquest secretary informed me that he was out of the office at the moment. Which was just as well—to be totally honest, I didn’t know what I’d say to him, anyway.

  “All right, kiddo.” I tugged on Leo’s hand until he stood up. “Let’s get you back home. Where do you live?”

  He helped himself to the last grape. “The hills.”

  I smiled. “The hills” is L.A. slang for the Hollywood Hills or the West Hills, both of which are trendy neighborhoods jam-packed with celebrities and obscenely over-priced real estate. But the way Leo said it, you’d think it was a separate U.S. state.

  “No, I mean what street do you live on?” I asked.

  He retrieved his paper crown, dusted it off, and positioned it carefully on his head. “I dunno.”

  “Sure you know! Like I live on Goodhue Street. Where do you live?”

  He twisted his mouth into a little moue. “I dunno.” He spread his arms and ran to the living room. “Look at me! I’m Fider-Man!”

  “Come on—you know how to speed-dial a car service, you can track down my apartment plus a driver to drop you at my doorstep, but you don’t know your own address?”

  “I don’t know!” He was starting to sound a bit defensive. As, it must be admitted, was I.

  “How did you even find me in this building?” I demanded.

  He looked insulted. “I know numbers. I know letters too. 1B is easy.”

  “This is crazy,” I muttered, trying to devise my next move.

  “You’re crazy,” he countered, sticking his bottom lip out.

  Ha. Crazy like a fox. I dialed up the clinic, got Harmony’s address, and buckled Leo into the Saturn’s backseat, quashing my knee-jerk anxiety at the distinct lack of car seats. Desperate times called for desperate measures (and strict adherence to all traffic laws). We were hillward bound.

  15

  Harmony’s house was a little piece of Provence in the middle of the desert. Lots of white molding, trellises draped in pink roses, a marble fountain shaped like a koi in the center of the circular driveway. A small, shaded, expensive-looking home. I didn’t see children’s toys anywhere in the yard.

  I couldn’t envision Alex living here. How would he be able to fall asleep in a room that had not only curtains but also droll little shutters and window boxes? I’d bet good money that there wasn’t a single roll of duct tape in the entire house.

  We pulled into the driveway, heralded by the high-pitched squeal of my brakes—I was really going to have to get those checked out—and made our way across the brick paving to the doorstep.

  Leo rang the bell, and as the opening bars of “Frèr
e Jacques” echoed through the house’s interior, I realized that I hadn’t changed out of my napping outfit. Which meant, unfortunately, that I was still clad in the red track pants and the white tank top, both of which were now liberally dotted with Leo’s mucus. Sigh.

  A red-faced Nell let us in, obviously aware of what was about to hit the fan, because she scurried off without a word to find the lady of the house. Leo did not look sad to see her go. But his face lit up when his mother appeared at the end of the long white hall.

  My heart sank as I looked at the woman my boyfriend now lived with. After a long day on the set, Harmony’s answer to baggy red track pants was a slim-cut white silk kimono over form-fitting black leggings. And a Grace Kelly chignon. And lipstick.

  “Hi, Mommy! I’m back!” Leo scampered across the marble floor into Harmony’s arms.

  “Hi, Pookie! Excellent hat!” She gave him a kiss on the cheek but looked confused. “Were you gone?”

  I stepped into the high-ceilinged foyer. “Yes. He was. He showed up on my doorstep about an hour ago.”

  She seemed delighted to see me. “Ooh! Love your hair, Gwen! Isn’t Matthieu a genius?”

  “He’s the Noam Chomsky of the salon. Listen, I’m not sure exactly what’s going on with Leo—”

  “Me either, but I’ll tell you one thing.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Nell is fired. For good this time. She’s supposed to be watching him, and he shows up at your place? I am so sorry.”

  I fidgeted with the straps of my tank top. “I don’t mind that he came over, but aren’t you curious as to how he got there?”

  She tucked an errant strand of gold-streaked hair behind her ear. “I’m guessing that he called my car service again. Kids! What are you gonna do?”

  I frowned. “He’s used your car service before?”

  “Sure. Last month he went to the Beverly Center to look at the puppies in the pet store.” She leaned closer. I caught the scent of jasmine. “It was right after Jellybean died. You know, I’m just making some green tea. You should stay and have a cup—you look like you could use the antioxidants.”

  Leo let go of Harmony’s hand and grabbed mine. “Want to see my room?”

  “You’re okay with him using your car service? Unsupervised?” I tried to keep the sharp edge of judgment out of my voice.

  “Well…” She smiled and shrugged helplessly. “What can I do? You’re awfully clever, aren’t you, Pookie?”

  “Come on!” He tugged me toward the staircase. “I got lots of Fider-Man stuff. I got PlayStation and everything!”

  “What a little gentleman!” She clapped her hands. “You go show Miss Gwen your room, and I’ll finish up with the tea. We’ll have a tea party, just like in Alice in Wonderland!”

  “And cake later, for my birthday!” Leo closed his eyes in the rapture of it all.

  “That’s right. When Daddy gets home from work.” She winked at me and murmured, “Sugar-free carrot cake. Organic. And by the way, Gwen…could you do me a colossal favor and not mention any of this to Alex?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Any of what?”

  “Anything about, you know, Leo taking off with my car service. I don’t want him to think I’m irresponsible.”

  I limited my response to: “But he already thinks that.”

  “Well, then, it’s too late to change his mind, and there’s no point giving him any more ammunition!” She headed back to the kitchen, humming.

  Leo tugged me up the stairs and gave me the grand tour. The first room at the top of the stairs appeared to be a guest bedroom, full of overstuffed pillows and lacy duvets.

  “This is where my grandma lived before she went to Hawaii with Grandpa Franz,” he explained. “We might go visit her. On a plane.”

  The next door opened up to a room with muted olive walls, an arching skylight, and pictures of Harmony. Lots of pictures. Memorabilia too.

  Some people had home offices. Others, shrines to themselves. I guess it was all a question of self-esteem, and by the looks of things, Harmony’s was quite high.

  There were black-and-white head shots in ebony-lacquered frames. Posed photos of the entire Twilight’s Tempest cast. Various crystal and metal statues mounted on plaques—I assumed these were entertainment awards. And the far wall boasted a huge, sun-drenched image of Harmony, Leo, and a frisky beagle. Harmony and Leo were making eye contact, laughing. They looked bonded and peaceful, a postmillennium Madonna and child.

  Leo pointed to the beagle in the picture. “That’s Jellybean. He died.”

  I patted his hair. “I know, buddy. You told me.” But I was focused on a small, faded glamour shot tucked between the door-jamb and the wall. The woman waving to the camera in a bathing suit and high heels was clearly Harmony St. James (minus the blond highlights), but the bottom of the photo had been embossed with gold lettering: LIZZIE LEKAUS, LOTT COUNTY.

  I called Leo over to consult. “Who’s Lizzie Lekaus?”

  “Oh. That was my name before.” Harmony charged through the door, physically wedging herself between me and the photo. She was carrying two cups and saucers. “Isn’t this room ridiculous? One of my ex-boyfriends insisted on setting it up. I should have known he was the obsessive type.” She puckered her lips. “Now who was that? Alex N.? Alex K.? Anyway, I’m planning to clear it all out and make a yoga studio.”

  I couldn’t stop grinning. “Where’s Lott County?”

  “It’s, um, in…” She succumbed to a convenient coughing fit.

  “I beg your pardon?” I said sweetly. “It’s where?”

  “Wyoming.”

  “Wow. The wild west, huh?”

  She took the picture down from the wall and tucked it behind an end table. “Chérie. Forget you ever saw that. Anyway—”

  But I had to ask one more question. “So were you in a beauty pageant or something?”

  She opened her mouth, then paused. “Yes. But I shouldn’t really say anything else about that. I’ll get in trouble with my publicist.” She handed me a delicate china cup brimming with foul-smelling tea.

  I sniffed at it, then took a sip, confirming my fears that it tasted as vile as it smelled, and decided to stop torturing Lizzie Lekaus.

  “Okay, kiddo, let’s see your room.”

  We trooped back into the hall, and Leo gestured to a closed door on the left. “That’s where my daddy sleeps.”

  I glanced at Harmony’s face. Her expression remained deliberately, carefully vague.

  He pointed over to a doorway that opened into a separate bedroom bedecked in ice blue satin, black velvet, and clothes balled up on the floor. “And that’s Mommy’s room.”

  “I see.” I looked to Harmony for more information, but she wasn’t talking.

  So Alex had given up me, Harmony had given up New York, and now, evidently, both of them had given up trying to share a bed. Maybe I wasn’t the only one facing a long stretch of celibacy.

  It pains me to admit that I was still wearing the white tank top and red track pants when Alex arrived, but Harmony had selfishly failed to offer to lend me one of her couture ensembles. Not that I would fit into them anyway. Apparently, Wyoming turned out some pretty svelte specimens.

  It pains me still more to admit that the significance of my outfit was not lost on him. He walked through the front door at seven-fifteen and found me trying to flee while Leo begged me to stay for a piece of sugar-free birthday cake, but he exhibited no visible signs of surprise.

  He merely took off his charcoal gray suit coat, hung it up in the guest closet in the front hall, and said, “Those pants look familiar. Corner of Hilgard and Le Conte, right? Good cell phone goes bad?”

  Harmony swooped in between us and tried to give him a kiss on the cheek. She got his right ear. “What cell phone? I don’t get it.”

  I took a step back. “Listen, I have to get going.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.” He looked at me, obviously speculating about what I was doing here, and I wondered if he was th
inking about the last time we’d seen each other. Naked.

  As a rule, when one starts picturing one’s host nude, it is time to depart.

  I collected my purse and prepared to exit stage right. “My car’s parked right outside.”

  “I noticed. I’ll walk you out,” he repeated. Then he knelt down to address Leo. “Hey, buddy. Happy birthday.”

  “I’m five!” Leo pointed to the number on his crown. “And Nell doesn’t live here anymore.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “She doesn’t?”

  Harmony shook her head. “Well, you see, there were a few glitches, very minor glitches—”

  “I runned away,” Leo announced defiantly.

  Alex turned to me. “And that’s why you’re here.”

  I nodded, studying the silvery veins in the white marble floor.

  He stood up. “Okay. I’m walking Gwen to her car.”

  “I will tell you a joke when you get back,” Leo announced. Then he pivoted and ran back to the kitchen without so much as a “bye” in my direction.

  Alex opened the door for me. Of course. As I stepped into the cool green shade, I caught a whiff of his shirt-starch-meets-pine-sap scent. This, of course, triggered further recollections of the kissing, groping, et cetera on my desk.

  Before we could close the door behind us, Harmony had one final request. “Al, as long as you’re out there, could you do me a huge favor and go pick up some dinner? We have nothing in the kitchen, and since it’s Leo’s birthday, I told him we could get Koo Koo Roo.”

  “Got it.” He shut the front door firmly behind him.

  My tight little smile broke into a grin. “Al?”

  He looked pained. “Please do not ever call me that.”

  I was relieved that at least they hadn’t already adopted vomitous little pet names for one another. Which, when you thought about it, was quite petty. They lived together. They had a child together. It was only right that they should use vomitous little pet names.

  But I was relieved just the same. File me under “petty and proud of it.”

  Since he was not my boyfriend anymore, and since I had declined all offers of platonic friendship, I was not entitled to ask questions like: “How’s it going with you two? Headed down to Fred Leighton to look at five-carat rings yet?” Or: “Why do you sleep in separate bedrooms?” Or: “You do realize that Harmony is an E! True Hollywood Story waiting to happen, don’t you?”