“You should learn how to play.”
“I should learn how to do a lot of things.”
The waitress approached, moving toward us from a table in the angle of the deck. “You two ready to order?” She was probably in her late twenties, a honey blond with her hair in a boy-cut and braces on her teeth. She wore matching black shorts and tank top as if it were August instead of January 8.
“Give us a minute,” Dietz said.
We ended up splitting a big bowl of steamed mussels, nestled in a spicy tomato broth. For entrees, Dietz had a rare steak and I had a Caesar salad. We both ate as though we were racing against the clock. We used to make love the same way, like some contest to see who could get there first.
“Tell me about the depression,” he said when he had pushed his plate aside.
I gestured dismissively. “Forget it. I don’t like to sit around feeling sorry for myself.”
“Go ahead. You’re allowed.”
“I know I’m allowed, but what’s the point?” I said. “I can’t even tell you what it’s about. Maybe my serotonin levels are off.”
“No doubt, but what’s the rest of it?”
“The usual, I guess. I mean, some days I don’t get it, what we’re doing on the planet. I read the paper and it’s hopeless. Poverty and disease, all the bullshit from politicians who’d tell you anything to get elected. Then you have the hole in the ozone and the destruction of the rain forests. What am I supposed to do with this stuff? I know it’s not up to me to solve the world’s problems, but I’d like to believe there’s a hidden order somewhere.”
“Good luck.”
“Yeah, good luck. Anyway, I’m struggling for answers. Most of the time, I take life for granted. I do what I do and it seems to make sense. Once in a while I lose track of where I fit. I know it sounds lame, but it’s the truth.”
“What makes you think there are any answers?” he said. “You do the best you can.”
“Whatever that consists of,” I remarked.
“Therein lies the rub.” He smiled. “What about the job? What scares you about that?”
“I always get amped on the eve of a big one. One of these days I’m going to fail and I don’t like the thought, It’s stage fright.”
“Where’d the cousin come from? I thought you didn’t have any family.”
“Don’t I wish,” I said. “Turns out I have a bunch of cousins up in Lompoc, all girls. I’d prefer not to have anything to do with them, but they keep popping up. I’m too old to cope with ‘togetherness.’ ”
“Such a liar,” he said fondly, but he let it pass.
The waitress came by. We declined dessert and coffee. Dietz asked for the check, which she produced from a sheaf tucked in the small of her back, taking a few seconds to total it out. Her yellow socks and black hightops really gave the outfit some class. She placed the bill facedown on the table slightly closer to Dietz’s side than to mine. This was probably her tactic for playing it safe in case we were a twosome whose roles were reversed.
She said, “I can take that anytime you want.” She moved off to deliver ketchup to another table. She must have the metabolism of a bird. The cold wasn’t even producing goose bumps.
Dietz glanced at the check briefly, recalculating the total in the blink of an eye. He leaned sideways to extract his wallet and pulled out a pair of bills that he slid under his plate. “Ready?”
“Whenever you are.”
We took the long way home. It seemed easier talking in the dark without looking at each other. The conversation was superficial. I’m an expert at using words to keep other people at bay. When we got home, I made sure Dietz had everything he needed-sheets, two pillows, an extra blanket, a small alarm clock, and a fresh towel-all of life’s little amenities, except me.
I left him below and headed up the spiral stairs. When I got to the top, I leaned over the rail. “With your bum knee, I take it you won’t be jogging with me in the morning.”
“Afraid not. I’m sorry. It’s something I miss.”
“I’ll try not to wake you. Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. Sleep well.”
“Use your ice pack.”
“Yes ma’am.”
As it turned out, I slept a lot sooner than he did. Dietz was a night owl. I’m not sure how he occupied himself. Maybe he polished his boots or cleaned his handgun. He might have watched late-night television with the sound turned down. I sure never heard him. Once in a while, in turning over, I realized the light was still on in the living room. There was something so parental about his being on the premises. One thing about being single, you don’t often feel protected. You tend to sleep with your mental shoes on, ready to leap up and arm yourself at the least little noise. With Dietz on guard duty, I got to cruise through a couple of rounds of REM, dreaming right up to the split second before the alarm went off. I opened my eyes, reached out, and caught it just before it blared.
I did my morning ablutions behind closed doors so the sound of running water wouldn’t carry. Shoes in hand, I crept down the stairs in my stocking feet and tiptoed out the front door without waking him. I laced up, did a quick stretch, and set off at a fast walk to get warmed up. The night had shifted from pitch black to charcoal gray and by the time I reached Cabana, the darkness was beginning to lift. Dawn painted the early morning sky in pale watercolor hues. The ocean was silver blue, the sky washing up from a smoky mauve to soft peach. The oil derricks dotted the horizon like clusters of iridescent sequins. I love the sound of the surf at that hour, the squawk of seagulls, the soft cooing of the pigeons already strutting along the path. A platinum blond and a black standard poodle were heading in my direction, a pair I saw most of the mornings I was out.
The run was good. Often three miles just feels like a pain in the ass, something I do because I know I must. For once, here I was feeling grateful to be physically fit. I wouldn’t do well with an injury like Dietz’s that prevented exercise. I’ll never be any kind of champ, but for lifting a depression there’s really nothing better. I did the turn at East Beach and started back, picking up my pace a bit. The sun was coming up behind me, sloshing rivulets of yellow light across the sky. Walking home again, winded and sweating, my mood was light and I was feeling good.
Dietz was in the shower when I got in. He’d brought in the paper and set it on the kitchen counter. He’d tidied the bedcovers and folded up the sofa bed, tucking the pillows out of sight somewhere. I put on a pot of coffee and then went upstairs, waiting until I heard him turn off his shower before I started mine. By 8:35, I was dressed, I’d finished breakfast, and I was gathering up my jacket and my car keys. Dietz was still sitting at the kitchen counter with his second cup of coffee and the morning paper spread out before him.
“See you later,” I said.
“Have a good one,” he replied.
On the way downtown, I stopped off at a nearby condominium with the two subpoenas in hand. I served both without incident, though the fellow and his girlfriend were hardly happy with me. Occasionally, I’ll have someone who goes to absurd lengths to avoid service, but for the most part people seem resigned to their fates. If someone protests or turns ugly, my response is usually the same: “Sorry, pal, but I’m like a waitress. I don’t cook up the trouble, I just serve it. Have a nice day,” I say.
For a change, I parked in the public lot across from the courthouse and walked the two blocks to work. My current office is the former conference room for the law firm of Kingman and Ives, located in downtown Santa Teresa. From my apartment, the drive takes about ten minutes, given the usual traffic conditions. The Kingman building appears to be a three-story stucco structure, but the ground floor is an illusion. Behind a fieldstone facade, complete with barred and shuttered windows, there’s actually a small parking lot, with twelve assigned spaces. Most of the office staff and the lesser tenants in the building are forced to scrounge parking elsewhere. The surrounding blocks aren’t metered, but parking is restricted to ninety minutes max and most of us receive at least one ticket a month. Some mornings, it’s comical watching us pass and repass, trying to beat one another to the available spaces.