Even the big four-oh can pass quietly, if a man is careful. Ravid thinks life can begin at forty just as well without the folderol. Who needs it?
But Moeava needs the serial number, the certifying dive shop number and other numbers from his certification card to complete the insurance application. Moeava sees the milestone birthday a few weeks out, and like an ill-advised boy he takes note and makes plans, inviting people to the surprise fortieth birthday party he will hold for his good friend Ravid — yes, that’s right, forty.
He invites Cosima, in case she doesn’t yet know of Ravid’s old age or involvement with another woman. She must already know of both; she treats her loyal suitor so civilly these days. Maybe she appreciates his dedication. He asks for her favors as Ravid coached him to do, promising to make the swim right after. She assures him that such favors would be impossible. It would break the rules, making the prize meaningless.
He pleads that meaning will never be lost, and he should get his just reward before he dies.
She laughs; only a fool would expect a reward for doing nothing, or worse, for failing. Yet she keeps hope alive with a kind word, asking if he’s lost weight, or is he standing at an odd angle. He thinks he can make the swim and will schedule it soon, but is still afraid of sharks.
He invites his grandmother to the birthday soirée, so she begins early, sorting out couture to show herself to optimal advantage to a dashing waterman of forty.
With Ravid on an errand in the truck, Moeava visits Monique, whose disconcerting habit is to stare at him as if he can’t sense it. He can’t ignore it and thinks her heartlessly amazed at his big, bulky body. So he makes haste, humbly inviting her to Ravid’s birthday party, the fortieth, a surprise. She shrugs and says yes, of course, then tells him that she got a call a short while ago on the office phone at Le Chien de Bonne Chance animal hospital for Ravid. She told the caller, a woman, that Ravid only sleeps there on some nights and could be found at his dive office, but she got the woman’s number in case Ravid needs it, or the woman doesn’t call the other number.
Moeava calls the number, because a woman informed that her husband only sleeps in a place some nights may not call again. When Minna answers, Moeava says, “Ia orana, Madam.” He answers her questions on himself and on Ravid’s status and situation. She says it’s been nearly two years since she’s seen or spoken with Ravid, but she is still his friend and has news, but not to worry, because it’s not urgent news.
Moeava says yes, he knows the party to whom he is speaking, and he’s happy to speak with her at last.
She needs to know if Ravid wants his cat, because Gene, the woman who got his cat, still does, but the old beach houses where he lived are being torn down by a developer for a hundred and fifty new places in stucco with tile roofs in the 4 to 15 million range. Gene is moving to a condo that doesn’t allow cats. Whatever Ravid wants to do is okay either way, because she, Minna, can keep the cat, but that will require some adjustment for the cat, and she thought she should call.
Moeava says yes, Ravid will surely want his cat. “He talks about her, you know. Very strange.”
“I know.”
“You send cat?”
“I will, if that’s what he wants. But I don’t know if I can do that. But I might find somebody to bring her, for money. The flight is every week, and I should be able to find somebody sooner or later.”
“Why don’t you bring the cat? We will have une grande fête to celebrate his old age. Forty. Terrible.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“You might be correct. He talk about you too.” The silence rattles, probably a long distance malfunction. “Oh, he talk about you good. He say you very beautiful and perfect in beginning.”
“He says that, beautiful and perfect?”
“Not exactly, but that is his meanings. But I think he want to see you more with the cat on your arm. Besides, how he will feel if anything happen to the cat?”
“Yes, but there’s only one flight a week from Honolulu. I can’t stay a week.”
“One week not so long. You like this place. Three weeks from Sunday. Okay?”
“I have no place to stay.”
“You stay in his room. You and him and the cat. And the dog.”
“He has a dog?”
“Yes. Little Dog. You all get along. You not fight like cats and dogs. Ha! The dog only want to smell the cat from behind.”
“She likes that, but I won’t surprise him. Not for a week.”
“You must. It is why you call, no?”
“No. I don’t know. But I won’t surprise him.”
“But it is a surprise. We all surprise him. Listen — if everything does not work out so good, you stay chez grand-mère — at house of my grandmother.”
Chez grand-mère? Hey, how bad could that be?
“Maybe. I have to make some calls. But I don’t know.”
So it is that Minna arranges for Skinny’s move to Moorea, re-engaging the political wing of ‘ohana Somayan. French Polynesia’s quarantine on domestic dogs and cats would surely oppress an elderly feline like Skinny — four months caged in a hot, dusty kennel, and at her age, eleven already. The Tahiti quarantine is waived for those countries without rabies, like New Zealand and a few others, but not the United States — except for one state, regarded as a sovereign republic in the mid-Pacific. Lucky Skinny.
Minna feeds the family machine with annulment news at last. Now it can proceed, contingent on all signatories being present and safe delivery of the cat. A few phone calls, a promise or recollection, some small talk and official processing et voilà!
Skinny is in. She doesn’t like any aspect of moving, beginning with the cat carrier with its waterproof floor and soft towel that bunches up at one end. She howls till Minna lets her out. What else can she do? Skinny doesn’t run away down the aisle but nestles on Minna’s chest, watching clouds out the window. They look familiar, though strangely near. Is this kitty heaven? She soon closes her eyes and purrs.
Minna wonders why she lied to her family about signatories and conditions — about an annulment when he’s not even met with a lawyer, or he would have made contact. And why did she agree to a stupid surprise party instead of a simple phone call to see how things stand? He probably has a tight-ass girlfriend anyway who’s heard all about the crazy wife — make that ex-wife for all practical purposes. Well, at any rate they can get things started. It’s got to happen sooner or later. And she’d just as soon get this task done with no harm to Skinny, which can only be ensured by a personal delivery.
And it is great to get away, and Skinny is a unique travel companion, and he’ll be grateful for that, and that alone is a good excuse to go along with the surprise. So? Who cares? Still, a week is a long time to spend alone in an exotic place.
Minna and Skinny touch down in Papeete late Saturday on the weekly flight from Honolulu. Moeava offered a pick up in his boat at the ferry terminal in town, but Minna declined, opting to sleep over and take the ferry, because a small boat would be too much and make Skinny sick, which would be a real kick in the ass after everything else. Besides, hanging out till Sunday will better preserve the surprise — what fun. Besides, she may see how she feels and possibly get back on board the ferry after handing off the cat. “I might not stay.”
“Pourquoi no?”
“Pourquoi do you think? Does he have a girlfriend? Do I really want to hang out near that for a week?”
“No. He has many friends, but he is like a monk with the diving and the pictures. I think he want to see you.”
The crowded airport is hardly conducive to assessments, so she takes a cab into town, what the hell. She’ll risk a week of embarrassment and maybe humiliation, though she doubts he’d do that; he seemed so soft when he left. Yeah, soft in the head, but who can blame him? Fucking Darryl. What was I thinking? But don’t start again. Serves that lolo right, ending up with Eunice — three hundred pounds of toothless tita, and for what? One little ten-pound baby? And to think...
Well, maybe Ravid has had time to sort things out and be himself again. Could he turn down the full meal deal? No way. But he did and might again. What am I doing here? Oh, yeah. Annulment. We’ll definitely see to that.
Or might the love return between herself and her...what? Her man? Her husband? What? She only wishes she’d brought Skinny down without calling on a quiet weekday instead of this stupid surprise party weekend. How annoying.
But there’s only one flight per week. Oh yeah.
In fact, the other guests share her annoyance, and so does Ravid, because every surprise party victim finds out and goes along. Nobody enjoys the ride, because it’s stupid, everybody pretending they don’t know about the birthday because they don’t care, or because the victim is hardly known well enough for anyone to know his birthday. It’s all a show meant to contrast with how they really feel: surprise!
For he’s a jolly good fellow...
Ravid found out when Hereata shook the phone bill in his face, asking how he could spend forty dollars on a phone call — a phone call! And to whom, might I ask — et à qui je demande — was you calling, anyway?
Glancing at the bill he said it wasn’t him who made the call, so he couldn’t very well know whom anybody was calling, as if she didn’t know. Ask Moeava.
So she asks and finds out and grows despondent, holing up dans la salle de bain, moving from the mirror to the toilet to think, to strategize a plan as it relates to a woman’s needs, a real woman with plenty left to give, if only a man could be man enough to stand and receive.
With practicality as her co-pilot, she invites a guest of her own, an admirer of proven zeal, whose many ovations may warrant a response, even if his phone calls are tangled in Slavic knots. But if it’s love, or could be, the truth will out. It must. At least this caller’s intentions are perfectly clear — well, maybe not perfectly clear, but they’re at least apparent.
On the eve of this fortieth birthday, Ravid avoids reflection. Yes, it’s the beginning of his fifth decade. So what? It’s more importantly a night for image enhancement, so he escapes inside the software, where an hour or three can vanish in no time.
He hasn’t asked Moeava about the call to Hawaii, because he recognized the number and thinks it was a call returned. How else would Moeava have the number? He thinks Moeava has done something stupid, but he won’t ask if Minna is on her way. Yet he feels fear in thinking she’s not. Maybe she called with bad news; this idea will not settle. In a few hours he’ll see Minna or no Minna. Either way the next forty years will start clean, starting tomorrow with a lawyer. There: it feels good to resolve what’s waited too long. They both deserve it and are far enough removed to see it through. He sets Skinny aside till tomorrow.
So it shapes up as a day of resolution with an annoying social gathering in the afternoon. It’s not so bad, with a fat manifest and the vigor to lead them on the dive of a lifetime — or point them in the right direction while he experiments on a zoom with intentional noise. A zoom? Under water? He’s come close to what he wants with a troupe of garden eels, swaying and bowing like ballerinas, and today might get the perfect shot.
Uneventful on the tourist side, the dive could be a breakthrough artistically. For better or worse, Ravid would rather hit the software to see how far the perfection might go. He’d rather avoid emotions and be alone and for the most part content.
But a man has to do what he’d really rather not do, so he dons the poker face and strides into the front office of the animal hospital with a big blushing grin for Monique, who does not yell surprise! She’s not there, nor is anyone.
Maybe he misread the clues — what a relief. How much better the afternoon and evening will be in solitude with what he loves. It’s fun to get it right, given raw images so close to the mark already. And here they are, downloading in a choreography by Neptune himself. One frame to the next the eels arch and shimmy, moving to the music they also hear.
It’s a beautiful and eerie thought — good thing, since eerie beauty alone can balance his technical obsession. Well, a technocrat is not an artist, so caution is best, but technical excellence hardly calls for anxiety, really, when you...
“Surprise!”
Interruption is the artist’s nemesis. In this case it comes with shock, as through the door, to commemorate his birth, files the promenade of characters currently known, including Monique and Cosima with Moeava in tow. Hereata follows, or maybe leads, Minna, who chats with Oybek Navbahor, the fellow who could have croaked by now but obviously didn’t, since here he is. But he must be très pissed, yet though his pig eyes still slant inward, squinty and mean, he seems serene, gratified and...sociable?
It’s warm and friendly — what’s wrong with this picture? Hereata’s worldview might be open-minded when it comes to Monique, because she could hardly be jealous of a big-hearted, scrawny woman so kind to animals. And Hereata is too developed for such petty behavior — or wants to be developed at any rate.
But Minna is a challenge of a different spin. Just like the heat of summer and cold of winter can’t be fully recalled in their opposite seasons, so has Minna’s striking beauty lapsed in the memory of her chosen one. He sees her face, her features, her figure and fulsome personality fill a room with light and charm. Sure, she’s faking it in an awkward moment, yet she brings the old allure — the charm and mystique that was neither lost nor buried. He remembers the old question: was he the only one smitten by love? Not likely, though he alone was blinded.
He flashes back to first feeling something other than repetition. Maybe that’s the difference between Minna and Hereata. The two women chat like girlfriends reunited — advantage Hereata in French and Tahitian, including her playful approach. She cannot completely hide her abiding apprehension that her clever web will soon unravel.
She should win by rights, except that her loving, seductive self pales next to Minna’s amazingly firm and delectable body and shining light. So it’s the age thing or the fertility potential, advantage Minna, though no man in his right mind would want more humans in the world. Still, instincts press. Still, any preference would seem ill founded.
But memory defaults to the moment, as if estranged spouses share a renewed air of innocence. Here is another first encounter with the same repercussion. Trembling within, fearful of uncertain intention, he wonders what he’ll do. Life and options pass before his eyes, till the old aloha pushes him forward. They approach warily yet according to custom. Joining hands briefly, they embrace with a kiss on the cheek and faint scents exchanged. He says she looks well. She says he’s staying fit, too, for an older man.
And they know it’s over — that two people forfeit their chance of revival on the first utterance of suburban niceties with a dash of canned humor.
Hereata shifts to the other foot. Forcibly happy for the reunion she urges the two old friends to have a drink and something to eat. Ravid wonders. Did Minna say the visit is to secure the annulment, and that puts Hereata at ease? Or is Hereata...with Oybek? He’s a strange one, though closer to her age, and they met when she first escorted him to the boat just as she escorted Ravid on that eventful morning after the night of...
“Oy,” emerges inadvertently as all roads converge at the summit, though it doesn’t feel like a summit, more of a canyon, but surely roads converge there, too.
“Nyet. Oy. Bek. Bek. Oy-bek. Zank you so big for save life of me, when I die from conwulsion and you roll me so I breathe. Ower. You I owe.” He steps aside and bows as if for a head butt to the chest but then peers at the monitor, where garden eels pose in plié et pirouette, in synch with random fluidity as perhaps yet unimagined. “Achh! Is this you?”
“No. It is not me. It is a photograph of garden eels. I took it this morning, but I’ve not yet corrected it.”
Oybek straightens and sneers, “Have you more?”
Ravid matches that with a smirk, raising his palms like the pope to indicate the rest of the gallery and his world.
So our story ends again, insofar as stories ever end, even when the characters die, as they do that very moment, never again returning to life as they knew it.
Oybek is urban by choice. Where Ravid feared phantom beasts, Oybek also swam among merciless predators. That is, Oybek looks piggish and mean, and may be so by necessity of his calling, but his nature is open, more or less.
Growing up short on looks and money but long on the adventurous spirit in Karakalpakstan, young Oybek explored shipwrecks in the desert, what had been Lake Aral in Moynac. Happiness derived from solitude; the other children teased and taunted the ugly little boy with hurtful names. Little Oybek could not reflect the hurt within. He looked cruel and threatening even then. What could he do?
Like many boys with fantasies, Oybek knew he could be an ocean explorer one day. But epilepsy and a rare condition beefed him up with fleshy folds. Slogging onward as a boy and young man must, he began the first dive magazine in Uzbekistan with photos from divers around the world. He copied the photos from other magazines till he had the best dive magazine in the region. The three divers in the region asked, “Compared to what?” Subscriptions remained low.
Oybek wandered the tropical latitudes making friends where he could, including many women willing to accept money for what he wanted.
With the rise of the internet, Oybek’s magazine pioneered phenomenal reef photography combined with photos of those women. Reef Art Magazine Online went global a year prior to litigation for artistic theft. But the reef shots were great in the meantime, and so were the women. The catchy name soon shortened to Refart Magazine, calling for a fart joke or two at regular intervals, which also boosted readership.
So Oybek moved to LA, where marine photographers competed with everyone else for acceptance and a break, which goes to show what the right address can do for image, credibility and esteem in the artistic community. And now you know the rest of the story, as far as it goes.
Oybek Navbahor is now publisher of Modern Reef Magazine. “Please. My card.” He tells Ravid that the photos on these walls are superb, world class, fantastic, worth a fortune, just say the word, and then you watch, the best he’s ever seen, not so much technically, because everybody gets that these days, but in another way...a way that is...what you might call...
“Artistic.”
“Yah! Artistic!”
Oybek wants an exclusive. Ravid is flattered in a cold wash of fear. Oybek talks like a bullshit factory blowing smoke up the whole world’s ass, and maybe a tinge of buyer’s remorse inevitably will accompany the fame so craved. Well, Ravid Rockulz never actually wanted fame; he only wanted a rightful audience, what every purveyor of insight through artistic media wants. But fame is apparently a prerequisite to recognition. And so the kliegs blaze, as solitude, anonymity and youth are banished from the kingdom. Maybe.
Oybek says you must move to LA, because life in LA is the greatest, and living there is necessary if you want to “make it” as an artist. Besides that, LA is amazing, with the smart people and the women. He, Ravid, must live in LA to turn his wonderful artistry into money. Who knows how much? A few million, anyway. That’s annual — did you think it otherwise? Why stick around in a place like that if you only make it once? That’s with proper management. It’s not like you can get off the plane and see the cashier for your check. Oh, it’s work, but so lovely.
Oybek is a seasoned C-list technician who knows the score, starting with the value of a million bucks, which ain’t what it was; come on.
Ravid can’t believe; the guy is so smarmy, so strange looking and talking, so egregiously smutty, so low. Unfortunately, he can’t stop hoping. He’s heard the rant and promise of money and power — it comes to zero every time, finito, rien, caput! Only a bona fide loser wears his wherewithal on his sleeve. Yet Hereata’s slow motion nod says something else, like she checked this guy out. Like she knows. How could that be?
Well, she has an ear for his thick talk and translates when nobody else can. His pig eyes smile on her, and so do Ravid’s. He may never sample her wares again, but he’s off the hook, and maybe he will, and in the meantime she won’t wear out like a bar of soap. Will she?
Minna sees. Minna knows. Minna stores for later use as necessary.
So the party begins, with misunderstanding buried like a hatchet so new understanding can blossom like sunflowers; they laugh at what has happened and what’s to come. Yes, Oybek’s general demeanor is threatening — he admits that he also winces when passing a hall mirror — but it’s the threat of no threat and honestly facilitates success in the entertainment industry. He still feels terrible for pushing the wrong button on his BC inflator and putting all those people at risk. He felt worse spoiling the gift sent to his room, but the epilepsy was in remission for many years, so he was surprised at the symptoms on top of the surprise gift — and here he is relating his two surprises at a surprise party!
The good cheer is followed by poisson cru and ahi tartare made by Cosima. Moeava supplies beer and marijuana, and the festive air is soon unavoidable.
Except by two former loves, who take time outside to confirm status. Ravid is content and enthusiastic. He says Monique thinks he might be cracking up, but his mental disturbance is focused on art, what he wanted all along. The path is beautiful and revealing, and he thinks the direction correct.
Minna got her nursing degree. She quit the gift shop and volunteers at the hospital and will soon become full-time staff and got recommended for intensive care. She loves the recognition of her intensive skills and may take the job. It pays more but not so much — surely not enough to make a career. Besides that, the ICU guys are really crazy; it’s so much life and death on a bunch of TV monitors with lights and bells like Vegas, and it’s all night and all the time and whatnot, and you can hardly blame them for being crazy, because they don’t call it intense for nothing. The crazies actually balance the crazy scene.
But something about that floor, the need, the rush and the satisfaction pulls her in for now. And the service — you would not believe how lame the hospital is, leaving the poor patients completely out of the decision-making process, leaving the ICU staff to console and counsel, though they’re not supposed to because of the liability, but sometimes you just have to offer a comforting word. So, yes, she might do it for a while. For the experience. You know?
He knows, sensing an emotion from the depths. This highly regarded birthday on which his life will begin begins with pride for what she does, who she is — or rather who she has become. In trying to convey his pride for her he chokes up. He can’t tell why. On a new tack to clear the airwaves, he assesses medical services here in Paradise. Or would that be here in the moment? The airwaves won’t clear.
Why are you here?
So he defaults to the predictable charm of the gathering, by telling her he’s proud of her and letting it go at that, except that, too, sticks like a bone in his maw.
She gets him off the hook with the assurance that Skinny took to international travel like a fish, napping on her chest or staring at the clouds and whatnot.
“Skinny?”
She thought he knew. It’s only natural that Skinny sleep it off. But he doesn’t know, because it’s a surprise. She leads him to the front office, where Skinny sits in a kennel, nose to nose with Little Dog. Little Dog whines.
Skinny hisses.
“Little Dog.” He points to the far corner. Little Dog retreats. He pulls Skinny from the kennel and holds her eye to eye. “Skinny.” She meows, beseeching an explanation, after the things he said and so many sweet nothings. He slumps with regret for what feels like the neglect of a loved one. With his face next to hers he breathes her scent. She purrs. He cries; it comes so easily and he’s not sure why, but of course he knows why.
Minna hugs them both but the sobs build to a tumult, too much for Skinny, who wiggles to get back into the kennel. So the two former loves entwine and take cover till the bad part goes away. Minna’s bedside manner is not what it was. Well, maybe later on that issue. For now they struggle for absolution with more seasoned ministrations.
But the difference between them is deeper than surface skills can absolve. Her speech is still too fast with too many clichés — never mind. It’s her touch that has changed, tapping into comfort, easing the discord, letting guilt, loss and pain sort out and go away. She talks about the old neighborhood. “What a scene. Man, that Gene. She refused to move from her beach house, even though she was only renting and couldn’t stall forever, because they brought in the court guys, but she needed more time to find a condo that would allow a cat. Because she promised, and she really loves you. I’m not sure why, but she thinks you’re the greatest guy who ever got roughed up on South Maui. She loves Skinny, too. Man, you think you’re all broke up and feeling huhu; you should have seen Gene carry on. And poor Skinny — she didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. She traveled like a pro. I think she’s happy now. I don’t know how you do it.”
He laughs. He touches her face. He sees what happened to her and to him. It should be back on. Why not?
She doubts it. How could it be? We don’t need another knock-down drag-out of the rough stuff or the bumpy aftermath. It was bad enough one time. Neither one rushes into legal needs, but that doesn’t mean it’s a romance revived. So it’s a push, on the fence, teetering this way and that, and that’s where it sits by tacit agreement, as if avoidance of tough issues is what they lacked all along. Of course any modern counselor would diagnose repressive denial, and that might do in the short term but can never be the basis of a successful relationship, much less a marriage.
But these two veterans of the headlong rush don’t need a counselor to know that they can’t salvage a life together with a few hours of footsies. So they set life aside for the few hours ahead. They seem to accept the outcome, one way or another, which a different counselor might diagnose as advanced behavior, allowing an issue to be resolved by time and manners, by distracting themselves from the potential pain with more productive behavior, in this case setting Skinny up with water and a piece of poisson cru rinsed and cut into bits. Because the best remedy for most ailments is giving to a cause greater than the self, and Skinny is the perfect greatness — so small, so expressive, so fuzzy, demanding and cute.
They watch her eat.
Ravid arranges a shirt as a nest in her kennel. She curls up and watches them back. He puts a hand on her head and she meows, then purrs. Then she sleeps. Holding hands again like kids sharing an adventure, they let go and return to the party. The gathering has gained momentum, loosening up from its initial stupidity and stiffness, becoming animated and interesting.
What harm in holding hands? Or resting an arm on a shoulder or around a waist? Or allowing fingertips to lightly brush the other’s skin? No harm at all, and it adds dimension to the soirée, challenging the audience to observe obliquely and murmur discreetly. So the narrative plays out to an audience enrapt, waiting to see which ending the players will choose.
An equally compelling subplot is Moeava, professional diver, sharing life and times with two women who listen attentively while watching each other. Cosima and Monique must be acquainted but behave as if just introduced. They scan each other while touching the man between them, fondly or vicariously; who knows? The giant diver regales them with know-how, close calls and sea beasts, his sheer size the perfect protection all women crave. Don’t they? Curiosity demands discretion here too, though conjecture is rampant. Who will go home with whom, and who will be on top?
Ravid stares from within in his own sphere of doubt and wonder till he sees Hereata surrounded by others. She also sees and knows, her sad smile an epitaph to what might have been — or, more precisely to what has been. The strange new guy is on her like a shadow, like he knows from experience. So Ravid approaches to put an arm around her and tell Oybek she is among the wonderful people of the world. Oybek’s agreement is hard to watch; he assures that he is well aware, fully informed, absolutely apprised, sated, glutted and yadda, yadda, yadda, licking his chops like a giant monitor lizard over delicious duckling snacks. Oybek is not your average friendly fellow. Ravid wasn’t entirely wrong to draw the line and stand his ground, but a dash of self-redemption is in order. They may become friends. Who knows? Stranger things have happened.
Oybek apologizes again for any bad impression he made. Ravid says, “No. I am the one to apologize. My anger makes me a fool. I can’t bark and lunge at every stranger.”
“I am happy to hear you say this,” Oybek says — I love you say and honor you this.
“But you were an asshole. That night at the buffet. You were wrong.”
“Yes,” Oybek laughs. “Asshole me. All the time, but especially drink. Not good. Please forgive. But, please, I not asshole in dive. Only bad diver, me. But you, you good man. Thank you for save me.”
A rich and happy life has many endings, with all but one followed by another beginning. Maybe even the final curtain is another embarkation. Who knows? But that last one is problematic, with no flesh and love, unless it’s there too in a form as yet unimagined.
Well, that stuff could go either way — plenty time to worry later. What is known for now is that anybody can be happy once he’s logged enough heartbreak. Ravid Rockulz feels blessed, or maybe hopes that a blessing is on the way, as his own pages turn to what comes next.
The next chapter begins only three hours hence, when the guests are gone, each farewell accompanied by birthday wishes and love. Hereata recognizes the milestone and whispers, “You never told me she was so beautiful.”
Well, of course he did, but rather than correct her, he says, “You are so beautiful.” She blushes, and all is well, maybe. Oybek bows, shakes hands with his host, wishes him the very happiest of birthdays and leaves with his paramour.
Once the place is secured, doors and windows, Skinny is allowed to wander the room, read the scents and take note. Little Dog is allowed in with strict instructions to lie down and stay. Stay. You stay.
Then the former loves disrobe like roommates who do this every evening in preparation for sleep. Unlike most roommates, they pause before the bed. Then comes what neither can remember from the past: the soft kiss. He wants to assure her that this is going nowhere, but he can’t for fear of forfeiting the encounter. She wants to pledge that they may give of themselves with no commitment but fears he may abandon hope. So they sway on the precipice.
They recline. A few more tears fall for what’s been lost, the inevitable impasse and the chance for peace. Who knows?
So night falls on shipwreck survivors washed onto a distant shore, hugging the warmth between them.
With a whimper in the wee hours she asks if he’s in love with Hereata.
“She took care of me, and I love her for it, yes.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I am not in love with Hereata.”
She says he might not believe her, and that’s his choice, and she’s learned these last two years that she must respect his choice. But she never loved Darryl, and she never ate him. “I know what he told you, but it’s not true.”
“What?”
Never, ever — and in fact she only allowed da kine once, back when she was nearly fourteen and didn’t know nothing — I mean, anything. She wants Ravid to hear this — whether he believes it or not, because she knows how his mind works, or used to work, and how little things that shouldn’t bother him build up inside, and then they do bother him. And she doesn’t want that, so she needs to stop the pain before it starts. Because it hurt her too — hurt like crazy, because he had the soft touch of a pneumatic jack hammer, I mean Darryl did, and besides that, he was gross, dirty, with all this cheesy shit on the end, and it was bent way to one side.
She nearly puked and made him wipe it off.
He forced her and thought she loved it and was in love, because she never called the cops. “And that’s the truth. I swear it. I had to tell you. I know you think I’m evil, but I’m not. I don’t want to sound like a victim, but Darryl is nothing. He did a mean and ugly thing. It’s like when you step in dog poo, you know? You wipe it off, but it still stinks for a while. But it goes away. I mean you don’t throw your shoes away. You know?”
Ravid wonders what could possibly possess a woman — a wife — to describe another man in gross terms to her husband.
Minna knows what all men must hear in order to let a thing go — the sordid graphic detail that alone will let their minds stop churning.
Ravid takes a brief moment to sort the images, hanging up on a tough one: “What is the da kine you only allowed once?”
“Ooohhh no — not like that. Not that. Only pussy kine.”
Which moves things along to what must be easier, the dog poo on her shoes. He sighs, with resignation maybe. “One time? And he get all strung out for life?”
“Hey. Some guys, you know. They cannot let go, ever.”
No. They can’t. Lucky I’m not one of them. I mean, I can live with that, for now, even if Darryl is jacking off so hard this very minute he’s squeezing tears out the corners thinking of Minna and his one go with love.
Ravid rolls to the side so she can see his forgiveness in refracted moonlight — even as stray pangs interrupt this program — all this cheesy shit on the end of it? But then the cheese melts away too, as all will in the watery bye’mbye.
She sees. She smiles back, wondering if he bought it, hoping that he did, and that they might finally have peace, whatever their legal status. Is that too much to ask?
Well, no, it’s not, though life and happiness present regular tests to every seeker. These seekers may now apply what they’ve learned. On the one hand, they’ll see if some attraction can be revived — not on firm bodies or lusty potential but in the light shining between them. On the other hand, they must keep a few things buried, events and regrets that will undermine spiritual growth, unless allowed to decompose and fade away, as some things should.
The first opportunity for ending and beginning comes in the morning, on learning that Moeava blocked the day off, no trip, demonstrating intuition and foresight. He may have anticipated a hangover but did not likely foresee his windfall of women. On the surface, it looks like a fling, a casual ménage, with its fun and kink, its derring-do, surprises, demands, poses and good cheer among newfound friends. Except that sunrise finds the trio waking but not moving, unwilling to untangle the fondness stumbled into.
Realizing his role as a practical functionary in the drama playing out, Moeava grows worldly wise, contrasting with yesterday, when he was merely big, longing and lonely. He offers no detail or flourish, not the first hint or tease, nothing but affirmation of his great good luck to have two girlfriends who like each other. On second thought, he corrects himself: Monique has both a girlfriend and boyfriend who get along and may someday like each other.
“But you already liked Cosima. Since before we met — long before, I would think.”
That may be, but the one-way affection of yesterday is as removed from last night as flat water from pitching seas. Cosima lacks confidence and initiative. Monique provides all of the above. Cosima does what Monique says. Monique likes to watch, and Cosima likes her watching. Neither cares if Moeava watches, so he watches for a while, but nobody minds if he takes a little snooze while they play together.
Wait a minute. She didn’t lack confidence or initiative with me. Let it go, again and again as necessary, though some illusory bones will shimmer for a long time.
Never mind. Monique is oldest and wisest after all and seems best suited to guide them on their tricky path, to manage inventory so that all needs are met, and let’s face it, friends bonding in love is a better event that one man’s sexual satisfaction. N’est-ce pas?
Moeava will not belabor complexities of dominance, submission or reciprocation other than Monique’s first rule of respect: that nobody require anybody else to swim the bay at night or day.
So the morning stretches to casual brunch and a spontaneous outing to Taverua reef for introductions and another day together, which is different than an old life resumed.
Minna has a week and then another. Their schedules open and merge. Common courtesy and growing affection are tempered by Hereata’s lingering regret.
Oybek grows gregarious on heightened self-esteem. He calls Hereata the love of his life. He speaks of greatness and showbiz. Ravid has had smoke blown up his ass daily for years in the tourist trade by losers flaunting their wares far from home. Influence, wealth, name-dropping and personal questions mark the common commuter in quiet desperation. The smoke billows from LA, where success is waiting around the corner. Could you be part of my new project? Fuckinay, baby, you might know Spielberg. I do. Do you?
Granting the benefit of all doubts, Ravid does not think Oybek a loser, even as Oybek talks about a decent advance, nothing too big, say twenty grand, which will be peanuts next to what they’ll soon do, but it should get the lovebirds by for a couple of weeks. Oybek next talks about immediate needs, including the move to LA.
Ravid laughs.
Minna smiles at his laughter.
Oybek consoles, softening the situation with his own bedside manner; they won’t need to stay there forever, though many artists do, because of the wonderful social life and the artistic and intellectual stimulation. Duration can be decided later, though a few years will be necessary to get things going.
Ravid feels foolish, asking the obvious question: “If it’s that easy to make millions, what are you doing here?”
“I discover you! You make millions, yes, with a property. Without a property, you make nothing!”
Ravid still feels foolish as he explains the obvious, that an underwater photographer living in LA will take no more photos underwater. He feels more foolish conversing with a man who last year was a foe and this year has done little more than blow smoke up his ass. Make that smog. Or was that the year before last already? At the foolish summit is the ridiculous subject of LA itself and the pros and cons of living there as requisite to artistic fame and fortune. More to the point, LA is a joke or a curse or a laughable, pitiful reality.
Oybek says that Ravid will take plenty more pictures and not just in French Polynesia but also in the Andaman Sea before it dies completely, in the Maldives and Truk — ooh, and the Red Sea. “You have been there?”
“I am from there.”
“Iloji yo’q! I knew it!”
Oh, man. This guy is strange.
The day before returning to LA, Oybek hands Ravid a check for twenty thousand dollars. Ravid holds it gingerly, while asking about a contract or some assurance that this is not a debt.
Oybek laughs too loud and says not to worry, that he knows the difference between an advance and a debt. He promises a contract forthcoming, and it will be satisfactory to all parties. If you don’t like it, don’t sign it! In the meantime, spend the money. Enjoy.
And don’t worry; the money will be made back, because Ravid has been officially recognized for genius, which is what Oybek does for a living. Do you understand this? Could a seasoned professional be wrong? Yes, he could be, but he’s not been wrong yet, and some of his picks were far less certain than this one.
“Look this!” Oybek beams, pointing at an octopus peeking electrically over a boulder.
Well, yes, the octopus shot is remarkable, so Ravid accepts ovations for his greatness. Who knows? Maybe success can be guaranteed. Twenty grand is more than Ravid ever made in one day. He can’t yet retire, but he rests easy. Such is the power of a solid C-list operator.
The next month passes in reverie, what younger lovers envisioned only two years ago. Ravid dives and shoots in the mornings. Minna helps at the animal hospital. She notifies her family and the other hospital that she’ll remain on extended leave, and that the annulment is off. She won’t spell it out but leaves it to them. Better they figure it out than hear the bad news.
She checks into a medical care facility to see about a job and hits the language barrier. She begins French lessons and attempts the new language in her daily life.
She’s getting it when Ravid announces they will live together as a married couple — in LA, to gain a solid footing in marine photographic art, but only for a year.
Or two.
Or maybe not, except that it gains momentum and feels like it’s on, even as the smoke billows up their collective ass; they giggle, as if at the wispy tickle. Oybek’s revenge would be huge, if that’s what this is. But Oybek is a self-made man — in show biz, which is also known for hugeness. So?
Why practice French if the show is moving to LA?
Don’t worry; you can practice anything you want in LA.