He checked the time on a watch I’d never noticed, then jingled it at me.
—You see this, old girl?
—What?
—This timepiece is the only one of its kind. Patek Philippe 1939 Platinum. My father was a cunt. I figured he was going to bury himself with this watch. But he left it for me. The only thing he ever did. I don’t think it was love, anyhow. This watch, old girl, is worth a lot of money.
—It doesn’t look it.
He laughed at me.
—Don’t laugh at me, Leonard.
—I’m sorry, dear. Precious things are not always comely.
He turned toward the door, then back to me.
—Joan. Would you come back to my house with me? I am overdue for my pill. Long overdue, in fact.
I didn’t want to go, but I went. I’d done the same thing with every other man I’d known. I went with them in case it got bad and I needed to be saved. I don’t mean saved by a man. I mean saved by money, by someone doing something dirty for me. The dirty part was how I couldn’t accept someone’s help without subjugating myself in some sinister, sexual way.
I followed Lenny outside and down the grassy path. There was a breeze for a change. The wealthy people had all the breezes, in the Hills, in the Palisades. Lenny had money, so I wondered why he lived in a garden shed at the top of this rusted canyon. Whenever I had money, I lived beautifully. I was good at living in the present, in believing that tomorrow would be taken care of. Gosia always told me that. Money will always come back, she said. It goes and it comes back more than anything.
Lenny unlocked his door. That he kept it locked was interesting.
—Here we are, he said. I followed his little body inside. The smell hit me. That elderly smell of bone dust on medium-pile carpets. Of coffee and orange juice dumped into the same sink together. Whenever I smelled old people, I felt cheated out of not having parents. At the same time I was grateful. While the death of my parents when I was so young had brought me a world of devastation, I would at least be spared seeing them come undignified. My mother would always be beautiful, my father would always be strong. His big hands, pumping gas in the side-view mirror of the car.
The place was all pine, even the ceiling, and overstuffed with furniture and Persian rugs from the larger house I now occupied, which did indeed make it feel cozy. But the cozy feeling lent itself to some suggestion of dread. Perhaps because it reminded me of the Poconos. It was cozy there, too. Cozy like the first few minutes of a horror movie.
Lenny had a twelve-inch television on a gloomy TV stand and the bedroom was behind an accordion partition. There was a pipe and packets of vanilla-flavored tobacco. Every wall was covered in shelves for all of his books. I pictured River building the place, his arms and neck beading sweat in the canyon sun.
—Please, sit, he said, indicating a corduroy recliner.
—It’s very quiet on this side of the rock. Do you hear the coyotes at night?
—I only hear what I want to, he said, victoriously tapping a hearing aid.
When he scratched his head the watch fell down to the middle of his skinny arm. Now that I knew it had worth, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. He caught me looking. My face grew hot and I looked away, focusing my eyes on his china cabinet. I saw he had a set of Laboratorio Paravicini plates. My mother had only one, a dinner plate, that she cherished. Had I broken it, I wonder if she’d have hit me. She never hit me. I would have been okay with being hit.
—Paravicini, I said.
He nodded, impressed, which enraged me.
—We had them, growing up, I said, thinking of the lone plate at the top of our credenza, the way it shone. It never had a lick of food on it. I sold it at the house sale, along with nearly everything.
—Your family is from Italy.
—My mother was, yes. I was born there.
—Your mother is passed? he asked, without enough kindness.
I nodded. There was a spider unspooling from a web above Lenny’s head. I didn’t say anything, even when the spider was nearly on his nose.
—And your father?
—As well.
—I’m sorry. Recently?
—No.
—You were young?
—Quite.
—Dear God, child. What happened?
—An accident.
—Motor vehicle?
—No. In the home.
—A fire?
—Leonard, where is your chamomile collection? I’m sure you have one. I could make you some tea if you would shut the fuck up.
I was teasing and he smiled. Now that I knew he had a disease, I’d softened to him, but just a bit.
—I got the drug. L-dopa. How do you like that name? It sounds like a female drug lord. He also gave me Razadyne to slow down the dementia. Which sounds like a character in one of those senseless science fiction books that Lenore liked.
—Lenore read science fiction? I asked. I rose to make the tea. There was a fine bone-china teapot on the stove, which was meticulously clean, the burners lined with foil.
—Yes, Lenny snapped. Lenore was a great reader. A varied reader. Do you think a man like me could have been with someone who didn’t read?
—How do you feel with the drugs?
—It’ll take several weeks before they’re metabolized into my system, before we’ll see results. He walked to the couch and sat down. He looked like he needed to be rehydrated, like a dried sorrel. I might pump some oily water into him and suddenly he would be able to jump on trampolines again.
—You’re fond of that dress, aren’t you?
I brought Lenny his tea. He blew across its brown surface.
The white mug shook in his hand. He had a collection of those as well. I would never have a collection of anything. I had only one coffee cup. It said MY SAFE WORD IS WINE in loopy print. Vic had bought it for me on a family vacation to Napa Valley. He also brought back several bottles from his favorite vineyards. Everywhere he went, something reminded him of me. I drank the most expensive bottle—a silky grenache—one Monday while I was preparing to see Big Sky. I was delirious that evening with fear and excitement. I was so turned on that sitting on a bicycle seat would have made me come.
—Leonard, I said, to endear him to me.
—Yes?
—May I ask you a question? Why did you never have children?
—Why didn’t you? he replied.
Something cracked inside my skull.
—It’s not too late for me, I said.
—It’s not too late for me, either, he said.
I looked at him and smiled like he was irrelevant and half dead.
—We wanted to, Leonard said finally. Lenore wasn’t barren. But she was. Challenged.
—How do you know it wasn’t you?
I noticed that he was shaking all over, so I picked up the throw from his couch and draped it around his shoulders.
—Goddamn Parkinson’s, he said. Of all fucking things, Parkinson’s. I’d have been fine with cancer. The all-over kind.
—I didn’t mean to be coarse, I said.
—Of course you did, dear. It’s all right. I know it isn’t easy for you. The past is all over your face.
He rose and the throw fell from his shoulders. I picked it up as he crossed the short room. He turned to see if I was looking, but I pretended to have my eyes on the blanket as I folded it. I watched him quickly open a small black door in the wall and even more quickly toggle a combination lock. Then I heard a click, a jingle, and the little door shut. He turned back to me nervously.