The Heights Part 26

"Are you all right, sir?"

"Oh, sure. I was just watching the telly." (I noticed that Mr. Trammel had begun to speak with a faint British accent. Perhaps he had lived for a time in London.) I went on, "Did you know that over the course of seven years, every cell in each of our bodies is replaced?"

"No, sir," he said, "I didn't know that."

"I learned it earlier this evening. Every seven years-a whole new set of cells. Isn't that astonis.h.i.+ng?"

Nils smiled like he had a secret.

I had to ask, "What is it?"

Nils: "I like knowing odd facts and information, too. For instance, did you know that Brazil is the only country named after a tree?"

"I didn't know that," I said.

"The little parallelogram above your top lip is called the philtrum. Five years-or half a decade-is a l.u.s.trum. George Was.h.i.+ngton's teeth were not made of wood; they were made from hippopotamus, deer, horse, and human teeth screwed into an ivory base. Oh, and an opossum does not play dead. He gets so scared he faints!"

"Well done, Nils," I said, laughing. "You're distracting me, and I am most grateful."

"I can keep going!" And he did, speaking even faster, like an auctioneer. "According to the World Health Organization, there are more than one hundred million acts of s.e.xual intercourse each day. The following men had or have one t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e: Fred Astaire; former president Jimmy Carter; the late, great race-car driver Dale Earnhardt. And my all-time favorite: Eighty-five percent of men who have heart attacks and die during s.e.x are doing what?"

"Hmm, interesting. Let me think." Eighty-five percent of men who have heart attacks and die during s.e.x are doing what? "I give up."

"They're cheating on their wives."

KATE.

IT TURNED OUT I WAS HUNGRY.

Jeff and I were sitting at a prime table at the California Grill, which sits atop Disney's Contemporary Resort. The boys were in my room back at the lodge, already asleep in my bed. (We went back after Jeff's triumphant speech to say good night, and Jeff told them a long story about a magical fart machine, which they loved.) While we ate, the boys were being watched by a Disney-approved babysitter named Heather. I'd been provided with a beeper that I had clipped to my purse. I could be contacted if needed.

I admit, it was nice to be out without the boys and away from the Disney characters a.s.saulting us every time we turned around. I was torn between wanting to gush about Jeff's speech, his work with Make-A-Wish, and wanting to hear about what had happened with the other Kate. But Jeff wanted to tell me a story.

"One time I was here and there was this guy-I guess you could say he was kind of a Disney freak. He had visited many times, and he knew that at Disney, things happened when they were scheduled to happen. Anyway, he brought his girlfriend here for dinner, and at eight fifty-nine P.M., he got down on one knee, raised a ring box, and proposed. His timing was perfect. The moment he finished asking, the first of that evening's fireworks burst in the sky behind him. When she said yes, the others in the restaurant broke into applause."

"That's kind of queer."

"You think so?"

"Yes, I do."

"Oh," he said gravely. "Well. It was me."

"It was you? No wonder she broke it off."

Jeff was quick to correct me. "But she didn't. I called it quits."

A family approached our table. They were from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and wanted their picture taken with Jeff. They promised that as long as no one's eyes were closed, they'd make it their Christmas card.

After they left, I asked Jeff to tell me about the other Kate.

He did at some length. She sounded like a catch. Smart, s.e.xy, kind to animals, a member of a progressive church, very s.e.xual, a happy childhood. She loved Korky, his dog. I kept waiting for the downside. But she was curious, a good athlete, active in social causes.

I couldn't take it anymore. "So what was the problem?"

"She wasn't you."

I'd fallen for it. He was sneaky. And I was tipsy, but not so far gone that I couldn't manage "Yes, and it's a good thing she isn't me."

"Why? Why is it a good thing?"

"Because I'm married."

Could he tell in that moment I wished I weren't? I ordered another drink, and when it came, I quickly drank it.

Jeff got this serious look on his face. And oh, what a face. He struggled for the right words. I told him not to say anything. See, I was worried he was about to say something I knew we'd both regret.

Instead, he extended a small rectangular box wrapped in a red velvet ribbon. "When I saw it, I knew you had to have it."

It happened exactly this way. As I untied the ribbon, I heard the first whistle of fireworks being launched. As I lifted the box, there was a burst of purple light over the Magic Kingdom. Inside the box, resting on a rectangle of cotton, there it was-a Goofy wrist.w.a.tch.

"You may be wondering-why Goofy?"

"Yes, I actually am wondering-why Goofy?"

"His hands go backward."

It was seminal. The Goofy wrist.w.a.tch. Reversing time. Me, the drunk one. Jeff, all sober. Me, married but still yearning. He, single and still yearning, too. And the fireworks going on behind him were spectacular.

Later, back in his room at the lodge, we had s.e.x.

TIM.

don't ask don't ask what time she got heredon't ask what she was wearing because she's not wearing anything now and don't don't don't ask what was said because nothing was said as we fell on the bed there will be no kissing okay so no mouth kissing but there was plenty of mouth her mouth on my neck on my stomach and elsewhere pitch-black dark her hands, my mouth her tongue so dizzying, this can't remembertalking no h.e.l.lo or how are you or would it be all right if I or would you mind terribly if my p.e.n.i.s no, it was whatever whenever however she on top me on top her on the bed on the floor don't ask what time, don't ask how long we'd been going at it no idea only sound is her breathing, me breathing we are s.e.x nothing is forbidden nothing is said nothing need be said and then oh G.o.d and then!

ring where was I ring (fumble around in the dark) ring "h.e.l.lo?"

"Yes, I'd like to leave a message for Mr. Trammel in room-."

"Uh-this is Trammel."

"Oh, I thought this was the front desk."

"Go ahead," I said, barely audible in a disguised voice.

"I'm really sorry for waking you."

Louder, in the same disguised voice: "Not a problem."

"I'm calling on behalf of Mrs. Ashworth. She's been delayed."

"Uh-clearly."

"Wait-Mr. Welch, is that you?"

BEA MYERLY.

AROUND MY HEART, PICTURE A TEN-CAR PILEUP. THAT'S HOW IT FELT LISTENING TO my ex-teacher breathe on the other line. "No, it's Trammel," he said, trying again to alter his voice. But I knew who it was.

Needless to say, I was confused.

I had done what Mrs. Ashworth asked. But the hotel operator mistakenly connected me to the room! And now I was freaked out. My head was spinning. It didn't make sense! (Because when you think of Anna Brody and you think lover, you definitely don't think of Mr. Welch.) I was smack in the middle of something sick and tawdry. I suddenly knew too much!

Oh, Mr. Welch. The great Mr. Welch. Now you're not so great.

I carried on as best I could: "The message is . . . as follows . . ."

What did I want to say? I am so disappointed in you, Mr. Welch. You were my model of possibility. You were Bono if he were a schoolteacher in Brooklyn. You were my church.

What could I have said? The facts. How that evening at the Ashworth-Brody house, as final preparations for the following day's house tour were finished, Anna Brody rushed around frantically trying to finish packing for a secret weekend away. But no-wait-Mr. Ashworth returned home unexpectedly and confronted her. Cue cymbal crash. Watch as the two of them have a knock-down, drag-out fight all the way up their mahogany staircase, Mr. Ashworth pleading and Mrs. Ashworth screaming. Finally, Mr. Ashworth collapses at Mrs. Ashworth's feet, begging her to not go see her lover. Inane dialogue like "I'll give up mine if you'll give up yours." Mrs. Ashworth stood strong until Mr. Ashworth broke down like a baby. He cried and cried, and Mrs. Ashworth melted at the sight of her weeping man, looking up to the heavens and crying out, "At last!" Cue cheesy piano music. It was embarra.s.sing! It felt like something from a bad nineteenth-century novel. Yuck! It went from this sappy weep-fest to a mad, sloppy kiss, culminating with the two of them disappearing into the master bedroom, where, from the sound of things, it seemed they wouldn't be coming out any time soon.

But no! Moments later, Mrs. Ashworth, all flushed, sweaty, and half-dressed, rushed into Sophie's playroom, pressed a piece of paper into my hand, and told me to call the Infinity Hotel and have them relay this message to a Mr. Trammel in room 1701.

What should I have said? Grab your bag and get out of there. Mrs. Ashworth has used you.

But what did I say? What did I tell Mr. Welch, my once great, now pathetic excuse for a mentor? With the door upstairs closed, and the Ashworths in the middle of a marathon of makeup s.e.x, with the sounds of lovemaking echoing throughout the Ashworth-Brody house, I told him the furthest thing from the truth. "Mr. Trammel," I said. "She's on her way."

KATE.

I WANTED TO TALK. PROCESS WHAT HAD HAPPENED. WHAT IT HAD FELT LIKE. MAYBE even do it again.

But Jeff was already fast asleep, lying facedown, his body (oh, what a body) splayed out in all directions, and his face (oh, what a face) deep in a pillow.

Naked, I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him breathe.

I needed to talk. But Jeff wasn't for talking. So I kissed his bare shoulder. He began to stir. I started to kiss down his back, when in his sleep, he slightly raised his left hip, and I heard a faint whisper of wind. Jeff had farted. Eggs came to mind. Sulfur.

Perfect, I thought, as I waved the smell away.

I used the spill of light from the bathroom to find my clothes and get dressed. As I picked up my bra and blouse, I remembered something. How earlier that night there had been more he'd wanted to say. So I went through his pockets and found his crumpled-up speech, which I took as a memento.

Besides, sleep was not going to be easy for me that night, and I needed something to read.

JEFF SLADE.

I'm not an angel. But I play one on TV.

(Beat. Hold for laugh.) But when I look out at this room tonight, here is what I see: angels. All of you are . . .

(Choke up.) Angels.

(Cry here.) I'm sorry . . . I wrote a speech, but words don't do justice . . .

(Put speech away. Cry more.) So let me just say-KEEP WIs.h.i.+NG!

(Beat. Let the moment land. Then look at Kate.) Because that's how dreams come true.

KATE.

"MOMMY, ARE YOU OKAY?"

Middle of the night, I was on my knees, hunched over the toilet bowl, Jeff's speech still clutched in my hand. I had just thrown up.

"Mommy . . ."

"Mommy will be okay, sweetie. I just ate something that disagreed with me. Go back to bed."

After Teddy went back to bed. I got in the shower. Water so hot it was practically scalding. I soaped myself. Scrubbed myself clean.

TIM.

1:16 A.M. Okay, so if she was "on her way," as of 10:35 P.M., then where is she? Where is she?!

3:05 A.M. Still no sign. Rehea.r.s.ed telling her off. "I'm not your pet. I'm not some play toy! Also, how foolish could you be, involving a third party (and one of my former students, no less) in our seedy enterprise? Bea could have ruined everything. Good thing I was able to disguise my voice!" Etc., etc.

4:22 A.M. Stared at self in mirror. Facing corner of bathroom, I saw a succession of reflections, my reflection of my reflection, so that I didn't see one of me, I saw countless, endless identical shrinking mes.

5:01 A.M. Checked phone machine at home. Kept replaying the only message. Teddy's little voice. I was swimming, Dad. I was swimming.

KATE.

THE NEXT MORNING I TOOK THE BOYS DOWN TO THE WILDERNESS LODGE'S LOBBY, where we found Jeff and Darla huddled in the corner, reviewing the day's itinerary.

Darla chirped, "You thought yesterday was something, wait till you see what we've got planned-"

I walked right up to her, s.n.a.t.c.hed the itinerary from her hands, and told her how it was going to be.

"I don't get it," Darla said. "Are you worried they're having too much fun?"

"No," I said.

"Oh, I see," she said. "You want them to learn something."

"Not exactly," I said. That was when I turned to Jeff and said, "I just want them to see something real."

TIM.

TIMES I WANTED TO LEAVE: 5:02 A.M., 5:15 A.M., 5:52 A.M., 6:05 A.M., 6:36 A.M., 6:57 A.M., 7:10 A.M., 7:32-7:41 A.M., 8:01 A.M., and most every moment from that point on. But did I go? No, I stayed. I sat stuck in the cushy white chair. Apoplectic, but too tired to move. It was 9:47 A.M. when the room phone rang. Jolted out of my catatonia, I reached for the receiver. "h.e.l.lo?"