They were standing by the open cabana on the patio side of her California hacienda, looking at the swimming pool as Danny said, "Wait, you're about to see it." She turned, shading her eyes to look at the sun, and brought her gaze back to the pool. "Watch the water. The sun hits it at just the right angle and there's something spooky about it and yet you want to dive in. There! Watch the pool, the way the sun takes its last look and seems to lie there, dark all around before it seems to sink in the water and I start to shiver. Look, I'm shivering right now."
Or putting it on.
"Can you cry when you want? I mean acting." "I'm not good at crying when I'm overwhelmed with happiness. I have the happy crying scenes rewritten. I told the director
I'm a tough born-again but can show little hints that I'm moved by what's happening to me. It's fun." She said, "Last night I took a dip with the pool lights off."
With only the moon, Foley thought, lighting the scene.
"With a dreary moon, dark clouds passing in front. What do you think sneaked into my mind?"
What if Peter is here? Foley thought.
"What if Peter is here?" Danny said. "Dawn believes his spirit is still in the house, or someone's spirit. Her manner put me off, the way she judges you with that condescending tone. But I believe most of what she told me. You saw the rocking chair."
"What I do," Foley said, "is not think about it."
"But I live here with it."
"Give it away. Or, if you want, I'll bring a smudge pot the next time I come. Dawn swears it'll run any spirits hanging around. Or, she said if you stand up to the ghost you can get rid of him. Tell him to get out, you have a new life about to begin."
She said, "Do I?" unwrapping the towel, ran to the pool and dove in.
The scene from a number of movies: the girl says the line and runs out to dive in the ocean, not a swimming pool, and the guy either waits or goes after her. Foley, with some reluctance, followed her, did a nice flat dive from a run and scraped the bottom of the shallow end. He did a few underwater strokes and came up to stand with his chin above the surface. Danny, floating in the deep end with effortless moves, said, "Why don't you come and talk to me?"
Foley didn't believe he could talk and tread water at the same time. He was honest about it and said, "I'm not much of a swimmer. I think because where I've been lately they don't have pools."
"But you like to dive," Danny said, "and jump off high places, don't you?" She seemed to know that, not waiting for an answer, and said, "Peter and I didn't care much for diving, why there isn't a board. He'd swim a few lengths to relax, come out of the pool and say, 'There. I can read the fucking script now without tearing it apart.' " Danny smiling now. "He meant ripping it up with his hands."
"You ever see him do it?"
"No, he was reminding himself he had to be tough. He had no patience with screenwriters who tried to make scene descriptions sound literary. Peter called them 'Look-at-me-writing' scripts. He'd say, 'Now look at the Coen brothers screenplay of No Country for Old Men. It's spare but it's all there, without one extra word.' He'd allow the studio to give him predictable stories like Born Again, and he'd put his writer and DP on it and come up with scenes you'd swear were for a documentary. Peter loved realism, and Terry Malick. Days of Heaven was Peter's favorite picture."
She said, "I'm serious about his ghost in the house. Or whoever it is." She said, "But not serious enough to do anything about it. Aren't you tired of talking about ghosts?"
They came out of the pool and she said, "Don't move. I'm going to take off my suit and put on a robe. Are you all right? Help yourself to the bar in the cabana. I'll get some dry undies. New ones," she said, "still in the package. I remember buying them for Peter."
He said, "You're kidding, aren't you."
She paused before saying, "If you don't want to wear them, don't."
Foley sat on the patio smoking a cigarette. Not anxious to show off in her husband's underwear. He realized he should never've told her she had a new life about to begin. She said, "Do I?" in a coy way, because she knew it was her line. "Do I?" Playing the part. But that could be all it was, a reaction.
She could be feeling Peter's presence, not as a ghost but on her mind and she wasn't ready to let go of him, whether she knew it or not.
Foley believed he could make the premoves and if she softened her eyes it was okay, they'd keep going and in time they'd be acting like they were in love or on their way. Giving it a try because they were comfortable with each other.
Or, she was already into her new life; she could do what she wants and not hold back. It came down to does she or doesn't she.
He believed Peter's underwear could be the key, if he put them on and they didn't fit or they looked funny.
Or, she might not even bring them.
He was patient. Waiting, wondering if Dawn had fixed the little guy something Cuban, one of his favorites, though he wouldn't bet money on it.
He looked up to see Danny in her bathrobe coming out of the cabana with a pair of men's white underwear in her hand.
TWENTY-THREE
DAWN WATCHED TICO SETTING THE OVAL TABLE IN THE DINing room, a chair with arms at each end, a chair without arms on each side, white linen covering the table.
"You can seat ten people here," Tico said, "even twelve. Four people like this are too far apart from each other."
"It's the way I want it," Dawn said.
"What if Foley comes?"
"He does, he's losing his touch."
"He comes he can take my seat. I be in the kitchen but keeping an eye on Cundo, the other end of the table."
"From the kitchen," Dawn said, "you'll be looking at his back. Cundo always sits facing the room. You could watch from only a few feet behind him. But remember, after you place the platter on the table and remove the cover, stand to one side. Don't go back to the kitchen, I may need you."
"Yes, I see that-he don't like what you tell him. Where did you put my pistol?"
"You won't need it," Dawn said. "If he goes bananas hit him with something, a frying pan. I'm hoping he behaves himself." She said, "The other thing, what about Little Jimmy's driver?"
"You want to feed him?"
"I want to know where he'll be. Does Zorro stay in the car?" "I don't know," Tico said. "Maybe he sleeps, maybe likes to walk around."
"But he has to stay close," Dawn said, "in case Little Jimmy wants him."
"Or he's ready to go home," Tico said. "What is it worries you?"
"Nothing," Dawn said, "but I hate surprises."
Foley's bottle of Old No. 7 was on the kitchen table. If Dawn had a glass or two of bourbon she didn't show it. She was always cool.
Cundo stepped out of the shower to see Tico waiting for him with a tall drink that looked like a collins, decorated with a cherry on top. Cundo took most of it in three swallows, a collins made of bourbon, and told Tico to get him another one of these, he was dying of thirst. He shaved around the tuft of hair beneath his lower lip he had grown in the past few days. He was thinking of growing a beard but held off because of all the gray bristles he shaved from his jaw. He liked his soul patch, it was dark.