“Sounds good. I'll bring the wine,” Mark volunteered. He showed up an hour later with a bottle of very decent cabernet, and they sat on Jimmy's terrace and talked about life, sports, their jobs, Mark's kids, and the ones Jimmy wished he'd had, and might someday, and they talked as little as possible about their wives. It was still too painful for both of them. Mark admitted that he was reluctant to start dating again, and Jimmy wondered if he ever would. For the moment, he doubted it, but at thirty-three that was a tough decision to make. They both agreed they were just going to drift for a while. And eventually their conversation extended to Coop, what they both thought he was like, who he really was, if anyone. Jimmy had a theory that if you led the Hollywood life for as long as he had, it eventually corroded your reality. It certainly seemed like a plausible theory about Coop, from what they'd both read about him.
At that exact moment, as they sat on Jimmy's patio, Coop was at the main house, in bed with Charlene. She was a veritable smorgasbord sexually, and he had done things with her that he hadn't even thought of in years. It made him feel young again, and challenged, and amused. She had a kittenish quality, which titillated him, and then a moment later, she was a fierce lioness, defying him to conquer her. She kept him busy for most of the night. And the next morning, she sneaked downstairs to cook breakfast for him. She was going to surprise him with a wonderful breakfast, and then make love to him again. She was standing in the kitchen wearing nothing but a thong, and a pair of red satin platform high heels, when she heard a lock turn and a door open, and she turned around to see Mark standing in Coop's kitchen in his underwear, with his blond hair tousled. He looked like a sleepy eighteen-year-old kid, as she stood there without apology or any attempt to cover herself, and just grinned.
“Hi, I'm Charlene,” she said, as though she'd been wearing a dressing gown and fluffy slippers. He couldn't even see her face, he was so overwhelmed by her enormous breasts, the thong, and her endless legs. It took him a full minute to find her face.
“Ohmygod… I'm so sorry…. Paloma told me Coop never uses his kitchen on the weekends… my stove doesn't work and the espresso machine is broken… I was just going to make a cup of coffee…she gave me the key….” He was practically stuttering, and Charlene didn't look the least upset. More than anything, she seemed friendly and amused.
“I'll make you a cup of coffee. Coop is asleep.” Mark suspected she was probably an actress or a model Coop had brought home, or a girlfriend of his. He'd seen a blonde with him weeks before, and Mark didn't know who either of them was. Sexual talent in some form or other he assumed.
“No, really, I'll go I'm terribly sorry….” She just stood there, smiling at him, with her breasts practically in his face.
“It's okay.” She didn't seem the least bothered to be standing naked in front of him. And if it hadn't been so embarrassing he would have laughed at the scene. He felt completely inept standing in front of her, and while he continued to look mortified, she made him a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Are you the tenant?” she asked comfortably, as he held the steaming cup, trying to retreat.
“Yes, I am.” Who else would he be? A cat burglar? A stranger off the street? “I won't come in here again. I'll buy a new coffee machine. Maybe it's best if you don't tell Coop,” he said nervously. She was a stunning-looking girl.
“Okay,” she said amiably, as she took out a container of orange juice and poured a glass for Coop, and then she glanced at Mark before he left. “Do you want orange juice?”
“No, thanks… really. I'm fine. Thanks for the coffee,” he said, and disappeared as quickly as he could. He locked the door to the main house again, and then stood grinning in the hallway off his living room where the communicating door was. He couldn't believe the scene he'd just been in. It was like something in a very bad movie. But she sure had one hell of a figure, and incredibly long raven-black hair.
He was still laughing to himself, and the scene seemed to get funnier as he thought about it. And once he was dressed, he couldn't resist walking up to the gatehouse to tell Jimmy. He had already vowed to himself he was going out to buy a new coffee machine that afternoon.
Jimmy was sitting on the patio, drinking a mug of coffee and reading the newspaper, when he looked up and saw Mark grinning at him. He smiled easily, and Mark looked unable to contain his amusement.
“You will never guess where I had coffee this morning, or with whom.”
“Probably not, but from the look on your face, it must have been good.” Mark told him about Paloma and the key, the broken stove and the coffee machine, and that he had walked in on Charlene, standing virtually naked, wearing a G-string and a pair of platform shoes, looking totally unembarrassed as she made coffee for him.
“It was like a scene in a movie. Christ, imagine if I'd run into him. I'd probably have gotten evicted.”
“Or worse.” But Jimmy was grinning too. It was the funniest vision, imagining Mark in his underwear, with a naked woman serving him coffee.
“She offered me orange juice too. But I figured I was pushing my luck, staying another minute.”
“Do you want another cup of coffee, though I'll admit, the service is a little more mundane here.”
“Yeah, sure.” They were like the two new kids on the block who had found each other, and their circumstances were sufficiently similar to form a bond between them. And there was something easy and pleasant about being neighbors. They both had their own friends and lives, but they had both been avoiding their own circles lately. Their tragedies had set them apart, and made them feel awkward even with their closest friends. They had isolated themselves, and now they had each found a partner in their isolation. It was far easier than being with the people who knew them when they were married. It was like starting with a clean slate, even though they had shared their stories. But their old friends' pity was sometimes hard to take.
Mark went back to his place half an hour later. He had brought some work home from the office. But they met up again at the pool later that afternoon. Mark had bought himself a new coffee machine, and Jimmy had finished unpacking by then. He had put up half a dozen pictures of Maggie in key locations. Oddly enough, it made him feel less lonely if he could see her face. Sometimes, late at night, he was terrified he'd forget how she looked.
“Did you get your work done?” Jimmy asked Mark comfortably from a lounge chair.
“Yeah,” Mark smiled at him, “and I bought a new coffee machine. I'm going to give that key back to Paloma in the morning. I'll never do that again.” The vision of Charlene in her thong still made him smile.
“Would you have expected less of him?” Jimmy asked, referring to their landlord.
“Probably not. I just didn't expect front-row seats to his sex life.”
“I suspect that would keep you pretty busy.” Jimmy looked as amused as he did, and they were chatting quietly half an hour later, when they both heard a gate creak open and slam shut, and a moment later, there was a tall man with silver hair, smiling at them. He was wearing jeans and a perfectly pressed white shirt, no socks, and brown alligator loafers. He was a vision of perfection, and they both jumped like two kids who had been caught doing something they shouldn't. In fact, they had both been given access to the pool, and the only reason Coop had come out was to meet them. He had seen them from his terrace. Charlene was upstairs, in the shower, washing her hair.
“Don't let me disturb you. I just thought I'd come down and say hello. As long as you're my guests, I wanted to meet you.” They both had the same feeling of amusement to be called his “guests.” For ten thousand a month, they were not his “guests,” but his tenants. “Hello, I'm Cooper Winslow,” he said with a stunning smile, as he shook hands first with Jimmy and then Mark. “Which of you lives where? Did you know each other before?” He was curious about them, as they were about him.