Raising Jake Part 10

I'm glad we're in the park, walking on gra.s.s instead of pavement. In case one of us faints dead away from something the other says or asks, the injuries won't be too bad.

"Since when do you look through your mother's things?"

"I don't, usually. I had an impulse, and I followed it."

"What kind of impulse?"

"An impulse to know the truth."

"Jake. I just had one of those impulses myself."

"What about?"

"Well, your essay."

He rolls his eyes. "Are we still talking about my essay?"

"Just one thing about it. The bit where you said the right college was to the process what the o.r.g.a.s.m is to the s.e.x act."

"Did you like that line?"

"Very much, but I couldn't help wondering."

"Wondering what?"

"Wondering how you were able to write such a line with such...authority."

"You trying to ask me if I've been laid, Dad?"

"Yes, I...yes. That would sum it up nicely, in fact."

Our strides are just about identical as we plow westward, ever westward. Two joggers go panting past us, and the air is ripe with the lingering smell of hot dogs and pretzels, a smell that blends beautifully with the woodsy odors of nature that come alive in the park at the day's end.

Our feet are all but silent on the gra.s.s. The only sound is the distant wail of an ambulance, a sound that is to my son what the cry of an owl is to children growing up in the country.

When the sound of the ambulance fades to a whine he says softly, almost to himself, "I never slept with Sarah. But I had s.e.x with Maya."

I'm about to press for details, but it seems that I'm supposed to know who Maya is. Suddenly it hits me, and I have to stop walking and put my hands on my knees to keep from falling.

"Maya the cleaning lady!"

"One and the same."

"Holy G.o.d."

"Take it easy, Father."

"Holy s.h.i.+t!" s.h.i.+t!"

"Dad. Please."

"You had s.e.x with Maya?" Maya?"

"Only once."

Maya the cleaning lady was a Czechoslovakian immigrant Doris had hired to iron clothes, wash windows, and swab the decks. When Jake was a toddler she was probably nineteen, maybe twenty, a slender, square-faced, flat-bellied girl who dreamed of becoming a fas.h.i.+on designer. While she worked toward that dream she toiled cleaning houses, and one of the sweetest things about Maya was the way she treated Jake. She squeezed his cheeks and tickled his ribs whenever she saw him, and even gave him a little feather duster so he could feel useful, following her around.

"My little helper!" she'd exclaim while hoisting him in the air, and then she'd rub noses with him in a way that made Jake giggle and made Maya's honey-blond ponytail flick from side to side like a horse's tail. When I saw that I couldn't help wondering what it might be like to grab that ponytail and ride Maya from behind, but I wasn't stupid enough to try and jump the cleaning lady. She remained a sweet fantasy, right up until this day my son speaks of her as a bittersweet reality.

Not bittersweet, exactly, but there's something sadly matter-of-fact about his tone of voice. Jake isn't ashamed of himself, but he isn't proud of himself, either. He's just telling me what's what, and only because I asked. And I'm not quite through asking.

"When?"

"A couple of months ago."

"Where?"

"In my room."

This staggers me. "In the middle of the day? What the h.e.l.l were you doing home?"

"Teachers' conference. No school that day."

f.u.c.king private schools, using any excuse to close the place! "Does your mother know?"

"Not unless Maya told her."

I wonder what Doris would think about it. She's a liberal, but she might not be this liberal. And the idea of her son f.u.c.king a grown woman who hasn't been to college could put Doris into a coma.

"Did she make the first move?"

Jake sighs. "Does it really matter, Dad? She'd just been dumped by her boyfriend. She was upset. I saw her crying, and I asked her what was wrong. We got to talking, and it just kind of...happened."

"Just the once?"

"Uh-huh."

"Was it awkward afterwards?"

"Not really. She put her clothes back on and waxed the kitchen floor. A true professional."

"Did you use a condom?"

"Of course!"

"You had them?"

"She did."

"Then it didn't just happen, happen, Jake. A cleaning lady doesn't carry condoms. It's not something she packs up with the Ajax and the Lemon Pledge. She Jake. A cleaning lady doesn't carry condoms. It's not something she packs up with the Ajax and the Lemon Pledge. She planned planned this thing." this thing."

"I honestly don't know if Maya is smart enough to plan something like that."

"Never underestimate a female."

Jake laughs, shakes his head. "Mom says you're a misogynist. Maybe she's right."

"Your mother calls me a misogynist?"

"Only when your name comes up."

"I do not hate women. I just believe a man should do all he can to defend himself against their wily, cunning ways."

"If Maya were wily and cunning, would she still be a cleaning lady?"

"All right, all right. I take it all back. She's a wonderful person who broke you in as nicely as it can be done."

"That's exactly right, Dad. She's also a lonely woman who needed to be held, and I was there to do it, and glad to do it."

I'm stunned by both his loyalty and his maturity, not to mention his next question.

"What was your your first time like, Dad?" first time like, Dad?"

"Terrifying and humiliating."

"Sorry to hear that."

"She was an older woman. She pretty much took me by the hand and had her way with me."

"It wasn't pleasant?"

"We both had our teeth clenched, as I recall. That's never a good sign."

"What was her name?"

"Fran. Short for Francine, I think, but I don't know for sure."

"She still alive?"

"How the h.e.l.l should I know? It was a long time ago, right after..."

"Right after what?"

"After my mother died."

It's the first time I've connected my my first time with my mother's death-out loud, anyway. Maybe my first no-hands s.e.xual experience was an act of despair. first time with my mother's death-out loud, anyway. Maybe my first no-hands s.e.xual experience was an act of despair.

Jake stares at me with sympathetic eyes. "Was this back in your old neighborhood in Queens?"

"Yes, it was. She was what was known in those days as a 'divorcee.' Her husband had their kids for the weekend, and she came into Charlie's Bar for a drink, and I was there. To borrow a phrase from you, it just kind of...happened."

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen. Same as you."

"You were drinking in a bar when you were seventeen?"

"The legal age was eighteen back then, and I looked older than I was. And Charlie's Bar was a real dive, a bucket of blood. They served anybody who was old enough to walk in."

"How old was the woman?"

"I don't remember."

"Dad. Are we talking to each other, or not?"

"Thirty-three, maybe thirty-four."

"Holy s.h.i.+t, Dad! That's like the age gap between me and Maya! History really does repeat itself, doesn't it?"

"Not exactly. See, Fran was a barracuda. Maya is sweet. Maya used to carry you around on her shoulders when you were little. Do you remember that?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, I remember it distinctly. I was always amazed by how strong she was, a girl that slim."

"She's not slim anymore."

Oddly, weirdly, ridiculously, I feel my heart sink. "Maya's not slim?"

Jake shakes his head. "She's pretty stocky, Dad."

"You're kidding me."

"Her face is beautiful, though. She's kind."

"I can't believe she got fat."

Jake's face darkens. "Hey. Don't call her fat. I never said she was fat."

"I'm sorry! I'm just a little blown away by this! The last time I saw Maya she was as slim as a runway model!"

"Yeah, well, you've been away a long time, Dad."

All I can do is look at him. Yes, indeed, I have have been away for a long, long time. I'm close enough to hear the whistle of breath through Jake's nostrils, but a canyon separates us. been away for a long, long time. I'm close enough to hear the whistle of breath through Jake's nostrils, but a canyon separates us.

Suddenly the sun is gone. A s.h.i.+ver goes through me. We pick up our pace, as if to warm up against the sudden chill.

"I a.s.sume Maya never made it as a fas.h.i.+on designer."