A Regular Guy (31 page)

When Noah arrived at the museum, it was apparent that Owens had made a mistake. The museum was indeed open to the public, and the public was here in full color.

“I’m Celeste,” a woman said, bending down to touch his wrist. “And you’re the scientist.” Owens must have told her he was in a chair. She had blunt blond hair that tapped her chin and bright-orange stockings, striking on a woman of fifty. Noah had noted from his window that good legs didn’t age. She had on a gorgeous raincoat, loose, with folds.

Owens arrived fifteen minutes late. By then, Celeste had run into three people she knew.

Noah decided, uncharacteristically, to rent the headset tour.

A classful of parochial school children in brown-and-white uniforms filled the first room of the exhibition.

“Not bad,” Owens said, looking at an early still life.

“I’d buy it if I saw it in a flea market,” Celeste said, laughing.

Noah went slowly, listening to the tape’s long explanations and reading the paragraphs stenciled on the wall.

“I don’t really like this Fauvist stuff,” Celeste said, drifting to the center.

Owens loped back to Noah. “I don’t think it’s his best work, but he’s pretty great.”

“I can’t stand seeing pictures with so many people around,” Celeste said.

“You know that Matisse I bought that’s in the museum now?” Owens said. “For example, I think that’s much more beautiful than these.” Owens often went to see his painting. Twice, he’d been there when groups of schoolchildren like this one trooped through. “I should set up a little fund for buses to take underprivileged kids to see it.” Sometimes, when everyone seemed mad at him and his life was crossed with complication and dismay, he remembered the painting in the museum. That was at least one thing he had done in his life. He thought, for a moment, it was how a woman might feel when she left behind a child; he hoped his mother had felt this way about him. He wished she could have known that he would be all right. I’ll ask Eliot about her again sometime, he told himself.

Celeste met them at the threshold of the next gallery, fingering her scarf. “I’m going. I’m getting frazzled. Too many people.”

Noah half expected Owens to defect too, but he stayed. He ranged ahead and then fell back, and the two men found each other in the final room, with paper cutouts. It had taken stamina to finish, but before leaving the galleries they lingered before huge photographs of Matisse as an old man in beach hotels, drawing from his bed, with a charcoal pencil attached to the tip of a pointer.

“That’s probably when it gets really happy,” Noah said.

They waited in line for their coats, behind the uniformed children. The teacher used a whistle to get their attention.

“This make you think of Jane?” Noah said.

Owens smiled. “I sure hate uniforms. And that whistle. As if they’re circus animals.”

Moist winds skirted up outside, and it felt good to sit amidst the taller, milling crowd.

“I’m glad we saw that,” Noah said. “I’m glad we stayed.” All his impatience with Owens was rinsed away by the lifetime of a man’s work. Noah felt that he would never regret this life of trying, whether he succeeded or failed, because there was no other life.

“I am too,” Owens said.

“People and all.”

“People and all.”

They were middle-class kids, Noah thought, for whom the public parks and museums were built. Maybe the Celestes of the world lost out when private collections were ceded to museums, but for Noah and Owens it was all gain. He’d read articles about the decline of quality, articles with titles like “The Cost of Progress,” which pitted poor workmanship against the proliferation of state colleges and penicillin. Noah generally hated the rich on principle. But today he exempted Owens. Even if his work at the lab amounted to nothing, Owens respected him and shared his awe and reverence for biology. In a way they’d never talked about, Owens seemed to comprehend his bravery. No matter what, Noah still would have had afternoons like this, when he felt he knew how to live.

“She’s pretty East Coast, Celeste, even though she’s here,” Owens said, standing in the rain. Noah handed up his umbrella, and Owens held it over them both.

“Do you ever doubt what you do?” Noah asked.

“You mean, do I wish I were an artist?” That wasn’t what Noah meant, but Owens continued after a brief pause. “I feel like what I do is the place where art and science intersect. Maybe we are artists, Noah, but we’re expressing our art in different ways.”

“I think it’s a one-way analogy. Artists aren’t comparing themselves to us.”

“You never know,” Owens said.

Noah was thinking about what could be owned. What mattered most—knowledge, paintings, children—should never be owned. Could only be destroyed by owning.

“Do you know a really good restaurant around here that would make steamed vegetables?”

“No, on both counts,” Noah said.

“Let’s just go to Stars.”

“We can take the van.”

Owens lifted his hand for a taxi. “It’s raining.”

Noah hefted himself into the cab’s back seat, folding his chair for Owens to put in front. He had something to talk about, and he didn’t know how to start. Jane wanted to go to school. She was sick of the tutors and wanted to be with other kids. How hard could that be to understand? But a lot of things that seemed totally normal in any other context were difficult to talk about with Owens. He kept his own rules, irrelevant to the general referendum. Weird, Noah thought again to himself, that the guy thinks of politics. For Jane, Noah had gone to see the old ladies. He’d expected a delicate conversation, but halfway in, Ruby said, “We couldn’t agree with you more. A girl her age needs society.” He decided to wait until they arrived at the restaurant to bring up the subject. It took them a good ten minutes to be settled at a table; in the rain, Noah had to get into his chair again, then there were four steps and no one to help Owens carry him. Once inside, the restaurant table banged Noah’s knees. Many people were afraid to eat meat in front of Owens, but Noah ordered a two-pound steak and a Scotch. Owens just raised his eyebrows.

“How’s your schools program going?” Noah asked.

“Well, the dairy lobby’s calmed down some. I really have to make the time and look into it. I’ve been pretty busy with Exodus.”

“You should take Jane,” Noah said.

“What, for a consumer’s perspective?”

“She wants to go to school. I’m sure it’s really just kids she misses. Parties and all that.”

Their food came, and Owens was silent. Noah started sawing his steak.

“You really like that stuff?” Owens said.

“Mmhmm.”

“Why?”

“Tastes good,” Noah said. When you disagreed with Owens, he’d sort of leave you where you were and go off. He was still sitting with Noah, but his eyes weren’t there. They followed different women as they treaded vertically through the room.

“I know Jane’d like to attend school,” he finally said. “There’s no question there. And she will, eventually. But”—he paused—“you’ll find if you’re ever a parent—and I think you probably will be, Noah—there’s a lot of things kids want that aren’t good for them.”

“But school? You went. I went.”

“Yeah, that’s her argument too. But we went because we didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t necessarily the best thing for us.”

“She doesn’t have a choice either. And she’s isolated. She needs other kids.”

“I agree that Jane should have friends. And I’ve actually been giving that a lot of thought. An old friend of mine has a daughter. And I’m going to take Jane over to their house for dinner.”

“You really won’t send her to school?”

“I will when I find the right school. But for now, she’s doing great with the tutors. She’s a great kid.” He shrugged. “It’s not broken.”

“Well, you’re her dad,” Noah said, understanding that this time he’d failed.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m beginning to think I’m different from other people.”

“We all do.”

“But I really am.”

“No, that’s what I mean. You are.”

“Much as I love Olivia—and I love her a lot—I feel I have a responsibility to people at Exodus.” He sounded tired. “My parents, when they began to understand I was different, they never tried to
stop me. And I guess that’s what family means to me. Do you ever feel like that? That you sacrifice for what you do, and you might even have to ask a loved one to sacrifice too?”

“I think you’re more confident than I am.”

“But you know you’re a good scientist.”

“I know I have something inside, but I’m not sure I can get it out.” There, he’d admitted it. It was so hard to say those things to Owens. “I’ll never have the kind of confidence you do. I didn’t have the life for it.”

Owens looked down, perplexed. “Have you met anyone?”

“Not really.”

“Come on, Noah. I tell you everything. Do you like somebody?”

“It’s unrequited.”

“So who is it? Come on, I’ll never meet her anyway.”

“Well, you have met her. It’s Louise.”

“Really? With the …” His hand moved near his head, then he yanked it down. “Oh, I bet she really likes you.”

Because of her hair, he meant. Owens figured she couldn’t do better. Better than me. “She doesn’t. I’m quite sure.” Noah cut one last piece of steak and began to chew it.

The waiter came and lifted Owens’ plate away. Noah motioned with his knife to indicate he was still eating. Then he looked at Owens. “Have you ever fallen in love with a woman who didn’t go for you?”

The question was a little mean, but Owens didn’t seem to get it. “Let me see,” he said, sincerely scanning the ranks. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve been … fortunate with women.”

“You’ve been fortunate in general,” Noah said.

“Well, we need some luck for Exodus now.”

That was true, and Noah knew it. Everyone knew Exodus was in trouble.

Owens loped to his car, the jangly colored lights of Chinatown smearing on the dark rain-slicked street. He’d had Noah’s taxi leave him off, and the wind was riling his hair. He’s probably wondering how I can be in love with a woman who has gray hair, and thinking he could never be, Noah imagined, watching the meter, as the taxi sped to the
van. Owens, typical of a rich person, had paid for dinner and was letting him pick up the cab. Noah was sure, in Owens’ mind, the generosity was all his. But the meter showed eighteen dollars already, and if Noah’d had his way they would have gone for pizza and eighteen dollars would have covered them both…. And she was not gray, she was silver. Her skin was a pale white with pink in it. Her teeth were perfect, like even white corn.

Back in Alta, Owens drove directly to the bungalow. When he’d called for his messages from the restaurant, there were two from Mary, both urgent.

It was about Jane. Some social worker in a pink suit and purse had come knocking on the bungalow door in the rain. Apparently, Jane had cried to the old-lady tutors. They’d called the Social Services Department and had a long and spirited discussion with the caseworker who’d answered the phone. “We’re right in the middle,” they kept saying. And so maybe it was time for Jane to go to school.

Mary had been glad to have an emergency to call him about.

Jane was already asleep. On her bedroom door, she had a drawing with the caption
Jane’s DNA
. In a balloon, it said, “I hate pictures of myself.”

“Aw,” Owens said. “That’s really nice.”

“It is.” Mary sighed. “He gave her a microscope set too.”

Owens thought it was good that Jane knew someone like Noah. How many kids knew a scientist?

Mary made tea, and for once things seemed easy between them. A candle was burning, and she’d washed her hair. Something in his manner gave her permission to laugh.

She was thirty now, he was thinking to himself, and had pretty much lost her looks. Women seemed to him to have a half-life of about twenty-eight years. After that, they became something else. Mothers maybe.

“I saw Noah today. You know, I get the feeling he’s a virgin.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but it’s the kind of thing men can tell with each other.” He
lifted his eyebrows the way he always did when he was asking for something, and he looked straight at her for the first time in years.

She glanced down and giggled. It felt good to be seen.

“Some woman could do a really great thing just sleeping with him once. Just think what you’d be giving him.”

Then the upper lip that had so pliantly spread in laughter became tight and uneven. “Stop trying to pimp me, you monster,” she snarled. “Fuck him yourself”—words so ugly that Owens stood up, lifting his palms, backing off, saying, “Okay, okay. I just thought you could do a really good turn, that’s all.”

Money

J
ane played the white answering machine in Owens’ kitchen, to which she and her mother had once entrusted so many important messages. Bob Shepard had left a halting invitation about some people coming over for dinner. Jane reminded Owens that at the funeral he’d said he would go. Owens accepted with enthusiasm and marked the date clearly on his calendar. He also put a reminder into his computer. Owens had missed enough appointments in his life to doubt his ability to remember.