There was a squeal as wide-faced, grinning Ida entered the fray as well. “Get Da!” she hollered, and set her fists to rooting against my abdomen. Ida was always ready to join in wild fun.
I fell to the floor with the two kids on top of me. I rapped on Tom’s shin hard enough to give him pause, and managed to squirm free, though Ida still hung onto one foot. Tom was just about to start back in on me when Ida sat up, looking puzzled.
“Who’s that screaming?”
It was Gretchen! I ran full tilt to the bedroom. Gretchen was clawing at the air, unsuccessfully trying to get the headset off. The desk monitor showed a voodoo blur of seething ants, and the skritchy ant sound percolated faintly out of the headset’s earphones. The ants completely blocked the view through the screen; they moved about in the self-similar patterns of turbulence-like the smoke of an explosion, like the florets of a cauliflower-three- dimensional patterns of fractal lace, dark patterns veined with thin dotted lines of color. There was no way to see in past the ants to wherever Gretchen had been when they’d come.
Despite Gretchen’s terror, the ant patterns were so fascinating that I decided not to turn off the machine. I pulled the headset and gloves off Gretchen and helped her out of the chair and onto my rumpled bed. She was shaking her head and moaning. Tom and Ida were at the bedroom door, looking terribly upset and worried.
“It’s okay, kids,” I called. “I was showing cyberspace to this lady and it made her feel sick.”
“She’s naked,” said Ida.
“It’s okay. Go down to the kitchen and get a snack. Everything’s okay.”
“Nothing’s okay,” yelled Ida. “I’m going to tell Ma!” She slammed my door shut.
Gretchen was curled up on her side, facing away from the sun porch and staring at the wall. She’d stopped sobbing and was taking low, steady breaths.
“What can I get you?”
“Get away from me,” she said quietly. “You creep. You sick creep.”
“I didn’t know the ants would come out at you,” I said. “I’m sorry it happened. It’s not my fault. I really like you, Gretchen, I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
Heartened by rage, she sat up and began to dress. “I ought to sue you,” she said. “And what are you doing bringing your kids in here to stare at me? Call me a cab.”
“I don’t think they have cabs in Los Perros, Gretchen. Let me drive you.”
“I want a cab, and I want cab fare. I want four hundred dollars.”
“Is it money you’re after? Is that why you came home with me? I hate to tell you, Gretchen, but all I have is a twenty.”
She took a lipstick and compact out of her purse and made up her mouth. “Then write me a check. And, no, I didn’t come up here for money, and I resent your implications. But after putting those sick bugs on me, you owe me something. How would you like it if I went to the police?”
“And told them what? That you got scared by something you saw on my computer?”
“No, Jerzy, what if I told them that you got your children to watch us being sexually intimate together? How do you think that would play?”
“Hey, come on now, don’t be ridiculous,” I said, meanwhile thinking Heeeelp!
If you get involved with any kind of charge combining sex and children in the courts, you’re totally screwed forever, especially in California. I needed to get Gretchen back on my side, but if I wrote her a check, I’d lose my deniability. Deniability; Christ, she had me thinking like a lawyer. All this hassle just to get laid? Maybe feely-blank love-dolls were the way to go. I signed and started talking.
“I won’t write you a check because, first of all, I’m not going to be blackmailed on bullshit charges, and, second of all, if I wrote a check it would bounce. I don’t get paid till Friday.” I hunkered down beside the bed to put my face at her level. “Be reasonable, honey. We like each other. Remember how good we made each other feel? Calm down, Gretchen, give me your phone number, and this weekend I’ll take you out wherever you want.”
“San Francisco?”
“No problem. We’ll get a room at the Mark Hopkins Hotel on Nob Hill. Shopping in Union Square, dinner at the Zuni Cafe, hit some rock clubs-it’ll be my pleasure, Gretchen. I like you!”
Abruptly she pushed her face forward and gave me a peck on the cheek. “I like you, too, Jerzy. But now take me back to the Roasting. I’m too embarrassed to stay here just now.”
So I ferried her back down the hill, she gave me her number, and I told her I’d call later in the week to fix our plans.
THREE
When I got home, the children came up from the kitchen.
“Okay,” I said to them. “So I had a girlfriend over.”
“You didn’t even introduce us,” said Ida.
“Her name is Gretchen. She was mad because I tried to show her cyberspace and it was full of ants. And then she was embarrassed because you saw her naked. Mommy has a boyfriend, doesn’t she? Why can’t I have a friend over?”
“I wish you and Ma would try to get back together,” said Tom softly.
“You shouldn’t feel like it’s your responsibility, Tom,” I told him. “If you feel responsible, you’ll make yourself unhappy.” I was starting to feel bad and sinful and dirty all over. “Did you children have a snack?”
“There’s nothing in the icebox but a half-empty bottle of wine,” said Ida bitterly.
“There’s sardines and crackers in the cupboard.”
“I think we’ll jam on over to Ma’s,” said Tom. “Before rush hour.”
“Well, okay. I’ve still got to figure out why cyberspace is full of ants. I promise I’ll have food for you tomorrow. And no naked women.“
“Of all the outrage,” said Ida half-jestingly, then giving a stagy sigh and shaking her head. “Our so-called father.” Her sad clowning showed that she still loved me. I hugged her and Tom and gave them each a kiss.
“I’m sorry about today. Things got mixed up about Gretchen. She’s really very nice. I might have a date with her this weekend.”
“Okay, Da,” said Tom. “Good luck getting rid of your ants!” They drove off in the old Honda. Tom’s car now.
I took the rest of the chardonnay out in the backyard and drank it; two glasses worth. It had taken me a while to get the hang of liking chardonnay. Chardonnay wasn’t fruity or tangy like the wines I’d had back East. It had a smoky, oily, metallic taste that bloomed at the base of your tongue. You only knew it was better than other wines because it cost more. After the second glass, I could feel the alcohol in my blood: relaxation, euphoria, increased circulation. It was the tail end of a nice spring day.
There had been some rain-for once-last week, and my yard had put forth a green carpet of cloverlike plants with yellow flowers. Before the rain, the ground had been cracked clay with a few lank yellow tufts, and now it was a fairyland. I’d used my computer data base to learn that the plants were called sorrel, just like our older daughter, Sorrel, a sophomore in college back East. The leaves of the sorrel plant are pleasantly sour if you chew them.
I started walking around the yard tasting things: nibbling buds off the bushes and trees. Our dog always used to eat grass in the spring. His name was Fluff; Ida had picked the name. When we moved to California, I consigned Fluff to the Humane Society so we could rent Mr. Nutt’s house. No pets allowed! Maybe if we’d kept Fluff and found a different house, Carol wouldn’t have left me.
Carol and I stayed married twenty-three years. During that time she often said she’d leave me as soon as she was self-supporting. I’d never believed her, but now she had her own job and she was gone, the bitch. She said I’d stopped loving her, and maybe I had.
Part of the problem was that I hacked too much, and part of the problem was that, over the years, Carol had turned into a couch potato. Nearly every night, she was asleep on the couch in front of our digital TV, so why shouldn’t I be with my computer? Daytimes weren’t so good either, because we never seemed to want to talk
