temperature. “I think your fever’s gone.”
He felt much better, he realized. Maybe the worst was over.
She climbed over him and got out of bed. “You lucked out,” she said. “It was one of those twenty-four-hour things.”
“I guess so,” he said.
She reached the bathroom and stopped, adding: “Change the sheets and get back into bed. You don’t wanna push it.”
“You’re right, though. I feel fine.”
“Never mind. Go to sleep. Nguyet can feed Puppy. I’ll leave a note for her.”
He drifted off in the damp sheets, sleeping for another three or four hours. When he woke, he heard Nguyet singing to Shawna in Vietnamese. Mary Ann’s foreskin forum was blaring away full tilt on the set in the kitchen.
He eased the Princess out of its cradle and punched Michael’s number. He answered with a breezy hello on the first ring.
“Let’s go somewhere,” he said, without identifying himself.
“Where?” asked Michael.
“Anywhere. I gotta get outa here, man.”
“Are you watching her show?”
“The maid is watching it,” said Brian.
“It’s too fabulous. A new low. I love it.”
“Michael …”
“You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“No.”
“You’re going to, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Soon. I gotta sort it all out first. Look, if we could just haul ass for a few days … go to Big Sur, the Mother Lode, whatever …”
“Just you and me?”
“Yeah.”
“Brian …”
“I won’t spend the whole time talking about it. I swear. I just need some company … some laughs.”
“Ten days, Brian.”
“Four, O.K.? Five. How’s that?”
“Are you feeling O.K.?”
“Sure. Fine. Never better.”
Michael paused, then asked: “How do you feel about the Russian River?”
“Great. What’s up? You know a place?”
“I think so,” said Michael. “A cabin in Cazadero. A friend said I could use it.”
“Yeah? And you wouldn’t mind … you know …?”
“Putting up with a dork like you?”
Brian laughed. “We’ve talked about doing this.”
“You’re right.”
“So let’s do it.”
“O.K.,” said Michael. “You got a deal.”
The Road to Wimminwood
T HEY WERE HEADING NORTH AT LAST, DOROTHEA AT the helm of the station wagon, DeDe in the navigator’s seat. The children were in back, burrowed in a warren built of camping gear, arguing bitterly over ownership of the Nerds. “Mom bought them for me,” Edgar declared. “She bought them for both of us,” said Anna. “Didn’t you, Mom?”
DeDe had heard enough of this. “Lay off me, you guys. I’m about to crack some heads back there.”
“Ooooh,” mugged Anna. “I’m really scared.”
“I mean it, Anna.”
“Well, Edgar ate all the Nerds, and you bought them for me.”
“I bought them for both of you.”
“Well, he ate all of them.”
“You bought them Nerds?” asked D’or.
“I told her she could have some,” said Edgar.
“You did not!” said Anna.
“What’s a Nerd?” asked D’or.
DeDe knew what was coming next. “Never mind,” she said.
“Let’s see the box.”
“D’or … don’t read to me, please. I know they’re disgusting.”
“ ‘Sucrose, dextrose, malic acid and/or citric acid …’ ”
“All right, D’or.”
“ ‘Artificial and natural flavors, yellow dye number five, and carnauba wax.’ Yum-yum … carnauba wax … one of my personal faves.”
DeDe let it go. There was no point in arguing with D’or when she was soapboxing about nutrition. DeDe addressed the children instead: “Can’t you guys just cool it? We’re almost there.”
“How much further?” asked Anna, always the stickler for details.
“Not much.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know, Anna. Less than an hour.”
“If we hate it, can we come home?”
“You won’t hate it,” D’or put in. “They’ve got a special duck pond just for kids.”
“Big deal,” said Anna.
“What’s blue and creamy?” asked Edgar.
“Shut up,” said Anna.
“And,” D’or added, still
He felt much better, he realized. Maybe the worst was over.
She climbed over him and got out of bed. “You lucked out,” she said. “It was one of those twenty-four-hour things.”
“I guess so,” he said.
She reached the bathroom and stopped, adding: “Change the sheets and get back into bed. You don’t wanna push it.”
“You’re right, though. I feel fine.”
“Never mind. Go to sleep. Nguyet can feed Puppy. I’ll leave a note for her.”
He drifted off in the damp sheets, sleeping for another three or four hours. When he woke, he heard Nguyet singing to Shawna in Vietnamese. Mary Ann’s foreskin forum was blaring away full tilt on the set in the kitchen.
He eased the Princess out of its cradle and punched Michael’s number. He answered with a breezy hello on the first ring.
“Let’s go somewhere,” he said, without identifying himself.
“Where?” asked Michael.
“Anywhere. I gotta get outa here, man.”
“Are you watching her show?”
“The maid is watching it,” said Brian.
“It’s too fabulous. A new low. I love it.”
“Michael …”
“You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“No.”
“You’re going to, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Soon. I gotta sort it all out first. Look, if we could just haul ass for a few days … go to Big Sur, the Mother Lode, whatever …”
“Just you and me?”
“Yeah.”
“Brian …”
“I won’t spend the whole time talking about it. I swear. I just need some company … some laughs.”
“Ten days, Brian.”
“Four, O.K.? Five. How’s that?”
“Are you feeling O.K.?”
“Sure. Fine. Never better.”
Michael paused, then asked: “How do you feel about the Russian River?”
“Great. What’s up? You know a place?”
“I think so,” said Michael. “A cabin in Cazadero. A friend said I could use it.”
“Yeah? And you wouldn’t mind … you know …?”
“Putting up with a dork like you?”
Brian laughed. “We’ve talked about doing this.”
“You’re right.”
“So let’s do it.”
“O.K.,” said Michael. “You got a deal.”
The Road to Wimminwood
T HEY WERE HEADING NORTH AT LAST, DOROTHEA AT the helm of the station wagon, DeDe in the navigator’s seat. The children were in back, burrowed in a warren built of camping gear, arguing bitterly over ownership of the Nerds. “Mom bought them for me,” Edgar declared. “She bought them for both of us,” said Anna. “Didn’t you, Mom?”
DeDe had heard enough of this. “Lay off me, you guys. I’m about to crack some heads back there.”
“Ooooh,” mugged Anna. “I’m really scared.”
“I mean it, Anna.”
“Well, Edgar ate all the Nerds, and you bought them for me.”
“I bought them for both of you.”
“Well, he ate all of them.”
“You bought them Nerds?” asked D’or.
“I told her she could have some,” said Edgar.
“You did not!” said Anna.
“What’s a Nerd?” asked D’or.
DeDe knew what was coming next. “Never mind,” she said.
“Let’s see the box.”
“D’or … don’t read to me, please. I know they’re disgusting.”
“ ‘Sucrose, dextrose, malic acid and/or citric acid …’ ”
“All right, D’or.”
“ ‘Artificial and natural flavors, yellow dye number five, and carnauba wax.’ Yum-yum … carnauba wax … one of my personal faves.”
DeDe let it go. There was no point in arguing with D’or when she was soapboxing about nutrition. DeDe addressed the children instead: “Can’t you guys just cool it? We’re almost there.”
“How much further?” asked Anna, always the stickler for details.
“Not much.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know, Anna. Less than an hour.”
“If we hate it, can we come home?”
“You won’t hate it,” D’or put in. “They’ve got a special duck pond just for kids.”
“Big deal,” said Anna.
“What’s blue and creamy?” asked Edgar.
“Shut up,” said Anna.
“And,” D’or added, still
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