Christine Schutt - Pure Hollywood: And Other Stories

How disappointing it was to wake intact and far away from the matchstick aftermath of the extinguished fires, thready smoke rising from piles that had been homes, the famous modern house not among them.

Mimi? he asked quietly, driving up a slight incline and into a space still hers, everything, all of it: a modern house shaped like slung plates, no corners, different heights. What do they think this place is worth? he asked, still whispering so as not to disturbwhat? There was only the house.

Whats it worth? Its like living in a great fucking painting is what it is. The place is priceless. The house was not that much cooler than the car, and Mimi went through it and opened windows and the sliding door to the terrace. I know Im letting in hot air, she said, but I hate things shut. She moved off to the kitchen and offered Stetson a drink.

What are you doing? he asked as he found and filled two glasses with ice.

Im taking off my clothes, she said. They smell of smoke. I should go ahead and burn them. Off came her shell and the wavy pants that shivered down the chair rail as fast as she threw them. Underneath she wore what looked like string. There wasnt much to her.

Fuck, Stetson said. His shirt was off, his pants, his shoes. He sniffed his arm. My arm stinks. He put his arm up to his sisters nose. What is that?

Pickles? she offered. What did you have for lunch?

He sniffed his other arm. Nothing.

All the pleasure to be had in looking at Stetson but Mimi had married Arnold Fine, ugly as an anvil, Arnie, and driven her brother away. Less than a month ago her husband stepped into the pool and died. Age sixty-nine, heart attackhappened fast and what happened after came on faster: the ambulance, the body bag, the funeral home, the furnace. He was ashes in a matter of minutes.

Mimi poured vodka into her glass. Tonic, she pointed to the counter, and theres Perrier.

Tap was okay with Stetson but did she have any food?

How can you be hungry! Smell your arm, she said.

Wearing pointy mules, Mimi walked onto the terrace to a Hockney scene, only not so blue, more green. The lounge chairs were rightly low and wide, hewn from wood that would outlast them, but the pool? Mimi said, The pools a swampy squiggle, Im afraid, decorative. What do you think its worth? she asked and watched him assess the place. This is like old times, Mimi said, and walked into the water to her waist.

Youre tempting me, he said. How do you insure a priceless place?

You dont. For a time she stared at the house, then walked out of the pool and took up her glass and banged the cubes against her teeth, chewed ice.

She adjusted her strings, distracted by leaves wooden in the wind. If only the wind werent so hot.

Is there someone here? Stetson asked.

The gardener? A gardener seemed to have come with the house, a man not so new as ignored. The gardener had a leaf blower. The plants werent a problem but the grotesque tree shed. Brown leaves, long as shoes, got shuffled around the walkways until the nameless gardener came to blow them out of sight. They disappeared, just as the gardener disappeared, week to week. Sometimes Mimi heard the hacking cough of his truck; sometimes, his blower. Today she had heard nothing; there was nothing much to blow away; nothing dead in the pool, but the slack hose jumped, distended, and withdrew around the house, followed by the sound of water. It had to be the gardener.

Mimi went to see and, yes, it was the gardener misting the front of the house. He had nodded at her. What was wrong with him? Didnt he read the papers? Someonenot Mimi, not todaywould have to tell him there was no more work here. She walked back to Stetson, enjoying the katack-katack of her shoes against the stone terrace, a sound both slutty and indulgent, right out of the movies, but wasnt Mimi right out of the movies? She was pretty enougheveryone said.

Does this really feel like home to you? he asked.

Yes, she said and she adjusted the chair to lie flat, eyes closed, given over to the liquidy heat lapping her pale body.

We werent married long enough for anyone to believe I loved Arnie, she said, but I did. He made me laugh. Honestly. Arent you hot? she sat up, wiped her eyes, and walked into the pool. Come in with me. The waters cold, but you get used to it.

If his sister was thin, he was thin, too, jailbird-sickly with his arms held up as he waded in, testing. The pool was not very deep, which might explain the slightly yellow color of the water, and the sky, too, was a creepy kind of yellow, a spreading dread.

Do you think she began and didnt finish. She said, The gardeners hosing down the house.

Whens the last time this pool was cleaned? Stetson treaded water and looked around him. Just the color, he said, which, along with slimy tiles, was sickening, and he did his swimming, such as it was, in the middle. He dived under; he made a few strokes down and back. Only the tiles along the ledge of the pool seemed unclean, and he avoided the ledge until the last minute when he lifted himself out.

Hey, she said, wherere you going?

Inside.

In the kitchen, he refilled his glass and drank enough to fill it again before he set it on the counter. His medicine made him thirsty. Mimi came up from behind him and he flinched at her touch.