The Private Lives of Pippa Lee Read Free Page A

liked it.’ Pippa tried to shrug off the unwelcome mix of dread and kinship she felt with this person.
    The oriole flew off. Pippa moved the binoculars down a bit, found Herb’s red Converse sneakers. She followed his brown, skinny legs, the little hill of his belly, until she came to his rugged face, lower jaw clamped over front teeth in a grimace of concentration as he read a four-inch-thick manuscript on the lawn chair. The truth was, Herb hadn’t retired. He was running the company from here, buying manuscripts, making deals.
    A household list filed through Pippa’s mind on an endless loop,the way the breaking headlines run under the TV news: dry cleaning … toilet paper … plant fertilizer … cheese … She had been lying in this luxurious position dreamily for half an hour, having cleaned the house and planned dinner by ten. The circle of the artificial pond, Herb’s legs, the brilliant, green lawn … Pippa wished she could paint it. It was an odd desire for her; she always said of herself, almost proudly, surrounded as she was by creative folk, that she had no talent of any kind.
    The buzz of the doorbell startled her. She sat up and swiveled around to see Dot Nadeau waiting behind the screen door. Dot was a bleach blonde with leathery skin and a sultry, New Jersey voice. She lived just across the artificial lake, in 1272. In their late sixties, Dot and her husband, Johnny, were among the younger residents. Pippa, at fifty, was practically a child bride.
    â€˜Do you have a minute?’ Dot asked in a muted tone. She looked harried.
    â€˜Sure. I’m supposed to be doing errands. But who cares,’ said Pippa.
    They sat down in the kitchen. Pippa poured out a cup of coffee and handed it to Dot. ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked.
    â€˜Well, we’re fine, but … my son, Chris. Remember I told you about him?’
    â€˜In Utah?’
    â€˜Yes. He’s thinking of relocating and … he might be coming east.’
    â€˜Oh, well, that would be nice, if they would move near you.’
    â€˜The thing is, he’s having trouble … It’s just a mess, Pippa, a real mess.’ There were tears in Dot’s eyes. Pippa checked to see that Herb was still ensconced on his lawn chair and fetched Dot a Kleenex.
    â€˜What is it?’ asked Pippa. She felt awkward. She didn’t know Dot very well. They’d had coffee a couple of times, but they’d never gotten past the pleasantry stage.
    â€˜He’s had some kind of crisis with his wife, and he’s left her,and he’s lost his job – it wasn’t even a real job, he was working in a men’s shelter. How do you lose a job like that? I think he’s living in his car. Thank God there are no kids. I don’t know what to do.’
    â€˜Well, he’s an adult, I mean … what can you do?’
    â€˜He was always sort of half-baked, you know what I mean?’
    Pippa wondered what Dot meant. Was the boy retarded? A drunk? Stunted in some way?
    â€˜It’s painful, but sometimes you just have to accept that they are who they are. I mean, I feel that about mine.’ Tender Ben and tyrannical Grace. Now and forever. Nothing to be done. As if on cue, Ben walked in pulling a well-worn seersucker jacket over his sloped shoulders. Whenever Pippa saw him, she was amazed he was no longer a boy. ‘Hello, darling,’ she said. ‘Dot, this is my son, Ben.’
    â€˜The lawyer!’ said Dot, gazing at him admiringly.
    â€˜Not yet,’ said Ben.
    â€˜Columbia, right?’ asked Dot. Immediately Pippa felt a pang of guilt for having a son in law school when Dot’s boy was unemployed and possibly homeless.
    Dot turned to Pippa. ‘You’re right,’ said Dot. ‘I knew I should come to you. I had a feeling. I’m just going to let him cry it out on his own. He can’t come running to me every time his life falls apart.