“At her age?”
“People mature at different rates,” he replied, but she knew he wasn’t telling her everything. He was never a hard man to read, but lately, because of the pressures of the business and the effects of his medication, he had become somewhat irritable. Despite her efforts to prevent it, Dorothy Wilson had grown terribly insecure ever since Greg’s CVS. Just last year, Harvey Kaplow had suffered a fatal heart attack at the age of thirty-nine, leaving his wife Miriam and three children. It had been one of the small hamlet’s biggest tragedies. Naturally, just like every middle-aged woman in town, she envisioned herself in Miriam’s shoes. At least Miriam had a large family to fall back on: four brothers and three sisters, both her parents still alive and in reasonably good health. But Dorothy no longer had her parents and she had been an only child. All Greg’s relatives lived far away. She felt totally dependent on Greg; he was her whole life.
They didn’t have the type of business she could continue on her own, in the event something happened to him. He was the pharmacist. All she could hope for would be a quick sale of the store and then … then what? She hadn’t done any other work since high school. There was no way to retool, develop a skill, or go back to college without offending Greg. What would she use as an excuse: “Well, you had a CVS, so I’d better prepare for the fatal moment”? She had never had any other career interests. How could she start to develop them now?
If she asked him too many questions or the same question too many times, if she disagreed with him over anything, no matter how insignificant, and he reacted badly—raising his voice, waving his arms, getting red in the face—she would cringe in anticipation of his collapsing in a cerebral hemorrhage. She felt like someone perpetually tiptoeing about. Her world was filled with shelves of dainty china. A clumsy move here or there or a violent gesture could shatter their lives. Lois knew these things just as well as she did. Why was the girl doing things to provoke him? Didn’t she care?
As they started for home at the end of the day, Dorothy sensed that he wanted to talk about what was bothering him.
“It’s got to do with Lois, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“Whatever’s been on your mind since you came back to the store. Don’t tell me you really had a good talk with her.”
“I had a good talk. I had a good talk. It’s just that this has set me to thinking more about the kids in general, that’s all.”
“How do you mean?”
“Maybe Billy ought to go to sleep-away camp this summer and Lois ought to be with us more in the store. She stays to herself too much, working on her experiments, keeping her nose in one science book after another.”
“Isn’t that what I’ve always said?”
“I’m not saying I don’t like her reading and learning, but … I suppose she should be around all kinds of people more often.”
“I knew that science stuff would get her in trouble. I never liked those animals.”
“I’m not faulting her for her scientific interest,” he said, his voice a bit more testy. “She’s been doing experiments for as long as I can remember. Why, as soon as she could crawl, she was playing with ants and worms. She never cared for the toys we’d buy her.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“But it’s not that. …” He pulled into the driveway, but he didn’t shut off the engine. “I think she spends too much time by herself in general, and with college coming up … I mean, being away from home and all, being forced to meet new people …”
“They’ll think she’s a weirdo kid, just like they do around here,” Dorothy said quickly.
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Kind of late for us to be worrying about it, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean? There is something more, isn’t there?” She stared at him a moment and then turned quickly toward the house as if she expected Lois to be on the front porch. Gregory shut off the engine. She looked at him again, a realization being born. “You’re afraid for Billy, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to say it. My God, Greg, why?”
“I said I didn’t say that. Now, don’t go off half cocked like you always do and let your imagination take over.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” she whispered. “You act strange all afternoon, and now you hint at terrible things … that Gilbert woman acts as though Lois were some kind of monster …”
“I haven’t hinted at anything terrible. If you’re going to start getting hysterical—”
“I’m not hysterical.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I knew it, damn it.”
“Why not? Don’t you think I ought to know everything about our children? And the doctor told you how bad it is for you to keep things to yourself.”
“This is good for me, I suppose?”
“Is there something else going on, something besides what happened with the Gilbert girl? Is that it?”
“No. Look, just forget it.” He got out of the car quickly and slammed the door.
“Greg …”
He walked to the house quickly. She followed him, but by the time she got inside, he was halfway up the stairs. Frustrated, she walked slowly to the kitchen. Lois had set the table and had the dinner nearly prepared: the roast was in the oven, the vegetables were steaming, the potatoes were baked. Billy was seated at the table, his hair neatly combed. He was wearing a clean shirt and a sharply pressed pair of pants. Even his shoes looked shined.
“Hi,” Lois said as she took a jar of cranberry juice out of the refrigerator. “How was business?”
For a moment Dorothy could only stare at her daughter. With everything so perfect, the potential for an enjoyable, quiet meal so real, she considered whether or not she wanted to pursue Greg’s intimations, much less discuss the Gilbert incident. Lois looked at her quizzically.
“Something wrong, Mom?”
“You know what happened today at the store?”
“Oh, yes,” Lois said, still in a pleasant voice. “Daddy and I had a good discussion about it.” Billy was about to say something, but Lois gave him a piercing glance and he went back to playing with his silverware. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I … I think we all better sit down and … and take stock of everything,” Dorothy said. She clasped her right hand to stop it from shaking.
“Whatever you think, Mother,” Lois said. The smile had left her face and she had that penetrating investigative look in her eyes, the look Dorothy dreaded so. It was unnerving.
“Maybe after supper. I’d better go up and change and wash up.”
“I took a hot bath,” Billy said.
“Oh?”
“Because I was in the rain too long.”
“The rain?”
“The little idiot went out there looking for worms and stayed throughout the downpour. Didn’t Daddy tell you?”
“No. Weren’t you watching him?”
“I was engrossed in this book—”
“One of those damn science books again,” Dorothy began. “I—”
“Oh, no, Mother,” Lois interrupted, going to the side of the counter by the refrigerator. She picked up the Marigolds script. “It’s the new school play. I’m thinking about trying out for it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you know, the spring show.”
“Well, I was in a few plays. Maybe I can give you some pointers for tryouts.”
“Thank you,” Lois said.
Dorothy stood there for a moment, feeling totally confused. Maybe Greg was right; maybe she was imagining too much. “I’ll be right down,” she said.
After her mother left the kitchen, a slight smile returned to Lois’s face. It was so easy to manipulate some people, she thought. In fact, it was easy to manipulate most people. She turned and looked at Billy, who was puzzled by her smile.
“Mommy’s not mad?” he
asked.
“Mommy’ll be what I want her to be,” Lois said.
He looked at the empty doorway and then back at Lois, who had gone to take out the roast. He didn’t know why, but he was feeling afraid again.
What made it worse was that he couldn’t tell anyone about it, because he didn’t know what he would tell.
7
“It wasn’t my fault,” Barbara Gilbert whispered. “I’ll tell you about it later,” she added quickly as Mr. Wasserman, their math teacher, entered the room. He was a strict disciplinarian with a military demeanor. He had actually been a math instructor at a naval officers’ school for a few years before entering public education. Lois liked him for his businesslike manner. Most of the kids respected him for his fair and evenhanded ways, but the class cutups had difficulty leaving their more loosely run classes and adjusting to him.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Lois replied without looking up from her textbook. “Your mother told it all.”
“I’ve got to go right home after school for a week.”
“How juvenile.”
“Lois Wilson,” Mr. Wasserman said. Barbara gasped, expecting a reprimand for talking after the period bell rang. Here she was getting Lois in trouble again.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Van Dancer wants to see you. Go to the guidance office now and maybe you’ll only miss the homework review,” he added, obviously displeased with the administrative request.
“Maybe your mother’s having my schedule changed so I can’t influence you,” Lois said, rising. The other class members watched her with vague curiosity as she left the room.
When she arrived at the guidance office, Mrs. Stanley, the secretary, told her to go right into Mr. Van Dancer’s office. He looked up expectantly, a wide smile on his soft, circular face. He was a pudgy man with hazel-green eyes set deeply under a wide, protruding forehead. His jowls quivered when he spoke, and he had a habit of puckering his lips at the ends of sentences. There were a lot of jokes about him because he rarely came out of his office. He conducted all his business behind his desk. Weighing two hundred fifty pounds at a height of five feet five, he did seem poured into his chair.
Mr. Van Dancer unfolded his short, stubby fingers and pushed himself back in his seat.
“Lois, sit down, sit down,” he said. She didn’t even look at the indicated seat.
“I’d like to get back to math class as soon as possible. We’re going on to new work.”
“Of course, of course. Very briefly,” he said, looking down at the papers on his desk rather than at Lois, “the school is going to participate in a rather special program with the community college. Maybe you’ve heard something about it already. I know how fast news travels around here.” He smiled and paused to see if she had. Lois only smirked and changed the weight of her body to her other foot. “Er … it’s called the college-in-escrow program. Have you heard anything about it?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time to tune myself in to the gossip line, Mr. Van Dancer.”
“Well, I’m … right, and that’s why I’m offering this to you. We’re not offering it to everyone at the start. We want the program to get under way first and then …”
“What is this program?”
“Very simply, we’re going to send over some of our high-powered seniors to take some college courses. This college credit will be accepted by whatever college they eventually attend. We’re just starting it now, so you can pick up maybe three, six, even nine credits. You would be able to go during your last-period study hall, for example, and anytime after school or even during the evening.”
“I don’t know, the community college? I wouldn’t expect—”
“Now, don’t look down your nose, Lois. First consider some of these courses,” he said, lifting the sheet off his desk and holding it out to her. She stepped forward and read the offerings.
“I could take any one of these?”
“Even more than one. During the school day, we’re going to arrange for transportation if anyone needs it. Because this is a pilot program, the school will assume the tuition. It really is an experiment of sorts.”
“I’m only interested in one course,” she said quickly.
“Don’t be hasty, now. You could satisfy a number of prerequisites at any of the colleges you’ve applied to for admission, and—”
“Only one,” she said, “and from the times indicated here, I could take it Tuesday and Thursday evenings.”
“Which one is that?” he asked, the excitement dying out of his voice.
“Introduction to Behavioral Science with Professor McShane.”
“Um.” He took the list back and looked at it for a moment. “I don’t know anything about this McShane. He’s one of their newer teachers.”
“I’m not interested in teachers. I’m interested in the content of the course.”
Mr. Van Dancer looked at her and nodded, the smile completely gone from his face. Thank God, he thought, that I don’t have a daughter like this.
“OK, Lois, if you’re sure you don’t want any other course …”
“I’m sure.”
“I see. Well, I’ll put you down and make all the arrangements. You’ll be starting next week. I want to remind you, as I will everyone else in the program, that you’re representing our school in a unique educational experiment. We’d expect you to give it your full energy and we’d remind you that the future of the program will depend on how successful you and the rest of the pilot group are.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about me, Mr. Van Dancer. Now can I go back to my math class?”
“Certainly.”
“By the way,” Lois said, pausing in the doorway, “I hope you didn’t base your selection of high-school students solely on grades. Functioning on a college level will require a greater sense of responsibility and independence.”
“Yes, Lois, we have given it every consideration. Thank you for being concerned,” he added, restraining his desire to be sarcastic. She looked at him for a moment and then left. After the door closed, Mr. Van Dancer realized he had broken out in a sweat. He looked at the community college offerings again. Introduction to Behavioral Science, eh? he thought.
“I don’t know who you are, McShane,” he mumbled, “but you’re in for an experience when you start this class next week.” He smiled to himself and buzzed Mrs. Stanley so she would get the next student on the list.
“I heard what Barbara’s mother did,” Bernie Rosen said, stopping Lois in the hall between classes. “Does this mean our experiment is over?”
“Temporarily shelved,” Lois replied.
“Well, I just wanted you to know I’m still available.”
“I appreciate that,” Lois said.
“You appreciate it?” He shook his head. “I see you’re carryin’ that Marigolds script. Goin’ out for it today?”
“Maybe.”
“Good. Maybe I’ll come to the tryouts to watch. I might even try out myself.” He kept that wide, idiot smile on his face. He still had it after school when he sat in the back of the auditorium at the start of tryouts. Carl Oates, the play’s director, stood behind the podium placed down center stage to explain the rules. He was a tall, thin man with a pronounced Adam’s apple. When he spoke, it bobbed up and down against his skin, threatening to tear out and bounce away like a wayward golf ball. All the girls admired his thick, wavy, dark brown hair, meticulously trimmed and blown dry. He taught the twelfth-grade English electives. Many of the students liked him because he carried his flair for the dramatic into the classroom, making his daily lessons performances. Lois didn’t like him. She thought, to use Shakespearean terms, that he was too much art, too little matter. He never cared much for her, but he was genuinely surprised by her appearance at the tryouts and somewhat curious how she would perform.
“Those of you who are familiar with the play can read a specific part, if you wish. If you are not familiar with the play, I would like gi
rls to read pages five through eight, and boys to read pages forty to forty-two. You are trying out for a part in a play, so you are encouraged to accompany your reading with whatever gestures, mannerisms, or postures you think appropriate. I will be sitting way in the back, so I would recommend you keep projection in mind. I assume everyone interested in being in the play has signed this casting list?” He stopped and looked around the auditorium.
The high-school theater was a traditional structure with three groups of rows facing the stage. The students trying out for parts were spread all over the place, with only the veterans of other plays seated right up front, eager to read. Lois had taken a front seat stage left. She sat with her books in her lap, her own script on top. When she had entered the auditorium, a number of students looked surprised. Her presence caused much discussion.
“I’ll just read your names off as they were placed on the casting list,” Mr. Oates said. He called the first name and started off the stage.
Lois was twenty-third on the list. When her turn came, she stood up abruptly and with such vigor that it looked as though she had been jabbed in the rear with a hatpin. That caused a small tittering wave of giggles across the auditorium. Mr. Oates tapped his pen on the top of the seat before him and the giggles subsided. Lois started toward the stage. She had memorized the section she wanted to read, but she carried her script anyway.
Her posture was as erect and as stiff as always. She approached the lectern as though she were about to make her valedictorian speech. When she got there, she opened the script to her pages, set it down neatly, looked up at the audience, and then, with an unexpected robotlike jerkiness, stepped to the right. To the students in the audience that was comical because it looked as if she had gone up there to satirize students trying out for a play. Even Mr. Oates permitted a slight smile to form on his face.
For her audition, Lois had chosen the little girl’s presentation at the science fair, but there was nothing little-girlish about Lois’s voice. She sounded even more pedantic than usual. Taking on a lecturer’s tone of voice, she recited the speech with her hands hanging dead at her sides. Instead of looking out at the audience, she looked up into the lights. Her stiff, condescending delivery appeared more and more comical to the student audience, which was peppered with kids who were unsympathetic to Lois from the start. Someone produced a Bronx cheer, and that caused a louder ripple of laughter. Mr. Oates tapped his pen again, but another student delivered an exaggerated burp and the audience roared, Lois seemed oblivious of it all, and that made it all funnier. Mr. Oates stood up to see if he could catch the troublemakers. Someone in the back broke a blown-up paper bag. The explosion brought Lois back to reality. She stopped and looked down at the students in the audience.
Brain Child Page 9