“You asked him not to. You could call him, you know.” I walk to the mirror. My mother follows and we talk to our reflections. “From everything I’ve seen and heard about Charlie, I think he’s a good guy. I like him a lot. But you have things you need to work out before you commit yourself to someone.”
“So you think I’m wrong for him?”
“I didn’t say that. I just think you need to sort out who you are first.”
“Do you think it was stupid to tell him I needed time to myself?” My mother shakes her head. Then she slowly lowers herself to the floor. “But I said something really mean to him. What if he realizes he doesn’t want me? Maybe he thinks I don’t care about him. What if he forgets about me?”
“I can’t tell you what he’ll think, Frannie. But I can tell you that if it doesn’t work out, it wasn’t meant to be.” She rises slowly, then lowers herself again.
“Mom, I can’t talk to you while you’re exercising. Please stop and listen to me.”
“I will, Frannie. Right after this set.” She mutters something I can’t hear.
“What?” I ask
“SYV. Dmitri, my trainer, tells me to say SYV.” She lowers her voice. “Squeeze Your Vagina. If you squeeze your vagina and exhale every time you bend, you won’t hurt yourself. Oh look, there he is! Dmitri!” She waves. “SYV!”
Dmitri has a well-toned body that glistens with perspiration. When he lifts his arm to wave, I can see that he has shaved off all the hair in his armpit. “SYV, Maaashaa!!” Dmitri yells across the gym. “SYV!”
“Mom!” I screech. “He’s disgusting. He shaves.”
“He’s not disgusting. It’s a European thing. Now, do some knee-bends with me. Come on, breathe in, squat slowly, come on, Frannie.” Reluctantly, I hold the bar and squat. “Don’t forget, SYV. And one, and two, and Frannie! You’re not breathing!”
Hours later, after taking saunas and showers and getting our nails done, my mother and I lie on her bed. She flips through a magazine with her thumb and forefinger. “Do you think about Shelly a lot, Mom?” I ask absently. I pick off my nail polish with a paper clip.
“Of course. Please, Frannie, not now. I’m not up for a big talk.”
“I wasn’t going to make a whole big thing, Mom. I was just asking a question.”
“Well it’s a silly question. Of course I think about her. She is … was … my daughter. I think about her every day.” Her face contorts. “Frannie, please. Please go see Marilyn.”
“I don’t want to talk to her. I want to talk to you. You’re my mother.” She doesn’t answer at first. Finally she says, “Frannie, there is so much pain in watching your daughter grow up. I mean, it’s wonderful, but it’s also so fleeting. One day, she’s stumbling through the kitchen, then suddenly, you’re sitting next to her as she backs out the driveway, and you realize that she’s different from you, in a grown-up way. And it’s you, the mother, who has to adjust because she’s just going to keep growing. But despite the pain, there’s also hope, that your daughter is going to live a better life than you did. When Shelly died, all that was snatched from me. I’d give anything to change places with her, but I still have you and that keeps me going.”
I lie on my stomach and she reaches under my T-shirt and tickles my back. Her voice filters into my ear as if from a dream. “She always wanted to be more like you. She said you were fearless and funny; that she was too intense, too serious. But she wasn’t too serious. She was just Shelly. Sometimes I imagine that she’s alive somewhere with a husband and two kids. And she’s happy. All I ever wanted was for you two to be happy. I guess it never came out right.” She traces the letters of the alphabet. I feel my own name being spelled.
I love the feel of her hand tickling me. She lulls me to sleep, whispering “Frannie Badannie” like I’m a little girl. I am struck by the thought of my mother dying and I burrow my nose deep in the pillow. A tear dots the case, which I rub with my cheek. Don’t leave me yet, Mom, we can help each other through this. As I drift, I don’t know if my mother is talking or if I am imagining it. Her voice is a lilt now, a cloud above my head, lifting me. I want to talk more about Shelly, about how we feel, how much we miss her, but I can’t find my voice. Softly, as my mother tickles me, I fade away. Her whisper carries me and for just a little while, I rise, I fly.
24
Bryan Thompson, Dr. Demento, calls the next day. “I’ve been really busy,” he says, “but I’ve been thinking about you.”
“You have?” I think about Charlie. He should have called me by now. If he really cared about me, he would have called me. I tell Bryan that I’ve been thinking about him, too, wondering what he was up to.
We meet for a drink. We get very, very wasted. I tell him about Ruthie. “So listen to this,” I slur, hanging on the bar, “Ruthless sleeps over, and in the morning, she makes Hungry Man breakfasts, then hovers over me while I eat. So one time, I say, ‘Look, Ruthie, I have a mother, and it wasn’t so successful the first time, so back off!’”
Bryan laughs, leans over, and kisses me. “You look so good.”
We kiss for a long time. We have a pretty good time, laughing and drinking, and since it’s late and we’re liking each other, I invite him to sleep over so he can meet Ruthless himself.
We’re standing at the bar and I’m right next to him. His hands are inside my pants. “Sounds like a plan,” he says, digging deeper.
We stumble out of the door. “I’ll drive,” I say. “I mean, you’re a doctor. If you get caught, you could go to jail, right?”
“Right-o.” He pushes me into the backseat. “Let’s do it here. Oh God, I want to be inside you right now. I can’t wait.” And then we fuck right there, not because I like him, not because I want to, just because.
“Hungry?” I ask Bryan through the film in my mouth. I nudge him. “Bryan, get up.” Wobbly and sick to my stomach, I pull on my nightgown and pitch him my bathrobe. “I’ll be back in a second. Get dressed.”
In the bathroom, I study my face. I’m a fat whore dried up like a prune. I can’t believe Bryan is in my bed. What was I thinking?
When I walk back into my room, he’s standing. “Please don’t make me go downstairs, Frannie.” He tries to nuzzle my neck, but I push him away. He reaches underneath my nightgown, but tugs too hard and the seams split.
“Stop it, Bryan. Jesus, come on!” I put on my just do it sweatshirt. “You said last night that you wanted to meet Ruthless, so let’s go.”
There was no message from Charlie last night. This makes five days in a row that he hasn’t called. I decide that Charlie is an asshole and a liar. I hold my rage in my head like a prisoner, even though I know I should release it now, before the depression comes. Because it will.
Ruthless sees Bryan before my father does. Obviously, they know he spent the night and they must have spoken about it because she’s not her usual effusive, dopey self. “Hello,” she says coolly. “I’m Ruth Brown. I’m a friend of Mr. Hunter.”
“Bryan Thompson. Nice to meet you.” He stands reluctantly in the doorway and tugs on my bathrobe, which is way too small for him.
“Sit down,” I tell him. “You want coffee?”
He looks at Ruthie. “It’s okay,” she says. “You can come in. Can I make you some eggs?”
“Eggs are good,” I interrupt. “Where’s my dad?”
“Outside getting the paper.”
Bryan sits at the table. When my father walks in, I can tell he’s startled to see him, but he doesn’t say anything. He just sits and slurps his coffee, making even more noise than usual.
“David,” Ruthie says slowly, “this is Bryan. He’s a friend of Frannie’s.”
My father grunts at Bryan without looking up. I bring a box of Pop Tarts to the table. Ruthie sets a plate in front of Bryan and I tear into the Pop-Tart box. “Want one?” I hold up a pastry to my father, but he ignores me. He licks his thumb and turns a page. “I’ll take the metro section,” I tell him sweetly.
“I’m readi
ng that section.”
“Then I’ll take the magazine.”
“I’m reading that, too.”
“Fine. Be that way.”
Ruthie puts toast in front of me. I cut the crusts off and slather on guava jelly. I lick the spoon and stick it in the jar. Ruthless takes the jar to the sink and rinses off the spoon. Then she closes the jelly and puts it in the refrigerator. I give her a fuck-you eye roll. “Bryan’s a shrink,” I say. “And he’s even more screwed up than we are.”
Bryan glares at me, but doesn’t say anything.
“That’s wonderful,” my father mutters. “I’m so glad you’ve brought him home with you.”
“Well, we were going to tell you in a more formal way, you know, like with a party and everything, but … well, Bryan and I are getting married.” There’s dead silence. My father looks at me, then returns to the paper. Ruthie is speechless. “God,” I mutter, “can’t anyone take a joke?”
Brian gets up quickly. “Well, Fran, thanks for breakfast and all, but I really gotta go.” He walks out the back door, toward the garage. “Bryan!” I screech, “you’re in my bathrobe.”
“Oh yeah. Well, I guess I’ll go. I have a friend who lives out here. I’ll call him to come get me.” He stands by the stairs, as if waiting for me to offer to drive him home. “Sounds like a plan,” I say. “Use the phone upstairs.” I gaze at him, thinking, You can fucking walk home for all I care. He must see the disgust in my face because he backs away and runs up the stairs, two at a time.
“Thanks a lot, Frannie,” my father says. “I really appreciate this.”
“Oh, but it’s okay for you to have someone sleep over?”
“It’s my house.”
“So now you want me to move out?”
“If you’re going to bring home strange men, you’re damn right I do.”
“Bryan’s perfectly normal.” I’m sweating underneath the sweatshirt. I feel like such an asshole. “Daddy, I’m—”
“You’re what? You’re sorry? You’re always so sorry after the fact.” He spits flecks of toast as he hisses at me. “Maybe you should think about someone other than yourself once in a while.”
“David, please. Don’t yell.” Ruthless puts her hand on my father’s arm. “Frannie’s right. I should have asked if she minded.”
“Fuck that.” My eyes widen. I’ve never heard him say “fuck” before. “I don’t have to ask her permission. This is my fucking house and I’ll do whatever I want in it. Frannie, find your own fucking apartment and get on with your life.” He storms out of the kitchen. Ruthie and I look at each other, but neither one of us has anything to say.
During the night, I dream that I am dead. I know I am dead but I am also conscious, watching. I’m in something like a tube and it’s hard to get air. Shelly is with me for a second, then she’s gone. I know in my dream that Charlie still hasn’t called. “Get up,” Shelly says. “All it takes is one step. Just one.” I rap on the tube, but no one comes. There’s a hiss and a bang and I’m in a group therapy circle. I realize that I am Shelly or rather Shelly is me, but then she’s outside me, nuzzling my neck like Bryan. I turn over to get away from her and wake up in a heap of blankets, on the floor of my room.
“I’m going to a psychic,” I tell Abby the next morning on the phone. The door of my office-ette is closed, and I’m sitting with my feet on my desk. “Sue gave me the number of a good one.”
“Don’t waste the money. I’ll be your psychic. Today you’re going to be really depressed about a dark, handsome man.” She says this with an edge to her voice.
“I’m going to look at an apartment this afternoon.”
“I said I’d go with you on Saturday,” she snaps at me.
“I want to go today, Satan, not Saturday.”
“Fine, I’ll meet you at the broker this afternoon, but I don’t have hours to spend looking at apartments. I am a lawyer, you know.” Randy must have done something to piss her off because she’s completely possessed. But I’m not in the mood to talk about it. “Charlie still hasn’t called me, Abby. It’s been six days.”
“You told him not to,” she says firmly. “You say, ‘Please don’t call me for a while.’”
“I know, but it’s not like I meant it. Do you think he still thinks about me? What if I write him a letter? But then he’ll know I’m dying to talk to him.”
“You are.”
“But I don’t want him to think that, Abby. You know he should call me.”
“Frannie, you called him a Rat Boy.”
“He told me I had fat legs.”
“You forced him to.” She sighs. “Frannie, yes, I believe he should call you, but he hasn’t. So can we change the Charlie chant? I have a life, too, believe it or not. And Randy is going to a dinner party tonight and I’m not invited.”
“Do you want to go?”
“No, but that’s not the point. I’m his girlfriend. I should be invited to everything. God, this makes me so mad. He’s going to some celebration dinner for some guy he knew at St. John’s. I know there’s gonna be strippers there, I know that’s why I wasn’t invited. I just know it.”
“Abby, why do you think Charlie hasn’t called me?”
“Maybe you really hurt his feelings, maybe he’s busy. Or, I don’t know, maybe he met someone else. Frannie, I—” But she doesn’t get a chance to finish because I slam the phone down so hard, it cracks.
“I was only kidding,” Abby says later at the real estate office. “You didn’t have to hang up on me.” I ignore her. “I’m sorry. Jesus, lighten up, Frances.”
“Stop telling me what to do. If it were you, you’d be carrying on for days.”
“I would not! Look, I said I was sorry. Can we please just see this apartment and go home? We have to be back at my place by eight. Randy’s coming over.”
“I thought I was sleeping over.”
“You are, but Randy called and wants me to go to this dinner. You can come with us.”
“Why would I want to go to a party with you and your stupid boyfriend? Abby, you could have said something to me earlier, you know. Jesus, you are so selfish.”
“I am NOT selfish. I said you can come if you want. What the hell is bugging you? Fuck it, just call Charlie if this is how you’re gonna be.”
“Girls!” We’re interrupted by Mrs. Diamond, the broker. “Are you ready?”
Fuming, I walk ahead of Abby and follow her out to the street. We walk to another building a few blocks away and take the elevator to the third floor.
“It’s small, but reasonable for New York.” Mrs. Diamond opens the blinds. Sunlight washes through the room. The apartment is a little bigger than my bedroom, but there’s an exposed brick wall, a big window, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. I could put my bed in the corner, a chair maybe and a television. It’s small, but it’s right by the park. And four blocks from Charlie.
“It’s a little smaller than what I’d planned,” I say slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Small?” Abby exclaims. “This place is tiny!! And it’s filthy.”
I look at Mrs. Diamond. “How much is it?”
“Nine-fifty. We ask for first month’s rent, last month’s rent, and a month’s security up front. And of course, our fee.” She touches her perfect chignon.
“That’s too much,” Abby interrupts. “Frannie, you can’t pay nine-fifty for this place.”
“I’m working now, Abby. I can afford it.”
“I know you can afford it. It’s just not worth $950!! Besides, this place is way too far west!”
But maybe, I think, maybe I’ll run into Charlie and his new girlfriend. I bet she has a heart-shaped ass and skinny legs. This is Tiffany, he’ll say, she’s an astrophysicist. “I like the West Side, Abby. And I’m the one who’ll be living here, not you.”
“Frannie, you can’t be serious. You only want to live here because it’s close to Charlie.” She turns to Mrs. Diamond. “What’s the lease arrangement?”
/> “One year upon approval. We do a credit check and—”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt. “She doesn’t mean to ask so many questions. I love this place. I just have to think about it.” I lie down on the floor in my suit.
“Frannie!” Abby yelps. “Get up. What are you doing?”
“I want to see what it will look like when I’m lying in bed.”
“Frannie, you can’t be serious. This place is a dump.”
“Abby, stop being so damn rude.” I get up and walk to the window. Two little boys are playing baseball in the street. I think about Charlie singing the National Anthem.
Abby looks sheepishly at Mrs. Diamond. “I don’t mean it’s a dump. It’s just for that kind of money, she can get something nicer. What else do you have that we can see?”
“Abby, stop talking about me like I’m not here,” I spit. “I am HERE. I EXIST and I can make my OWN decisions!”
“Well la-dee-da. Just forget it, Frannie. Find your own damn apartment.” She walks out without looking back.
“You didn’t even want to come!” I scream. “You just want to go home and wait for RANDY!” My yell comes out like a belch. Trembling, I turn to Mrs. Diamond. “So do you have some other things?” She nods and starts to say something, but I cut her off. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve changed my mind. Can I call you next week and set up another time? I promise I’ll come alone.” I motion toward the door. “I hope she didn’t offend you.”
Mrs. Diamond waves her hand. “No problem. I know how sisters are.”
“Sister? She’s not my sister.”
“Well you girls sure act like sisters.” She shakes her keys. “Are you coming?”
I am surrounded by long shadows that look like bars. I can hear the boys laughing but their laughter slowly fades and I’m not sure if I heard it inside my head or out. There’s a buzzing in my ear that starts out slowly and I try not to listen, but it keeps coming, it breaks up in my head like heat; fuzzy and warm but full like a balloon and I feel myself sweating. The buzzing becomes a hum and soon it’s my brain, the sound of me thinking and maybe it’s still connected, but I’m not sure maybe something snapped and maybe I’ll always hear this fragmented heat and it’s hot, it’s hot, it’s so hot. I keep seeing images of Shelly. She’s writhing on a bed and my mother is on top of her, giving her mouth-to-mouth, kissing her, the kiss of death. I found her, I was the one—it was me. Why did I go into her room? Her white angel body glowed in the moonlight, beckoning me, but she’d already risen, she was already gone.
Hunger Point Page 38