Hunger Point

by Jillian Medoff

  I cut her off. “And I deserve to live. Maybe that’s why I can’t think about myself. Sometimes I feel that I’m not important; that I’m not even worth thinking about. But I want to live, Marilyn, I do. I want to get married and raise a daughter who can sit in group and tell everyone I fucked her up. I want these things. I know the struggle is hard, but I’m not going to give up.” I sit back, feeling very powerful. “I am brave,” I say. “And I always thought I was such a coward.”

  Marilyn smiles like she has a secret. “Why, Frannie? Why are you brave?”

  “I’m here,” I say softly. “I survived.”

  25

  I wake up to a beam of sunlight. I kick the covers off my naked body and let it warm me. The clock says nine-thirty. I nestle my nose in the pillow. I wish I could stay here all day.

  It’s too early to call Abby so I sit up and survey the room. Trophies line the walls, along with model airplanes, G.I. Joes, part of a chemistry set, and an old model train. There’s a poster of Farrah Fawcett wearing a red Lycra bathing suit. “Charlie’s Angel?” I whispered to Charlie last night when he set my bag on his bed.

  It’s Grandma Gert’s eighty-fifth birthday and Charlie asked me to come out to Los Angeles to celebrate it with his family. “For our six-month anniversary,” he said.

  “Five and a half,” I corrected him. “You can’t count the two weeks we spent apart.”

  He grinned. “If you hadn’t come crawling back, we wouldn’t be together at all.” I nodded wisely. The old Frannie would never have let that go, but with Chubby’s help, I’ve come to understand that Charlie is painfully insecure and needs constant reassurance.

  Truth is, I didn’t want to come. Sleeping in strange beds makes me tense, which sounds funny coming from a girl who almost made a career of strange beds, and I’ve gotten used to sleeping in my own bed in my own $950-a-month apartment ($31.67 a night). But because of the reassurance thing, when Charlie kept saying how happy it would make his mother, I gave in. Besides, I love airplane food.

  “Frannie, wake up.” Charlie taps on the door and climbs into bed. His hands touch my hair, tickle my neck. “We have to go down,” he says, kissing me. “Breakfast.”

  “You go down. I’ll catch up.”

  “If you’re not down in five minutes, I’m coming back.” He glances at my Snoopy nightshirt on the floor. “Please don’t come down in a nightgown. It’s one of my mother’s things.” I turn over. “Two minutes,” Charlie says and shuts the door behind him.

  I pull the sheets up and notice the dried come, evidence that he snuck into my bed and ripped off my nightgown at four-thirty this morning. After months of long, intimate talks, Charlie and I finally made love. And now we can’t keep our hands off each other.

  We arrived last night and rented a car. I wanted to see the Viper Room and Keanu Reeves’s house, but Charlie wanted to get home. When we pulled into the driveway, it was weird. The way Charlie described his parents’ house, I thought I’d be spending the weekend at the Kennedy compound. Instead, it looked like a regular ranch-style house, circa 1975.

  “So THIS is Frannie.” Charlie’s mother, Agnes, ushered me in. I expected a big woman with fat fingers, but Agnes was petite with a silver bob and red lips that matched her nails.

  I politely shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “And we’ve heard so much about YOU! You are such a pretty girl. Usually Charlie goes for these skinny little nothings, but you, you’re so healthy!”

  I clenched Charlie’s upper arm. “She means you have a nice body,” he whispered. “She doesn’t mean you’re fat.” He turned to his mother. “Where’s Grandma Gert?”

  “She went to bed hours ago. She tried to stay up but you came too late. Weren’t you supposed to be here at nine?” She looked at her watch. “That was hours ago. But it’s okay. We watched the Tonight Show.” She turned to me. “It’s on late so we never see it. But tonight was special, meeting you. It’s perfectly all right you were late.”

  I wondered what Charlie had told her about me. He probably told her I’m dying to marry him and steal all her money, which is only partially true. Ever since I’ve been seeing Chubby, I put the marriage thing on hold. Right now, it’s one of those things that, like step aerobics, seem much better in theory. Agnes’s money, however, is another discussion.

  “You hungry?” Dr. Hirsch, Charlie’s dad, pulled my bag from me. His voice was overbearing as if to say, of course you’re hungry, you foolish girl. He led me into the kitchen where Agnes had spread out lox and bagels, whitefish, herring, tuna, chicken salad, and three kinds of cream cheese. There’s no way, I thought, that I am eating this shit at midnight. But the next thing I knew, I was huddled over the table, shoveling food into my mouth like I was being executed at dawn.

  Agnes is at my door. I can tell by her nail tap. “Frannie, darling. We’re eating.”

  “Coming, Mrs. Hirsch.” I put on my nightshirt and go to the bathroom.

  After brushing my teeth, I open the medicine cabinet and spy a pill vial with no label. Inside there’s a few assorted pills. Nothing I recognize. I peer underneath the sink. Metamucil, an enema box. Nothing I need. “I’ll be right down,” I call over the banister. Then I go into Charlie’s room and pick up the phone. I let it ring a few times, but Abby doesn’t pick up. Afraid they’ll think I’m a spoiled princess, I rush downstairs to view the savages in their natural habitat.

  “Good morning,” I say brightly. Charlie and his father nod. Grandma Gert stares out the window. Agnes is standing in front of the refrigerator, her back to me. “Good morning, dear.” She turns around. “Do you want … uh …” I lift a hand to my face. What? Toothpaste? She regains her composure. “Would you like coffee?”

  I nod. “Please.” I slip into an empty seat. Grandma Gert watches a teenage boy mow the lawn. Her lips move as if she is speaking, but no sound comes out of her mouth.

  “Good morning, Dr. Hirsch.” He peers at me over the top of the paper. “Morning, Frannie. Did you sleep all right?” Charlie kicks me under the table and grins devilishly. He thinks I came twice this morning. It was really only once, but I was feeling generous knowing how tense he gets around his father. “Great, thanks.” I turn to Grandma Gert. “Sorry we missed you last night. We got in late.”

  Grandma Gert smiles at me in sudden recognition. Her lips part and I can see her thick gray teeth. “Bonnie!” she says triumphantly. “You’ve got so much hair now.”

  “Grandma,” Charlie says patiently. “This is Frannie Hunter. My girlfriend.”

  She peers at me. “Where’s Bonnie?” Bonnie was Charlie’s high school girlfriend whom he hasn’t spoken to in fourteen years.

  Charlie shrugs. “Grandma, I think she’s at her own house.”

  “I’m sorry, dear.” Grandma Gert pats my hand. “Meantime, you seem nice.”

  I thank Agnes for the coffee. She stares at me, raises her eyebrow, then looks away. What? What did I do? “Frannie,” Charlie hisses. “You didn’t change!”

  “Oh God, I forgot.” I catch myself as I lean over and notice that Snoopy’s left eye is a quarter-inch higher than his right. I cross my arms. “I rushed down here,” I explain to everyone. “I didn’t want you to have to wait.”

  “That’s fine.” Agnes sniffs at a bagel then puts it down. “It’s not like we’ve never seen a girl in her pajamas at the breakfast table before. We’ll live through it.”

  But will I? I turn to Grandma Gert. “Happy birthday. Is today your birthday?”

  “I don’t know,” she says sincerely. “Is it?”

  “Of course it is, Mom,” Dr. Hirsch says. “Today you’re eighty-five. We’re having a party.”

  Grandma Gert looks at Charlie. “So why isn’t Bonnie here?”

  “I don’t know.” Charlie’s voice rises. “I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

  I try to eat with my arms at my sides. I think about going upstairs and changing but that would only c
all more attention to myself. Agnes flits around the table, setting tomatoes and onions on the table, as well as Swiss cheese, butter, cream cheese, and lox.

  She hovers over Charlie like a bat. “Have another bagel.” She points at the bread basket. Gleeful, Charlie gorges himself. He looks at me and squeezes cream cheese through his teeth with his tongue. Agnes lifts a knife and fork to cut his lox. And Charlie lets her!! (Exhibit A–reason for Charlie’s insecurity.)

  Grandma Gert picks her teeth with a fork. “Mom, don’t do that!” Agnes snaps. “Would you like another piece of bagel? I’ll put cream cheese on it for you.”

  Grandma Gert scrunches her nose. “Cream cheese gives me gas. So how’s Yale?” she asks Charlie.

  “Princeton was fine, Grandma,” he tells her. “I finished nine years ago. I also finished law school.”

  “You’re a lawyer? I thought you wanted to be a doctor.”

  “So did I,” Dr. Hirsch grunts, then laughs like it’s a running joke. But I know it’s not. (Exhibit B–reason for Charlie’s lack of self-esteem.)

  I cut in. “So, Mrs. Hirsch, what time are Eric and Anita coming?”

  “Three or so.” She casts a glance at Charlie. “They’ll be on time, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah, when they ply Anita away from the bar,” Charlie mutters, helping himself to a third bagel. Charlie mentioned that his sister-in-law is a recovering alcoholic. He also said that everyone refuses to talk about it. (Exhibit C–family in constant denial of addictive behavior–Jeez, I’m getting good at this.)

  “So when’s Bonnie coming?” Grandma Gert breaks off a piece of bagel. Her hands shake and I am reminded of my grandfather. I spent a few days with him before I came out here and God, what I wouldn’t give to be back there right now.

  “Bonnie’s not coming,” Charlie says firmly.

  “Why not? She always comes.”

  Charlie looks at me and mouths “Sorry.” “I called her, Grandma. She can’t make it.”

  “That’s too bad. She’s a nice girl. You should meet a nice girl.”

  “I met a nice girl. This is Frannie. She’s here to wish you a happy birthday.”

  “Well, hello. Why didn’t you say hello before?” She squints. “You look like Bonnie. You have more hair.” She turns away. “Meantime, she didn’t wear her underwear all day.”

  I gulp my juice. Dr. Hirsch finally puts down the paper. “So Frannie, I’m told you hail from Lindsey Point.”

  I nod. “I grew up there. I just moved into Manhattan, though. To be closer to work.”

  Charlie puffs out his chest. “And to me.” He reaches for another bagel. I can’t stop staring. Jesus, Charlie, that’s your fourth. A train stops, you know.

  “Huh. Agnes and I hate New York. We both grew up there. It’s a nice place to visit, of course, but I can’t imagine why anyone would want to live there.” Charlie’s father is thoughtful. “What’s the altitude in Lindsey?” he asks.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The altitude. What’s the altitude in Lindsey?”

  “I’m not sure, Dr. Hirsch, but I guess it’s the same as out here. Not too high, not too low.” I squeeze Charlie’s hand under the table.

  “What kind of question is that, Dad?” Charlie barks. “Do you know the altitude in L.A.?”

  “Yes I do, son, in fact. It’s 11,000 feet above sea level at its highest point, if you must know. Los Angeles is a flat basin surrounded by mountain ranges on the east and the Pacific Ocean to the west. And I’m not trying to give Frannie a hard time. It’s just a question.” He looks at me. “You don’t mind, do you? I just thought you would know since you lived there all your life.” He whips around to address Charlie. “You know, Charles, it wouldn’t kill you to give a damn about where you came from!”

  Dr. Hirsch lifts the paper to hide his face. Charlie slumps in his seat. Agnes butters a muffin and quietly slips it onto his plate. Grandma Gert picks this particular moment to ask again when Bonnie is coming.

  “She’s not coming,” Charlie says tightly. “Grandma, Bonnie is dead.”

  At noon, Agnes decides that she and I should take Grandma Gert for a ride. “We’ll go to the mall.” She picks a thread off my sweater with her perfect red nails. “How does that sound?”

  “Great. Love it. Charlie?”

  Charlie looks through the mail. “No, you guys go. I’ll hang around here.”

  I lower my voice. “You sure? Charlie?”

  He glances up. “Yeah, I’m sure. You go. Have a good time.”

  Agnes helps Grandma Gert into the car. “You can sit in the front with me,” she says gaily. I put her Louis Vuitton purse, the real thing, I’m sure, in my lap.

  “So Charlie tells me you’re in marketing.” Agnes adjusts then readjusts her rearview mirror. I marvel for a second at her perfect skin. Although Charlie denies it, I bet she’s had major facial renovation. No woman her age can look that good. I wonder what my mother’s doing. I suddenly long for her boxer-short hat and fake Gucci bag. Agnes looks at me and I try to smile. “What exactly is marketing, Frannie?” she asks.

  I smile. “I don’t have the faintest idea. I fake it. I think that’s the secret of being successful in business.”

  She laughs. “The same thing’s true about marriage.” Agnes adjusts the rearview mirror again. She lowers her voice. Call me madcap, but I smell alcohol. “Being married is hard work, especially when you live with your mother-in-law. There were times when I thought Geoffrey and I—”

  “STOP!”

  I whip my head around. Grandma Gert clutches her pocketbook, her face pressed against the window. “Are you all right?” I ask. Grandma nods then says, “slippery when wet.”

  “What is she doing?” I ask Agnes.

  “She reads the street signs.”

  “I see.” Car sick, I hit the window button and down it goes.

  As we move toward the mall, Grandma Gert picks up the pace. “live bait.” (Live Bait?) “naked girls … caution, overpass … speed limit 55. speed limit 55. speed limit 55.” By the third time, Agnes takes her foot off the accelerator.

  “Well,” I note, “she seems to get every one.”

  “Every one.” Agnes eyes Grandma Gert in her rearview mirror. Her hands grip the steering wheel, her knuckles white. “She doesn’t miss a trick.”

  “So how was it?” Charlie asks when we get home. “Did you buy anything?” He glances at the floor. At my feet are four shopping bags from Neiman’s, Saks, and Lord & Taylor. I shake my head. “No, but you did.”

  “Oh? What did I buy?”

  “Two dresses, two pairs of shoes, a new pocketbook.” I smile wryly. “And a hat.”

  “A hat? Since when do you wear hats?”

  “Grandma Gert thought I should buy a hat. Bonnie always wore hats. Funny, you never mentioned that.”

  “The only hat Bonnie ever wore was a baseball cap at camp.”

  “Well, this one cost you $75, so you’ll learn to love it.”

  Charlie puts his arms around me. “I appreciate you being here,” he says sweetly.

  “I know.” I pick up my packages. “Anytime.” I look around. “Where’s Eric? It’s three-thirty.”

  “He’ll be here any minute.”

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I tell him. “I’ll be right down.”

  Charlie smirks. “Tell Abby I say hello.”

  Upstairs, I huddle on Charlie’s bed. “Abby, pick up,” I hiss. “It’s me.”

  “Where the fuck have you been? I gotta talk to you!”

  “I’m at Charlie’s parents,” I whisper. “Remember? Gidget Meets Mr. and Mrs. Moondoggie? I can’t just pick up the phone whenever I want. It’s not like I’m at work.”

  “So how’s it going?”

  “Did you ever see the movie where some guy wakes up and realizes that everyone else in the world is an alien? Well, I’m that guy. Get this. Mrs. Charlie took me shopping with Dr. Charlie’s mother whose boat set sail ten years ago, but she was left on shore. W
e go to the newsstand and Mrs. Charlie buys $100 worth of Lotto tickets. She’s got this system where every number she picks corresponds to a specific event in her life. Today it was 1976, the year she found a tumor in her breast. And she tells me this. Like, ‘Hello, Agnes, that’s a little more information than I need, thank you.’” I pause. “So then we go shopping and Grandma Gertie calls out all the names of the stores, one after the other. She gets stuck on Yves St. Laurent and we stand there for ten minutes till she can pronounce it. Then in the dressing room at Saks, she has some sort of breakdown and starts crying.”

  “Grandma Gertie?”

  “No, the mother. She was babbling about this and that, about Charlie never calling her and her husband never fucking her. I don’t know. Maybe it was the wine.”

  “You guys went out drinking? Did you do shots?”

  “We stopped at this little cafe. I ordered a glass of wine, Jesus, I needed it intravenous. Mrs. Charlie ordered a glass of wine, too, and we got to talking so she ordered another and then I guess another. I lost count. But Grandma Gert didn’t. No sirree. She counted every single one.”

  “Jesus. Where is she now?”

  “Lying down. Told Dr. Charlie that she had a headache.”

  “Seems he’s been saying the same thing to her, I mean, if he’s not fucking her or anything.” Abby stops. “Do you think people their age still have sex?”

  “I don’t know, Abby. Jesus, I’m stuck in the Twilight Zone with no medication and you want to talk philosophy?”

  “Calm down. It’s only a weekend, for Christ’s sake.”

  “But if I marry Charlie, these people will be my FAMILY!”

  “You hardly grew up with the Waltons. Anyway, I have to ask you something.”