THERE WAS AN INTERVAL OF SEVERAL DAYS. THEN ALISON AND I DROVE THE CAR WITH THE TRAILER UP THE RAMP INTO THE PLANE AND WE FLEW BACK TO MILWAUKEE
There’s no place to keep him in our apartment building! Alison said triumphantly, pointing at Dan. She was of course absolutely right and I hastily bought a large three-story house in Milwaukee’s best suburb. To make the house more comfortable I bought a concert grand piano.
Here are some little matters which you must attend to Alison said, handing me a box of bills. I went through them carefully, noting the amounts and thinking about money.
ON THE DOORSTEP OF THE NEW HOUSE THE PIANO MOVERS PAUSED FOR A GLASS OF COLD WATER
What in the name of God is this! I cried, holding up a bill for $1,600 from the hardware store.
Garden hose Alison said calmly.
It was clear that I would have to remove some money from the State Bank & Trust and place it in the Municipal National and I did so. The pilot of the airplane which I had bought to fly us to Aqueduct, with his friend the pilot of the larger plane I had bought to fly us back, appeared at the door and asked to be paid. The pilots’ names were George and Sam. I paid them and also bought from Sam his flight jacket, which was khaki-colored and pleasant-looking. They smiled and saluted as they left.
THERE WAS AN UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE
Well I said looking around the new house, we’d better call a piano teacher because I understand that without use pianos tend to fall out of tune.
Not only pianos Alison said giving me an excited look.
The next day Mr. Washington from the Central National called to report an overdraft of several hundred thousand dollars for which I apologized. Who was that on the telephone? Alison asked. Mr. Washington from the bank I replied. Oh Alison said, what do you want for breakfast? What have you got? I asked. Nothing Alison said, we’ll have to go out for breakfast.
A SILENCE FREIGHTED WITH SEXUAL SIGNIFICANCE ENSUED. THEN WE WENT TO BED FIRST HOWEVER ORDERING A PIANO TEACHER AND A PIANO TUNER FOR THE EARLY MORNING
So we went down to the drugstore where Alison had many eggs sunny side up and I had buckwheat cakes with sausage. When we got back to the house I noticed that there were no trees surrounding it, which depressed me.
Have you noticed I asked, that there are no trees?
Yes Alison said, I’ve noticed.
A SILENCE
In fact Alison said, the treelessness of this house almost makes me yearn for our old apartment building.
A PROLONGED SILENCE
There at least one could look at the large plants in the lobby.
A TERRIBLE SILENCE
As soon as we go inside I said, I will call the tree service and buy some trees.
ABSOLUTE SILENCE FOR ONE MINUTE
Maples I said.
SHORT SILENCE
Oh Peter what a fine idea Alison said brightly. But who are these people in our livingroom?
Realizing that the men were the piano teacher and the piano tuner we had requested, I said: Well did you try the piano?
SILENTLY WE REGARDED THE TWO MEN WHO SAT ON THE SOFA
Yep the first man said, couldn’t make heads or tails out of it.
And you? I asked, turning to the other man.
Beats me he said with a mystified look.
What seems to be the difficulty? I asked.
Frankly the piano teacher said, this isn’t my real line of work. Really he said, I’m a jockey.
THERE WAS A SHAMEFACED SILENCE
How about you? I said to his companion.
Oh I’m a bona fide piano tuner all right the tuner said. It’s just that I’m not very good at it. Never was and never will be.
I have a proposition to make I announced. What is your name? I asked, nodding in the direction of the jockey.
WE CONSIDERED THE PROBLEM IN SILENCE
Slim he said, and my friend here is Buster.
Well Slim I said, we need a jockey for our race horse, Dan, who will fall out of trim without workouts. And Buster, you can plant the maple trees which I have just ordered for the house.
I settled on a salary of $12,000 a year for Slim and a slightly smaller one for Buster. This accomplished I drove the Rolls over to Courtlandt Street to show it to my mistress, Amelia.
THERE WAS A JOYFUL SILENCE AS BUSTER AND SLIM TRIED TO DIGEST THE GOOD NEWS
When I knocked at the door of Amelia’s apartment she refused to open it. Instead she began practicing scales on her flute. I knocked again and called out: Amelia!
I knocked again but Amelia continued to play. So I sat down on the steps and began to read the newspaper which was lying on the floor, knocking at intervals and at the same time wondering about the psychology of Amelia.
THE SOUND OF THE FLUTE FILLED THE SILENT HALLWAY
Montgomery Ward I noticed in the newspaper was at 40½. Was Amelia being adamant I considered, because of Alison?
Amelia I said at length (through the door), I want to give you a nice present of around $5,500. Would you like that?
SILENTLY I WONDERED WHAT TO DO
Do you mean it? she said.
AN INTERMINABLE SILENCE. THEN AMELIA HOLDING
Certainly I said.
Can you afford it? she asked doubtfully.
I have a new Rolls I told her, and took her outside where she admired the car at great length. Then I gave her a check for $5,500 on the Commercial National for which she thanked me. Back in the apartment she gracefully removed her clothes and put the check in a book in the bookcase. She looked very pretty without her clothes, as pretty as ever, and we had a pleasant time for an hour or more. When I left the apartment Amelia said Peter, I think you’re a very pleasant person which made me feel very good and on the way home I bought a new gray Dacron suit.
THE FLUTE OPENED THE DOOR
Where have you been? Alison said, I’ve been waiting lunch for hours. I bought a new suit I said, how do you like it? Very nice Alison said, but hurry I’ve got to go shopping after lunch. Shopping! I said, I’ll go with you!
WHEN I GAVE THE SALESMAN A CHECK ON THE MEDICAL NATIONAL HE PAUSED, FROWNED, AND SAID: “THIS IS A NEW BANK ISN’T IT?”
So we ate a hasty lunch of vichyssoise and ice cream and had Buster drive us in the Rolls to the Federated Department Store where we bought a great many things for the new house and a new horse blanket for Dan.
Do you think we ought to buy uniforms for Buster and Slim? Alison asked and I replied that I thought not, they didn’t seem the sort who would enjoy wearing uniforms.
I think they ought to wear uniforms Alison said firmly.
A FROSTY SILENCE
No I said, I think not.
Uniforms with something on the pocket Alison said. A crest or something.
DEAD SILENCE
No.
Instead of uniforms I bought Slim a Kaywoodie pipe and some pipe tobacco, and bought Buster a larger sterling silver cowboy belt buckle and a belt to go with it.
THERE WAS AN INTERVAL DURING WHICH I SENT A CHECK FOR $500,000 TO THE MUSEUM OF MODERN ART
Buster was very pleased with his sterling silver belt buckle and said that he thought Slim would be pleased too when he saw the Kaywoodie pipe which had been bought for him. You were right after all Alison whispered to me in the back seat of the Rolls.
Alison decided that she would make a pie for supper, a chocolate pie perhaps, and that we would have Buster and Slim and George and Sam the pilots too if they were in town and not flying. She began looking in her recipe book while I read the Necchi News in my favorite armchair.
Then Slim came in from the garage with a worried look. Dan he said is not well.
Everyone was thrown into a panic by the thought of Dan’s illness and I bought some Kaopectate which Slim however did not believe would be appropriate. The Kaoepectate was $0.98 and I paid for it with a check on the Principal National. The delivery boy from the drugstore, whose name was Andrew, suggested that Dan needed a doctor. This seemed sensible so I tipped Andre
w with a check on the Manufacturers’ Trust and asked him to fetch the very best doctor he could find on such short notice.
A STUNNED PAUSE
Dan was lying on his side in the garage, groaning now and then. His face was a rich gray color and it was clear that if he did not have immediate attention, the worst might be expected.
WE LOOKED AT ONE ANOTHER IN WORDLESS FEAR
Peter for God’s sake do something for this poor horse! Alison cried.
We sent Dan over in his trailer with strict instructions that he be given the best of everything. Slim and Buster accompanied him and when Andrew arrived with the doctor I hurried them off to the hospital too. Concern for Dan was uppermost in my mind at that moment.
PAUSING ONLY TO WHIP A FRESH CHECKBOOK FROM THE DESK DRAWER, I BOUGHT A LARGE HOSPITAL NEARBY FOR $1.5 MILLION
The telephone rang and Alison answered.
Then she said: It’s some girl, for you.
RETURNING TO THE LIVINGROOM, ALISON HESITATED
As I had thought it might be, it was Amelia. I told her about Dan’s illness. She was very concerned and asked if I thought it would be appropriate if she went to the hospital.
You don’t think it would be appropriate Amelia said.
A MOMENT OF INDECISION FOLLOWED By A PAINFUL SILENCE
No Amelia I said truthfully, I don’t.
Then Amelia said that this indication of her tiny status in all our lives left her with nothing to say.
To cheer her up I said I would visit her again in the near future. This pleased her and the exchange ended on a note of warmth. I knew however that Alison would ask questions and I returned to the living room with some anxiety.
THE CONVERSATION LAPSED
But now the pilots George and Sam rushed in with good news instead. They had gotten word of Dan’s illness over the radio they said, and filled with concern had flown straight to the hospital, where they learned that Dan’s stomach had been pumped and all was well. Dan was resting easily George and Sam said, and could come home in about a week.
A HIATUS FILLED WITH DOUBT AND SUSPICION
Oh Peter! Alison exclaimed in a pleased way, our ordeal is over. She kissed me with abandon and George and Sam shook hands with each other and with Andrew and Buster and Slim, who had just come in from the hospital. To celebrate we decided that we would all fly to London and Rome on a Viscount jet which I bought for an undisclosed sum and which Sam declared he knew how to fly very well.
The Apology
Sitting on the floor by the window with only part of my face in the window. He’ll never come back.
— Of course he will. He’ll return, open the gate with one hand, look up and see your face in the window.
— He’ll never come back. Not now.
— He’ll come back. New lines on his meager visage. Yet with head held high.
— I was unforgivable.
— I would not argue otherwise.
— The black iron gate, difficult to open. Takes two hands. I can see it. It’s closed.
— I’ve had hell with the gate. In winter, without gloves, yanking, late at night, turning my pretty head to see who might be behind me . . .
— That time that guy was after you . . .
— The creep —
— With the chain.
— Naw he wasn’t the one with the chain he was the other one. With the cudgel.
— Yes they do seem to be carrying cudgels now, I’ve noticed that. Big knobby cudgels.
— It’s a style, makes a statement, something to do with their sexual . . . I imagine.
— Sitting on the floor by the window with only part of my face in the window, the upper part, face truncated under the eyes by the what do you call it, sill.
— But bathed nevertheless by the heat of the fire, which spreads a pleasing warm tickle across your bare back —
— I was unforgivable.
— I don’t disagree.
— He’ll never come back.
— Say you’re sorry.
— I’m not sorry.
— Genuine sorrow is gold. If you can’t do it, fake it.
— I’m not sorry.
— Well screw it. It’s six of one and half dozen of the other to me. I don’t care.
— What?
— Forgive me I didn’t mean that.
— What?
— I just meant you could throw him a bone is all I meant. A note written on pale-blue notepaper, in an unsteady hand. “Dear William, it is one of the greatest regrets of my poor life that —”
— Never.
— He may. He might. It’s possible. Your position, there in the window, strongly suggests that the affair has yet some energy unexpended. That the magnetic north of your brain may attract his wavering needle still.
— That’s kind of you. Kind.
— Your wan, white back. Your green, bifurcated French jeans. Red lines on your back. Cat hair on your jeans.
— Wait. What is it that makes you spring up so, my heart?
— The gate.
— The sound of the gate. The gate opening.
— Is it he?
— It is not. It is someone.
— Let me look.
— He’s standing there.
— I know him. Andy deGroot. Looking up at our window.
— Who’s Andy deGroot?
— Guy I know. Melville Fisher Kirkland Leland & deGroot.
— What’s he want?
— My devotion. I’ve disabused him a hundred times, to little avail. If he rings, don’t answer. Of course he’s more into standing outside and gazing up.
— He looks all right.
— Yes he is all right. That’s Andy.
— Powerful forehead on him.
— Yes it is impressive. Stuffed with banana paste.
— Good arms.
— Yes, quite good.
— Looks like he might fly into a rage if crossed.
— He rages constantly.
— We could go out in the street and hit on him, drive him away with blows and imprecations.
— Probably have little or no effect.
— Stick him with the spines of sea urchins.
— Doubt you could penetrate.
— But he’s a friend of yours so you say.
— I got no friends babe, no friends, no friends. When you get down to the nut-cutting.
— Go take a poke.
— I don’t want to be the first you do it.
— Ah the hell with it. Sitting here with my head hanging in the window, what a way for a grown woman to spend her time.
— Many ways a grown woman can spend her time. Many ways. Lace-making. Feeding the golden carp. Fibonacci numbers.
— Perhaps a new gown, in fawn or taupe. That might be a giggle. Meanwhile, I am planted on this floor. Sitting on the floor by the window with only my great dark eyes visible. My great dark eyes and, in moments of agitation, my great dark nose. Ogled by myriads of citizens bopping down these Chuck’s Pizza–plated streets.
— How pale the brow! How pallid the cheek! How chalk the neck! How floury the shoulders! And so on. Say you’re sorry.
— I cannot. What’s next? Can’t sit here all night. I’m nervous. Look on the bright side, maybe he’ll go away. He’s got a gun stuck in his belt, a belly gun, I saw it. I scraped the oatmeal out of the pot you’ll be glad to know. Used the mitt, the black mitt. Throw something at him, a spear or a rock. Open the window first. Spear’s in the closet. I can lend you a rock if you don’t have a rock. Hurt him. Make him go away. Make the other return. Stir up the fire. Put on some music. Have you no magic? Why do I know you? What are you good for? Why are you here? Fetch me some chocolate? Massage?
— He’ll never come back. Until you say it.
— Be damned if I will. Damned a thousand times.
— Then you’ll forfeit the sunshine of his poor blasted face forever. You are dumb, if I may say so, dumb, dumb. It’s easy. It’s like saying th
ank you. Myself, I shower thanks everywhere. Thank people for their kindness, thank them for their courtesy. Thank them for their thoughtfulness. Thank them for little things they do if they do little things that are kind, courteous, or thoughtful. Thank them for coming to my house and thank them for leaving. Thank them for what they are about to do as well as thank them for what they have already done, thank them in public and then take them aside privately and thank them again. Thank the thankless and thank the already adequately thanked. In fine, let no occasion pass to slip the chill blade of my thanks between the ribs of every human ear.
— Well. I see what you mean.
— Act.
— Andy has bestirred himself.
— What’s he doing?
— Sitting. On a garbage can.
— I knew him long ago, and far away.
— Cincinnati.
— Yes. Engaged then in the manufacture of gearshafts. Had quite a nice wife at that period, name of Caledonia. She split. Then another wife, Cecile as I recall, ran away with a gibbon. Then another wife whose name taxes my memory as it cannot be brought to consciousness, think I spilled something on her once, something that stained. She too evaporated. He came here and joined Melville Fisher etc. Fell in love with a secretary. Polly. She had a beaded curtain in front of her office door and burnt incense. Quite exotic, for Melville Fisher. She ended up in the harem of one of those mystics, a mahrooni. Met the old boy once, he grasped my nose and pulled, I felt a great surge of something. Like I was having my nose pulled.
— So that’s Andy.
— Yes. What’s that sucker doing now?
— He’s combing his head. Got him a steel comb, maybe aluminum.
— What’s to comb? What’s he doing now?
— Adjusting his pants. He’s zipping.
— You are aware dear colleague are you not that I cannot abide, cannot abide, even the least wrinkle of vulgarity in social discourse? And that this “zipping” as you call it —
— You are censorious, madame.
— A mere scant shallow preludium, madame, to the remarks I shall bend in your direction should you persist.
— Shall we call the cops?
— And say what?
Flying to America Page 29