by Jones, Craig
“He didn’t say anything.”
“What else did Sylvia say?”
“She said I could come to her apartment for a whole day and play with her cats.”
Over my dead body.
I made plans to take Regina with me and stay at my parents’ while Frank was in Chicago. Neil was just back from Vietnam; I thought being around him would reassure me that Frank’s trip was meaningful and necessary. But the day before Frank left, Gloria called from Los Angeles to say she was flying in to see her mother. (Her father had died two years earlier.) I grabbed at the opportunity of inviting her to spend a few days at our house. Pat was not coming with her, but she was bringing their three-year-old son, Brian. At first she hesitated at my offer, but when I said Frank would be gone, she readily accepted.
She timed her arrival just right; her rented car pulled into our driveway three hours after Frank pulled out of it. Instead of running out to greet her, I stood near the window, out of sight, and watched her lift Brian from the front seat and take the luggage out of the trunk. She was radiant. Her blond hair was blonder—I assumed from the sun—parted in the middle and drawn back in soft waves to form an old-fashioned bun. Instead of slacks or something else casual, she wore a cream-colored tailored suit. It was a style that seemed to be disappearing, and I was somehow proud of Gloria for hanging on to it. It made her look soft yet determined, behind the times but beyond them too. My stomach churned all the way up to my throat: I felt like a kid whose favorite grandmother was coming to visit.
I finally got myself moving to help her with the luggage. When we got it inside, I hugged her so hard that she laughed. It was good to hear her laugh, the way she used to before I met Frank.
“This is Mommy’s friend,” she said to Brian, who was gripping her skirt. “See, I told you her hair is red.” She turned to me. “I don’t think he’s ever seen a real redhead. Just about everyone in California is a blond.” She brushed his fleecy locks.
“Regina’s taking a nap right now. Are you hungry? Do you want a shower?”
“Just some coffee.” She looked around the living room and into the dining room. “This is beautiful, Irene. Really beautiful.”
“It’s a little too dark. We’re surrounded by trees.”
“I’ll take this any day over that California glare.”
“Stomach hurts,” said Brian.
Gloria put her hand on her stomach and said, “No, it doesn’t.”
“Stomach hurts.”
“Feels fine to me,” she said.
“My stomach hurts.”
“Ohhh, why didn’t you say so? I think you should take off your shoes and lie down on that couch over there.”
“You lie with me.”
“No; Irene and I are going to sit at the dining room table. You’ll be able to hear me.”
He took off his shoes and crawled onto the couch. “I’ll hear you?” he said.
“Now don’t you dare go to sleep. You have to hear me.”
“I won’t go to sleep,” he murmured, his eyes already closed. “I can close my eyes but I can hear you.”
“That’s right. You can close your eyes, but don’t go to sleep.” As we moved into the dining room, she shook her head and smiled. “Oh, the little games they teach us.”
I nodded but said nothing. Already I was running a comparison: the past year with Regina had not been a light-hearted experience. She had taught us a game, all right, but it was one Frank and I reacted to differently and argued over. At the end of March, when she had recovered from the rheumatic fever, the doctor warned us to watch her carefully if she ever complained of a sore throat because it could lead to strep, which in turn could bring on a relapse of the rheumatic condition. Frank relayed this information to Regina and told her to let us know if she felt even the slightest tickle. Too many times, when she wanted to stay up late or found out she was going to spend an evening with a baby-sitter, she would begin hinting about her throat. The doctor would come, only to discover that her throat showed no trace of redness at all. Finally, one night when Frank was working, I decided this game had to come to a halt. I told Regina if her throat really did hurt, we could not take chances: she would have to have a penicillin shot to protect her. She decided her throat really didn’t hurt. Frank was livid when I told him what I had done. “You’ve made her afraid to tell us,” he said. I said I hadn’t, that I had explained to her the difference between real danger and no danger. After that, her complaints did subside a bit, but when she had them, she always went to Frank.
“How’s Regina?” asked Gloria.
“Fully recovered, the doctor says. Naturally, she’s anxious to start school. It’s been a tough year for her. Her friends sort of abandoned her and I don’t think she’s quite forgiven them. There’s a new family on the next block and she’s taken up with their little girl, so she does have someone. I must say Frank made everything a lot easier for both Regina and me.” I told her how he had arranged his teaching schedule so I could go back to work. She looked a little embarrassed, then said:
“I’m happy things have turned out well for you and Frank. I think I’ve grown up a little since—well, since I’ve had Brian. And since my father died.”
“How’s your mother?”
She shook her head. “Hopeless. She’s drunk all the time now. I was going to stay three days with her, but all I could take was one night. She won’t hire a housekeeper or a gardener; the place is in a complete shambles, yet she won’t sell it and move into an apartment. She won’t listen to anything I say; she just wants to be left alone to drink. I’ll tell you, there’s no one explanation for a bad marriage, I realize that now. She was miserable when he was alive, but she’s more miserable now that he’s dead. I’ve decided she’s just lazy. I know that sounds callous, but . . . happiness takes a lot of work. Misery takes no work.”
“Amen.”
“I’ve had to change my mind about a lot of things, mainly her and him. And you and Frank. Obviously you’ve made a go of it.”
“Yes. But the differences become more sharply defined as we get older. You know he went to that demonstration. He’s very political and I’m not at all.”
“I’m not, either. I can’t make up my mind about politics. Sometimes it all seems so complicated and other times I feel it’s so damned simple-minded, just a lot of sloganeering.” She smiled. “I feel the same way about Brian. Sometimes I look at him and think he’s only three and therefore just a simple little soul. Then he turns around and does something that makes me say, ‘No, he’s already a complex little individual.’ Do you ever feel that way about Regina?”
“Oh, yes. She’s got her tricks and her stratagems. Not all of them pleasant, I’m afraid.”
“Frightening little creatures, aren’t they, when you realize they have thoughts of their own.”
“Who’s that?”
We both looked at Regina, standing in the archway. She was pointing to the couch, which we couldn’t see. “Who’s that?” she repeated.
“That’s Brian,” I said. “And this is Gloria.”
“Hello, Regina.”
“Hello. When’s Daddy coming home?”
“I told you, not for a few days. Gloria and Brian are staying with us. Daddy will be back after they leave.”
“Daddy’s coming back when they go?”
“Yes.”
“If they go now, will he come home now?”
Gloria laughed. “She’s way ahead of you, Irene.”
“Are they sleeping here?”
“Yes, they’re sleeping here. Do you want some cookies and milk?”
“Is Sylvia going to stay with us too?”
“Sylvia’s out of town.”
“With Daddy?”
“Yes, they went to a convention. Now l
et’s stop with the questions. What big plans do you have for the afternoon?”
“I want to go to Susan’s.”
“Fine, but be home by four-thirty. That way you can play with Brian for a little while before dinner.”
She looked disdainfully in the direction of the couch. “I don’t want to play with him. He’s a baby.”
“He’s small,” I said, “but he’s not a baby. He’s three.”
“I’m six. Three and three is six.”
I could see Gloria was amused by this exchange, but I was growing impatient. “You can still have fun together.”
“Babies aren’t fun. You have to take care of them.”
“That’s enough, Miss Priss. You just be home by four-thirty or I’ll take care of you. Make sure you’re nearby when I call.”
“Suppose I’m in Susan’s house?”
“They have clocks.”
“Suppose we go to the store?”
“Suppose you stay home.”
That was enough to send her skipping out of the house.
“She’s so tall and she looks just like Frank,” said Gloria. “But she takes after you. Sharp and sassy.”
“Kindergarten will smooth her corners.”
She asked who Sylvia was and I poured out the story. Talking about it made me angry all over again, but this time I enjoyed the anger. Gloria’s knowing smiles and nods reassured me I was talking to someone whose opinions were aligned with my own.
“So you didn’t like the grass?” she asked.
“Not particularly. But then, I was drinking wine with it.”
“No good. And you were with strangers too.”
“Yes, I suppose that makes a difference. But I don’t even drink much anymore.”
“How about smoking with me tonight?”
“You smoke grass?”
“Once in a while. I’ve been dying to smoke with someone who has more to say than ‘Oh, wow.’ We’ll smoke an official peace pipe.”
I liked the idea immediately, partly because, as Gloria suggested, this was our reunion, and partly because she was the picture of propriety except for the sly grin she was giving me. She tapped her purse with her perfectly manicured painted-peach nails and said with a mock-Southern drawl: “Whah, Offi-suh, ah have no idea how six li’l ol’ joints got inta this heah purse.”
“Six! They could lock you up for that.” Then, a little apprehensive, I asked, “How often do you smoke that stuff?”
“Once or twice a week. Just a couple of puffs to get me to sleep when I’m wound up. Purely medicinal, my dear. I never smoke with anyone; that’s why I’d like to do it with you. In fact, maybe I should have a little nap now so I don’t pass out on the stuff later.”
“Sure, go ahead. If Brian wakes up, we’ll get acquainted.”
She stood up and looked around the room again. “You really have done a beautiful job with the house. It feels like a home.”
After she went upstairs, I sat and took in the room. She was right, it did feel like a home, and I was especially proud of the dining room, with the light oak moldings around the windows and the archway, the roughly cut hutch and wine rack, the green Tiffany lamp hanging over the round, dark oak table. Spacious and uncluttered, it was a room that made you think of children getting out of wet boots and mittens and gathering around for cookies and cocoa. I was glad Gloria approved; I was glad she found Regina so amusing. And I was glad we were having this reunion. Having been involved with Regina and the house and then my job again, I had not cultivated any close friendships like the one I had once had with Gloria. Obvious as it should have been, it didn’t occur to me what I had been missing until I heard her laugh again and saw her listening, really listening, to me.
I was reading a magazine in the living room when Brian woke up. He gave a big yawn, sat straight up and pressed the corners of his eyes with his fingers, then put his hands flat on his legs and said hello to me very matter-of-factly. To me, this little routine was hilariously adult, like that of an executive emerging from a stolen nap in the office. I told him his mother was sleeping upstairs; he nodded and looked out the window as if that were what he had expected me to say. After cookies and milk, he stretched out on the floor with one of Regina’s coloring books. He chose a picture of Alice meeting the Queen of Hearts. Before he would touch a crayon to each item, he consulted me about the color he should use. He worked slowly, clamping his tongue between his lips and squinting his eyes when the crayon got close to the borders; when he was safely away from the borders and had more freedom of movement, his face relaxed and his hand sped up. I compared his work with Regina’s on the page next to it. Her strokes jagged out of the lines and were put down with varying degrees of pressure. And like most of her pictures, this one was unfinished. I felt a twinge of jealousy as I watched Brian’s steady concentration. But of course, I thought, he had not suffered a confinement to make him frustrated and impatient.
As if my silent comparison had summoned her, Regina was standing in the archway, staring at Brian.
“Aren’t you the quiet one,” I said. “It’s only ten to four. Didn’t you play with Susan?”
“Her grandma came,” she mumbled, not taking her eyes off Brian. Brian looked up for only a second, and went back to his work.
“Why don’t you get your other book and color with Brian?”
“Who said he could color in my book?”
“I said. He’s only coloring one picture.”
“I was saving that picture.”
I doubted it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You can color one in your other book.”
“I hate that other book.”
“You don’t hate it. You color in it all the time.”
“I hate it. I was saving that picture and now he spoiled it!”
Brian put his crayon down and backed away to the couch.
“It’s all right, Brian, you can keep coloring.” He stood where he was and stared at Regina. “If you’ve got any notion about throwing a tantrum, young lady, you can forget it right now. I didn’t know you were saving that picture and that’s that. There are plenty of other pictures for you to color.”
“He spoiled it! You let a baby color in my book!”
“You’re acting like the baby. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
“Daddy wouldn’t give it to him.”
“Daddy would have. Now that’s enough. Brian, go ahead and finish your picture.”
He started for the book but Regina shot forward and grabbed it.
“Regina, put that down!” She backed up a few steps and hung on to it. “I said to put it down.” I could tell by the defiance in her eyes I was going to have to take it from her. I started out of the chair. In one quick movement, she tore the page from the book, then hurled the book to the floor. As I came to her, she crumpled the picture into a ball. I grabbed her arm and headed for the stairs. “You are going to your room and you’re staying there until I tell you you can come out.”
She began to cry. “I want Daddy. I want Daddy to come home!”
“Get going,” I said, aiming her up the first step.
“I want Daddy,” she sobbed, and slid down against the wall.
“Regina, I can’t carry you, but if I have to I’ll drag you up. Now get moving.”
She spread herself face down on the steps and wailed, “I want Daddy. I want him now!”
“Get up.” I tugged on her arm, but she was determined to stay where she was.
“Irene, what’s wrong?” It was Gloria at the top of the stairs.
“Just the Queen of Sheba throwing a tantrum.” I took hold of Regina by both wrists and started walking backward up the steps.
“Irene, don’t! You’ll hurt your back.”
“S
he is going to her room—one way or the other.”
“I want Daddy!”
Gloria came down. “I shouldn’t butt in, but let me help you. You can’t pull her like that; you’ll both get hurt.” She went for Regina’s feet but had to pull away when Regina began to kick.
“Don’t touch me! You don’t live here! Go away and let my daddy come home! Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!”
I was furious and ashamed. I had to stand still for a minute because I was afraid I might yank Regina’s arms right out of their sockets. I saw a look of sympathy, almost pity, on Gloria’s face, and I hated Regina for putting it there.
When I got her into her room, I closed the door and took a few deep breaths to steady myself. She flung herself onto the bed and buried her face in the pillow.
“You can go right on crying,” I said, “but you listen to me and you listen well. Gloria is my friend and she and Brian are guests in this house. When you have guests, you share things with them. So you’d better start learning how. You’ve had a few little taps on your butt before, but you’ve never had a real spanking. You’re going to find out what one feels like if you dare to act the way you did just now. Do you understand?” I knew better than to wait for an answer, so I left immediately.
When I got back to the living room, Brian was uncrumpling the picture to show to Gloria. I felt helpless, with nothing to say. If only Brian had cried or thrown a tantrum himself. But there he was accepting his mother’s assurance that a few wrinkles wouldn’t hurt his good coloring job. When he looked skeptical, she asked him who the prettiest woman in the world was. He said it was she. “Well,” she said, “someday I’ll be wrinkled just like that paper, but I’ll still be pretty, won’t I?” She pressed her forehead against his and said, “Won’t I?”
He smiled and kissed her mouth with a loud smack. I could tell the kiss was a ritual between them and for the moment I couldn’t help feeling cheated.