by Jones, Craig
Regina refused to come out of her room to eat, so dinner turned out to be quite pleasant. Maybe because I was so disappointed in Regina—and myself—and because I admired the tenderness between Gloria and Brian, I set out to win the boy’s attention. When I served the pudding, I gave him a side dish of whipped cream shaped like a snowman, with raisin eyes, lemon-peel mouth and a maraschino cherry cap. Once again, he showed that uncanny adult expression as he adjusted the cherry cap to his liking.
“I can see it coming,” sighed Gloria as we watched him. “He’s going to be a nit-picker like his father.”
We had our coffee in the living room. Brian sat on my lap, running his fingers through my hair and murmuring, “Fire.” Gloria watched us with the same contentment she once had when she used to listen to Pat and me kidding each other.
“Don’t you think we should take something up to Regina?” she said.
“I told her if she wants to eat she can come downstairs.”
“Why don’t you let me take it up, as a kind of peace offering. After all, we’ve invaded her territory.”
“All right, if you want to.”
She prepared a tray with the ham and the potato salad and made a whipped cream snowman as I had done for Brian. She went upstairs, knocked and called Regina’s name. There was a long silence before she came back down.
“She wouldn’t answer me. I left the tray on the nightstand.”
“Then let her stew.” She sat down with a look of amusement. “I know. You think I’m being too hard.”
She shrugged. “Not at all. I know your expectations, Irene.”
“And you think they’re too high?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Do you really doubt yourself that much?”
“Sometimes. Especially when it comes from all sides. Frank and I see eye to eye on all the important things except Regina. I think he’s too indulgent, he thinks I’m too hard. The same thing at school. The trend now is less homework and practically no writing. Complete sentences are out of fashion, spelling is unimportant, knowing the parts of speech is considered passé. And when it comes to literature, everyone seems to be on this kick of reading what’s supposed to be relevant—the implication being that anything written before 1950 is irrelevant. I’m not very popular with the other people in the English Department. If it weren’t for the principal’s support, I’d feel like a total dinosaur.”
“It’s no better in college. You should see the papers I had to read. But let’s not talk shop.”
We put Brian to bed in the same room where Gloria would sleep. We only had to promise to leave the door open and the hall light on.
“Do you want one of Regina’s dolls or bears to sleep with?” I asked him.
“No,” said Gloria. “He hates things in bed with him. Likes the whole place to himself. Don’tcha, kiddo?”
He smiled and stuck his arms out to the sides. “Can’t fall out,” he said.
“After the crib, we put him in a twin. He fell out of it six times, so now he’s got a double.”
I checked on Regina. She was reading comic books in bed, and the food was untouched. She would not look at me, and we said nothing to each other. I simply closed the door and went downstairs.
“How about some more coffee to go with the grass?” said Gloria. “It’ll keep everything in check.”
I perked a pot and we sat down at the dining room table. Gloria pulled out the joint. When we got it smoked down too far to hold, she produced a roach clip and showed me how to suck in the last of the smoke. I soon felt the mellowness come over me, and the room seemed to cool off considerably.
“How about some music? I can put on FM.”
“No,” she said. “No music, if you don’t mind. You know what I love to do? I love to take a few puffs, settle into bed and read. But always the same stuff—S. J. Perelman or Dorothy Parker or Flannery O’Connor. I read them over and over again. I tried Waugh once but it didn’t work.” She giggled. “Waugh was a flop in bed.”
“Doesn’t Pat ever want to . . . you know?”
“Have sex? We take care of that earlier. And without grass. Then he goes to sleep and I puff and read.” She smiled wistfully.
“You miss him?”
“Ummm. Every now and then I need to be away from him. But I do miss him. I learned my lesson.”
“What lesson?”
“He left me once. When he found out I was having an affair.”
“You had an affair?”
“For about two months. I was pregnant with Brian. That just about killed Pat. ‘You let another man put his prick in you while you’ve got my baby in there?’ ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘it isn’t touching the baby.’ I was an out-and-out bitch.”
“Who was he? How did it start?”
“He was a cashier in the supermarket, a drifter, forty-five years old. I knew I had to leave the college to have Brian and I guess I was afraid of the middle-class setup I’d be falling into. Anyway, this guy kept giving me the eye and I was dazzled by the fact he had no roots and didn’t give a damn. That was before I realized half the state of California is filled with drifters and they’re a dime a dozen. So one day he’s ringing up my order and he says to me, ‘Did you ever lie naked on pine needles?’ He was so matter-of-fact, it fascinated me. We never made it to the pine needles, but I went to his house every morning for two months.”
“Every morning?”
“Weekday mornings while Pat was working.” She lit a cigarette. “Hal was quite violent. I had to keep warning him against leaving marks.”
“What did he use—a rubber hose?”
She laughed. “Not violent that way.”
“How did Pat find out?”
“The usual way. The only day I ever went out with Hal for lunch, Pat saw us and followed us back to Hal’s. He didn’t tell me. The next morning he drove by Hal’s and saw my car in the driveway. Then he confronted me and I confessed. Then he walked out for two weeks. He wouldn’t let me in his office and he hung up every time I called. I almost went crazy. I thought I was going to lose him, I thought some woman would get him and that would be the end of it. When he came back, he said if it ever happened again, he’d leave me for good and take the baby too. And I knew he meant it. You know what’s crazy? I don’t think I really loved him until he said that. I was very lucky. Sometimes I get the chills when I think how it could have all gone another way.”
“Yes, it could have.”
We sat quietly for what seemed a long time. I watched her circle the ashtray with her cigarette butt.
“It’s all chance, isn’t it?” she said. “Who we meet and who we don’t. I know it sounds sophomoric, but when you realize it emotionally, it’s frightening. If I’d never met you or Pat . . . Are you happy, Irene?”
“I . . .” Maybe it was the grass, maybe an echo of the past, but suddenly I suspected a trap. “Yes.” Her eyes rolled up to meet mine. “I guess so. Reasonably.”
She smiled. “A reasonable answer.”
“Sometimes I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of change. This damned war, King and the Kennedys assassinated—it’s gotten Frank all worked up and involved and it scares me. And then Regina, the whole last year. And school, of course. We had so many fights last year, all that racial stuff. And some problems with drugs. And here I sit smoking grass with you. It’s just so strange. Even a year ago I couldn’t have pictured myself doing it.”
“Well, you’re doing it and it’s all right, so relax. In fact, I think I’ll send a little news item to our alumni paper: ‘Irene Mattison, née Rutledge, Queen of Sparta, renounces crown and scepter for daily dose of dope and relaxation.’ ”
“No one would believe it.”
“That, my dear, is why it makes good copy
.”
She suggested we switch from coffee to Coca-Cola and have another joint. When I hesitated, she assured me we had eaten recently enough to keep us from getting too stoned. Just as she struck the match, the doorbell rang.
“Oh, my God, the cops!”
She laughed. “Very unlikely. Probably a moonlighting Avon lady. I’ll get rid of her.”
I watched her walk through the living room and open the door. The porch light wasn’t on, so I couldn’t make out the figure on the porch. “Oh, yes,” I heard Gloria say, “I remember you. Come on in. Irene, you’ve got company.”
Vivian stepped into the living room.
“Hello, Irene.” She smiled meekly and looked quickly around the room. “Is Frank here?”
“As a matter of fact, he’s not.” Get on your feet, you idiot! I stood up. “He’s in Chicago. On business.”
“Oh? He’s not teaching at the university anymore?”
“It’s university business.”
We stood there awkward and silent. Finally, Gloria said, “I think I’ll do the dishes. If you’ll excuse me . . .” She picked up the coffee cups from the dining room table—and the joint along with them.
“I know I’m not supposed to be here,” said Vivian. “I just took a chance that maybe Frank has softened a little.”
“I don’t think he has. I’m sorry.” What are you doing standing here in the dining room while she’s standing in there? Get moving! “I really don’t know what to say.” I moved forward a few steps. “Would you like to sit down for a few minutes?”
“I’d better not, since Frank’s not here.” But she didn’t move. “You never cashed that second check I sent you.”
“I couldn’t. I—”
“I understand, believe me.” She bit her lip and looked at the floor. “Irene, I’m going to ask you a big favor. I’ve got to ask it. Can I see the baby?”
“The baby?”
“Sorry. She must be six now, going into first grade.”
“Kindergarten. She was sick last year.”
Her face darkened. “How sick?”
“Rheumatic fever. She was in the house for eight months.”
“Is she all right?”
“Oh, yes. Spunky and sassy.”
She smiled. “Could I see her. Just see her. I won’t say a word to her. You don’t have to tell her who I am. Please, you don’t know what it would mean to me.”
I couldn’t stand hearing her beg. “If Frank ever found out . . .”
“Irene, I know it’s asking a lot, but I promise you he’ll never know. No one will know. Even Leo doesn’t know I came here.”
“Yes, you must promise me that.”
“I do promise you.”
We found Regina sprawled out on the bed, still dressed and sound asleep in a pile of comics. The food on the nightstand hadn’t been touched; the raisins and lemon peel and cherry lay in a puddle of cream.
“She was being punished,” I whispered in hasty explanation. “She didn’t want to tare her shoys—” Idiot! “—I mean share her toys.” God, I thought, I hope she can’t smell that stuff.
She smiled and bent down closer to Regina. “Lovely, lovely. She’s going to be tall like Frank.”
“Yes, she looks just like Frank.”
“I hope she’s not going to slouch. Tall girls have a tendency to do that. I had to teach myself not to. What’s her name?”
“Regina.”
She looked as if she didn’t believe me. “Regina?”
“Yes.”
“Then Frank must have named her.”
“Yes.” I watched her bend even closer, until her face nearly touched Regina’s. “She’s a light sleeper,” I lied. I was beginning to feel a vague resentment. Vivian took the hint and followed me out of the room.
“What did you mean—‘Frank must have named her’?”
She looked embarrassed. “It just seemed a little coincidental. It was our sister’s name.”
“What sister?”
“Didn’t he tell you? Our sister who died. Her name was Regina.”
“When did she die?”
“She was fifteen. It was Frank who found her. In the woods.”
“In the woods?”
“She was retarded. She drank a bottle of lye.”
“Lye! But was it—was it by mistake?”
“No one knows. She was secretive, like Frank. They were very close and apart from the rest of us.”
“Frank never mentioned her. In fact, he never mentioned you, either, until you came to the wedding rehearsal.”
“Who knows what goes on in that mind of his.”
“Vivian, why doesn’t he like you?”
She sighed and looked away. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression, Irene. I love Frank very much. But he’s always been quite committed to having his own way. We were a big family and I had to look after him a lot of the time. And discipline him. Frank does not like discipline, and he holds grudges better than anyone I know. That’s why, for your sake as well as mine, I wouldn’t tell him I was here.”
“But I want to ask him why he never said anything about his sister.”
“Don’t, please. Maybe it’s just too painful for him to talk about, maybe he just wants to forget about it. In time, he might tell you about it.”
“In time? We’ve been married nine years!”
“We all have our secret torments no one knows about. There are some things people can’t share. I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No, I’m glad you did.”
“One more thing before I go. I know you won’t accept any money from me, but I’m going to open a savings account in my name and Regina’s. By the time she’s ready for college, she’ll have all the money she needs. And maybe Frank will soften by then. This will be just between us.”
“Vivian, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. I told you once that in our family we take care of our own. Regina shouldn’t get any less than my other nieces and nephews are getting.” She started for the door.
“Wait. Give me your address before you go. The least I can do is send you a Christmas card.”
Smiling, she wrote it down for me. “Hide it well.”
“I will.”
We shook hands.
“I’m glad you came,” I said. “And I’m sorry about the way the situation is between us.”
“You never know, it may change. I’m extremely patient. Running a business has taught me that much. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Vivian.”
I found Gloria reading the newspaper in the kitchen.
“No bad news, I hope.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Not tonight. All of a sudden, I’m exhausted. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed.”
“Go ahead. I brought along Dorothy Parker for just such an emergency.”
For a long time, I couldn’t get to sleep. I kept imagining what lye would do to someone’s insides. She was retarded. I should have been told for our daughter’s sake. Never mind his private torment. I had a right to know. And I would find a way to make him tell me.
In the morning, we decided to take the kids on a walking tour of the campus and then to the zoo.
“I’ve been to the zoo,” muttered Regina.
“You like the zoo. If you want, you can ask Susan to come.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“All right then, you’ll have to stay at Mrs. Lorimer’s and I’ll have to pay her. That means no money for you when the ice cream truck comes around.”
“I don’t want any ice cream.”
“Remember that later.”
&
nbsp; “I will.” Determined, as always, to have the last word.
Gloria and I packed a lunch, and after dropping Regina at Mrs. Lorimer’s, drove off with Brian. The day was perfect, hot but dry, with huge clouds driven by a wind that occasionally touched ground. We parked at the edge of the campus and walked directly to Harley Hall, which housed the English Department.
“Ah, the return of the natives,” said Gloria. “Let’s see if Big Chief Denning’s in.”
The secretary told us Dr. Denning had gone to Tulane two years ago. Gloria looked at me in surprise. “Didn’t you know that?”
“I never kept up with him. The only time I get out here is when Frank and I come to a lecture-concert series or a play.”
“You are a hermit.”
I suggested we have our lunch at the botanical gardens behind the Natural Science Building. Gloria warned Brian not to touch the flowers. He ran around sniffing them and giggling.
“Over nine years ago,” I said, looking around us.
“Nine years ago what?”
“I sat on that bench over there and took myself apart.”
“Over what?”
“I’d had a fight with Frank. I should say I’d started a fight with him, and I couldn’t finish it. I was so damned ridiculous, so proud. I came and sat here and had this big exorcism of my pride. Oh, God, was I filled with self-pity.”
“You did grow up that year. I guess I resented it because I wasn’t ready to do the same. I didn’t want to lose my best friend.”
“Gloria, am I still your best friend?”
She chuckled. “Yes, you always will be, no matter how far apart we live. I don’t click with many people.”
“Same with me. What you said a few minutes ago is true. I really am a hermit. Seeing you has made me realize just how much. I have no close friends at all. Oh, Frank and I play bridge with a few couples and there are a couple of people I like at work, but somehow we never manage to get together much outside of school. I guess my best friend is my husband. I don’t know if that’s wise, but that’s the way it is. Besides him, you’re the only other person I can really talk to—or want to talk to.”