Mademoiselle

by Suzanne Jenkins

  The girls lived within a two-mile radius of my mother’s house. Waiting for them to arrive, I did serious self-talk. Leaving my childhood home was crucial to having my lifelong dream come true. I’d be a short, two hour plane ride away.

  Before long, Ida and Angela arrived with their children and husbands. I was sitting at the kitchen table where so much of the action in this house had taken place, telling my family about Ben Smith’s offer, while my nieces and nephews took turns climbing onto my lap.

  Soon, my mother was on the phone with her father, telling him I’d be in the city the following week. I wasn’t going to have time to see them but I knew they’d insist on taking the train from Brooklyn, even if it meant only waving to me from across the street. I’d have to find a way to fit them in.

  We talked the afternoon away. Our dinner came from Anthony’s that night so no one had to cook.

  My sisters continued to be touchstones. They validated me, as excited about my new job prospects as if they were going to New York themselves. Doubts disappearing, the resolution that my lifelong dream had come true grounded me. My life had meaning and value.

  By eight that night my nieces and nephews were fussy and tired. The exodus from my mother’s house started. After everyone left, I went up to my room for the first time since I got home. The big house was empty, lonely. Lynne stepped out for a drink with friends without telling me her news. My mother was sitting in the living room, reading. The windows were open and I could hear traffic moving up and down Outer Drive. I had three days here to look forward to, in my childhood bedroom.

  Something reminded me of Wax Spencer as I was putting the last of my clothing away. I went to the window to see if I could catch a glimpse of the top of his house, but the trees were so lush in early June that my room felt like it was in a tree house, and all I could see was green.

  After he graduated and I was alone, the routine of high school and sports was enough to keep me going without him. Every year, he sent a card for my birthday. The printed greeting, and then his name, he never added any news about himself. There were never any sightings in the neighborhood. For the most part, he ceased to exist for me.

  Then out of nowhere, the summer after he graduated from college, one weekend evening he came by the house with a six pack. Home after my sophomore year, I was a year behind because of that change in major.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a magazine, the house was empty, my mother over at Martha’s house. I heard a car engine pulling up in the driveway, and thinking she was home early, got up to greet her, but it was Wax. A strange mix of emotions swirled through me like a tornado; anger, surprise, hope, desire.

  As he got out of the car and walked up the path to the house, I realized I hadn’t laid eyes on him for almost four years. Still as handsome as I had remembered, he hadn’t changed that much, maybe his musculature more mature; he’d always been so lanky. So now he was handsome and built. I looked exactly the same, wearing the same clothes, my hair still pulled into a ponytail with no makeup.

  “Wow,” he said. “You haven’t changed at all.”

  “You’re the one,” I said, so nervous my lips quivered, my throat in danger of closing up. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “I saw Lynne at Misko’s,” he said, holding up a six-pack from the local bar. “She said you were home alone. You know what a lecher I am, so as soon as I heard that…”

  “Oh, right,” I said laughing, stepping out on the porch.

  Going to extend my hand to shake, he reached for me before I could step back, putting the six-pack down he pulled me to him and held me, a full body hug that left nothing to the imagination. I could feel his heart beating, that’s how close we were standing.

  Time ceased to exist. I don’t know how long we stood together. Enveloped in him, even his smell was familiar, soap and water, whatever detergent he washed his clothes with, even his deodorant filled my senses. Hands moving down to my waist, my heart skipped a beat, thinking this was it, this was the passion I had waited for.

  “I’ve missed you,” Pipi,” he said, earnestly, breaking the spell.

  There was a sadness about his voice that scared me. I didn’t understand why if he missed me, we weren’t together. But it wasn’t my place to ask; if he wanted me, he would have to let me know.

  “You know where I am,” I replied. “I’m in East Lansing during the week, but every weekend, I’m right here.”

  “What are you doing this summer?” he asked, watching me.

  “Guess,” I said, giggling.

  “Paper route?”

  “Yep, still a paper route. My aim is so good; I hit the porch every time. I haven’t had to get off my bike yet this year.”

  “You might be the only college student who has the same paper route they had since fifth grade.”

  “I think I am,” I replied, laughing.

  My mother came home after ten and said goodnight, smiling at me as she went inside and shut the door although the night was warm.

  Wax and I sat on the back porch talking and laughing until after midnight, easy conversation like two old friends. The earlier discomfort disappeared, time and beer aiding, the sensuous hug forgotten.

  Looking up at the sky, the lights of the nearby city obscured the stars, and I was about to say something when he leaned in to kiss me. We’d never kissed before. Putting his hand up on the back of my head, threading his fingers through my hair, he kissed me like we were lovers. My hands slid around his body meeting in the middle of his back. I could feel his chest expand and contract with each breath as I held him, the warmth of his body flooding me with desire. Smoothing my hair back, he did the same thing, embracing me, his arms encircling my body.

  It took my breath away, the intensity of it, I wanted him so badly. I would have gone all the way right there on my mother’s back porch if he’d tried. But he didn’t go any further than the kiss. Pulling away from me just enough, his lips slid down my neck and stopped. I held my breath.

  “I’d better go,” he said, muffling a sigh.

  Stunned, I was speechless that he was going to leave me. Sensing my astonishment, he paused for a moment. I could almost see the wheels turning as he debated telling me something.

  “I’ve got an early appointment tomorrow,” he explained, but that was it. “I enjoyed being with you tonight, Pipi. I think I made a big mistake letting you walk out of my life.”

  When he got up to leave, it felt awful. I was afraid it would be the last time we’d be together, and I was going to ask him to stay, to give me another chance, when Lynne’s friends pulled up on Outer Drive to let her off.

  The distraction was bad enough; I could tell she was upset, as well.

  “We meet again,” she said to Wax, trying to act like there was nothing wrong.

  We made small talk for one minute, and then he said again he had to go, that early appointment the next day.

  “I’ll see you inside, Pipi,” Lynne said.

  After she left, Wax looked at me for the last time, sticking out that hand of his.

  “Goodbye, Pipi,” he said. “It was great seeing you again.”

  Letting my hand go, he turned to walk down to his car.

  “Take care, Wax,” I called after him.

  Standing on the porch, watching him back out of our driveway and then turn the corner to his block, the finality of his departure struck me in the chest like a fist.

  Picking up beer bottles and sticking them back in their cardboard holder, icicle fingers ran down my spine, the possibilities of Wax marrying and having children with another girl, seeing him on the street or running into him at the Kroger, the final indignity-pretending I didn’t know him.

  “Are you ever coming inside?” Lynne asked, holding the door open for me.

  It was then that I could see something had upset her terribly.

  “Lynne! What is it?” I asked, taking her hand.

  She led me inside and pointed to the kitchen table. “Is
there any of that beer left?” she asked.

  “No,” I answered. “But there’s wine in the fridge.”

  We busied ourselves with uncorking the bottle. I could already feel a headache coming on, but the weekend stretched out ahead of me with nothing to do anyway.

  Pouring a glass for each of us, I watched my sister, her eyes bloodshot, her pale beauty more pronounced when she was in despair.

  “Lynne, what happened?” I asked.

  “Chris and I broke up,” she finally said, sniffing. “He didn’t call all week, and tonight I ran into him uptown.”

  “Was he alone?” I asked, baffled.

  Chris was the most dependable, sweetest man.

  “Yes, but he may as well not have been. I asked my friends to go ahead and get seated and I’d be right in. I asked him what was happening. ‘You never returned my calls,’ I said. He didn’t hesitate, that was what was so difficult,” Lynne explained. “If he’d had a doubt, or any remorse, I’d think there was hope for us.”

  “What was his answer?” I asked, dreading hearing what she might say.

  “‘I met someone else,’ he said. Just like that. I asked him who, and he said someone at his job. He was tired of waiting for me to make up my mind about what I wanted to do with my life.”

  “You mean because you’re going back to school? Was it an issue that you were going to go to nursing school?”

  Dumbfounded, I couldn’t work my mind around Chris betraying Lynne.

  “Never. He never said a word to me about it. When I decided to apply for the nursing program, he didn’t have any opinion. I had to do what I had to do to be employable. He never said not to worry, that he’d support me.”

  “Yes, well is that really an option? I don’t see our sisters sitting around eating bon bons while their husbands support them.”

  Giving Lynne’s revelation time to sink in, we drank wine in silence.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Nothing; keep going to school. I’m just glad I’m going close by, so I can live home with Mom,” she said.

  It was unavoidable; living home with Mom became our depressing mantra that summer.

  ***

  During the five years it took me to get through college, my three older sisters graduated, got married and had babies every year. Their activity filled my life with meaning and excitement. I didn’t notice the emptiness, or the loneliness, until after graduation that first night home in my room, alone. The flurry of activity in the dorm was never centered on me, but the idea that something was going on, like a parade passing by, comforted me. I felt like I was part of the action of life.

  Here at home, the quiet was depressing. I ran downstairs to talk to my mother for a while, hoping her companionship would help dispel the sadness I felt after my sisters left. When I walked into the living room, the soft yellow light from her reading lamp cast a glow over her shoulders and the area around her. It was eerie, almost lunar. Watching, I waited for her to take a breath.

  “Mom!” I called, suddenly frightened.

  Raising her head, she smiled at me, having dozed off. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” I said, not sorry at all, thinking she was dead.

  I came to her and bending down, kissed her cheek.

  “It’s nice to have you home, Pipi,” she said. “Although it sounds like it won’t be for long.”

  Closing her book, she put it on her lap, looking past me, pensive.

  “I’ve spent my life raising my family, excited about their milestones, but it’s sad, too. Everyone has their own life now. Lynne probably won’t stick around for long, and you’ll move to New York. I’ll visit Bubbe and Zayde more often if you do.”

  “Would you ever move back to Brooklyn, Mom?” I asked.

  “No, I’d miss the grandchildren too much. Unless you moved there and promised never to leave, there would be nothing for me back east. My parents are world travelers. I’d probably get there and they’d decide to move to Israel. You’ll be busy working and hopefully, meeting people. You don’t need me hanging around.”

  “I heard Zayde is taking a Krav Maga class,” I said, frowning, thinking of my little grandfather doing marshal arts.

  My mother laughed at the vision.

  “I guess it’s not funny,” she said, getting up. “He’s doing it so he can protect himself if necessary.

  “Let’s have tea.”

  I followed her into the kitchen, nervous. I was building up the courage to ask her a question I’d wanted to ask since graduation.

  “Have you heard anything about Wax Spencer?”

  She filled the teakettle with water and placed it on the stove, turning the gas flame on under it.

  “After he graduated, he took a civilian job with the Department of Defense,” she said, avoiding looking at me. “In the Persian Gulf.”

  “He did? That’s odd,” I said, fear growing. “Why would a he take a job like that? He could’ve worked wherever he wanted.”

  “I don’t know. I ran into his mother at Kroger, and she told me. I didn’t know who she was at first.

  “‘I’m Walter Spencer’s mother. Our children dated all through high school. My son mentions your Philipa whenever he’s home.’ I wanted to argue with her. You were just friends, weren’t you?”

  “I’m not sure anymore. He never tried to kiss me in three years. That sounds like just friends, doesn’t it? And then he never spoke to me again when I didn’t want to go steady.”

  I remembered the rogue kiss that summer night. Was the appointment he referred to the next day deployment to the Persian Gulf? The kiss might have never happened as far as he was concerned; he never got in touch after. There was my reason he didn’t show up at graduation, too, invitation or not. I didn’t mention it to my mother.

  “Well, ‘Pray for him,’ Mrs. Spencer asks, because he’s in the Middle East. The Persian Gulf War,” Mother said, clicking her tongue, shaking her head, thinking of another war.

  I was sure Mrs. Spencer didn’t know my father was a Vietnam War casualty. Or maybe she had, and that was why she sought out my mother, a stranger, at the grocery store. Or was it really for my benefit?

  “I need something stronger than tea tonight,” I said.

  “Yes,” Mother said. “I’ll join you.”

  We were at the kitchen table talking with only the light on above the sink when Lynne finally came home.

  Kissing me on the cheek, she reiterated how proud she was of me.

  “I’m glad you’re both here,” she said. “I’m got something to tell you.”

  “You’re getting married,” Mother said.

  “Right. In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t had a date in over a year,” Lynne replied.

  “It’s only because you don’t apply yourself. Now if you would just…”

  “Mother, please. Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

  Standing up to get Lynne a wine glass, my mother laughed. “I’m sorry; of course I want to hear your news. Sit down and have a glass of wine with Pipi and me.”

  Pulling out a chair, Lynne looked over at me and winked. Our mother joining in for a glass of wine was a fairly new affair; she said because I was finally an adult, she could relax a little bit.

  Handing Lynne her glass, Mother sat down. “Okay, everything is perfect. Speak,” she said.

  “Ma’s got a buzz,” Lynne said, laughing. “Okay, seriously.”

  “We’re serious!” I said. “Hurry up.”

  “I’m going to join the Army,” she said. “The Army Nurse Corp, specifically. They’ll pay my loans for nursing school, I’ll go in as an officer, and there’s a possibility I can stay right here and work at the VA hospital.”

  This news coming on the heels of my mother’s story about running into Mrs. Spencer in the Kroger felt surreal. We were looking at Lynne, and then we looked at each other.

  “This is just unreal,” I said. “Mom just told me Wa
x is in the Persian Gulf and now you’re telling us…”

  “But I’m not going to go overseas,” she said.

  “That’s what your father said,” Mother replied.

  “This is a volunteer Army,” Lynne said. “It’s different now.”

  “I don’t think it’s that different. You join the Army, the recruiter tells you what you want to hear, and you go where they want you to go, end of sentence.”

  “Mother, please don’t be upset. I want to do this. I feel like I’ve been spinning my wheels so to speak. I wasted the first four years of college.”

  “Because you didn’t listen to me,” she answered, triumphant.

  “It would make Dad proud of me.”

  “Lynne, you never have to concern yourself with making your father proud because he’s dead. You can’t make him proud. All you can do is take care of yourself and do what’s best for you.”

  Realizing she’d backed herself into the proverbial corner, my mother started to laugh.

  “Oh Lynne, I know you think this is what’s best for you! But muter thinks not!”

  Reaching over, Lynne hugged her, kissing her cheek. “Mom, I promise you, I won’t do anything hasty. I just wanted you to know what I’m thinking. I don’t want to waste any more time. They’ll train me in the field I’m interested in. It’s all good.”

  That night I tossed and turned, thinking of the parallels between my mother and Mrs. Spencer, both missing loved ones off to war. I didn’t include myself in the group because dwelling on Wax was counterproductive and if I started to worry about Lynne now, I’d be a wreck by the time she made up her mind. It was better to try to let things of which I had little or no control not trouble me. It took some effort, but soon, I’d forgotten the worry and fell asleep.

  The following day, I received a phone call from Karen Fischler of human resources at the magazine, and my thoughts and concerns for Wax and Lynne quickly disappeared. The information I would need about my flight and the schedule for the meeting with my future employers on Tuesday took all my concentration.

  “Welcome aboard, Miss Weiner!” she said before she hung up, acting like I had the job.