The Time of Her Life
Page 18
When the two Handel selections were over, Alice did not turn to the audience while they applauded her and her string students. She had caught sight of Jane’s violin and was watching Jane intently during the brief applause before she moved to adjust Jane’s music stand at center stage for Jane’s solo. She met Jane’s eyes for a moment, but she was stopped by something in Jane’s expression from indicating anything with that glance, not even a question. When Jane stood up and came to the front of the stage, she had to wait while Alice tried to get the stand to slide to the right height. Jane stood still, holding her bow across her waist and her new violin straight down the line of her thigh, and she looked out for a moment with a clear, half-lidded gaze at the goodhearted and generous-spirited audience. She was full of alarm and awfully conscious of fatigue and fear that weighed down her arms with a peculiar numbness. But the audience became still, too, frozen there in their kindly tolerance. All their benevolent intentions were caught up and stopped dead as they were held so briefly in Jane’s regard. She was tired to such a degree that she was not associating the performance she would give with the audience who would hear it. It was only Miss Jessup who worried her. She stood beside Alice and waited, and she looked out over the audience with curiosity and an air of pure assessment that was disconcerting to them. It was only for a moment that she stood and plied her gaze over the rows of people, but a faint stir broke out where her eye had passed.
“Hasn’t she grown up?”
“She’s gotten so tall this past year, hasn’t she?”
“Isn’t she going to be an attractive girl?”
They turned to each other uneasily because they saw something about her that made them want to alleviate the peculiar trepidation they felt as she stared so intently ahead. She was forfeiting their charity. And when Alice moved away and Jane poised her violin beneath her chin, they felt that just by the assurance of her motions she was indicating that it might be a grudging concession to them that she was performing at all. She drew out the first note of Bach’s “Air for the G String,” and it was a clean, pure sound that the audience listened to with attention. She had called forth their judgment with her level gaze. She had alerted them not to listen with a sympathetic ear and its corresponding condescension, and when she finished, they applauded seriously. Some of the audience knew how well she had performed, and they all realized that she had played the piece without a mistake.
For the moment Jane was pleased, and that was all. She had learned this wonderful new instrument in one day; she had fitted her skill to its eccentricities. She was too tired to be particularly triumphant or euphoric, though. She was simply relieved for herself and for her mother.
The concert continued. The audience was tired, with Christmas in the offing, and they were easily distracted by a stray child racing away from his mother, down an aisle, through a forest of knees. But Claudia was so enamored of the evening that she loved it all, now that Jane had played so beautifully. When the youngest children, the beginning students relegated to the lowly Red Band, finally played their one selection, Claudia was very moved by their desperately earnest expressions and their careful attention to Mr. Walters. She put her arm over Maggie’s on the support that separated their seats and leaned toward her.
“Oh, Maggie! It really is exciting what these children can do! It’s amazing what they’re exposed to so early. It’s John Cage, isn’t it?”
Maggie’s pale brows frowned over her program. “That’s something called ‘Band Room Blast.’ Arranged especially for the Red Band by Mr. Walters, it says. I guess it gives all the children a chance to make some kind of noise.”
But Claudia was a trifle jolted in her headlong enthusiasm.
By the time the band had finished its last number even the most temperate parents were relieved. The mothers with infants on their laps were tired of the effort of keeping them quiet and still, and the fresh air had been displaced by the breath of all those people so closely grouped. The room had become stuffy. Avery had been tense from the moment he had seen Jane come onstage with the pale brazilwood violin. He was stiff, too, from leaning against the wall, and he was glad to be able to make his way toward her as the orchestra and band members emerged in small, excited groups through the stage door leading into the auditorium. He and Claudia reached her almost at the same time, and Claudia had a quality of incandescence, she was so obviously pleased for her daughter.
“Janie, I wish you could have been a fly on the wall,” she said. “I wish you could have been in the audience and could have seen yourself!” Claudia hardly ever smiled wholeheartedly; she always seemed to have her private reservations, but she smiled at Jane now, and she spoke very deliberately, choosing her words with care. “You had real poise onstage. I don’t know exactly what it was…. You were elegant, not just a talented child who plays well.” She wanted to explain the powerful satisfaction she felt on Jane’s behalf. It was not in the nature of how the two of them were that Claudia would presume to be proud of her daughter, but she was deeply, deeply pleased. And finally Avery could not resist that pleasure either; his face lost its tension, and he smiled at Jane, too. Before he could say anything, though, the three of them caught sight of Alice approaching them slowly through the crowd, brushing aside the students who implored her to pay attention. She was determined, and her mouth was sternly set. She moved stiffly, as though she were wading through deep water. Claudia thought for a moment that Alice was moving with such restraint because she had finally realized that her little bikini underpants were sliding lower and lower over her narrow hips, but then she realized that Alice was unaccountably angry and that some of that anger seemed to be directed at her. As Alice drew nearer, that impression intensified. Claudia was especially surprised and baffled, since all during the performance she had extended to Alice every ounce of her empathy. Alice was thin and intent, and her progress toward them was inexorable, and Claudia grew agitated in spite of herself as she watched her approach.
Alice was so tiny in her flat shoes that when she stood among the three of them, even Jane looked down at her, but Alice’s immense irritation made her presence loom large. Claudia was a bit indignant by now, and uneasy, and Alice stood directly before her in an obvious confrontation.
“You really don’t pay attention to what people need, do you? I explained to you that it would take months for Jane to get used to a new instrument,” she said to Claudia. “You really didn’t pay attention. It’s like you didn’t even hear me!” Her voice, which was usually so inconsequential, had filled out with anger, and Claudia realized that she had always underestimated this severe little woman. She was completely at a loss, although to be attacked like this for no apparent reason made her eyes fill with tears and her chin quiver embarrassingly. It was the surprise of Alice’s rage that affected her. But Alice wasn’t deterred. She was not through being angry, and no one attempted to interrupt her because her quiet ferocity was so vehement. “I thought Avery was just feeling sorry for himself when he said you don’t listen, but he really was right. You could have ruined this concert for Jane!”
Claudia just looked at her, astounded that she would be the object of Alice’s interest right now, much less contempt. She looked to Jane, but Jane was looking away from all of them as though this were not happening; she was staring out into the crowd. Avery reached out and put his hand on Alice’s shoulder.
“Well, we probably shouldn’t have done it, Alice. One of us should have told you. But you know, it really was irresistible.”
Claudia turned slightly to look at him. She didn’t understand what was going on. She didn’t know why a note of conciliation had crept into Avery’s voice or why he was smiling his persuasive, slightly crooked smile. It distracted her. He was almost unctuous, and everything he said was infused with mediation and pacification. A shudder of protective irritation for Avery’s sake passed over her, because she could never bear it if he was being in the least bit foolish, and she didn’t know what he was up to now.
Alice turned to look dubiously at Jane, who did not look back. “You haven’t had a flu? That’s so stupid, Jane. I thought you knew better. I could have helped you. You should have filled the auditorium with sound from this violin! You could have. It will give you more volume. And I could have explained that to you. You can’t possibly figure that out if you’re just practicing in your bedroom. You have to suit the sound to the environment.” She was instructively earnest when she spoke to Jane about the violin, but she was angry again when she turned back to include Avery and Claudia.
“This is really not my idea of a fun surprise! I would have thought that at least Jane would have had more sense than that.” Alice was calmer, now, but quite firm, and Claudia could not bear to have her say these things to Jane no matter how tightly strung Alice’s nerves might be this evening because of the concert.
“Alice,” Claudia said, and she was plaintive, because she had learned over the years that people aren’t really very reasonable, “Jane was the success of the concert. Jane was wonderful!” She could not understand how Alice could be so cruel as to lessen this occasion for Jane. Jane had been valiant and careful standing beneath the lights. She had stood and looked out at the adults sitting in the audience and made it clear that she was not to be pitied. Claudia had realized that Jane had taken a great risk, and she had succeeded. She was brave and admirable and undeserving of this attack, but Claudia wasn’t mad at Alice in return; she was inured to people failing to fulfill her expectations of them. And for her part, Alice only gave a small shake of her head in resignation.
“That’s because she’s incredibly talented,” Alice said. “And lucky. Tonight she was awfully lucky.” Her anger was less forthright now, and by this time her other students had found her and were beseeching her and tugging at her attention, so she turned away, and Claudia looked after her a moment, saddened a little and bewildered. She didn’t want this to ruin anything for Jane.
“She’s wrong about that, Jane,” she said to her daughter, who might have been anyone’s child, she was so apparently unconnected to her two parents and her teacher. “It had absolutely nothing at all to do with luck! I watched you all the time, and you weren’t lucky. You had tremendous poise, and you were more concentrated than I’ve ever seen you be, but you weren’t one bit lucky!”
Jane turned to her mother and smiled at her because more than anything, tonight, it had hurt her when Alice had counted her lucky, and she loved her mother very much at that moment. She knew her mother understood the heart of the matter, and she thought that in her own vague way her mother did pay attention to what was needed, even if it was only now and then.
“Avery, why don’t you come with us?” Claudia said. “I’m going to take Janie somewhere to celebrate. She hardly ate any dinner, and I think we’ll go get a sundae or something.”
Avery didn’t reply for a moment. He stared off thoughtfully above the heads of the crowd. Then he bent down and kissed Jane carefully on the cheek in the same self-consciously guarded attitude that he had taken toward Claudia earlier. And his voice indicated a mournful resignation. He was quite serious about this part he was playing of the estranged and lonely father, Claudia thought, and she was impatient once again.
“Oh, well, I can’t do that. But you ought to go celebrate, Janie. I’ve got a special plan for Christmas morning. We can celebrate then. The Bach was the best thing on the program. You were wonderful, Janie. You ought to feel very proud of yourself.” He began to usher them in the direction of the aisle, and Claudia and Jane turned and started out ahead of him. At the end of the row they moved with the crowd into the wide central corridor toward the major exit, but when Claudia reached the top of the sloping auditorium, she looked around and saw that Avery had branched off the other way and was moving away from them toward the other end of the room.
“Oh, he really isn’t coming with us, I guess,” she said to Jane. “He must have parked around back. We’ll see him Christmas morning.” She turned back to join the crowd of people who were halted in their progress since only a few people at a time could make their way through the big double doors. Jane didn’t mind at all; she was just as glad to have her mother to herself. She looked back at the stage just in time to see her father approach Alice, who was being detained, still, by several sets of parents offering their congratulations. Jane saw her father move alongside her teacher and slide his hand beneath all her brown cascading hair and press her forward gently at the waist to guide her away from the lingering parents who turned, as she moved away, and waved good-bye. Jane wasn’t paying much attention, however. She was remembering that while she was standing before that audience playing the Bach, she had been briefly, absolutely, and only herself. Not her teacher’s pupil or her parents’ daughter or her friends’ acquaintance. She had experienced a moment of undivided self-involvement. It was a heady business, even remembering it. And in retrospect it did not seem to be a state that was in the least bit dangerous, only giddy and desirable. For the several minutes of playing the “Air for the G String” she had been cast adrift from loving or caring or knowing about anyone but herself.
10
Jane stayed in her pajamas late into Christmas morning even though whenever her mother noticed her she urged Jane to get dressed. “Why are you still in your pajamas on Christmas Day? We’re going to have champagne and everything. Why don’t you at least put on a pair of jeans?” But Jane turned on the television and wrapped herself in a blanket and watched the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. She was uneasy and sullen and overcome by a familiar feeling of dread which she was trying not to dwell upon. It was not as threatening if it remained amorphous, if she did not pin it down. With the effort not to think, her face took on a vaguely truculent expression, dull-eyed and grimly set through the mouth and jaw, and when Claudia looked in on her again, she thought that Jane might be coming down with a flu.
Claudia herself was frenetic with energy. She had thrown off all traces of lassitude and had been up since dawn. She had put on a dark maroon velvet dress with a fitted shirtwaist bodice and a huge collar that framed her face in a way that gave her features sweetness, so that with her frothy hair she looked like a valentine. The skirt of her dress was cut on the bias and lay closely over her round hips before sweeping out at the hem. She liked the feel of the cloth as she moved. She swayed against it a trifle when she walked so that the luxurious fabric swung around her legs. She was alarmingly talkative and euphoric, and she was all over the house, fluffing the pillows and cleaning the counters. Everything was exactly right and in its place.
She had waited too late to cook anything. Christmas Eve Jane had gone along with her and waited at the deli while Claudia selected a sinister-looking pâté with a dark row of truffles down the center. She had bought smoked salmon, red caviar and black caviar, black bread, rye bread, four different cheeses, and two pounds of sliced Boone County ham, which Avery liked better than Smithfield, and she also chose one of the small smoked turkeys that were trussed and hanging by their leg bones one above the other on knotted ropes behind the counter.
She had rarely in her life indulged herself in such a gluttony of frivolous buying, and it went to her head. At the organic food store she bought all kinds of fruit, great spills of grapes, and lemons and onions for the caviar. She stood in the store oblivious to the many people milling about and held the grapes up to show Jane. “I hadn’t ever realized how sexual this fr
uit is,” she said to Jane meditatively as the grapes hung down heavily over her hand where she held them before her. “It’s nature copying nature. My God, if you look around, though, I suppose that all this food could have a human sexual equivalent.” She turned to see if Jane agreed with her, but Jane had moved away and was studying the dairy case full of imported yogurt.
At the bakery Claudia got a dozen meringues, filled croissants, and a streusel for Christmas breakfast. Jane saw that her mother was slowly—from store to store—working herself into a peculiar and flushed furor of acquisition. “Janie, this is incredible! Just incredible. I don’t think I’m even a greedy person. I’m really not. But when you stand there looking at all the things you can buy… and you get to choose… God! It’s proof that you’re a grown-up. I mean, if you have the money for it, no one is going to say anything to you at all. They just give you what you ask for. Anything you want!”
Jane was becoming alarmed as she watched her mother’s increasing elation. “We have plenty of stuff now,” she said. “It’s so cold. Can’t we go home?”
But Claudia hardly noticed; she flashed her daughter a smile across the front seat, and they stopped at the liquor store, where Jane decided to wait in the car. Claudia bought three bottles of champagne, a good bourbon, scotch, gin, and a bottle of Finnish vodka that had a stalk of rye grass in it. “Look at that, Jane!” she said, turning the bottle so Jane could see it from every angle. “What an idea! It probably tastes foul, but it’s so pretty, isn’t it?” Jane didn’t say anything until her mother had settled the packages on the front seat. And even when she did speak, her voice was without conviction or hope. In fact, all she felt was a sort of doleful resignation.
“I don’t know why you always buy this stuff when Dad’s going to be in the house.” Her words came out flat in the enclosed air of the car with the dullness of coins falling on a wooden surface. But for the first time that day Claudia fell back into her habitual passivity. She was bending forward to turn the key in the ignition. When Jane spoke, Claudia dropped her hand to the car seat and leaned her head back against the headrest and to the side so that she was looking out the window for a long moment.