by Betsy Burke
I reeled, shuffled, shined, hooked, flared, quarter-checked, twirled under, twirled over and hootenannied for a good hour and a half.
Then the lights went down, plunging the room into darkness except for the moving flecks from the dance ball. There was laughter and suggestive hooting. The man calling the dances starting singing, “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” People were doing a strange kind of quarter-time slow dance with partners changing every ten seconds. I had gone through five middle-aged paunchy men who smelled of denture-adhesive and sweat, when I was slow-danced into the arms of a tall man with a hard stomach, broad shoulders and the scent of cinnamon and wood fires permeating his shirt.
He twirled me twice, pressing me into his chest and caressing my hair for a second. My hormones went berserk. I barely had a chance to glimpse his face as he spun away. Were his eyes green or gray? Was his hair sandy-red and long, or blond and tied in a ponytail? I couldn’t tell. There was just a vague impression of him. I was grabbed again and twirled into another pair of geriatric arms. I craned my neck to see if I could spot my previous partner, but it was impossible in the glittering darkness, and sea of spinning Merls and Mavises.
The phone rang at nine o’clock on Saturday morning.
Sky’s hysterical voice said, “Lucy. Can you come over? I’m at the shop.”
“Sky, what is it? You okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Is there a man involved by any chance? And are his initials Max Kinghorn?”
“I guess so.”
“What’s he done? What’s that creep Max done?”
“He’s not a creep.”
“If you say so. What’s he done?”
“Nothing. I don’t know if he’s done anything or not.”
“You’re not making sense. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”
I threw my clothes on and hurried to the Retro Metro. Nadine had given me the day off but I was expected to work the next day, Sunday.
Sky, who is not a crier, was behind the front counter, pacing. Her mascara had run all over the place and she had raccoon eyes.
“Sky. You don’t look too good.”
“I look awful. Just call a spade a spade, will you?”
“Okay, you look like you’ve been dragged backward through a cat’s rectum and then slung onto a heap of…”
“I know. I know.”
“What’s he done?”
“It’s just a feeling.”
“What’s your feeling then?”
“He’s got somebody else.”
“Oh.”
“Oh what?” Sky was looking frantic.
“Well…” I played for time.
“Well what?”
I let the axe fall. “It was never really to exclude. The fact that he could have somebody else. I mean, you know, the gay lifestyle and all that. Not hung up like women. They can go out and bonk each other in parks and back alleys and washrooms and steambaths whenever they feel like it and not give it a second guilty thought or wonder if they’re up the spout with no way out. Of course, I’m talking about sex with condoms. I mean, nobody would be so stupid as to make that scene without about a million condoms on their person…”
Sky stood absolutely still, her face expressionless. Then she spoke. “You are such a fucking cliché, Madison.”
“I know. I know. I’m just telling you what I think. How did you come to your conclusion about Max?”
“I phoned him at home,” she said.
“So?”
“His regular phone, not his cell. The number he didn’t give me. Unlisted. I got it through a friend of mine who works in Public Health in Seattle and they have ways of getting numbers, so I got it.”
“Did somebody else answer? A lisping man’s voice, for example? A man bent on interior decorating at all costs?”
“Jeez, Lucy, no. Max answered. No. It was his tone. He wasn’t mad or anything. He sounded scared that I’d found that number and called him there. He begged me not to use it again. I asked him if he was upset, and he said no, but that I was to do as I was told.”
“Hmmm.”
“I know you don’t like him, Lucy.”
I said, “It’s not that I don’t like him.”
“Oh c’mon. It was written all over your face when you met him.”
“He doesn’t have to appeal to me. He has to appeal to you. As for me, well, there’s just something that isn’t right there and I can’t even put my finger on it.”
“Let’s go and find out,” said Sky.
“What?”
“Let’s check it out. Let’s drive down to Seattle and—”
“Wait a minute, Sky. Whoa. You are reaching new heights in masochism here.”
“I know. When are you free?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’ll borrow Reebee’s car….”
“Wait a minute. I value my life.”
“She’s had it overhauled.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Really. No lie. She even paid money to have it done. None of her buddies knew how to fix a 1965 Valiant.”
“I just think you’re letting yourself in for a big disappointment.”
“But Lucy, I love him.”
“Sky!” I thought her tongue might turn black, shrivel up and drop out of her head. I realized then that in all the time I’d known her, she’d never once confessed to being in love.
That evening, Leo and I stood on the doorstep of Cherry and Michael’s Shaunessy house.
“How do I look?” Leo was swank in a gray corduroy suit and store-bought tan. He’d been toasting himself under his sunlamp and looked prosperous, like someone who had a house in the Bahamas. I was wearing my black velour dress salvaged from the night on the beach with Paul.
The front door was opened to us by the Ecuadorian maid. Leo looked her up and down then said to her under his breath, “Honey, if you ever want to start a revolution, I know just who we have to put you in touch with. He’s the sweetest man from El Salvador…”
I dug him hard in the ribs with my elbow. “Leo.”
“Well, you can’t expect these poor Latins to carry on the role of oppressed subservience forever, can you?” The maid smiled wryly for a second, then looked oblivious.
Cherry appeared at that moment, dressed in something made of a bronze silk knit and slinky enough to show off every nub of her backbone and her flat, flat stomach despite three pregnancies. Her raven-black hair was in place, as usual.
“Lucy. You’re here. Lucy and…” Her expression took a little tumble. “Have we met?”
“This is Leo,” I said.
She offered her hand and Leo leapt in and did a European thing, kissing her on both cheeks and saying “Enchanté.”
Cherry was clearly flustered. “I’m Charlotte-Mary.”
The big fake. Nobody ever called her Charlotte-Mary. You couldn’t say it all without choking on it.
She regained her composure. “My, Lucy. Aren’t you…active? We were expecting you to bring Jacques.”
“I just love the whole business of being single. Not tied down to anybody. It’s so nice to have variety in life.” I grinned. Leo was doing the can’t-keep-hands-off routine. I gazed into his eyes and whispered, “Not here, darling.”
“But we have so little time together.” He laid the sexual urgency on thick.
“Leo’s flying out tonight,” I said to Cherry. “He has to conduct some opera in New York in a few days. What did you say it was, Leo darling?”
We had decided to slightly expand Leo’s career for Cherry’s sake.
He looked appropriately world-weary as he spoke. “Wagner. Lohengrin. I don’t mind a few phoney swans. But last year it was the whole Ring nightmare. Tons of dry ice and cast-iron tits.”
Leo had just gone up about ten notches in Cherry’s estimation. When it came to industrial-strength snobbery and collecting famous people, she had all the right genes. �
��Really?” She grabbed him by the elbow. “You must tell me all about it. I have a full subscription to the West Coast Opera Company.”
“You do? You have my deepest sympathies,” muttered Leo as Cherry led him away.
My mother was already fluttering around in the kitchen, one of Cherry’s aprons protecting her cleavage-flaunting flame-colored chiffon dress.
“Hi, Mom. Where’s Cherry’s demon brood?”
“I do wish you wouldn’t call them that, Lucy. It’s just asking for trouble.”
Something small and greenish-brown wriggled on a plate. My mother bopped it with a wooden spoon. All movement ceased.
“Okay. Her little Attila the Hun clones then.” I went over and eyed what was on the platter. They looked like slugs.
“Really and truly, Lucille. I gather they’re spending the night at a neighbor’s down the road.”
“Shouldn’t we check down the road then for smoke or the arrival of the bomb squad?” My mother shook her head. “Any news on Dad?” I asked her.
“Your father’s still on the loose, I’m afraid.” She didn’t seem very upset about it. In fact, she appeared to be thriving as never before. “Now where’s that charming Jacques?”
“I didn’t come with Jacques. I came with Leo.”
“Do I know him?”
“No.”
“You really must try to hang on to your man. You lost Frank and…”
“Frank needed to be lost.”
“I thought he was very nice. Very intellectual.”
“Forget about Frank, Mom. I want to know about Dad.”
“Oh, he’s around. He pops in to clean up and catch up on family business. We’re still friends, of course.”
“STILL FRIENDS?” Did I catch the whiff of separation?
“But I think if he were to become a grandfather, it might just help him get his feet back on the ground.”
I fled into the other room and the drinks table where Michael was pouring.
“Triple gin tonic, please, Michael.”
“Hi, Lucy. How’s it going?”
“Just fine. You can put a little more gin in that.”
He handed me my drink. “I think I’ll join you.” He raised his glass and said, “Here’s to…I don’t know what. What should we toast to?”
“Success. Any way you want it,” I said.
“Cheers. You here alone?”
“No. I’m here with Leo.”
“Oh. Do I know him?”
“No.”
Cherry swept in just then and stood beside Michael, looking glowing. They were as much like a portrait of the happy couple as was possible at that moment, Cherry yanking Michael closer and telepathically commanding him to smile.
It was a buffet dinner, and it began with everyone awkwardly balancing plates of peculiar little fried and slimy hors d’oeuvres, snails, frogs’ legs and other amphibious creatures’ body parts, then progressed to larger animals. Ostrich. Buffalo. Reindeer.
“It must be mad cow hysteria,” whispered Leo.
Halfway through dinner, I approached Cherry and said, “My mother tells me you’ve been keeping a lot of baby clothes. I’m very interested in laying my hands on some.”
“Really?” Cherry looked at me as though I’d just sprouted wings, then a smug expression swept across her face. “Is it you we’re talking about? If I may be so bold?”
I just stared at her. She would read into it whatever she wanted.
“Yes,” she said, “looking at you now, I can see that you’re starting to show, aren’t you? Well then. This is definitely news. Might we know who the father is?”
I played along. “It’s impossible to say. I’ve lost count of all the men in my life. Several have offered to take responsibility though.” In my dream life!
She blanched before saying cautiously, “I’ve got all sorts of things in the attic.”
“So Mom was saying. Let’s talk about it later. After all, this is yours and Michael’s evening.”
When we got to the desserts, there was a lot of clinking of glasses and speech-making about thoroughbred race-horses that were only good for the short run and Clydesdales and plough-horses that were good for a lifetime. It seemed that Cherry was being compared to a plough-horse, which didn’t sit well with her at all.
After all the anniversary toasting, Cherry said, “I think Lucy has an announcement to make.”
“No, I don’t,” I snapped.
“I think you do,” said Cherry.
“Okay. I’ll make an announcement. I’m happy to announce that I am maintaining the status quo of single unfettered womanhood.”
Cherry frowned.
I escaped to the kitchen. I was in the pantry rooting around for some soda crackers to settle my stomach when a hand grabbed one of my buttocks.
“Leo.”
“Don’t think so.”
But the voice was very familiar.
12
I craned my neck. “Michael.”
“You’re looking very sexy these days, Lucy. I like a woman with a shape to her, and a little something up top to hold on to.” His hands had migrated north and were carrying out an extensive exploration of my breasts.
“It’s awfully hot in here…MUST…GET…AIR…” I pried myself out of his clutches and ran out the back door, down the steps to the garden and to the swimming pool area. I kept out of sight, lurking for a while behind the shrubbery, pretending to make an inspection of the bulbs at the side of the house. If I waited long enough, Michael would be too drunk to remember anything. On the other hand, he might be even more aggressive. I went back around to the pool area and tried the door to the little pavilion where the changing rooms were. It was open, so I went inside.
I must have been there for a half hour when Cherry appeared. She towered over me. She clamped her hands onto her hips and spat out her words. “They’re going to find out sooner or later. It’s ridiculous…it’s so childish to think that hiding out here in the garden will help. These things can’t be kept secret. I know the hormones make you do strange things but you really should grow up. Being a parent is a big responsibility.”
“Jesus, Cherry. Lighten up. I’m not pregnant. I was just pulling your leg. Hasn’t Mom told you about Connie?”
“Connie?” Cherry was a cousin on my mother’s side. It was unusual that any tidbit of gossip ever escaped that particular network.
“Jeremy’s girlfriend.”
“That…person…Jeremy brought back from the States? I know Connie. Why? Your mother didn’t say anything about her.” Cherry’s mouth tightened with a superior air.
I had just assumed my mother knew. If she didn’t know before, she would know before the evening was out.
“We’re going to have a new aunt or uncle,” I said.
“We’re what?”
“Connie’s pregnant.” In a sucky tone, I said, “It means my father’s going to have a half brother or sister and we’re going to have an uncle.”
“That’s absolutely disgusting.”
Poor Cherry. She couldn’t stand the unconventional unless it was in art or fiction. When it showed up in real life, it terrified her. I felt a tiny little tingle of power, knowing her perfect husband was a perfect lech. I felt a little sorry for her, too, for the first time in my life.
“I just wanted some baby things for Connie. She’s been having a hard time. The nausea hasn’t gone away and with Jeremy’s death and everything…”
Guilt. The gift that goes on giving.
Cherry scrunched up her eyebrows and smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her dress. After a long pause she said huffily, “Oh all right, we can take a look at the things a little later. They’re boys’ clothes though.”
“She hasn’t mentioned the sex. I’m not sure she’s even been to a doctor.”
“How grossly irresponsible.”
“Give her a break. She doesn’t have your…advantages.”
“I find that people generally get what they deserve
in life,” said Cherry, very sure of herself.
I lowered my voice to a near-whisper. “Well, Cherry, maybe you’ve got what you deserve and don’t even know it yet.”
“What did you just say? I didn’t catch that.”
“Oh nothing.”
That night I left with a cardboard box full of sleepers, booties, bibs, sweaters, undershirts, burp cloths and more.
In the taxi, Leo kept putting his finger in his throat and making very exaggerated gagging noises. “You’re not becoming one of those broody women that are always goo-gooing and gaw-gawing and drooling and slobbering over other people’s reproductive efforts. God, before we know it, you’ll be knitting for other people’s little pissers, too. There’ll be the ubiquitous clicking of needles wherever we go. Then I suppose when you are old and barren and childless, and you’ve been dumped by numerous men, you’ll just give up completely and let your mustache and chin hairs grow long.”
“My leg and armpit hair, too, Leo. At that point, I might as well throw in the towel.”
“Well, I must tell you, there’s one advantage with age, the chin hairs turn white and you don’t notice them so much.”
“Thanks, Leo. Your comments are awfully consoling.”
“Your two eyebrows will revert to one, then you’ll invite all the stray cats into your one-room apartment, and there’ll be a terrible smell of cat piss and all the neighbors will complain and you’ll feed your kitties people-food, and knit little booties and coats for them and talk to them as though they were your children.”
“There might be worse things in life,” I replied. Although I couldn’t think of a single one.
It was another Sunday morning at the gallery. I imagined Nadine curled up in her bed with one of her many sex slaves, or some other person who shall remain nameless.
I was forced to sit there at my desk, propping up my hung-over head, suppressing yawns. The world went by and people stared in through the big plate-glass window from time to time, as if I were a fish in a tank. I didn’t feel like one of the pretty ones though, the angel fish, or even a goldfish. I felt like one of those black bulgy-eyed Victorian curiosities that suck up stones then spit them back out onto the surface of the fishtank.