Laura & Emma
Page 18
“How is he in bed?” Margaret wanted to know.
Laura blushed.
“Fine, but is he a good kisser? You have to tell me that much!”
“I’m not sure,” Laura confessed. “We’re taking it slow.”
“He hasn’t kissed you yet?” Margaret’s tone was incredulous.
“I told you, we’re taking it slow.”
“But you said you were dating?”
“Exactly. We’re going on dates.”
“Laura, meeting for dinner is one thing, but you’re not dating until there’s physical contact.”
“Where’d you read that, Seventeen magazine?”
“I think it’s sweet that you’re taking it slow.” Margaret reached out and gave Laura’s wrist an affectionate squeeze. “I’m sure it’ll happen soon. He’s probably shy. You might need to make the first move.”
Laura decided to wear pumps on their next date. She rarely wore heels, as walking in them made her feel like an amateur transvestite. To get more comfortable, she practiced strolling up and down the hall of their apartment. Emma stood in the doorway of her bedroom watching, a dreamy look in her eyes.
“Oh, Mama.” She swooned. “I wish you’d wear those shoes every day. You look so pretty—like a real woman.”
The babysitter arrived.
“Tell me the truth,” Laura said, opening the door. “Are these shoes a bit much?”
“Love the shoes.” Daisy nodded in approval then ran her gaze over the rest of Laura. “The turtleneck, not so much, and the skirt’s a little music-teacher-spends-the-weekend-in-the-country.”
“All her skirts look like that,” Emma scoffed. “And she only wears turtlenecks. Every day.”
“You got a date?” Daisy asked, chewing gum.
Emma burst out laughing. “Moms don’t go on dates!”
“A board meeting,” Laura said. She contemplated throwing a wink in Daisy’s direction, but decided against it.
Emma grabbed Daisy’s hand and began tugging her down the hall toward her bedroom.
“I’ll be back by ten,” Laura hollered as she headed out.
“Don’t forget to kiss me good night!” came Emma’s voice through the door.
“I won’t! And also, I know what people think of my skirts and turtlenecks, but I don’t care, it’s my signature look and I’m sticking to it!”
“Go get ’em, girl!” Daisy shouted back.
During dinner, Laura slipped out of her pumps with the intention of grazing her feet against James’s legs. Too shy to carry through with it, she ordered a second glass of wine. It wasn’t enough. Eventually the check arrived and Laura still hadn’t mustered the self-possession to make a move of any kind.
“Thank you, that was delicious,” she said as James signed the bill.
After exiting the restaurant, James stepped into the street to hail Laura a cab; he always did and insisted on paying.
“The air feels so nice,” Laura called out to him. “I think I’ll walk home.”
“It is nice out,” James said, returning to the sidewalk. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll join you.”
They cut over to Park Avenue and proceeded north. At one point Laura stepped off the curb before the light had turned, and James jumped out ahead of her and extended his arm like the gate of a tollbooth but, seeing there was no oncoming traffic, retracted it before Laura could initiate a collision.
Before she knew it, they’d arrived at her building. Placing his hands on her elbows, James leaned forward and gave Laura a peck on the cheek.
“You know, you can kiss me,” Laura whispered as he withdrew. “On the mouth. The real way.”
The kiss was short, quick, and dry, and as she rode the elevator up, Laura was tormented by the lyrics of a song from her youth: It’s in his kiss, that’s where it is.
On her way out, Daisy apologized for her earlier comment about Laura’s turtleneck and skirt and the music-teacher reference.
“I think it’s awesome that you rock your own style,” she added.
* * *
“YOU HAVE A VISITOR,” SAID Karen.
At her side stood James. His hair was wet, and so were his clothes; Laura could smell the damp fibers of his suit. His shoes made a squeaking sound as he stepped into her cubicle. Laura rolled her chair back to create a distance between the two of them, as if he were a dog who’d emerged from a body of water and was about to shake.
Taking the empty seat by her file cabinet, he flashed her a conspiratorial smile. Laura did not return it.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered. “And why are you soaking wet?”
“There was a fire in our office,” he explained, still grinning. “Nothing serious, but the sprinklers went off. The building’s closed for the rest of the day.”
“And what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.” He paused and his grin changed somehow without altering shape. “Naked.”
Laura fought back a smile of her own. This was unprecedented behavior. She didn’t approve of it or want to encourage it, but she couldn’t help being amused.
“I have work to do,” she told him. “Go home.”
James persisted, playfully at first, then less so.
“Come on, Laura.” There was an edge to his whisper. “We’ve been seeing each other for, what, two months?”
A day shy of three months, but Laura said nothing.
“Two months,” he repeated with emphasis. “And this is our first opportunity.”
“Go home,” she told him. “Dry off. And I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
* * *
THE SILENCE WAS TERRIBLE. LAURA knew this sort of thing was very upsetting for men; she wished she could think of something to say to make him feel better.
“This is a very comfortable mattress,” she said.
James smiled dubiously.
“I’m not just making small talk,” she said. “I mean it. It’s very firm.”
He laughed. It was a sharp, abrupt laugh. It seemed to bounce off the wall and land in the space between them.
“What’s so funny?” Laura asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “And by the way, it’s not you. So don’t take it personally.”
Laura patted his wrist kindly. Then she considered his words. “If it’s not me, then the logical conclusion is that you’ve tried with others.”
“A couple others,” he said.
“Two?”
“Three or four. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter, none of them worked out. This problem got in the way.”
“Three or four,” Laura repeated. “Simultaneously?”
“At the same time?” James laughed. “No. Maybe in my next lifetime.”
It took Laura a moment to realize his misinterpretation of the question. It surprised her that he could be so juvenile.
“Have you been seeing them during the same time you’ve been seeing me?” she clarified.
“No reason to be jealous, kiddo.” He slapped her thigh beneath the covers. “They’ve all pretty much given up on me. Right now you’re pretty much it.”
Laura shifted so that their bodies were no longer touching.
“Oh, please, Laura. Don’t turn this into something it isn’t.”
“Turn this into something it isn’t?”
James sighed. “They were much too young. There was never a question that you were the sensible one. The only realistic, viable, long-term option.”
Laura recoiled when he put his hand on her.
“Come on,” he said. “I just want to feel you. Let me hold you.”
Laura rolled on her side and allowed him to maneuver her body so that it lay inside his like a peanut in a shell. He wrapped his arms around her. There was an urgency to his grip but it wasn’t sexual. She thought of the famous nude photograph of John and Yoko. Any jealousy of Yoko had ended when she’d seen that photograph, imagining John’s clammy skin and scrawny body contorted over hers in that desperate, fetal clutch.
“Me, too,” Laura told him. “I need more time also.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better. Why would you need more time?”
“Because I’m out of practice. I’ve been completely celibate since having Emma.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Laura wriggled out of James’s grasp and flipped over, facing him.
“No, I haven’t sought it out. It’s never really been . . . I’ve never really gotten that much out of it.”
“That sounds like a challenge for me to prove otherwise,” James said.
“It’s not,” Laura assured him. And then she thought of the perfect thing to say to make him feel better. “In fact, if it’s any consolation, I’m relieved you have this problem. Sex is not important to me. I’ve lived my whole life without it, and I’ve been perfectly happy.”
“So you want us to live platonically ever after?” He grinned at the ceiling. An angry grin. He looked like Jack Nicholson in one of his unhinged roles. “That’s supposed to be a consolation? You’re asking me to entertain the notion that this is a permanent condition? Get used to it?”
Laura said nothing.
“Wow, what a life!” James laughed and punched the mattress. “Honestly, Laura, that’s maybe the worst thing you could say to a guy in my situation. Jesus Christ, I don’t know what I’d do if it never came back.”
Laura sat up. Holding the sheet to her neck for modesty, she pointed to her bra, which was on James’s side of the bed.
“Thanks,” she said as he handed it to her.
“Thank you!” James responded, becoming Jack Nicholson again. “Thank you for putting such a positive spin on things. I’ll get used to it! There’s still food and wine, sleeping and television—that’s enough to get me through the remaining four decades.”
“Stop,” Laura told him, turning to face the other direction to put on her bra. “Please, stop.” Her voice shook. “I don’t understand why you’re being so mean.”
“Oh, did I offend you?” he said with sarcastic glee.
“You’re suggesting a life without sex is a terrible life,” Laura said. “How’s that supposed to make me feel?” She stood up and located the rest of her clothes.
“Do you not see how that’s hurtful?” she continued, turning to face him as she pulled up her kneesocks.
“No,” he said with a righteous smirk. “Because if I heard you correctly, you just said you’ve lived your whole life without it and are perfectly happy. Well, it’s been nearly a year for me, and I’m fucking miserable!”
“I wish you and Emma the best,” Laura said.
Tucking her turtleneck into the waist of her Laura Ashley skirt, she headed toward the door.
“Before you leave and we never see each other again,” he called from across the room, “can I ask you a question that’s also a piece of advice?”
Laura braced herself.
“Let me think of the most delicate way to put this.” Propped up against the headboard, James folded his arms across his chest. “You’re a beautiful woman, Laura, but you don’t dress the part.”
“That’s not a question, nor is it a piece of advice,” Laura responded. “But if you’re critiquing my wardrobe, you might be interested to know that Bill Cunningham took a photo of me in a variation of this outfit that appeared in the New York Times.”
James looked amused by this fact, if a little skeptical. “When was this?” he asked.
“Spring of 1979,” Laura told him. “At the beginning of his career.”
“It’s 1991,” he said. “Do yourself a favor, kiddo, go shopping.”
“And can I give you one piece of advice?” Laura’s heart beat wildly as she tried to think of an insult.
“You’re a cad,” she said. “And my advice is, in the future, if you’re dating multiple women, I think it’s only fair to let all parties know.”
“I agree, but we weren’t exactly dating, Laura. I mean, we hadn’t even slept together.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Laura said, shutting the door behind her.
Right as she emerged from the building, she thought of a better comeback—how interesting it was that he was so critical of her clothes when she’d heard his ex wasn’t exactly Miss Fashion USA. But to go all the way back up to his floor again just to deliver this would look pathetic. If only she’d thought of it at the time.
And, she realized a few blocks later, it wasn’t his “ex”—it was his dead wife. The mother of his Emma. She would have felt horrible if she’d said that. Sometimes it paid not to be so quick-witted.
* * *
IN FIRST GRADE, EMMA HAD removed the Kids XXX Large sticker from a new pair of Gap leggings and stuck it to the base of the wall of their elevator. The experiment was to see how long it stayed there before someone peeled it off. Weeks then months then a whole year passed. And then another year. Followed by another and another, until it was no longer an experiment, but a matter-of-fact reality of her life. It was just there, something Emma saw every day. And then one day it wasn’t. Just the spot where it had been—a shade lighter than what surrounded it.
* * *
LAURA HAD ALWAYS TAKEN METICULOUS care of her teeth. She flossed and brushed twice a day, and though she was skeptical of the need for biannual dental cleanings, she never missed an appointment. She was shocked, at the age of forty-two, to learn that she had a cavity.
It was her first filling. Dr. Morton, whose office was three doors down from 136 and had been her dentist since childhood, seemed amused when she firmly declined his offer of nitrous oxide.
“Your mother loved it,” he said. “Absolutely loved it.”
The procedure wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be, but the Novocain left Laura’s mouth numb, making it difficult to speak afterward. Dr. Morton said the feeling should come back in about an hour. Rather than return to work lisping, Laura decided to wait it out at 136.
It was Tuesday, Sandra’s day off, but as Laura let herself in she thought she heard someone moving around upstairs.
“Hewwo?” she called.
“Yes?” a voice called back.
It was Stephanie. A moment later she appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing glasses and pajamas. They were both confused to see each other.
“I can’t understand you,” Stephanie said as Laura tried to explain about the Novocain. “Are you okay?”
“Dentist,” Laura said. “Coming fwom dentist.”
“You were just at the dentist.” Stephanie grasped her chest and smiled. “Thank God, for a moment I was scared. Your face looks weird—I thought you might’ve had a stroke or something.”
Laura smiled back and shook her head.
Stephanie explained that they were living at 136 while their kitchen was being renovated.
“It was only supposed to be a week but now they’re saying two.” She rolled her eyes. “You know how it is. Hold on, let me get dressed and come down.”
Laura went into the kitchen. The breakfast table was a mess of dishes and newspaper.
“Please don’t do that,” Stephanie said, stepping in a moment later. “Please don’t clean up after us.”
After a moment of deliberation, Laura peeled off her rubber gloves and stepped away from the sink.
“It’s so nice outside,” Stephanie said. “Let’s go sit in the garden.”
Stephanie opened the fridge and took out a Diet Coke. Then she grabbed a box of Melba toast from the cupboard.
“It’s so funny you’re here,” Stephanie said as they went out to the garden. “Because I’ve been wanting to call you. I need your advice on something.”
Laura nodded encouragingly.
“Maybe it’s not the best time, though,” Stephanie said. “If it hurts you to talk.”
“Doesn’t hut,” Lau
ra said. “Just hod to enunciate.”
They sat down on the two chaise longues.
“Do you think it’s selfish to only have one child?” Stephanie asked without turning her head. “When you’re in the position to have more?”
Laura shook her head with conviction. “To the contwee. With ovapopwation, the state of the pwanet, and wimited wesauces, it’s a conscionable choice.”
“I’m sorry,” Stephanie said. “I’m having a hard time understanding you. Let me get you something to write on.”
She went inside and came out with a pen and yellow legal pad.
Opposite of selfish, Laura wrote. Good for planet.
Laura passed the pad to Stephanie, who read it with a worried frown. This didn’t appear to be the answer she was looking for. “But what if you’re not thinking of the earth—just yourself and what you want?”
It’s wise to recognize what you want, Laura wrote. No one should have a child they don’t want.
“It took me so long to feel like myself again, after having Nick. I don’t know if I have it in me to go through that again. But everyone expects you to have two.”
Laura responded: I wouldn’t feel pressured to do anything just because it’s the conventional thing to do.
Stephanie stared at the message. “This sun feels good, doesn’t it.” She adjusted the seat of her chaise so that it was in the reclining position. Then she lay back and shut her eyes.
Laura did the same. They lay there in silence for what felt like fifteen or twenty minutes, but it might have been more. Lulled by the heat of the flagstone, and the fricative hiss of traffic and other city sounds that snaked around them, oblivious—the impermeable serenity of a Manhattan courtyard—Laura was on the verge of sleep when Stephanie spoke again.
“My mother says if I don’t give Nick Jr. a brother or sister he’ll grow up thinking the sun rises to hear him crow.”
Laura was taken aback that Stephanie would say this to her. She felt as though she’d been slapped.
“It’s a southern expression,” Stephanie explained, sitting up. “It means someone who thinks the world revolves around—”
“I get it,” Laura said, her mouth working again. “But I don’t think that’s the case with Emma. She certainly likes attention, has her theatrical impulses . . .” Laura’s cheeks grew hot, recalling her performance at Stephanie’s wedding. “But that’s a part of who she is, how she’s wired. It has nothing to do with being an only child.”