The Hunger Moon

by Suzanne Matson

  “Chips and cookies and Coke for dinner. If I ate like that, I’d be a blimp.”

  “I’ve always eaten like this. But since I’ve been nursing, I’ve also been starving all the time.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, shit, I’ve got to go. Have fun, you two. See you tonight.” She kissed the top of Charlie’s head and dashed out.

  Charlie was delighted to see June and spent several minutes razzing energetically. They played together on the carpet, Charlie swaying dangerously as he grabbed at his toys, since he was just learning to sit unsupported. Whenever he saw something that he wanted to reach for, he began waving his arms and falling in slow motion to one side. June had put pillows all around him to soften his falls, and she caught him most of the time, but on the occasions when she wasn’t quick enough, he toppled over with a puzzled, distant expression. June learned that if she didn’t look concerned herself, he wouldn’t cry after falling over. Instead, she swooped him up with a big smile, saying gaily, “Charlie fell over.” It was the most amazing thing that he would decide whether to feel pain based on the expression on her face. Maybe she should let him decide himself when something hurt.

  At six o’clock she set him up in his new high chair and mixed together a tiny portion of rice cereal. Charlie had begun solid foods this week, and he was very pleased with this new development in his life. He would grab for the spoon and help guide it, sometimes to his chin or cheek, and when a morsel made it successfully to his mouth, he would jam his fingers in after, smacking and sucking. By the time June fed him, and cleaned him and the high chair, it was just about time to get him ready for bed. In the two weeks she had spent with Charlie, June had learned some tricks. She discovered that he liked to dance with her, and for the transition from play to sleep, she waltzed them around in the darkened apartment, until Charlie finally quit grabbing her hair and prodding her in the ribs with his feet and relaxed, leaning his heavy head against her shoulder. Then she would rock him while he drank his bottle, and by seven o’clock he was usually either asleep or ready to lie in his crib, sucking on his pacifier while he drifted off.

  Tonight Charlie went right to sleep, leaving June free to think about tomorrow. She almost wished Max hadn’t told her what he had heard, because now she was thinking of the class as an audition. What if Bruce Richard asked them to do an improv? What could she impress him with? As she paced around the quiet apartment, she felt more and more fluttery. She started thinking about all the sweet things in the cupboards. No, June, she warned herself. If you make yourself sick tonight, you won’t be able to dance tomorrow. Your body will be bloated and you will feel miserable and depressed, and the audition will be over before it even begins.

  Still, she went to the refrigerator and stared in at the half-open containers and wrappers. Renata was messy in the kitchen. She never put lids back or wrapped anything so that it would keep. There was a whole bag of Snickers bars ripped open in the fridge, the small kind you buy to give out on Halloween. Renata was the only person June had ever met who routinely bought several kinds of candy bars in bulk packages, just to have on hand. She had so many back-up bags in the cupboards that a person could eat through a whole open package in the refrigerator, and then replace it, with Renata probably never even noticing. People who were normal about food usually didn’t count how many of a thing were left. If something ran out sooner than they expected, they might register a slight feeling of surprise, but their first thought would never be that someone had eaten a whole package of cookies or candy in one sitting. June had discovered this axiom a few years ago, while baby-sitting as a high school student. There were other ways of doing it, too: taking one slice of cake, one scoop of ice cream, two cookies, and so on, proceeding all the way through the kitchen, so that the levels of everything dipped proportionately, with nothing appearing to be really missing.

  June grabbed a carrot from the crisper and had to spend five minutes pulling off all the little root hairs that were growing out of it. Then she spent another five minutes scraping it carefully, and cutting it into smooth, even sticks. She still paced, chewing on the carrot sticks without even noticing they were in her mouth. She would screw it up tomorrow; she knew she would. Her thoughts went back to food. What had she had for dinner, anyway? Just a turkey sandwich. She did a calorie count and found that she had about two hundred to spare for the day. One candy bar would be fine. She heated water in the kettle and envisioned herself sitting down to savor the chocolate with a hot cup of tea to calm her down. But the tea water took so long to heat that she had already eaten the candy bar before she even unwrapped the tea bag. That was okay. How many calories were in one little bar—eighty, at the most? She could have another, and even a third, which would put her just forty calories over the day’s total. She might not even be over, because she had figured her breakfast and lunch calories rather loosely, rounding up for good measure. This time she unwrapped two bars and sliced them into three pieces each. She arrayed them on a little plate, and by the time she was through, the water was boiling. She still needed to let the bag steep for three minutes or so, though. She paced around the living room, making herself stay out of the kitchen until the tea was ready. Then she sat down and ate the pieces of chocolate, one by one. She drank tea in between each bite to fill up with liquid. The chocolate worked on her like a drug. It was wonderfully smooth and rich. At least she was noticing what it tasted like; that was a good sign.

  June tiptoed in to look at Charlie. He was sleeping deeply, his hands relaxed on top of his Winnie the Pooh quilt. His mouth was ajar and the pacifier had slipped out but was stuck hanging from one side of his lower lip, giving him a slightly dissolute look. June set the pacifier to one side of the crib and brushed her fingers over the top of his forehead. Her touch was more definite than she intended. The baby stirred in his sleep. June made herself leave the room before he caught her jumpiness and woke up.

  She stopped in the living room and turned out all the lights. She had an overwhelming desire to make herself hurt. She would feel the pressure inside her stomach as she ate without stopping, and then she would feel the pain of forcing it up her throat. Her head would begin to throb from the sugar spike she gave herself, and a dull depression would settle over her like the lead apron they covered you with at the dentist’s office. She had the power to make it hurt right now. She could feed herself so much food that she could split herself right open.

  YOU WOULDN’T THINK SO MANY PEOPLE would be out on Friday the thirteenth,” Bill said as he efficiently opened six Mooseheads and lined them up on her tray along with six frosted pilsner glasses. “It’s nuts back here,” he said, directing his chin toward the packed bar.

  “It’s crazy in the dining room, too. I forgot it was the thirteenth; maybe people want to be in a crowd tonight to feel safe.”

  “Believe me, this crowd’s not safe,” he said, grinning. The singles were out in full force, glossy men and women laughing loudly to their friends, all the while eyeing strangers across the room.

  Renata hardly had time to think as she worked her station; she didn’t have an empty table all night. People weren’t lingering, either. They seemed full of nervous energy and wanted to get to a movie, or migrate to another bar, or wherever they figured that the evening would culminate in the maximum amount of entertainment. She didn’t like the feel of this crowd, mostly hyper-stylish types from downtown and the Back Bay, everyone gleaming with hair gel and taking phone calls from tiny phones ringing in their purses and jacket pockets.

  Even though things were hopping, she was having a good enough time. Ron was pleasant every time she put in an order or picked up her plates, and Bill was turning up the charm behind the bar. She and the other wait staff looked out for each other’s tables. Gil had long ago ceased to treat her specially or keep an eye on her. Renata felt at home. Even Martin was over the worst of his nicotine withdrawal and turned out to be friendly.

  When she counted up her money at the end of the evening, Renata was amazed: three hund
red twenty dollars. She had had a birthday table of eight that chalked up a four-hundred-dollar bill, and group of lawyers from a conference who ate and drank themselves up to three hundred. These big groups got charged fifteen percent for service automatically. Best of all, both groups wanted to get somewhere to hear music or go dancing after dinner, so they didn’t tie up her station all night. Even after tipping her bus-boy and the maître d’, she still walked away with two hundred fifty to herself.

  She was just putting her coat on when Bill loomed in front of her in his blue parka.

  “How about that drink tonight?” he said.

  Renata was inwardly amused. The rain check was for coffee, but suddenly the ante had risen to a drink. Oh, well, why not?

  “Okay. I’ve got to call my baby-sitter first.” She had been ashamed of herself for not mentioning her baby right away last time. At home that night watching Charlie’s sweet concentration as he nursed, she had sworn never again to tiptoe around the issue. If a guy wanted to go out with her, he had to know straight away about her son.

  Bill looked surprised, then he smiled. “Sure.”

  Renata dialed home. After four rings the answering machine clicked on. “June, it’s me. Are you there?” She waited for June to pick up, drumming her nails. She knew June often fell asleep watching television, but why wouldn’t the phone wake her? Then she remembered that she had turned down the volume of the ringer and the voice this afternoon when Charlie was having trouble taking a nap. June might easily sleep through a call, especially if she had one of her late movies playing in the background. “Okay, I guess you’re asleep. That’s fine. I just wanted to tell you that I’m having a drink with a friend. I’ll be home around one-thirty. See you then.”

  Even though she had left the message, Renata had misgivings. “I can’t reach her,” she said, hanging up. “She’s probably just asleep, but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea that I go out tonight.”

  “She has your work number, right?”

  Renata nodded.

  “So, she would have called you if anything was wrong, which leaves the explanation that she’s sleeping. And if she’s asleep, then the baby must be asleep, right?”

  “Oh, all right.” Renata laughed. “A quick drink.”

  “I know a great spot on the waterfront,” Bill said. “Let’s leave your car here and take mine.”

  “I’d feel better if we stayed in the neighborhood.”

  “Let’s look at it from your baby-sitter’s—what’s her name?”

  “June.”

  “From June’s point of view. She sleeps, she gets paid by the hour. So, what happens if you get back at two instead of one-thirty?”

  “She gets paid extra.”

  “Voilá”

  Renata wanted to add that she also needed to nurse Charlie once more, but that seemed too intimate a detail to disclose. And in truth, she really didn’t need to wake him up and nurse him. Since he had started solid food, he could sleep through until at least five in the morning. The ritual of getting him out of his crib after coming home from her shift had mostly been for her sake.

  “All right. But how far is this place?”

  “Fifteen minutes from here. I get so burned out on this Back Bay scene, I like to get to where I can smell water.”

  “Okay.”

  “You want to call June and leave another message?”

  “No, I guess not.” June certainly would have called if she were planning on leaving the apartment with Charlie for any reason. And she would never leave without him. So, she was just asleep.

  Renata had to admit that she was looking forward to this drink. When was the last time she had gone out with anyone? Or even ridden in someone else’s car, for that matter? She was an adult, after all, entitled to a little companionship of her own. She would relax and enjoy herself.

  “Good girl.” Bill slipped his arm around her shoulder. It felt big and heavy. All her touch recently had been purely maternal. As soon as she could without seeming rude, she freed herself, and kept a space between them as they walked. He didn’t seem to notice.

  Bill’s car was an old Porsche, a buffed and waxed creamy yellow.

  “I guess you try to get women to go for a drive as soon as possible after meeting them,” Renata teased.

  Bill laughed. “Boy, are you suspicious. But it is a nice car, isn’t it? My dad had it before me. He saved up for it all his life, then kept it looking like the day he bought it. In ten years he never let this car get dirty. When he died, I decided that I would do what it took to keep it nice. I probably could have been a millionaire by now if it weren’t for pouring money into this thing. There’s an irony there somewhere, but I haven’t figured it out. Maybe you can help me.”

  “Oh, I’m not good at irony.”

  “That’s what I was hoping. A nice, straight-forward girl.”

  The gears shifted under them with a sexual throb as he maneuvered them through the emptying streets. Not familiar with Boston outside of her own routes, Renata lost track of where they were going. They wound up at a bar overlooking the harbor, with sailboats moored at a nearby dock. She smelled creosote and salt as they got out: California, except for the bitter cold. The sky was icy clear, with stars as sharp as little pins.

  Inside, it was warm and subdued, a small restaurant on one side that was closed, and a bar with a nautical theme on the other, half-filled with people. A fire burned low in the hearth. Renata had taken off her tie, but she wished for a scarf or something so she wouldn’t look so much like a waiter in her black and white. Bill had put on a fisherman’s sweater over his white shirt and looked for all the world as if he had been sitting by the fire for hours, a book or a pipe in his hand.

  Renata almost regretted now that she had quit smoking. No, not regretted, of course not, because she did it for the baby as soon as she knew she was pregnant. But a cigarette was so useful for moments like this. He would help her light it, and she could draw slowly on the smoke and squint slightly at him as she exhaled, all the time looking guarded and cool. Smoking gave you something to do with your face, so you wouldn’t have to let it betray you, your eagerness or your fear.

  “So, am I reading things wrong, or does this make you a little nervous?” he asked her as soon as they had their brandies.

  Renata was disarmed by the question. He wasn’t as full of bullshit as she thought. “Does it really show? This is the first time, I guess, I’ve been alone with a guy since I had my son.”

  “How old?”

  “Almost twenty-seven.”

  “I meant the son.” Bill smiled.

  Renata blushed. “Five and a half months.”

  “Thirty,” he said. “Just to make us even.”

  “I thought you were older.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “I didn’t mean that you looked old old. Just a little older. You have a weathered face. A nice weathered face,” she said, twisting a lock of hair. “I’ll just be quiet now.”

  “Please don’t. I sail a lot, so, yes, I know what you mean. A lot of people have told me I have skin like a road map.”

  “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

  “And you’re not going to give me any, are you?” he smiled again. He had a terrific smile. Aside from his dark, curly hair, the resemblance to Bryan was striking. Renata responded to his smile almost automatically, then felt a little guilty for her reaction, as if it were somehow disloyal. And it wasn’t exactly Bryan’s smile. Bryan’s, though also charming, had a kind of vulnerability to it. Which was actually what had attracted Renata to him most.

  “So, you have a baby,” he began again. “But not a husband, I hope, or should I start looking over my shoulder?”

  “Not a husband.”

  “Good. Because babies I get along with fine. But if you had a husband, he would have reason to be cross with me.”

  “You haven’t done anything.”

  “But I want to,” he said, reaching across the table and l
ightly brushing the back of her hand with his fingertips. Her hand felt paralyzed like a small, startled animal. “I think you must have figured that much out,” he said.

  THE SNIFTER OF BRANDY had been generously poured; it warmed Renata and relaxed her tired shoulders. The bartender gave last call and Bill ordered two more without asking her. What the hell. If June was asleep, she was asleep. Charlie wouldn’t wake up, and if he did, there was plenty of breast milk in the freezer. The only difficulty Renata would have would be feeling a little full of milk herself. But the brandy seemed to be taking care of everything. She felt fine.

  Bill didn’t ask her any more about Charlie, and she was relieved. Charlie was her private life, the real part. Later she might introduce them. For now, she was content to listen to him talk about building boats, and sailing them to warm, faraway places.

  “Have you ever been to the Caribbean?” he asked her.

  She shook her head.

  “There’s nothing like it. Sailing from island to island, the water a turquoise so clear you can see right through. I like to work eight or nine months a year, and sail the rest. When you live on a boat, you literally can’t find anything to worry about. If your engine breaks down, or bad weather’s posted, that’s just a fact of life you deal with. But you can’t worry in the sense that you feel stress. Three months at sea can set me up for the rest of the year in Boston.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want to do it all the time?” she asked him.

  “I’m getting there. I’m saving to start a charter business on Saint Kitts. A friend of mine already has a hotel there, and I could rent dock space from him. I figure another year of this, and I’ll be ready to make the big leap.”

  The big leap. The phrase startled her, made her think of Bryan again, and the way he used to refer to his mother’s attempted suicide. She shook thoughts of him away. Bill only superficially reminded her of Bryan. He had goals, after all.

  “Closing, folks,” the bartender said from the bar.